Chapter 27

Holding a lit torch, Van wore a familiar pair of leather boots, a tool belt strapped around his waist, and an ill-fitting graphic T-shirt that said From Naples with Love.

Van was here. Van was here?

A lick of hot embarrassment lashed up Margot’s neck—of all the ways she thought they’d find each other again, sprawled out on the floor of the necropolis hadn’t topped the list. Margot was fairly certain she wasn’t concussed, which meant Van probably wasn’t a hallucination, but his sudden appearance stunned her into such complete shock that she almost forgot she had a face full of dirt and absolutely no dignity left. You know, almost.

The way he stood, posture rigid and eyes narrowed, Margot knew he was on guard.

Behind her, Enzo asked, “A little help, per favore?”

Margot lifted her eyes toward Van, letting her gaze turn sharp. Were they . . . working together?

In response, Van tilted his head, almost imperceptibly. Not a nod, a gesture. His hand slipped into his pocket, retrieving the shard from the trial of Terra. His grip on it tightened—protective, almost.

Maybe, Margot thought with a jab of discomfort, he’d planned on turning Enzo to stone instead of me.

Only Enzo wasn’t talking to Van.

Astrid emerged from the shadows, her gold-plated shovel in one hand and her backpack strapped over her shoulders. “Why would I help you?” she asked Enzo. “You couldn’t even handle one puny trial.”

Clearly Margot was missing something. Astrid knew Enzo?

It clicked, then. Astrid staying out past curfew. The blue eye shadow debacle. The coffee mug pieces at the bottom of Margot’s stolen backpack. Astrid had been sneaking around with Enzo all week. He must have asked to use the coffee mug shards as a decoy—heck, she’d probably handed them to him herself.

“Astrid,” Margot groaned, “you’ve got horrible taste in secret admirers.”

“Who do you think you are, my fairy godmother?” Astrid laughed, thin and airy. She waved her shovel like a magic wand. “I didn’t come here for love advice, genius.”

The movement raised a red flag in Margot’s brain. Her eyes darted to the compass around Van’s neck, and her chest squeezed tighter, making it harder to breathe. The emblem on Van’s compass was the same as the one on Enzo’s hoodie, but they both matched the engraving on Astrid’s gold-plated shovel. She could just make out the outline of it in the flickering orange of Van’s torch—an off-kilter globe wrapped in a satin ribbon.

The Atlas Exploration Company logo. That was where she’d seen it before.

A wave of nausea crashed over Margot. She prayed she didn’t already know the answer to the question she needed to ask. “Van, what did you say Atlas’s last name was?”

His lips flattened. “I didn’t.”

“And if you had?”

Van wasn’t the one to answer.

“He would have said Ashby.” Astrid beamed like she was in a toothpaste commercial. She produced a linen pouch from her backpack. The contents of it clinked together—clay against clay. The other shards. Astrid had them. “Atlas Oswald Ashby. My great-grandfather.”

A breath rushed out of Margot as if she’d taken a fist to the breastbone. It was a setup. She should have seen the web they’d been weaving a hundred miles away. Should have realized that Astrid had known the inscription on the Vase before it was even complete. Should have noticed Astrid’s resemblance to Atlas in the photo of him and Van—she’d been so enamored with Van that she’d hardly given Atlas a second thought.

But she saw it now. Astrid’s white-blonde hair, her slender features, even the pompous way she carried herself, like the Vase was her birthright—of course she felt like that. She’d crafted her own plan to get what she believed was rightfully hers. Exactly like an Ashby would.

Margot steadied herself against an outcropping, but then realized her hand was fully resting on someone’s cranium. She shook the feeling of skull out of her fingers and swallowed down a tide of bile. This was all too much. With a temper white-hot, Margot refocused on Astrid, saying, “I helped you get ready for a date, and you were just . . .”

“Gathering intel before rendezvousing about the shards?” Astrid said, all too happily finishing Margot’s thought. She weighed the pottery in her palm, and Margot imagined what it would look like when they’d slotted together on the altar, a gold seam welding the pieces together in a perfect fit. “Yeah, you’ll get over it. Because the Vase is my legacy, not yours. You should have heard the stories I was told growing up. About how Van Keane cheated my family out of what is rightfully ours. My great-grandfather put Pompeii on the map. Funded every dig. Was the only reason Van ever even made it here. And somehow everyone remembers Van instead, when he couldn’t even turn to stone at the right time.”

“At the right—he knew?” Margot cut in, a chill creeping over her. Atlas had planned to sacrifice Van?

“Of course he knew!” Astrid said, breaking off to laugh. “Ashbys actually do the real hard work. Translating, researching. Realizing he needed a sacrifice. Always said Van was perfect for the job. Strong arms and a hard head. Marble must have suited him.”

Margot gasped, her eyes burning. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“He’s the one with the heart of stone—with or without some curse. He’s a thief, a cheat, a nobody who faked his way here. He’s—”

“Standing right here,” Van said, irritation coating each word.

Astrid disregarded the peanut gallery. “And then he stole our family legacy. Well, now he’s going to make it up to me by getting me the treasure and getting rid of you.”

Margot had been completely taken advantage of and she hadn’t even realized. She’d tried to extend an olive branch—tried to make Astrid like her, tried to win her approval. It never mattered. Astrid was as conniving and manipulative as her ancestor. She’d been pulling Enzo’s marionette strings the whole time, just so that they could end up right here.

“Funny,” Astrid mused. “I had planned to sacrifice Enzo, so you have Van to thank—it was his idea to send you that letter.” She smirked when Margot flinched like she’d been backhanded. “He told me you’d come running, and he wasn’t wrong. It was going to be such a hassle otherwise.”

Margot turned to Van—Van, who needed to be where the Vase was. Instead of searching aimlessly for Enzo, he’d gone straight to the puppet master, not caring that Margot was the one who got tangled in her strings.

“How could you?” Margot asked Van. Fury coiled in her lungs, a viper in a basket, ready to strike.

“You can have your lover’s spat later,” Astrid said. She paced the alcove’s archway, blocking Margot’s exit. “Let’s go.”

“What about me?” Enzo balked. Without the shards close enough to reanimate him, Charon didn’t seem inclined to let him go . . . ever.

Astrid pinched the bridge of her nose. “After you botched your one job? I don’t think so.”

“Someone still has to turn to stone,” Margot argued.

Enzo blanched. “Never mind. I’m good.”

Margot’s mouth opened to retaliate, but Astrid held up a shushing finger. “Van, it’s time to take me to the temple,” she said.

The muscle of his jaw twinged, teeth clenching.

“Oh, my god,” Margot said. “You’re seriously going to help her.”

“I don’t have a choice.” Each word was serrated. He shook his head, a statement in a single movement, and Margot’s heart sank like a skipping stone after its last splash.

Astrid’s smug smile returned. “No, he doesn’t. I know I was right about the inscription—Aureus, amor aeternus et cor lapideum. Golden, eternal love with a heart of stone. But you finally figured that out, didn’t you?”

Margot glanced toward Van, toward the death grip he had on his single shard. One piece of the Vase would keep him from succumbing to the curse. He could run, right now, and never look back.

For a fraction of a second, she let herself imagine what it might have been like—walking out of the ruins together, him cramming into the seat next to her on the gazillion-hour flight back to Georgia and carrying her suitcases up the front porch steps: coming home with her, fitting into her life like a long-missing piece.

As long as he had that sliver of clay, he could be there with her, anywhere. Whole and human and hers. But the curse Venus placed on the Vase wouldn’t just evaporate. They’d be haunted by it. Always triple-checking, worried that someday she’d look over her shoulder and he’d be stone. If they re-formed the Vase in the temple, maybe he could break the curse for good.

And even if they didn’t, even if another Ashby turned him to stone in search of treasure, even if he literally had a chance to do it all over again, Margot knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Walking away wasn’t an option for him.

With a grimace, Van said, “Follow me.”

Margot had given up on him once before. She wouldn’t do it again. Dr. Hunt was right: she had to finish what she started.

“If you’re really going to do this, then I’m coming, too,” Margot said.

Van, not Astrid, objected. “No, you aren’t. It’s too dangerous.”

It was cute, the way he was trying to be protective. Cute and useless. He’d forfeited his right to cuteness the minute he started working with Astrid.

This was like one of the trials, a puzzle she could solve. Astrid’s white-knuckle clutch on the linen bag holding the first three shards wasn’t going to loosen, so coaxing her into the temple was the only way to take them from her. Still, negotiating with Astrid felt like striking a deal with the very blonde devil.

“I’ve got the last shard,” Margot said. “And I’m coming with it.”

Astrid tugged her eyebrows in tightly as she thought. Then, she yanked open her linen bag and said, “Only if you hand it over. Now.” She glanced between Margot and Van. “Both of you.”

“What?” Van croaked. If anything, his grip on the shard tightened.

“I’m not letting you sabotage my plan any more than you already have.” Astrid shook the bag, the clay shards jangling inside. “So, either give me your shards, or I’ll release Enzo and let Charon add you to his collection.”

Enzo whimpered behind them, “Can’t you let me out anyway?”

All it had taken was a tube of Mac lipstick to outwit Enzo, but Margot had no intention of saying that part out loud. What she needed was all five shards in one place, and if handing them over to Astrid was the only way to do it, it was a risk she was willing to take.

Margot dropped her shard in first, trying to ignore the way Van watched her every move. The way it made her skin feel electrified. Astrid held the open pouch to him. Waiting. His shoulders sagged with a sigh. Reluctant fingers released his shard, and it clanged down with the rest.

Astrid rolled her eyes. “I hate group projects. Let’s just get this over with.”

She turned to exit, and Margot moved to follow, vaguely wondering if Van was right about it being dangerous—with all five shards in the temple, would the guardians have a heyday? Not to mention, there was that whole risk of her classmate trying to turn her to stone.

“Margot, wait. Wait.” Van caught her by the arm, holding her back as Astrid raced ahead. “Fraternizing with an Ashby? Not a good idea. Trust me.”

She spun to meet his chest. “Me? What about you?”

His jaw tightened. “I’m only doing what I have to. You know that.”

Margot ground her heels, staking herself to the spot. “If you’re going with her, so am I. Don’t try to tell me to stay behind because it’s not going to convince me. We’re partners, and partners don’t give up on each other.”

Fear flashed through Van’s gaze. She knew it was a Herculean task for him. Trust was a language Van hadn’t spoken in a long time.

A hand swiped through his hair as his stare drilled into her. “I can’t let you do that.”

“You don’t get to choose for me,” she said.

During their staring match, a million unspoken things were said. Things like I give up on a lot of things, but I won’t give up on you (her) and You’re the most unbelievably troubling girl I’ve ever met (him).

Finally, a gauzy look glazed his eyes. Pliable and yielding. His grip on her arm loosened. “Okay. Okay, fine.” Van’s hand found hers, their fingers slotting together whether it was a good idea or not. “Honestly, I don’t know why I was surprised to find you here.”

For once, Margot was grateful to the catacombs for hiding the way she flushed beneath his touch. To be seen and known, she was still getting used to it. “I read your letter. The one that Astrid delivered. Was any of it even true? Or did you just lure me down here as bait?”

“Both.” He stepped closer, voice dropping. “You were right. I lied to you, and I shouldn’t have. I should have told you about the curse, about Astrid, about everything that night on the roof. I needed Astrid to believe I was only writing it as a trap so she could turn you into the statue, but every word I wrote was true, Margot. It was selfish to put you in harm’s way, but I needed you to know how I felt. In case everything went wrong.”

Margot breathed out through her nose. At the memory of his neat penmanship, a whirlpool of emotions swirled through her mind, a current she couldn’t fight and didn’t want to. The dark made her braver. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have left you.”

Van tilted her chin up. “But you came back. A part of me really hoped you wouldn’t. That you’d be a thousand miles away from here, away from all this. Safe. But then when I saw you . . .”

His thumb traced the plum of her cheek. Oh, my god. Was Van Keane going to kiss her?

Trying to hold back what she felt was pointless. There was more nervous adrenaline pumping through her veins now than at any of the previous trials. She felt everything at once. Wildfire and a whiff of smoke, something both scorching and smoldering, so bright it might burn her up.

His fingers curled around the back of her neck, and he tipped his forehead to meet hers. Everything smelled like salt and cypress, sandalwood and cinders. Orange light danced around them, flickering and flaring. This. This was what the romance novels had, what Isla and Reed must have felt deep in the ruins, what Margot had been dreaming of—

Astrid cleared her throat ahead of them. “Enough with the PDA,” she said. “I’ve got history to make.”