Page 73 of The Art of Exiley

As they approach us in a cloud of perfumed air, Rafe looks over and catches me staring at him. I expect no acknowledgment, but he elegantly arches a solitary brow and peruses his eyes languidly up my body. Heat rushes to my face, and as our gazes lock, his icy irises flash with a familiar predatory gleam. Then his expression turns bored again, and his eyes slide back to the adoring crowd ahead. Georgie watches the interaction, ignoring the sneers coming her way from Rafe’s lackeys, her brows raised with a question that remains unvoiced even once the whole too-pretty group has sauntered into the next car.

I could write a sonnet on all the ways I loathe how hot Raphael Vanguard is. Whatever. Even if we didn’t despise each other, I’ve learned my lesson about guys who have that kind of magnetism. Having one shining star with his own gravitational force in my life is more than enough.

At the thought of Kor, I clutch my phone in my pocket. I’ve come prepared for entering the realm of sweet, sweet cell service. When we traveled to Hilde, I’d timed the distance from Arcadia to the New York City station. I’ve been keeping track, and we should be close. “Be right back,” I say to Georgie. All I need is the barest of a connection to send off all my materials.

I duck into a lavatory just as the train passes through the air locks into the City Hall station. I check my phone, and as two service bars appear, astring of messages lights up my screen. Most from school friends who don’t know where I’ve been. I’ll look through them later and use Georgie’s computer to DM the people who deserved better than me dropping them with no explanation. For now I focus on quickly setting up and sending everything the Families need, and then I head back to Georgie.

As I make my way back down the aisle, I’m jostled by a short person in a bat mask as they hurry past me. Weird that they’re already wearing their mask and that it’s opaque black instead of glace. I turn in curiosity to get another look and see an awfully familiar crooked blond braid disappearing into the next train car.

That little minx! I thought Hypatia had given up on her stowaway plans. I change direction to catch up to her, but by the time I pass into the bar car, I’ve lost sight of her in the crowd.

“Excuse me. Excuse me. Pardon.” I make my way through the loud throng. Hypatia is still nowhere to be seen. I head toward the exit to the next car but then I jolt forward, blinded by sudden darkness as the power blinks out and the train comes to a screeching halt.

I hear more than a few cries of pain. I’m not hurt because I’ve collapsed into something solid and warm. A hand steadies me and prevents me from toppling. I instantly know who has caught me by the way my skin flares to life when his hand grazes my exposed back.

Rafe.

It’s clear when he realizes it’s me by the way his body stiffens. He releases me and steps away, and I’m immediately jostled by the panicked swarm. I teeter and try to reach blindly for the ceiling rail, but I’m too short to reach it, and the crush of bodies pushes me to my knees. I let out an inelegant squeal, praying I don’t get trampled.

As the initial panic settles, people start pulling out their spoons to light their torches. Rafe and a few of the other Sires produce flares of Ha’i,illuminating the car with an eerie glow. When Rafe sees me on the floor, he sighs in exasperation and pulls me back up against him. He mutters something that sounds like, “She can’t even stand on her own two feet.”

I ignore the words and breathe in the relief of not having to worry about dying by poorly placed stiletto. “Thanks,” I say to Rafe, and I try to make my own Sire glow, but it keeps winking out.

“Stop wiggling,” he says, stilling my hand. “Something’s wrong. Nothing should ever cause an outage like this.” His eyes narrow, and he glares down at me accusingly. “Have you done something?”

“Seriously? You’re still going down that road? I thought we were past distrust and on to simple, tepid loathing.”

Before he can answer, the lights flare on, and the chaos calms as the train lumbers back to life. It occurs to me then to tell Rafe that Hypatia snuck aboard so he can look out for her, but he’s already releasing me and stalking off without so much as a goodbye.

I see Georgie in the crowd and head toward her, but even though the shoving has stopped, I feel unsteady with the absence of Rafe’s strong body supporting mine.

21

We’re here. As the crowd presses toward the exit door, I lose sight of Georgie, but when I spill out onto the train platform, I find Michael and Kaylie.

At the sight of Michael’s tall form and floppy hair, adrenaline shoots through me. He’s wearing a dapper wool suit, the jacket open over a Beatles T-shirt. I’ve grown used to seeing him in his long professorial jacket and dress shirts, but now he looks more like the guy I met in Italy. More boyish, so if I squint, those inconvenient few years between us can almost melt away. I haven’t seen him since our trip to visit Hilde, and suddenly I’m nervous. I’d been holding on to my righteous indignation, but now I can’t quite remember why I’m supposed to be mad at him.

“You look beautiful,” Kaylie gushes at me. Her hand is lightly grasping Michael’s arm, and he gives me a small smile. Did they come together? And, like, as friends together ortogethertogether?

The wave of people pushes us into a cavernous station with high ceilings and walls covered in frescoes. I don’t know exactly where we are, but it’s somewhere in Italy, near Venice.

“Remmy!” Kaylie breaks from us and rushes toward a figure in the distance.When she reaches him, he grasps her in a fierce hug. Once he releases her, she excitedly drags him to us. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come!”

He’s lean with pale skin and short hair the same copper as Kaylie’s.

Kaylie is babbling with excitement. “… just a short train ride away from New York City, and yet I have to travel halfway around the world to see you!” As Michael embraces the newcomer with clear affection, Kaylie turns to me. “Ada, this is my brother, Remmy.”

Did she just say he lives in New York City? I’m burning with curiosity about how a Maker—from a family of Valkyries, no less—could live in my city. How come Kaylie has never mentioned it? I have so many questions, but he’s quickly pulled away by more Makers who are excited to see him.

Between Remmy and Hilde, I’ve now met two people who left Maker society for the provincial world, both of whom seem to still be welcome among the Makers. And based on that conspiracist Cicero blog, there might be others out there. Maybe they’ll be my people one day when I leave. Because thatisthe plan.

“Finally, I found you!” Georgie says, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward my very first Carnevale.

Everything I’ve been told about Carnevale pales in comparison to the real thing. We’re in an enormous underground hall packed with people. There are numerous stages around the room, each with a performance going on—music, dances, acrobatics. It’s a spectacular, reverent dedication to art.

Most people have donned their masks, so I take mine out of my pocket. It’s a simple sunburst design that covers my eyes and nose. Georgie’s is shaped like a cat face.

We get sucked onto the central dance floor and become part of the vibrating crowd. Here we’re not aberrant recruits; we’re part of something larger.

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