“I certainly hope not,” Lavinia says. “He’s no dummy, though. He left me that nice message, so he suspects I know where you are. It might take him some time to realize I’ve gone and trace us here, however.” She nods to Linus. “There’s another box in the backseat of my car. Bring it in and pour me a scotch, won’t you?”
Linus slants a look at me, and then steps out.
Burnham is facing out the window, though it’s so dark now I doubt he can see the water. He’s wearing a brown, button-down shirt, and a brace over his jeans encases his knee like a mini cage. His left wrist is tightly curled, as before, and his dark skin gleams gray in the cool light of the lamp. He’s wearing his grandfather’s watch, and I can just make out the glint of his St. Christopher medal beneath his shirt. When he turns, resting back against the windowsill, his black-rimmed glasses briefly reflect a glare, and there’s a new, hard stubbornness about his jaw.
In the next room, the front door audibly opens and closes.
A short laugh escapes me. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”
“Where else would I be?” Burnham says.
“In Atlanta? In your bed?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” he says.
From someone else, it might be a joke, but I suspect he’s speaking the truth.
“What happened to your cheek?” he asks me.
I’d practically forgotten my bruise, but I touch the tender skin now. “One of the doctors hit me down in the vault. I’m okay now.”
He goes on staring, like he’s doubtful I’m all right. His concern makes me tense.
“Do your parents know you’re out here?” I ask.
He smiles for real. “I can’t just take my parents’ plane without asking. I told them I was coming out for Comic Con.”
“Is that going on?” I ask.
“It is. In L.A.”
That’s convenient for an excuse. Still, I wish he didn’t have to lie to his parents for my sake.
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask Burnham.
“I asked Thea,” Burnham says. “She gave me Lavinia’s address.”
“She didn’t mention that to me,” I say.
He tilts his face. “She only told me yesterday. I’ve been trying to reach you, but you never got back to me, so I was worried.”
Faintly, a car door slams. I glance at Lavinia, who’s watching me and Burnham with interest.
“Don’t mind me,” she says.
“No,” I say, feeling my cheeks get warm. “There’s nothing—Burnham and I are just friends.”
Burnham’s smile turns faintly ironic.
“Mm-hmm,” Lavinia says.
I let out an awkward laugh and glare at him.
“How’s your sister?” Burnham says.
“She’s okay, I think, for now,” I say, wishing I could stop blushing. What is wrong with me?
The front door quietly opens and closes again.
“How’s your family?” I ask.
“They’re good,” Burnham says. “They’re all good.”
Linus enters with a short, empty glass and a bottle of scotch.
“You brought a supply,” he says to Lavinia. “Plan on staying a while?” He uncorks the bottle with a sucking sound, and then pours her an inch of the amber liquid.
“Looks like it,” she says, taking the glass. “My place on Mallorca is surrounded by cameras. I can shoot them out, but Berg will only send someone to put up more. It’s time for a vacation.” She tosses back her scotch and signals to Linus to pour her another.
He does. Then he sets the bottle on her nightstand and leans his shoulders back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. His gaze turns expectantly to me. In fact, they’re all looking at me. The heat in my cheeks returns full force.
“Isn’t this all cozy?” Lavinia says.
Cozy isn’t what I’d call it.
“We were starting to worry you wouldn’t come back,” I say to Lavinia.
“We had to wait for Tiny. She was skittish,” Lavinia says. “But that allowed us to have a nice cup of tea, didn’t it, Burnham?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and then turns to me. “Lavinia wasn’t home when I first arrived at her place. So I watched until she came back, and then I followed her in.”
“Scared me nearly to death,” Lavinia says. “There I was with my umbrella trying to work my key, and this big black stranger approached me unannounced on my own doorstep. Not that I’m racist, but goodness, you scared me.”
“We got over it,” Burnham says.
“Yes, we did,” she says. “It took me a second to recognize him from the show, and then we had our tea. After that, we just had to wait for Tiny, our own little Godot. Though not exactly Godot, because eventually she came.”
I don’t follow her reference, but I can picture the two of them in her kitchen, drinking tea, with Lavinia politely grilling him for information and Burnham pulling out his Southern manners.
“You said there were cameras on your place. Do you think you were followed here?” Linus asks.
Lavinia and Burnham look at each other.
“Tell them,” she says.
“Lavinia has a secret passage into the house next door,” Burnham says. “And the house after that. We waited until her cat came back, and then we left three doors down. I don’t think we were seen.”
I’m impressed with Lavinia. She seems like she’s prepared for almost anything.
“Now we just have to plan out our next move,” Lavinia says.
They all look my way again, and a tingle of nervous energy stirs in my gut. Lavinia’s smile is weary, but her eyes are alight. Burnham still leans against the windowsill to my right, and his stubborn look is conspicuous again. On the other side of the bed, against the wall, Linus is frowning thoughtfully at me, his gaze inscrutable. They’re all forceful in their own way, and together, they give me real hope. The wind buffets a blast around the little cottage on stilts, and I can feel the walls vibrate as they withstand the squall.
“This is about more than my parents, isn’t it?” I say.
22
NEGATIVE SPACE
FOR A LONG MOMENT, nobody replies. Burnham will never be the same since his fall, and he doesn’t blame me for that. He blames Berg. Linus has been living with a spy in his eye, and that’s Berg’s fault, too. I glance at Lavinia, whose contempt for Berg goes back decades. But beyond revenge, there are larger issues of justice involved.
“I’d like to get a look at that vault,” Burnham says.
“For Fister?” Linus asks.
Burnham can have a subtle, superior air about him sometimes, and it shows now as he turns to face Linus. “For myself,” Burnham says.
Yet Linus’s question was astute. Even as far back as when we were at Forge, I know Burnham was trying to find out what was going on at night when we were asleep. He’s always been concerned about a potential link between the dreamers and his family’s business. I can’t forget about his reaction when he heard about me and Thea, too.
“You made a promise,” I remind Burnham.
“I know. I’m keeping it,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean I’m parking my own curiosity.”