Chapter Nineteen

Margot was going to go full meltdown mode in T minus thirty-six seconds, whether Astrid left the bathroom or not. Losing Enzo, and then finding Enzo, and then losing Enzo again really put Margot’s emotions through a Laundromat spin cycle.

In a few hours, her father would realize that she had not gotten on that plane, and Dr. Hunt would probably get an email back from Radcliffe finally confirming that Chad Vanderson didn’t exist.

Right now, she was ready for a seventeen-step skincare routine and as much sleep as her body would give her. Assuming she could squash the mass amount of residual adrenaline racing through her veins and sleep at all.

She banged her fist against the molded paneling three more times, praying it really was the magic number.

“What are you even doing in there?” she asked. “Do not, under any circumstances, try to give yourself a perm.”

The door swung out from beneath Margot’s midair fist. A cloud of rosemary-scented steam wafted out of the bathroom. Astrid frowned in the midst of it. “I have a date.”

The sentence shocked Margot’s system enough to dam the oncoming tears. Margot had daydreamed about dates more than she’d actually been on them, but based on every rom-com in the history of the universe, she could definitively say Astrid was underdressed.

Her white-blonde hair disappeared beneath a terry-cotton towel, presumably and fortunately unpermed. She wore one of the hotel’s complimentary robes with a white tank and soft cotton black shorts underneath. Her eyelids had been painted a heinous shade of blue, rimmed with an equally insulting amount of black liner.

If forcing her voice to stay level was an Olympic sport, Margot at least deserved silver. “I didn’t know you cared about human emotions. Is this some kind of body snatcher situation?”

“Relationships have their perks,” was all Astrid said before she returned to the double vanity with absolutely no regard for why Margot had been so keen on breaking and entering.

At the edge of Astrid’s bed, Suki pulled a perfume bottle out of a wad of rose-colored tissue paper. “So, that’s why you bought this.”

Astrid tilted her chin higher. “My mom said every woman needs a distinct scent.”

Suki spritzed the perfume. Sniffed. “And yours has top notes of elderberry and hypocrisy.”

Some spiteful part of Margot appreciated Suki’s willingness to stand up to Astrid—until now, Margot honestly hadn’t been sure if anyone had the guts except Dr. Hunt—but another, louder part of her knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of those jabs. The kinds of bruises they left.

Margot sighed, sagging against the doorframe. “Do you need help getting ready?”

“All I have with me are cargo pants, and I tried to go shopping today, but I have no idea what color lipstick to wear.” Five lip stains rested in her palm, brand-new. Salmon, baby pink, fuchsia, a horribly out-of-season plum, and Margot Red.

Margot softened like butter. Maybe it was that Astrid was so helplessly clueless or the fact that she was looking at Margot without a hint of disdain, but the calcic shell around her heart shattered. Dr. Hunt did say she wanted them to figure out how to work together.

Margot smiled at her surly roommate. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Inviting herself into the bathroom, Margot examined Astrid’s makeup haul—there was a blond eyebrow pencil, a tube of mascara (notably not waterproof; Margot could never), and the notorious nine-shade eye palette, all cool blues and silvers. She’d also scrounged up a mostly empty tube of tinted SPF, which would have been great if it weren’t nearing eight p.m, and a cream blush with a healthy amount of shimmer. Margot could work with that.

She ripped open a pack of makeup removers. “First things first, this isn’t 1985.”

“But I thought—”

Margot shook her head. She nudged a wet wipe into Astrid’s hand. “You thought wrong.”

While Astrid scrubbed off her makeup and shook her hair out of the towel, Margot called out, “Suki! Will you grab the jumpsuits in my suitcase?”

“Plural?” she heard Suki ask. Moments later, Suki appeared at the doorway with three options piled in her arms. One was linen, one was ruffled, and one could only be described as Plumber Chic.

“Take your pick,” Margot said to Astrid.

A hum. “The middle one.”

Ruffles it was.

Astrid shimmied into the ivory jumpsuit, wiggling it up and over her narrow hips. The legs ruffled out capri length, and bell-shaped sleeves landed right above her wrists. It hung a bit loose on her—she was all bone where Margot rounded—but with a belt, no one would ever know.

“That’ll do, Donkey,” Margot said in an admittedly terrible rendition of a Scottish accent.

There was a knock at the door, and Suki hightailed it out of the bathroom. Topher’s voice filtered in, saying something about a Ping-Pong championship happening next door, and Suki shouted a quick goodbye along with a “knock ’em dead!”

“I need to tell you something,” Astrid said as soon as Suki clicked the door shut. “Suki can’t keep a secret to save her life, but you should know.”

Margot’s curiosity piqued. She loved a juicy secret as much as the next girl. Her raised eyebrows spoke for her.

“I know Chad isn’t who you’re saying he is.” Astrid watched Margot’s reflection in the mirror as she coated her lashes in liquid black. And Margot’s reflection was trying its absolute darnedest not to look like Astrid had just ripped a very large metaphorical rug out from under its feet.

“What do you—what do you mean?” Margot asked. Her fingers traced the smooth green beads around her wrist.

“A smirk that could knock a lesser woman dead. A shock of sun-bleached hair. A row of freckles arched over his left brow and a smattering of unruly ones across his cheeks. He could only be one man. Van Keane.”

Margot gasped. She didn’t even try to hide it. The words had been stripped straight from her application essay and used against her.

“How did you do it?” Astrid asked. “Don’t tell me Suki’s creepy Ouija board is real.”

“No, no,” Margot said, surprised by the sudden relief coursing through her. Necromancer she was not. Didn’t have the stomach for it, for starters. “He . . . well, it’s a long story.”

Astrid tapped her phone on the counter. The background was a photo of her holding a blue ribbon. Typical. “I’ve got twenty minutes.”

Unfortunately, there was no succinct way to say “Well, I stole a magical artifact and a historical text from the school’s archives, which led me to a secret temple I’m definitely not telling you the location of, and while I was down there, the cursed statue of Van reanimated.”

Astrid watched her think. Waited. “Nineteen minutes.”

Margot busied herself with Astrid’s eye shadow palette, dusting one of the matte grays onto a brush. “Close.”

Obliging, Astrid closed her eyes. It didn’t stop her from grimacing. “Fine, don’t tell me. But aren’t you supposed to be on a flight back to the middle of nowhere by now?”

The brush stilled in Margot’s hand. “How do you know about that?”

“I’m observant.” Astrid popped one lid open. “And I saw your phone on the sink this morning when we were rushing for the train. Your dad double texts.”

“That’s a total invasion of privacy.” Margot sounded more like Van every day.

“I thought maybe it was an emergency.” As if. “All I’m saying is it would be a downright shame for Dr. Hunt to find out your father requested for you to be removed from the program on such short notice.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Margot’s jaw tensed tight enough to crack a molar. “What do you want?”

“The truth.” Astrid wore a winning grin, sly with the upper hand.

As Margot swirled the shadow into the creases of Astrid’s lid, she spoke the way she imagined people would share clandestine information: hushed and a bit hurried. “He was cursed. A hundred years ago, when he was searching for the Vase of Venus Aurelia, everyone thought he’d died when his dig site caved in, but he didn’t. He’d been turned to stone.”

Astrid scoffed. The sudden movement sent a gray streak halfway to her brow bone.

“Quit wiggling,” Margot scolded. She dabbed off the errant shadow with a makeup wipe. “You asked for this, remember? The point is: I found him.”

“Where?” Astrid asked, a tinge of disbelief to her voice.

Margot moved to the other eye, mimicking each deliberate motion. Her grip on the brush tightened. “In Pompeii. And when I did, he came back to life.”

“Please.” It was more laugh than word.

Shaking her head, Margot said, “I know what it sounds like, but why would I lie about this?”

“How?” Astrid pestered.

Switching brushes, Margot moved to a softer blue and swiped it onto Astrid’s lids. The familiar movements did little to soothe the exposed nerve of her emotions. She knew why Astrid had suddenly regressed to monosyllabic responses. She didn’t believe her. Worse, she didn’t believe in her ability to do it at all.

“You wanted the truth. That’s the truth.”

“That’s not all I want.” Astrid’s words sharpened, determined. “Stop looking for the Vase.”

Margot groaned. “This again?”

There was something different in the way Astrid looked at her—warning, protective. The way a friend would look at you. “It’s going to get you in major trouble.”

It already has.

“I can’t,” Margot said as she dropped the eye shadow palette back into Astrid’s pile of drugstore cosmetics. “I told you. Van’s cursed. And without the Vase, he’ll turn back into a statue.”

“That’s too bad because you’ll never find it.” Astrid reached for her mascara tube. All kindness sapped from her face, like maybe it had never been there to begin with. A mirage or a figment of Margot’s overactive imagination.

The words were out of Margot before she could stop them. “You don’t have to take my word for it. I know it’s real. And I have proof. Cold, hard, indisputable proof.”

“Yeah, right.”

Sliding out her phone, Margot tapped to her photos and thumbed through images of palm trees against blue skies, heaping bowls of pasta, and sneaky candids of Van until she found it. A photo of the first two shards after they’d survived the Nymphaeum. Their gilded edges fit together perfectly, and the start of an inscription wove across the clay fragments.

“Look,” Margot said, “I had the first two shards, and I would’ve had the third if it weren’t for—”

“Had?” Astrid asked.

Margot chewed the inside of her lip. “Have.”

“You said had.”

“Van has them,” Margot said. Her pulse quickened with the lie. “That’s what I meant.”

Astrid peered down at Margot’s phone again and cut her off with a cold laugh. It started as a small, biting giggle, but Astrid couldn’t contain it.

A sickening sludge formed in Margot’s gut. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m not saying I believe you of all people found the Vase, but if you did . . .” Astrid paused, and Margot had every reason to believe it was for dramatic effect. “Well, I’ve heard about this inscription. You did translate it, didn’t you?”

“Of course he did,” Margot argued. He’d found all the shards before. He must have read what they said.

A tilt of Astrid’s head. “Van did. Not you? He translated every word? You’re sure?”

Margot tried to remember—tried but failed. “I think so, yeah. Why wouldn’t he?”

Astrid finished fanning out her lashes with mascara and sank the wand back in its tube. “Would’ve been pretty convenient to leave out the part where he needs a human sacrifice to unlock the treasure of Venus.”

Margot hated the way Astrid forced her hand. Manipulated the conversation so that Margot had to fold. “What are you talking about?”

“The treasure,” Astrid said, like it was perfectly obvious. “You think Venus would make it easy for someone to waltz off with her belongings? If that’s really shards of the Vase—and, again, I’m not saying I believe you—it’s the key to the treasure. There’s only one way to be loved forever. Lapideum. To turn to stone.”

The stodgy thing in Margot’s stomach somehow thickened. “How do you know?”

“I’m literally an award-winning linguist.”

“Literally whatever. It doesn’t mean you’re right.”

“He’s using you. When he’s done, he’ll have all the riches in the world, and you’ll be a statue. You can’t trust him.”

“But I can trust you?” Margot didn’t mean to spit it out like Astrid had tried to poison her. It just came out that way.

“You can,” Astrid said. “Because I am right, and if you don’t know it yet, you will soon. I’m just looking out for you, Margot.”

Margot couldn’t believe her—why would she? Astrid had been nothing but cruel to her all summer. Tonight was no different. She should have never believed it might have been.

It didn’t matter that Margot hadn’t seen the last two shards. They wouldn’t say that. They couldn’t. They’d find the last two shards, and then she’d have the full inscription. And Van wouldn’t turn her to stone after everything they’d been through.

“Or suit yourself,” Astrid added, snide. She dotted the baby-pink lip stain over her lips without even bothering to ask Margot’s opinion. “But when I’m right and you can’t see it because you’re blinded by your feelings, I’m saying I told you so.”

Margot would have expected nothing less.

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