Page 15 of The Art of Exiley

“No, no, it’s only a blend of tea—”

“You were going todrug me?” I look down at my empty cup in horror.

“No!” He stands but doesn’t move toward me. He holds up his hands placatingly. “Ada, calm down. I’m not going to muddle you. I’m going to make sure that you get home safely, and then I’m going to hope that you’ll come to Genesis when you’re ready.”

I take a deep breath. He says he hasn’t done anything to me, and I’m going to believe him, because I don’t really have another choice. “Okay.”

By now the sun has fully risen; morning lights up the room, and I realize how thoroughly exhausted I am. I need to sleep and then think about everything with a clear head and copious amounts of caffeine.

Michael pulls a leather billfold from the pocket of his cloak, opens it, and takes out a white folded paper. It’s an origami bird. “I’m still worried about leaving you knowing Inquisitors are looking for you. Take this pigeon,” he says. “Use it if you need me.”

Even if I know it’s not these Inquisitors who are looking for me, it seemsthat someone else is, so I do need to be careful. I take the bird from him, and I’m surprised to find that it isn’t made of paper but of something that feels like lightweight clay.

Michael reaches over and strokes the bird’s beak. The flat wings unfold and begin to flutter. The bird elevates off the top of my palm and hovers there, wings flapping, its faceless head twitching from left to right.

I’m transfixed by its delicate beauty.

“It’s like magic,” I say in wonder.

“Or advanced science.” Michael winks. “This is a homing pigeon golem. It will find me wherever I am, anywhere in the world. You can write a message inside, or just send it off if you’re in danger. All you need to do is flick its tail, and it will know to find me.”

“This is… impossible.”

“Your understanding of what is possible and impossible is about to change,” Michael says with a smile. The sentiment tangles in my chest, making it hard to breathe, whether from amazement or fear, I’m not quite sure.

“This golem utilizes magnetoreception—the same force that allows real pigeons to navigate using Earth’s magnetic field—and it is entirely scientifically possible.” He reaches over and strokes the bird’s beak again. It folds flat and floats back down into my hand. Michael’s hand comes down on top of it and presses it into my palm. His fingers are warm and strong, and I try my best to ignore the growing tension coiling inside me as his eyes find mine earnestly. “Promise me that you’ll deploy the pigeon if you need me and that you’ll keep it with you at all times while you’re still at risk.”

“Okay,” I say, quite sure that I am indeed at risk—but of what, I do not know.

4

“And he was a native English speaker with an American accent?” Counselor Avellino asks me for the third time.

“Yes,” I confirm, trying to sound polite instead of pissy. I’ve been interrogated by the Families about every single interaction I had with Michael and then asked to repeat it all again. And despite my promises to Michael, I’ve told them everything. Well, besides the fact that I went on a date with my mark before I realized who he was.

“And he said onlysomeof the exiles traveled to the Americas?”

Counselor Avellino is the Families’ lawyer and, let me tell you, he knows how to cross-examine a witness.

It’s been hours of this. My head is pounding, and I just want to go home.

One might think that after the crippling trauma of being abducted and the exhaustion of an international flight, I would be allowed to go home to recover. But if one is now a spy for a historic order, they apparently cannot expect such treatment. Instead, as soon as my plane touched down at JFK, I was whisked to the seat of the Families’ Inner Chamber—which is hidden in the basement archives of the Cloisters in Fort Tryon Park—to be debriefed.

The flight back had not been easy. I was constantly looking over my shoulder for some unknown threat. When I attempted to use the lavatory on the plane, I almost had a panic attack from the small space and had to ban myself from drinking so I wouldn’t have to go again. And it’s not like anyone here has offered me a drink since, so my mouth feels as dry as the ancient illuminated manuscripts displayed in the Cloisters museum upstairs.

Despite being in a building renowned for its epic architecture, the actual room where the Inner Chamber convenes is just a boring boardroom with a long table seating a lot of Very Important People. Not all of the Inner Chamber is present, but those that are include members as illustrious as a US senator—who if the Families get their way may be our next president—the French minister of culture, a big deal film director, an even bigger deal Italian fashion designer, and my mom. They are each a representative from one of the families that have been stewards to the memory of the exiles—or the “Makers,” according to Michael—for hundreds of generations. The order is built around this stewardship, with the intent of recovering the exiles’ lost innovations and sharing them with mainstream society. And now that I finally have a seat at the table, I don’t want to screw it up.

“I’d like to take another look at the golem bird,” the senator says.

Kor bumps my knee with his, and when I glance at him, he gives me an encouraging smile.Just a little longer, he mouths silently.

Despite the subtlety of Kor’s actions, they’ve still drawn the table’s attention, and now everyone’s watching us uneasily. I’m used to this when I’m in public with Kor.

With his dramatic cheekbones, pale skin, and almost-black hair, Korach Chevalier is the kind of person who always attracts a lot of admiration but seems completely unapproachable. Whenever someone who thinks they know him sees him acting close and comfortable with me—an average person in every way—it shakes their image of his cool, enigmatic nature.

It’s hard for me to see Kor through the eyes of the masses. To them he’s a mysterious paragon of artistic genius. To me he’s just Kor, one of my closest friends, who is two years older than me and technically a distant cousin. (Very distant. Through marriage.)

Kor clears his throat, and the activity around the table resumes.

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