Page 49 of Us in Ruins

“You don’t have a subtle bone in your body.” Van’s head lowered until his voice was a whisper against her ear. It raised goose bumps over her skin. Suddenly Margot wasn’t sure she had any bones in her body.

“I do, too.”

“You most certainly don’t, but I didn’t say it was a bad thing. You just have to know how to use it.” There was a tilt to his lips that made Margot’s breath catch in her throat. His hand grazed down Margot’s side, fingers hovering just barely over the dip in her waist. The trail of his touch brushed the back pocket of her jeans, so delicate she was certain she’d imagined it.

Quietly, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’m teaching you how to steal. Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asked. Margot nodded, wordless, and he added, “So, what do you think?”

Margot checked her pocket: a single slip of paper. No, a receipt. From the thrift shop they’d gone to. “This is literally trash.”

His mouth twitched, fighting a grin. “I meant your new bracelet.”

When Margot looked down, a roll of jade beads had been slipped over her wrist. Each green jewel wore webs of white and gold. The same greens as Van’s eyes. Not that she paid that much attention to his eyes. But if she had. They were totally the same color.

“How did that—” Margot glanced toward the stall next to them. The vendor’s back was turned, fiddling with the contents of a box. A box she quickly recognized held similar bracelets. She hadn’t even noticed him swipe it off the counter and slide it onto her arm. “Van.”

His shoulders lifted innocently. “Van, what?”

“That’s not part of the mission.” Margot put the bracelet back on the counter before the seller could whip around with an accusatory glare.

“You just said girls liked that sort of thing.” A confused wrinkle appeared between his brows but vanished as soon as it came. He swiped the bracelet off the counter and forced it back onto her hand. “Never mind. You can’t put it back. That’s not how this works. And don’t be so obvious.”

“How is this bracelet supposed to help me?” Margot said it too quickly. A feeble attempt to squash the fluttering thing taking residence in her belly.

“It’s the first rule of thievery,” he said casually. “Misdirection. Make them look somewhere else, and then do what you need to do.”

Margot ran her fingers over the cool surface of the beads. “Let me guess: there is no second rule.”

“No, the second rule is don’t get caught.”

Margot’s phone dinged in her pocket, but she didn’t reach for it. Her system jolted like it was a starting gun all the same. A flight reminder, no doubt.

As they rounded the corner to another lane of stalls, apprehension washed over Margot. The shard had been here for nearly a century. It could have been traded a hundred times. Nothing guaranteed it would still be here.

They’d have to search this place from the floor to the rafters, and Margot didn’t exactly have the time for that.

“We need to split up,” she said. “We’ll never find it like this.”

Van hesitated. “If you find the shard—”

“I can do it. I’m not some damsel in distress.” Margot stood her ground. “Unless there’s a third rule of thievery you’ve neglected to tell me.”

“No,” Van said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I was going to say that if you find the shard but we’re still separated, give the signal.”

“And the signal is?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

With that, Van headed toward a row of figurines and furniture, and Margot slipped down a corridor where neoclassical paintings gave way to Renaissance art that may or may not have been originals. She followed a stream of other shoppers—women with sleek ponytails and crisp blazers, and men in tailored suits. Suddenly, Margot felt supremely underdressed.

She trailed past a display of mirrors with ornate frames and long, thin handles. The seller, a beady-eyed woman with a gold incisor, said, “This one belonged to Helen of Troy. I’ve heard it was enchanted by the gods to make her the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Is that so?” Margot asked, backtracking toward the counter.

The seller held the mirror toward her, and Margot clasped its silver handle. She peered into its streak-free surface and swiped on another coat of red lipstick, touching up the edge with her pinky finger. Not too shabby, enchanted or not.

“You know,” Margot said, “I’m looking for something also rumored to be touched by the gods. Venus, specifically.”

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