Passenger (Passenger #1) - Alexandra Bracken Page 0,96

generally accepted we all come from a common ancestor with the ability, the families today originally existed as alliances between many separate families that united together under banners—the trees we now use as our family names—against their rivals and enemies. That was another time of huge conflict; everyone was trying to claim centuries and territories to control. It was mostly resolved through treaties and the establishment of the system of roles and laws. You can still see the evidence of how widespread their numbers used to be in the diversity within the remaining members of the families today.”

Nicholas flicked his gaze back onto the street below. He shifted again, and now all Etta could see was the long curve of his spine, the strong width of his shoulders, and his left fingers as they tapped against the muscle of his right arm.

“Enough history; it hardly matters now. Ask her the question that brought us here,” he said, a note of impatience in his voice.

Etta turned to Alice with an apologetic look, but she didn’t seem bothered.

“Mom left me a series of clues to find it,” she said. “In a coded letter.”

“A letter that can only be read when a key—a symbol—is placed over it, showing which words are meant to be read?” Alice said with a knowing smile. “We all used to exchange messages that way.”

Etta felt the hair rise on her arms. It was a connection, however thin, to a larger family she’d never known. “We think the next riddle—the clue—is meant to lead us to a passage near the Elgin Marbles, but we’re not sure where to find them in this year. I thought you might know, since your father works for the museum…?”

“Can you answer one thing for me first?” Alice said. “How did you know to come to this house? Did you look up the address? Ask around?”

“I didn’t need to,” Etta said. “You and Mom brought me by a few times. You said it was very special—that it was important for me to see where you’d grown up.”

Alice sighed, sounding almost relieved. “Then both of us wanted you to be able to find me. That’s good. They—we, I mean, we must have known something like this might happen.”

The fact was cemented in her now. None of this was a coincidence. Alice, her Alice in the future, had met Etta in the past. She’d known her as nearly an adult before she’d ever met the small wisp of a girl clutching her child-size violin. This was the reason she and Rose had fought—because Alice knew Etta would come here, because she’d already lived through it.

The thought of their inevitability in each other’s lives burrowed deep into her heart, past the hardened shell she’d put up to keep herself together.

“The museum and government have taken the Marbles underground,” Alice said. “They’re tucked away in the Underground, in the tunnel between the Aldwych and Holborn stations. It’s not exactly near where I report to work, but I can at least point you in the right direction.”

“Will we have access to the tunnel?” Etta asked.

“Both stations are being used as shelters during the air raids,” Alice explained. “You’ll need to find an opportunity when the stations aren’t being watched by police, but you should be able to climb down from the platform and walk through the tunnel. The Marbles will be in crates, but they’re obvious enough by their size.”

Etta nodded, processing this.

“Is there a back entrance out of your home?” Nicholas asked suddenly, drawing the curtain shut in front of him.

“Well, yes,” Alice said, rising slowly. “Why?”

“Two gentlemen in the street are watching this house,” he said. “Unless they’re interested in painting it, I think it’s a fair assumption that we’ve been found.”

THROUGH THE BACK DOOR, THROUGH THE BACK GARDEN, through a gate that opened out onto a street. Etta had one second to celebrate their narrow escape, when the man she’d seen before—the one with the fedora and newspaper—appeared at the other end of the street.

“I know him,” Alice said, grabbing her wrist.

“One of Ironwood’s?” Etta asked.

She shook her head. “No…I don’t think so. Rosie left me photos to identify them. This one’s definitely come round looking for her before, though.”

Not an Ironwood guardian…then who the hell was he?

The girls struggled to keep pace with Nicholas’s longer strides. He kept one hand buried deep in his bag—if Etta had to guess, it was on the revolver inside. Whether or not he’d actually bought ammunition was anyone’s guess,