Passenger (Passenger #1) - Alexandra Bracken Page 0,91

by.”

“But that was your payment for bringing Sophia and me to New York,” she said, guilt slicing through her.

He waved a hand, dismissing this. “Focus your concern on the guardians who’ve already managed to track us here.”

“The man with the newspaper was definitely a guardian?” she pressed, somehow already knowing the answer. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been to this year,” he said in a low voice. “I haven’t met the Ironwood guardians who call it their home, but what other reason could he and that woman—the one in the brown suit, did you see her? What reason could they have for tracking us?”

It seemed so unfair that Ironwood’s guardians had already found them. Etta sighed, leaning her forehead against the seat in front of them. So much for getting ahead and keeping her movements and travels quiet from the old man.

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and dragged his hands back over his closely cropped hair. “He has guardians watching every known passage. They likely were following us for longer than we even realized. They have to be Ironwood’s.”

Her brain had been so cluttered with shock, and foggy from traveler’s sickness, that she hadn’t even thought about Cyrus’s reaction to finding them gone. “How much trouble are we in?” Etta asked quietly.

“Unfortunately, if Ironwood wants us brought in for acting without his permission, a world of it. We’ll be held in one of the Ironwood properties in this time to await the old man and whatever punishment he decides to mete out—and he isn’t renowned for his forgiveness.” Nicholas let a rough smile break through the tension on his face. “Fortunately, however, he doesn’t yet know we pirates are damned hard to capture.”

THE LAST TIME ETTA HAD SEEN THE HOUSE WAS FIVE YEARS AGO, over seventy years in the future.

It had been freezing; the kind of day that switched from rain to sleet every other second, where water seemed to be coming at you from all sides. The last time she’d seen this flat-roofed, three-story beige brick house—this green door with its gold lion-shaped knocker—had been through a rental car window. Etta had been tired and annoyed and cold, pretending to be asleep to end the tour a little faster.

She could have smacked twelve-year-old Etta, because the longer they stood in front of the house’s gate, the less sure she was that they’d found the right one. She was definitely not sure that she wanted to ring the bell, at any rate.

“You said you’d been here before,” Nicholas reminded her. “If your instincts are telling you this is the place, I believe it.”

If her mother and Alice had brought her here three times, then they wanted her to remember it. How to find it.

But Alice…

“Will you be all right?” he asked quietly. “I can speak to her if it feels unbearable.”

The house faced Kensington Square, a short walk south from the palace and gardens. The neighborhood was quiet, beautiful—nearly untouched by war. The midafternoon sun disappeared as the sky grayed over with clouds, but the trees in the park stood out in flaming contrast, all gold and red. Men worked nearby, pulling up some of the fences and railings, collecting them in piles to be carted away. Here and there were small gardens—including one in front of the green door.

Etta shook her head. She was grateful for the offer, but if he was right, and she really couldn’t save Alice, then…This is my last chance to see her. The thought broke something wide open in her.

Nicholas opened the gate and gestured for her to enter. Etta set her shoulders back, stomach flipping between excitement and dread. Then she lifted the knocker and pounded out three sharp knocks.

For a terrible second, Etta thought no one was home. She leaned forward, her ear against the wood, when she heard a girl cry, “Just a moment!” and the sound of feet on the stairs. Etta stepped back. Something scraped—the peephole cover, maybe? She glanced at Nicholas, who stood at the base of the steps with one hand on his bag. There was an audible gasp, a cry, as the door flew open.

“Rosie? But what are you doing—”

Etta drank down the sight of her in one long gulp.

The girl’s long, auburn hair was loose around her shoulders, her face shaded by a green felt hat. The collar of her grayish-green dress had been unbuttoned down to the spot where a white patch was placed over the pocket on her chest,