That night, Ronan dreamt of his tattoo.
He had gotten the spreading, intricate tattoo only months before, a little to irritate Declan, a little to see if it was really as bad as everyone said, and definitely so everyone who glimpsed the hooks of it had fair warning. It was full of things from his head, beaks and claws and flowers and vines stuffed into screaming mouths.
It took him a long time to fall asleep that night, his thoughts crowded with the burning Mitsubishi, Gansey holding the Molotov cocktail, the enigmatic language on the puzzle box, the dark bags beneath Adam’s eyes.
And when he fell asleep, he dreamt of the tattoo. Ordinarily, Ronan only saw bits and pieces of it; he had not seen the full design since he’d gotten it. But tonight he saw the tattoo itself, from behind, as if he were outside of his own body, as if it were apart from his body. It was more complicated than he remembered. The road to the Barns was threaded through it, and Chainsaw peered out from a thicket of thorns. Adam was in the dream, too; he traced the tangled pattern of the ink with his finger. He said, “Scio quid hoc est.” As he traced it farther and farther down on the bare skin of Ronan’s back, Ronan himself disappeared entirely, and the tattoo got smaller and smaller. It was a Celtic knot the size of a wafer, and then Adam, who had become Kavinsky, said, “Scio quid estis vos.” He put the tattoo in his mouth and swallowed it.
Ronan woke with a start, ashamed and euphoric.
The euphoria wore off long before the shame did.
He was never sleeping again.
The next morning, Helen came in the helicopter for Gansey and Adam. As they took off, Adam leaned his head in his hands, his eyes glassily terrified, and Gansey, ordinarily a fan of flying, tried to be sympathetic. His head was a tumble of burning cars and ancient Camaro wheels and the deconstruction of everything Blue had said to him.
Below, he could still see Ronan where he lay on the roof of the BMW, watching them ascend. It felt ridiculous to leave Henrietta, the epicenter of the universe, for his parents’ house.
As they sailed up and over the roof of Monmouth, Gansey caught a last image of Ronan sarcastically blowing him a kiss before turning his head away.
The rest of the flight left no time for introspection, however. Helen handed Gansey her phone and spent the entire flight dictating texts to him through the headphones. It was impossible for Gansey to consider what they’d do about Cabeswater when Helen’s voice sounded directly in his head: Tell her the centerpieces are in the garage. The bay farthest away from the house. Of course not where the Adenauer’s parked! Do I look like an idiot? Don’t type that. What does she say now? The extra champagne flutes are being delivered by Chelsea. Tell her if the cheese isn’t in the fridge, I don’t know where it is. Don’t you have Beech’s cell phone? Of course I know what a vegan is! Tell her they have to use olive oil instead of butter. Because cows make butter and Italians make olive oil! Fine! Tell her I will pick her up some vegan hors d’oeuvres. Vegans vote, too! Don’t type that.
If Gansey hadn’t guessed the scope of the party, he would’ve gotten all the clues he needed during the flight. Of course, it wasn’t just the party this evening. There was also the tea party the next morning and the book club speech the day after that. Adam looked as if he might throw up. Gansey wanted badly to tell him that he would be all right, but there was no way to be confidential with the headsets on. Adam would’ve been mortified for Helen to know how nervous he was.
Just forty-five minutes later, Helen landed the helicopter at the airfield and transferred herself, her overnight bag, the boys, and their suit bags to her silver Audi.
Gansey felt vaguely shell-shocked to be back in northern Virginia. Like he’d never left. The sun seemed more unforgiving on the backs of all the clean, new cars, and the air through the vents smelled like exhaust and someone else’s cooking. Numerous archipelagos of stores thrust through seas of asphalt. It seemed like there were brake lights everywhere but nothing was actually motionless. Questing for hors d’oeuvres, Helen managed to find parking at the very back of the Whole Foods lot. She turned to face Gansey and Adam. “Do you want to come in and help me?”
They stared at her.
“What a royal shock. I’ll leave it running,” she said.
As soon as she’d shut the door, Gansey swiveled in the passenger seat to face Adam in the back, resting his cheek against the cool leather headrest. “How are you doing?”
Adam had melted across the length of the backseat. He said, “Praying I haven’t grown since last year.”
Gansey had gone with Adam to get fitted for a suit the winter before. He said, “I tried mine on before we left. I don’t think you’re any taller. It’s only been a few months.”
Adam closed his eyes.
“You’ll be okay.”
“Don’t talk to me about it. I can’t …” Adam slithered down even farther so that he lay on the seat and let his legs rest against the opposite door. “Talk about something else.”
“What else is there to talk about?”
Blue.
He didn’t say anything. Knock it off, Gansey.
Adam said, “Malory? Did he ever get back to you?”
He hadn’t. Gansey dialed Malory’s number. He heard the tinny, double ring of a UK number, and then Malory answered, “What?” He sounded confused that his phone had accepted a call. There was a tremendous amount of undefined background noise.
“It’s Gansey. Is this a bad time?”
“No, no, no. No, no.”
Putting the phone on speaker, Gansey slid it onto the dash. “Did you have any more thoughts by any chance? No? Well, we have a new problem.”
“What’s the trouble?”
He told him.
“Give me a moment to think,” Malory said. Commotion hummed on the line. A dreadful shriek rang out.
“What in the world is that noise?”
“Birds, Gansey, the king of birds.”
Gansey exchanged a look with Adam. “An eagle?”
“Don’t be blasphemous. Pigeons! It’s the regional today. I used to show them myself, you know. Don’t have the time these days, but I still love the look of a quality Voorburg Shield Cropper.”
Gansey said, “A pigeon show.”
“If you could see them, Gansey!” On his end of the line, a loudspeaker blared.
Adam’s mouth quirked. Gansey prompted, “The Voorburg Shield Croppers.”
“There is so much more on offer here,” Malory replied. “Much more than the Croppers.”
“Tell me what you are looking at right now.”
Malory smacked his lips — he was really the absolute worst human to speak to on the telephone — and considered. “I’m looking at, what does this seem to be? West of England Tumbler, I should think. Yes. Lovely example. You should see his muffs. Right next to him is a dreadful little Thuringen Field Pigeon. I’ve never had them but I’m quite certain they aren’t meant to have that hideous stallion neck. I have no idea what this one is. Let’s read the card. Anatolian Ringbeater. Of course. Oh, and here’s a German Beauty Homer.”
“Oh, those are my favorite,” Gansey said. “I am a fan of a good German Beauty Homer.”
“Gansey, don’t make light,” Malory said sternly. “Those things look like bloody puffins.”
Adam’s body shook in silent convulsions of laughter.