“Freaks can be valuable friends,” Eureka said. “Look at us.”
Near the far wall of the room, a spiral staircase made of stone curved up, to a floor above, and down, to another floor below. But as they walked farther into the room, Eureka saw that the far wall was moving, that it was a waterfall cascading from an unseen source down white stone. The ceiling opened up and the floor dropped off and there was a gap of several feet between the edge of the ground and the waterfall. It made Eureka claustrophobic and she didn’t know why.
Just in front of the waterfall, a dark green slope-back leather chair stood atop a sleek fox-fur rug. A man sat in it, his back to them. He faced the waterfall, reading an ancient book and sipping something fizzy from a golden champagne flute.
“Hello?” Ander called.
The man in the chair was still.
Eureka stepped deeper into the room. “We’re looking for someone named Solon.”
The figure spun to face them, propping his elbows atop the studded back of the chair. He lifted his chin and surveyed his guests. He looked fifteen, but his expression had a serrated edge that told Eureka he was older. He wore suede moccasins and a maroon satin robe belted loosely at his waist.
“You’ve found him.” His voice held an absence of hope. “Let’s celebrate.”
Cat tilted her head toward Eureka and whispered, “Schwing.”
It hadn’t occurred to Eureka that the boy was hot—though, now that Cat mentioned it, he was. Very. His eyes were a pale, spellbinding blue. His close-cropped hair was blond with intriguing black and brown leopard-print spots. The slinkiness of his robe suggested they had stumbled into his boudoir.
The Solon she’d heard about defected from the Seedbearers seventy-five years ago. Was this boy pretending? Was the real Seedbearer somewhere hidden away?
“You’re Solon?” Eureka asked.
“Read ’em and weep.” He glanced at Eureka. “Not literally, please.”
They endured an awkward silence.
“Please don’t take this personally,” Solon said, “whatever that means, but I’ve been hoodwinked by those witches so many times that, before I welcome you into my salon, I require some proof of your quote-unquote identity.”
Eureka felt her empty pockets. She had no means of identifying herself, other than her tears. “You might have to take my word for it.”
“No, please keep that.” The boy’s blue eyes twinkled. “Do you see that flower at the top of the waterfall?”
He raised an index finger. Thirty feet above them, a vibrant fuchsia orchid grew out of the stone. It was stunning, undisturbed by the rushing water. It reminded Eureka of the gossipwitches’ caftans. At least fifty bright-lobed blooms clung to the orchid’s vine.
“I see it.”
“If you are who they say you are,” Solon said, “bring it to me.”
“Who are ‘they’?” Eureka asked.
“One vexed identity at a time. You first. The orchid …”
“Why should we believe you are who you say you are?” Cat asked. “You look like a freshman gamer too wimpy to carry my books.”
“What Cat means is,” Eureka said, “we were expecting someone older.”
“Age is in the eye of the beholder,” Solon said, and tipped his head toward Ander. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Ander looked paler than usual. “This is Solon.”
“Fine,” Cat said. “He’s Solon, Eureka’s Eureka, and the Cat’s the Cat, not that you’re interested. We’re thirsty, and I’d like to know if my family’s pushing clouds around or what. I take it you don’t have a phone?”
“The orchid,” Solon said. “Then we’ll talk.”
“This is ridiculous,” Cat said.
“She shouldn’t need to prove herself to you,” Ander said. “We’re here because—”
“I know why she’s here,” Solon said.
“If I bring you the orchid,” Eureka said, “you’ll help us?”
“I said we’ll talk,” Solon corrected. “You’ll find that I’m an excellent conversationalist. No one has ever complained.”