“Calliope isn’t my real name,” she said softly, so quietly that Avery had to lean forward to hear it beneath the drunken hum of the party. “It’s Beth.”
Avery’s rage seemed to falter, as if that tiny grain of truth had momentarily stilled it. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Beth,” she said, which was an odd thing to say. Then fireworks erupted overhead, breaking the temporary spell. “Whoever you are, I don’t care. You need to be gone before we get back to New York. If I ever see you in the Tower again, there will be hell to pay. Do you understand?”
Calliope clenched her jaw and stared unblinking at Avery. A flash of the old defiance scorched through her. “Trust me, you’ve made yourself clear,” she snapped, and Avery stormed off.
And so it was ending, yet again. Calliope allowed herself a few minutes of melancholy—of gazing out at the water, wishing things were different, that she’d played her cards with better skill. Then she turned with a defeated sigh and started back toward the party.
She intended to enjoy the rest of the night. Not with Atlas, since Avery would surely be watching him, but with anyone, or even alone; it didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. Tomorrow morning she would tell her mom the truth, and they would have to skip town as quickly and silently as possible.
Calliope wasn’t particularly worried about the details. They’d fled many places in their day, and under worse circumstances than this; she knew they would get out all right. But after her mom’s announcement, she’d allowed herself to hope that this time might actually be different. Now she felt strangely adrift, as if she’d been offered something bright and wonderful, only to have it snatched away.
At the thought of going to another city—doing recon work and starting another con and stealing from another trusting, hapless person—her entire body ached. She felt tired, and saddened, and alone.
For a moment she thought she heard a sound from far off, as if someone had cried out, echoing the mournful wail of Calliope’s own heart. But when she listened again, it wasn’t there.
She turned slowly, the elegant fishtail of her gown swishing out behind her. For one last night she was going to be Calliope Brown, consequences be damned.
WATT
WATT’S ARMS CLOSED around Leda from behind. “Where’d you disappear to?” he murmured into her hair, which smelled of dusty roses, a smell he’d grown quite accustomed to these past few weeks.
“I was off meddling,” Leda said mischievously.
“Were you?” Watt released his arms to spin her around. She looked radiant, her face lit up from within, her whole being almost floating off the terrace where they stood.
“I’m trying to get Rylin back with Cord. It might take a while, though. They’re both being a little stubborn.”
“A few months ago, you were threatening Rylin, and now you’ve gone all Emma Woodhouse on her?” Watt was amused.
Leda tilted her head at him. “Am I mistaken, or did you just make a Jane Austen reference? Will wonders never cease.”
“Hey, I can read!” Watt protested, though in truth, Nadia had fed him that line. He decided to change the subject. “Anyway, what makes you think you should be the one to decide whether Cord and Rylin are together?”
“Because I know best,” Leda declared, as if it were self-evident.
“Because you enjoy playing puppeteer with other people’s lives.”
“Oh, please. Like you don’t.”
“Just because I could spend all my time spying on other people doesn’t mean that I choose to do it. I usually end up offloading my surveillance on Nadia. You’d be surprised how boring it can be.”
“Except for spying on me, of course,” Leda quipped.
“Right, of course.” Watt stifled a grin.
Nadia prompted him toward a garden on the far side of the terrace. It looked nice, so Watt took Leda’s hand and led her there, down a pathway lined with trees and enormous flowering blossoms.
Bring up Eris, Nadia urged him. Now is the right time.
Not right now, Nadia. Okay?
This is your chance, Nadia insisted. Don’t you want to be free of Leda?
Leda gave him a squeeze, her hand still clasped firmly in his, and Watt was no longer sure of anything.
He glanced at Leda, taking in her elegant profile, the impulsive way she moved in her flowing white dress, everything about her—her eyes, her hands, her mouth—softened in the dimness. He thought of all the different sides of Leda he’d come to know. Her ruthless, fierce determination; her aching vulnerabilities; her nightmares; her incredible brilliance. The one thing Leda Cole wasn’t, he thought, was uncertain.
“You really do think you always know best, don’t you?” he mused.
“I know I do,” she countered.
“Well, then. If you know best, what should I be doing differently?” He’d framed the question as a joke, but suddenly, he was curious to know.
“Where do I begin? For starters, you could get rid of that terrible Nerd Nation T-shirt you always wear.”
“I won that T-shirt in a science fair—” Watt began, but Leda was talking over him, ignoring the protest—
“You could pay a little more attention to your family.” A new seriousness settled over her small, passionate face. “They really care about you, Watt. I can tell. And unlike mine, they would never lie to you.”
That last comment made him inexplicably sad, but before he could press on it, Leda had shaken it off. Watt decided to let the moment pass.
“As for right now, you could start by kissing me,” she concluded.
There was no disobeying a direct order.
Finally, they pulled away and turned deeper into the garden. Everything was silent. It felt to Watt like they were the only two people in the world. Leda seemed content not to say anything, just to tip her face up to the sky and breathe slowly.
“I lied,” she said suddenly, and her voice was very small. Watt looked at her in confusion. “I don’t always know best. Especially for myself. There are so many things I should have done differently.”
“Leda, we’ve all made mistakes,” Watt began.
She retreated a step, shaking her head. Watt realized that his hand felt cold without hers in it. He was shocked to see small tears gathering thickly in her lashes, sliding down her cheeks.
“You saw what I did, Watt. You know my mistakes are worst of all. I just wish …”
Here it is, Nadia said eagerly, as Watt pulled Leda close, folding her into his arms. He felt oddly nervous, and at the same time relieved that Leda was finally talking about that night, after all this time.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, running his hand lightly over her back. “It’ll be okay, don’t worry.”
“I didn’t mean to. You know that,” Leda said, so quietly that he couldn’t be sure what he’d heard. His heart skipped a beat.
Make her clarify, Nadia urged. This isn’t enough for evidence. Make her say the whole sentence.