patched asphalt filled with cars on her right. People were everywhere, none of them looking their way.
Mitch seemed perfectly at ease, knowing exactly where he was and where he wanted to go. He kept her hand in his and led her around the corner, where she spotted a piece of sidewalk art: large red three-dimensional letters, L and O balanced atop a
“Is this Manhattan?” she whispered.
He nodded and pulled her to a hot dog vendor on the corner.
“You take yours with mustard?” Mitch asked, fishing out his wallet. “Or relish? Or plain?”
Fiona finally had to let go of his hand.
“Mustard, please,” she replied, eyeing the hot dogs suspiciously as the vendor pulled them out of a steam cabinet. Cee didn’t let this kind of “preprocessed poison” into her kitchen.
Mitch paid for two dogs with mustard and two lemonades.
To be polite, she took a bite of the thing.
It was delicious.
She took three more bites, then felt full. That had to be the continuing side effect of her severed appetite.
“Another?” Mitch asked, giving her a paper napkin.
She dabbed her mustard-smeared mouth. “No, thanks. This is good for now.”
Mitch offered his hand. “Let’s see Central Park, then.”
Fiona took it and they strolled down the Avenue of the Americas.
“You’ve never said anything about. .,” Fiona started to say. “I mean, ever since Jezebel told everyone. .” She stopped, remembering there were rules about her talking about her League side of the family in public.
“Ever since she told everyone about your mother? Atropos?” Mitch shrugged, but offered no further comment.
Suspicion gnawed at Fiona. Had Mitch insisted on their coffee date today because of her new social status? Like everyone else, was he attracted to the League’s power?
“It’s just that everyone treats me differently.”
He laughed softly. “Oh, your paparazzi?”
“They’re not fans, so much,” she countered. “They just hang around and ask about my relatives.”
Mitch made a noncommittal murmur.
She wasn’t getting anywhere with this. Mitch was either being evasive or dense, or, astonishingly, he really didn’t care about her League connections.
Fiona just had to know-so she blurted out, “Doesn’t it make a difference to you who my family is?”
Ahead were the trees and rolling lawns in Central Park. There was a huge dog show in progress: hundreds of people and just as many yelping canines.
“Ugh,” Mitch said. “Not exactly what I was hoping for.” He gripped her hand and tugged her toward a shadow. They crossed the plane of darkness-
— and this time, when they stepped out it was dark. . but a normal nighttime dark.
As her eyes adjusted, she saw they stood upon wide flat stones. On the horizon were the crisscrossing silhouettes of spires and columns and the broken spans of once mighty bridges. Farther, there was a jagged outline of a pyramid. Wind whipped through this place, crying like a wounded animal. It chilled her.
“The Gobi Desert,” Mitch whispered. “This city has never been found by any archaeologist. It was here before the Xia Dynasty. Been buried and uncovered by desert sands countless times.”
“It’s so dark,” Fiona whispered back. “I wish I could see.”
“Dark is why I brought you here.”
Mitch gestured over their heads.
It was a moonless night, and more stars filled the sky than Fiona had ever dreamed possible. The band of the Milky Way dazzled her with colors she’d never seen at night.
“Miss Westin talks about the Middle Realms,” Mitch said. “How great they are. But I think this world has wonders to match anything out there. . especially with the right person.”
Fiona got dizzy looking straight up in the dark, and she leaned against Mitch almost without thinking about it. . as if this was the most natural thing in the world for her to do.
He pulled her slightly closer to him. “I don’t care,” he whispered.
Mitch was warm, and shielded her against the cold night air.
“Don’t care about what?” she asked.
“Your family,” he murmured. “You asked before if it made a difference to me. You’re probably wondering if that’s the reason I wanted to go out with you.” Mitch was so close, she felt his breath rush along her neck. “It’s not.”
Fiona’s heart pounded and she found it impossible to concentrate on the stars. “Why, then?”
He hesitated. She felt his heart beating, just as fast, next to hers.
“It was that first day,” he said, “at the placement exams. When I saw you. . I knew.”
Fiona shook her head, not understanding.
“My family’s magic lets us look at people, and sometimes we get a glimpse of what’s inside-a person’s soul-if you believe in that sort of thing.”
Fiona became very still, remembering that first day, how scared she been, but resolute to do her best.
“What did you see?” she asked.
“A right person,” he whispered, “. . for me.”
She knew what he was talking about, because she’d been thinking the same thing: She and Mitch fit together. Two puzzle pieces, ones she’d thought were different shapes and colors, and never in a million years supposed to be put together, but when she’d turned them this way and that, suddenly they aligned, and she realized they were
Mitch leaned back against a wall, and his hand found hers.
Fiona snuggled up against him, warmed by his body, not wanting to be anyplace else in the entire universe at that moment.
They held each other and watched the stars until the sky warmed in the east.
The Night Train entered the tunnel. The chugging screams from the engine echoed undiminished. Standing on the rear platform, Eliot choked on the brimstone-laden smoke that swirled in the train’s wake.
He cupped his hand to see through the window into the last train car.
The gas lamps on the wall were turned down to flickers, but there was enough light to see no one else was inside. Perfect.
He entered the car and eased the door shut.
It smelled of rose water and cigar smoke. It was quiet, too; the only suggestion of the train’s thunderous passage were faint clacks under his feet.
Eliot fumbled for the valve on the lights and turned them up.
There were tables with green felt tops and trays of poker chips. Black velvet wallpaper covered the walls, and intricate mahogany curls framed a fresco on the ceiling: a cloud-fringed view of Heaven. . with an exodus of angels leaving their friends behind. Many angels left behind wept or beckoned to those leaving, but the departing ones had their backs turned to them in disgusted indignation.[43]
Eliot swallowed, looking for his father in the painting.
Something else caught his attention, though: in the train car ahead-the lights brightened.
Eliot turned down the lights and retreated to the back door. He slipped onto the rear platform, holding his breath.
Outside, the train continued to screech through the dark of the tunnel, but there were things in the darkness answering that screeching now.
Eliot reluctantly closed the door and crouched to hide.
The lights in the last car turned up again, and Eliot saw it was the same old man who’d helped Jezebel board. The man was bent with age. He had a black cap and uniform with gold braids on the shoulders. He wore white
