on his throne with a snake at his side, surveying his kingdom. Self-assertion, leadership, confidence.
Liyana stares at the cards. Something is different. As she looks down at them, elements in the pictures begin to shift and connect, forming patterns until they’re giving her a clear instruction. Liyana frowns, confused. The echo of her mother’s voice is sharp in her head: Don’t claim to know anything, Ana, until you’re absolutely certain. Self-doubt seeps in. But still, the message is clear. The cards are telling her to find her sisters.
Which is strange, since she doesn’t have any sisters.
Her mamá’s laugh is a warning. “A little hint, my dear. When it comes to lying, don’t underestimate your mamá.”
Bea is silent. She thinks about last night, how vivid the dream had been, how shocking the emotions. But what shocks most of all is her growing sense that it hadn’t taken place in a library, or in Cambridge, or, indeed, in this world at all. The books had once been white leaves, the library a grove of willow trees, and the place the subject of her mamá’s tales: Everwhere. But while Bea might be used to playing with philosophical notions of truth and reality, she’s drawn her line in the sand far behind the fantastical. “Well, so what if I am?”
“Well, thank the Devil for that.” Her mamá lets out a theatrical sigh. “Now you can stop being such a bloody shadow of yourself and start embracing who you really are.”
“Which, as far as you’re concerned, is an evil bitch,” Bea says. “Right?”
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”
“I think you’ll find that is the general consensus.”
“¡Mierda!” Cleo snaps. “Fuck the general consensus—pura mierda. The general consensus is made by millions of passive conformists, thus the general consensus is invariably bullshit.”
Bea pictures herself cocking a pistol and marching ten paces. “Maybe I’m not who you think I am.”
“Y veremos.” There’s that smile in her mother’s voice. “We’ll see.”
Bea grits her teeth. “Look, I’ve got to go. My moral philosophy essay is due Monday, and I’ve not read any—”
“I already told you”—now the smile is gone—“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’ll call you on Sunday night,” Bea says, and hangs up.
10:27 p.m.—Goldie
Working at the Hotel Clamart is a dream compared with the Fitz. Due to both the absence of Garrick and the presence of Leo. The shitty toilets are the same, the sticky sheets, the filthy bathroom floors . . . but being able to clean, and pilfer from, the rooms and walk the corridors without watching out for grabby hands and with the expectation of seeing Leo is a joy indeed.
And the place is a gold mine. Leo was right about that. If the Fitz’s guests were rich, these are super rich. It’s quite something to see. And the Americans leave incredible tips. This morning a family of four left me a twenty-pound note on the dressing table. I felt a little guilty, since it wasn’t the only thing I’d taken from them during their stay. Still, I don’t suppose they’ll ever notice.
But by far the best thing about the job is that I will see Leo every day. The best and the worst. Because the temptation is torture. I wish he’d touch me. This morning I tried commanding him, as I had the first time we met, to no avail. I think I was too nervous. I could say something. But I won’t. If he turned me down I’d be so mortified I’d have to quit, and I can’t afford to do that.
11:59 p.m.—Leo
After Christopher died, Leo decided to never again entwine himself with another, boy or girl, mortal or immortal. He’s been safer on his own, stronger. And if he’s had to forgo love to escape grief, it’s a bargain he’s been happy to make.
Until now, until Goldie, Leo has never been tempted, never even been curious. With her, it’s different and he can’t say why. Now he’s curious. Now he wants to know. And although he knows a great deal about her that she doesn’t, he also suspects she has secrets he can’t see. And he wants to know everything—not by sleight of hand or silver tongue, but for her to tell him, willing and free.
He wants to pretend, to play make-believe. He wants to hold her, to feel the pulse of her heart under his palm. He wants to imagine