right key or misplacing spares.
The kitchen was locked all the time unless the cook or Mrs.
Johnson were in here.
Except when Arthur opened it this morning and neglected to
lock it behind himself.
Reaching up, Alden slipped the key to Cora and Minnie’s
room free, replacing it with his own similar-looking one. He
tucked the key into his jacket pocket, humming softly to himself,
and slid back out of the kitchen.
“Did he just take the key I think he took?” Thomas whispered.
Arthur pushed out past him, taking Alden’s key off the hook
and putting his own kitchen key in its place. Thomas followed
him out into the hall.
“Where are you going?”
“To sit in front of Cora and Minnie’s room until they wake up.”
“But what are we going to do about Alden? He has their
key now!”
Arthur’s face darkened. “We steal it back.”
Thomas suggested a game of croquet on the front lawn that day.
Charles sat in a chair, a blanket over his legs as he cheered Minnie
on. Cora chided Minnie for cheating and complimented Thomas
on his form. Arthur leaned in a shadow against the side of the house,
watching the front door.
He waited.
Sometime after Mrs. Johnson brought them lemonade, Alden
strode out, tipping his hat with an oily smile at Cora, then walking
toward town.
The second he disappeared around the bend, Arthur was
inside, headed for the guest wing. He leaned down in front of
Alden’s door, inserting the key.
It didn’t work.
“He wouldn’t have left his own key,” Thomas said behind
him, startling Arthur so badly he nearly fell over. “It would be too
obvious that he was the one who’d taken the girls’ key.”
“Yes, thank you,” Arthur hissed. He pulled out his picks and
slid them into the keyhole.
“How long will this take?”
“I didn’t invite you.” The tools caught, and with an expert
twist, Arthur was able to open the door.
“Can you teach me to do that?”
“No. Stand watch.” Arthur crept into the room. It was sterile,
perfectly clean, the bed with its creamy linens made up. The desk
by the window was bare, chair pushed in, nothing left out. He
opened the polished wood armoire. The bottom was lined with
five identical pairs of shined shoes, and hanging were several well-
tailored suits. He recognized the jacket from this morning and
quickly searched the pockets.
The key wasn’t there.
“Can you open this?”
Arthur turned to find Thomas crouched by the bed, a low
wooden chest half-pulled out. Biting back an angry question on
just what, exactly, Thomas thought standing watch meant, Arthur
stalked over and examined the box. The lock was old, complicated
but beautiful.
“It’ll take a minute.” His pick slid in, springs and catches felt
by instinct and memory. Thomas stopped hovering and darted
around the room, feeling under the pillow, behind the curtains,
under the desk.
After far too long, Arthur’s alarm growing every second, the
lock finally gave. He paused, the latch’s metal cool against his
fingers.
He really, really did not want to know what was in this box.
“Go on, then,” Thomas said, leaning over his shoulder.
Arthur lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled atop sheaves of paper, maps, and newspaper
articles, were three necklaces, each with a gleaming green scarab
beetle pendant.
Arthur closed his eyes. He’d known. Of course he’d known,
since he’d seen one at Mary’s house and discovered that Mary was
connected to Alden. But he’d still hoped that it was all a mistake.
Hoped that somehow this had nothing to do with his father’s
obsessions. Hoped that it really was about Thomas and Charles’s
money.
Hoped that there was still some way to stay.
“What does Ladon Vitae mean?” Thomas asked, pulling out a
stack of thick, hand-lettered papers. “That’s Latin, right? Vitae
means ‘life.’ But what’s Ladon?”
Arthur sat, shifting to the side, letting Thomas paw through
the chest. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. His voice
felt dead as it came out. “It was a dragon in Greek mythology.” He
had seen countless images of it, versions of the myth told to him as
bedtime stories.
But there are no stories here. Only nightmares.
“I can’t find the key . . . but this is all so strange. Drawings,
maps, lists —” Thomas paused. “Arthur, look.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Please.”
The fear in the other boy’s voice finally pulled Arthur’s eyes
up. He followed Thomas’s finger to where he pointed at the name
Edward Wolcott. Next to it was written: Blood debt. Sacrifice
required.
“That’s my father,” Thomas whispered. “What does it mean?”
“It means you should take your brother and run.”
“Why?” Thomas slipped the list into his pocket, then closed
the chest. The latch would need to be relocked, but Arthur couldn’t
find the strength to care.
He stood and drifted to the door, pausing without looking
back at Thomas. “Because if you don’t hide, you’ll die. You’ll
probably die, anyway.”
Arthur walked back out to the front lawn, where Minnie and
Cora laughed and played in the brilliant, safe sunshine.
Now all he had to do was figure out how to kidnap them both.
Florence, Italy
April, 1949
thirteen
T
HOM BURST INTO THE BEDROOM, STOPPING SHORT AT
THE SIGHT OF MINNIE PEERING INTO THEIR WINDOW.
She knocked. Charles’s expression was delighted as he
undid the latch and let the glass panes swing open on their hinges.
Thom, on the other hand, was annoyed. He needed to
speak with Charles right now, and not with her here. He’d gone
immediately to talk to Charles about what he’d found in
Alden’s room, only to be ambushed by Mrs. Humphrey and
regaled with tales of her various medical maladies. She seemed
to think because he was caring for his sick younger brother he
had an intense fascination with all the ways a body can break.
It was only by promising to play her favorite songs — Brahms,
horrid, boring Brahms — that evening that Thom was finally
able to break away.
And now Minnie was here.
“Won’t you come in?” Charles asked, as though it were per-
fectly normal for a girl to come knocking at a second-story
window.
“Of course not,” Minnie said, sitting down with her feet
hanging into the room, banging her stockinged heels against the
wall. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
Charles laughed, then tried to stifle a cough that rattled
through his chest like something had come unstuck in there. It
hurt Thom to hear it.
Minnie pretended not to notice the cough. “Cora has gone to
nap. Apparently whe
n she gets the summer off, she doesn’t know
what to do with herself besides sleep. And I’m not to bother you, as
she insisted Charles needed to be doing the same.”
“He does,” Thom said, trying to convey with an urgent
expression and a jerk of his head that his brother needed to tell
Minnie to leave.
Charles grinned, willfully ignoring him.
“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, Thomas,”
Minnie said.
Thom paced a few steps, nervous energy too big for the
room, then stopped and fixed his eyes on her. Well, if she was
here, she’d have to answer his questions. “Just what exactly do
you know about Arthur?”
Minnie narrowed her eyes suspiciously, shifting on the sill.
Then she sniffed as though bored. “He’s been with us a year.
He knew my father.”
It wasn’t like Minnie not to tell an elaborate story when given
the chance. Why was she hiding things? “Where did he live
before? Who is his family? Come on, you have to know more.”
that looked like pain. “We think — we think he might be our
half brother. From before Mother and Father married. Arthur
knew our father, said that he would find them wherever they
were living and bring them food and money. Anyway, it doesn’t
matter in the end. Arthur’s ours.” She sat up straighter, expres-
sion fierce. Thom glanced at Charles, wondering if he noticed
the way she was when she talked about Arthur. His brother
seemed calm, though.
“What’s this about, Thom?” Charles asked, sitting on the
edge of his bed and leaning against the wall.
Thom was torn. He wanted to protect Charles and keep any
of this troubling information from him. But at the same time,
how could Charles be safe if he didn’t know there was danger?
Throwing his hands up in surrender, he turned the desk chair
around and sat backward in it, resting his chin on its back.
“That man staying here — Alden? We broke into his room.”
Minnie jumped off the sill and came in, sitting next to
Charles and listening intently. Thom continued to fill them
in, culminating in the list he found with his father’s name
on it. “Obviously this group — Alden, that woman from New
York, and the witch — have some sort of sinister plan that
involves us.”
Charles frowned thoughtfully. “There was a man I thought
was watching us when we ran from the church. But he had a
beard. It definitely wasn’t Alden, and it certainly wasn’t the
woman you’ve described.”
Minnie was delighted, which annoyed Thom as it was entirely
the wrong reaction. “It could be a bigger conspiracy! But why did
you break into Alden’s room?” She tapped distractedly on her leg,
playing with something beneath the fabric of her dress.
“We — Arthur and I — caught him stealing the key to
your bedroom. We were trying to get it back.”
Minnie’s delighted expression turned sour and flat. “I’ll tell
my mother,” she said, standing, hand now clutching something
through her skirt. “She’ll throw him out.”
“There’s more.” Thomas’s tone drove her to sit back down.
“Arthur wouldn’t answer my questions, but this group calls
themselves the Ladon Vitae. And I think your friend knows all
about them.”
“Maybe he didn’t really know anything. Arthur never gives
straight answers.”
Thom cut her with a well-practiced look. “He said that
unless Charles and I run away right now, we’ll be killed. And
that we’ll probably be killed regardless.”
Minnie shrank back. “He might have been joking?”
“He wasn’t. Either he’s crazy, he’s involved with them, or he
has information I need to keep my brother safe.”
Minnie’s gaze darted to Charles and she softened. However
she felt about Arthur, Thom could tell she cared about his
brother, too.
“How can we get him to answer questions?” Charles asked,
his face paler than usual.
“You can’t,” Minnie answered. “Believe me.” She stood,
hands tugging on the front of her blouse, then walked to the
door. “Come on. My mother will know. It’s time I asked her for
the truth.”
“Will she tell us, too?” Thom asked. He doubted very much
that if Mrs. Johnson had kept Arthur’s past a secret from her
own daughters she’d be willing to release it for two new boarders.
Minnie rolled her eyes. “She won’t know you’re in the room,
dummy.”
After making tea and explaining that her mother would be
in the kitchen in precisely three minutes, Minnie shut both
boys in the pantry.
“I’m getting tired of this spot,” Thom muttered.
“Oh, hello, Minnie,” Mrs. Johnson said, right on time. “I
didn’t expect to find you in here. You girls haven’t been inside
much these days.”
“No need to get the tea. I made it for you.”
“Aren’t you sweet! Thank you.”
There was a creak as someone settled into a chair at the
small, worn kitchen table, so unlike the polished one in the din-
ing room.
“Mother, I need to know about Arthur.”
“I mean, I need to know about Arthur. We’ve never asked,
and you’ve never told us, and I’ve tried to be respectful of that.
But I need to know: Is he my brother?” Her voice cracked with
the emotional urgency of her question. Thom had to hand it to
her — Minnie was a superb actress.
Mrs. Johnson started laughing, and for reasons Thom
couldn’t fathom, Minnie burst into gasping tears.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry! But your brother? Whatever
gave you that idea?”
“He knew Father! And you said he was family!”
“Come here, Min. I’m sorry. I wish you had asked me
instead of assuming! I never talked about Arthur’s past because
it hurts me to think about, and I’m sure it hurts him, too. I’d
hoped with a new start here we could help him heal from so
much pain.”
“But he’s definitely not my brother,” Minnie said, hiccupping.
Charles shifted next to Thom, something restless in his
movements.
“No. His mother, Adelaide, was my best friend growing
up. Together with your father we were inseparable. But then
when we got older, and your father and I fell in love, Adelaide
was pushed to the side. Then a young man came to town — a
scholar — researching nonsense about ancient societies and con-
spiracies and evil. Adelaide was smitten with Josiah. He had an
attractive, tragic air about him. I tried to warn her that no stable
family could ever be built with such a strange, obsessive man, but
she wouldn’t hear it. In the end, your father and I didn’t stop her
from running off with him.” Mrs. Johnson sighed heavily. “Josiah
Liska was the death of her.”
“Wha
t happened?” Minnie asked, voice still heavy with
tears.
“They had a few good years. Traveling all the time, looking
at ‘sites’ that held clues, visiting libraries. She wrote of Josiah’s
work and how important it was. They had a baby — Arthur —
but still never settled down. Her letters became increasingly
erratic. Whatever Josiah thought he was discovering bled into
every aspect of their lives. They moved constantly. We’d go
months without hearing from her, and when we finally did, the
news was always disturbing. Finally, when Arthur was just a lit-
tle boy, Josiah disappeared. We begged Adelaide to come and
live with us, but she refused. She always insisted our town was
one of ‘the bad places.’ We sent her money, and your father
checked on her whenever he could.” Mrs. Johnson paused, and
there was a sniffle that Thom didn’t think was coming from
Minnie anymore. “Arthur came here when Adelaide killed her-
self. She wrote a letter to me, telling me that she couldn’t run
anymore, asking me to take care of Arthur. So you see, he is
family. And I won’t fail him the way I failed his mother.”
“What was she so scared of?”
“Scholarly nonsense. Josiah thought he’d discovered some
ancient secret society that was controlling things across the
world. Some silly Latin name — I can’t remember. He was a
very sick man, and he dragged Adelaide down with him. I
thank God that Arthur is free of it all.”
Charles caught his breath, and Thom put an arm around
his thin shoulders to steady him. Whatever else was real, Mrs.
Johnson was wrong about one thing: Arthur was not free of the
Ladon Vitae.
None of them were.
India
Early May, 1949
fourteen
C
HARLES WENT FOR A WALK. Thom was too angry, worry-
ing over what Arthur may or may not know, arguing with
Minnie.
It made Charles tired. Frankly, he didn’t care one whit
about conspiracies or threats to his life. He was already dying,
wasn’t he?
By the time he reached the end of the lane he was out of
breath, so he sat on the road and leaned back against a tree, the