Page 84 of The Stolen Queen

“Don’t forget the Cerulean Queen. I’m here to help identify the guy who stole it, remember? You still need me.” Annie was embarrassed by the pleading tone in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. Returning to New York was a dismal idea. She had nothing there anymore—no place to stay, no job, no life. She’d been a big asset; Charlotte had just admitted as much. “Look, I came here to try to fix the mess I made at the Costume Institute, to prove that I’m not an accessory to the crime or whatever it is they suspect me of.”

“And I came here to find my daughter.” Charlotte paid the check, and Annie followed her out onto the sidewalk, where half a dozen men sat behind cheap souvenirs laid out on blankets, calling out to passing tourists to inspect their wares.

“But we think the Cerulean Queen and your daughter are somehow related,” said Annie. “Besides, I shouldn’t have even left the country, I was told to stay in New York. When I go back, they might arrest me for fleeing or something, so I really need to have something to show for it.”

“Trust me, they have bigger issues to deal with. I highly doubt they believe you’re part of an international smuggling ring, the girl who opened a box of moths.”

The insult stung.

Annie was all too familiar with this kind of rejection. First her mother, who she’d taken care of and worried over until Annie had been rendered moot by a new boyfriend. Then Diana Vreeland, who’d dismissed her after a misunderstanding. And now Charlotte. Why was Annie drawn again and again to women she hoped would help her, guide her, but who then discarded Annie like an old sock theminute she wasn’t needed anymore? She was desperate for a mentor, someone to explain how the world worked, but instead she was repeatedly shown the door.

They had come to a stop in front of a man selling clumps of bracelets, Egyptian cat statues, and a King Tut mask statue—a match of the one they’d seen in the gallery the other day. Annie reached down and picked it up, stalling for time.

“This is one of a kind,” the seller said, pointing at the statue. He had a long face and bushy eyebrows. “You won’t find this anywhere else.”

In spite of their argument, Annie and Charlotte exchanged a knowing smile. “Right,” said Charlotte, taking it from Annie. “One of a kind.” Instead of handing it back to the seller, Charlotte got a strange look on her face. “That’s weird,” she murmured.

“It’s unique, I promise,” said the seller. “Farid.”

Annie froze. That word. “ ‘Farid’?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“ ‘Farid’ means unique?” she asked him.

“Yes, yes, I sell it to you for very cheap.”

Annie turned to Charlotte. “The letter from Leon. He wrote: ‘Transfer to the unique location has been arranged.’ The last store we went to yesterday was called the Farid Gallery. TheUniqueGallery.”

But Charlotte didn’t seem to even hear her; instead, she handed back the King Tut statue and pulled out some pounds from her wallet, pointing to a cheap glass perfume bottle. “I’ll take that, no need to wrap it up.”

“Why on earth are you buying souvenirs when I have just discovered something monumental?” said Annie.

But Charlotte just shoved the perfume bottle into her handbag and grabbed Annie’s arm.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Charlotte

Charlotte felt terrible about the argument she and Annie had back at the restaurant, especially after having divulged her strange vision and gratefully accepting Annie’s reassurance that it was a blessing, not another curse. Over the past couple of days, Charlotte had become fond of Annie. Behind her loud laugh and lumbering gait was a fragile child who was desperate to please, yet she had an inner strength that she was only now beginning to tap into. It had been marvelous watching her transformation.

Annie was smart and pushed Charlotte out of her comfort zone, which was maybe why Charlotte found herself now keeping the girl at arm’s length. She was resolutely proud of Annie one moment and then irritated the next.

Like a mother might feel.

But Charlotte already had a daughter.

Yet as they sped toward Khan el-Khalili, her protective side kicked in. Ever since she’d held the second King Tut statue in the palm of her hand and heard the word “farid” spill out of the seller’smouth, everything had become clear. She didn’t want to put Annie in harm’s way, but she couldn’t do this without her.

The labyrinthian alleyways were packed. Once they reached the Farid Gallery, Charlotte peered into the front window, where several tourists lingered over a display of amulets. Nothing bad could happen to her and Annie if there were other people about, certainly. She took a deep breath and ventured in, Annie right on her heels.

The handsome woman from the other day, Heba, stood behind the cash register, looking over an invoice. She glanced up briefly but didn’t acknowledge them, an unusually tepid response to a returning customer in a touristy neighborhood like this one. Two visits in two days surely would have signaled a probable sale, and any other salesperson would have come running. Could she possibly not have remembered them? It seemed unlikely.

Something was off.

The box of cheap souvenirs they’d seen the other day was no longer on the floor, but the back door to the office area was slightly ajar.

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