Passenger (Passenger #1) - Alexandra Bracken Page 0,90

square in the middle, was of this very same scene. Birds scattering as a younger Alice walked through them.

The answer seemed to drift down from the sky like a lone feather, landing right on top of her head.

No, she thought, no…

It couldn’t be that simple.

The clue was most likely about the Elgin Marbles, as they’d thought. But to find them, to find the passage, she’d need to do what she and her mother always did when they needed something explained: ask Alice.

Alice, who had grown up in London during the war.

Alice, whose father was a curator at the British Museum.

Alice, who had shown them the house she’d grown up in at least three times.

She turned toward Nicholas, trying to steel herself to tell him without going to pieces, but his gaze was fixed across the street, where a man in a trench coat and hat stood leaning against a gleaming mailbox. There was a folded newspaper in his hands, but he didn’t seem to be reading it.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, watching Nicholas’s shoulders grow rigid.

“Start walking,” he said, voice low. “We need to keep moving.”

“I know where we have to go,” she told him. “Just follow me.”

Etta wasn’t sure when she noticed it, when the suspicion curling at her neck like a stray strand of hair became strong enough to force her to look back over her shoulder. The man with the trench coat was matching their pace. A woman in a rich brown suit drifted in and out of sight, but always reappeared.

Nicholas nodded, giving her the last confirmation. They were being followed.

Etta took in the street around them, searching for a place where they could talk, when a burst of familiar red caught her eye. Without stopping to explain herself, she lifted an arm and waved, flagging the bus down.

“Etta—”

The driver waved back in acknowledgment as she rushed to his window. The scrape of Nicholas’s hurried steps trailed behind her.

“What is this madness?” he asked, his teeth gritted.

The window rattled open. “Entrance’s at the rear—” the driver began.

“Does this bus cut through Kensington?” Etta asked.

The bus driver was an older gentleman, his belly almost large enough to touch the wheel. But he had an open face and a friendly smile. “It does indeed, love. I’ve got no official stops, though. The conductor will be able to tell you how much you owe. You just give me a smile and a wave and I’ll let you off.”

The entrance to the bus was open, at the vehicle’s right rear. Etta hauled herself up using the pole, and, after an uneasy look, Nicholas followed.

Etta should have pulled him into the nearest seat and just sat. Instead, she tried to move them toward the front, where the driver would have a better view of her, and she would have a better view of the road. But she’d forgotten that while she had seventeen years of bus-riding experience, Nicholas had none. The moment the bus pulled back into traffic, he swayed drunkenly, nearly taking out a little boy and an older woman with a bag of groceries.

“Excuse us,” she said, gripping his arm and dragging him upright. She nodded to the supports hanging from the ceiling. “Grab those—just go slow.”

Getting to the front of the bus was a sluggish, lurching process, even for someone used to the heaving decks of ships. Nicholas collapsed onto the seat, a river of sweat working its way down the side of his face. One hand clenched the back of the seat, the other her knee.

“My God,” he shouted over the roar of the engine. “What is that smell?”

A man in uniform, likely the conductor the driver had mentioned, came down the stairs from the upper level. He had a kind of rack hanging around his neck, with small, brightly colored tickets held in place by small springs. “That would be the petrol, lad.”

Nicholas gave Etta a look of utter betrayal. “Will we suffocate before we arrive?”

The conductor shook his head, laughing. Etta forced herself to laugh, too, flashing Nicholas a warning look. But he’d clearly recognized his mistake—he pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed at his own slip. “Destination?”

“Kensington,” said Etta.

“Two pennies each.”

To her surprise, Nicholas dug into his bag and turned over what looked to be actual copper coins, not the gold she’d expected to barter with. The man dutifully dispensed their tickets and moved on to the other new passengers.

“Exchanged the gold and some of my payment,” he explained. “We’ve enough to get