Page 44 of The City of Stardust

Violet hesitates. She knows how precious this information is, how many people would turn against her if they knew the extent of her search, or why. But Aleksander has asked for a fresh start; she owes it to him to try.

And how easy it would be to spill everything. How much she wants to. It’s been so long since she’s let someone else shoulder her burdens with her.

“Not yet,” she says eventually. “That’s why I was here. I tried to meet with one of the museum curators.”

“Johannes?”

She frowns. “How did you…?”

“I ferry messages, remember?” He touches the chain on his neck, the outline of a key just visible through his shirt. “I know most of the scholars around this area. How was he? I’ve heard he’s a practically a recluse.”

Scholars don’t retire. Or quit, for that matter.Even if Johannes has set aside the scholars, they clearly haven’t forgotten about him.

Quickly, Violet outlines the gist of the conversation, leaving out any references to the curse. She tries to keep the details sparse: just the mention of the map and her frustrated efforts to retrieve it. Aleksander may no longer be under Penelope’s influence, but she knows how quickly information travels.

Aleksander leans back in his chair thoughtfully. “And you’ve been doing this for a whole year?”

“Just about.” She sighs, fiddling with her napkin. “But maybe…”

He tilts his head to the side. “Maybe what?”

“Sometimes I think I should just give up,” she admits. “Marianne clearly doesn’t want to be found.” She looks down at her napkin, now in tatters. “But that’s not really an option.”

Aleksander draws forward, as though reaching for her hands. But at the last moment he stops.

“Sorry, it’s just—never mind.” He pulls back. “That’s tough. The Everly curse strikes again.”

She looks up at him, startled; she’d forgotten she told him about the ancestral portraits—all those Everlys walking into the dark, never to return. The way he says it makes her only more certain that he has no idea who Penelope really is, or what she’s capable of.

“Well, if she’s out there, I’ll find her.” She shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “So anyway, tell me: what have you been up to in Vienna?”

They talk for hours, Aleksander peppering the conversation with questions, almost too quickly for her to get in her own. Eventually the restaurant starts closing down. Aleksander pays for the bill—“I insist,” he says—and when Violet stands up, the room lurches with her. She grabs on to the back of her chair for support. Her hands are too warm, her face flushed. In the bathroom, she wets her hands and presses them against her neck and the high pink spots on her cheeks.

Then Aleksander is linking his arm through hers and propelling her out of the restaurant. She smiles at him gratefully as they stumble into the cool night air.

“Where are you headed?” he asks. “I’ll walk you.”

She gives him the address of the hostel, and they walk together, arm in arm, through the streets of Vienna. Through the rosy wine-glow, she observes that there is something lovely about this moment, like stepping through a sepia photograph.

They pause by the Naschtmarkt, where golden light spills across people queuing at the stalls. Soft chatter and the clatter of footstepscompete with the sound of traffic. To any passers-by, Violet and Aleksander simply look like two old friends, walking in the evening. And maybe that’s what they would be, in another life. In another world.

Even though he tightens his arm around hers, she notices the way his gaze turns distant, towards the glimmering horizon. She gives his shoulder a little nudge, and is rewarded again by the upturn of his lips.

By the time they reach the hostel, Violet’s head is beginning to throb. Aleksander gently unlinks himself from her and she feels the loss of his warmth keenly.

“We should meet up again,” he says. “If you can.”

She bites her lip, hesitating. She’d intended to spend the evening plotting a new way to crack Johannes Braun, but somehow time has escaped her. And the next couple of days will be crucial in persuading Johannes to spill his secrets.

It’s been so long, though, since she’s let herself think about something other than her mother. Since she’s been able to walk side by side with someone.

And… it’s Aleksander.

“I’m only in the city for a few days,” he adds. “At least let me give you my phone number. In case you change your mind. We could grab a coffee.”

She pretends to hold out for another second. But in truth, she’d given in the moment he’d asked.

“I suppose that’s only fair,” she says, handing her phone over. “It would be a shame to let your stamp card go to waste.”

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