“You’re lying,” I say, kneeling beside him. “You don’t think it’s interesting.”
“I think you’re interesting.”
I pull him closer to me by his vest. His poison vials jingle. In my head, the knocking on the Trunks of the illusions grows louder. My head aches, but I ignore it. “You’re making it difficult to concentrate,” I say, kissing him again.
“Let me know when you want to stop, then,” he says, his lips moving to my neck.
“Are we moving too fast?” I ask suddenly.
The knocking sharpens.
His fingers trace their way down my back. “Maybe. This is all rather new territory.” When I begin to pull away, he adds, “But I’m all right with exploring for a few more minutes.”
He reaches up and unties the back of my mask and slips it off. While I frequently remove my mask around my family, this feels more intimate than if he lifted off my shirt. He presses our foreheads together, and we’re both warm and sweating in the September heat.
I slip his vest off his shoulders and inch myself closer to him. There seems to be no space left between us.
My head pounds harder, and I wince.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“It’s difficult to concentrate while we’re doing this,” I say.
“Do you want to stop?”
“No, but we probably should.” I collapse next to him and adjust myself so that my head rests against his chest. I can hear the rapidthump thump thumpof his heart.
“You’re not going to fall asleep, are you? Lying like that?” he asks.
As much as I’d like to continue lying against his chest, he’s right. It’s entirely too comfortable, and I’d drift off in minutes. The Trunks would fly open. I sit up and push my hair out of my face. “You’re right.”
“There are about ten hours until the Freak Show,” he says. “Another six before people are up and moving about. So we have time for some ofmyquestions.”
“You have questions for me? I thought you already knew everything about me.”
“I’m deeply, passionately curious,” he says, smiling in a way that tells me he’s lying, “about your bug collection. And I’d love for you to go through each one and tell me all about them.”
I rub my aching forehead and laugh. “I thought you’d never ask.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
We survive the first night in Gentoa. The following afternoon, Nicoleta and I walk to the Downhill together. We’re mostly silent until we pass the twin obelisks. I’m exhausted, and a little loopy from it. I munch on kettle corn for the much-needed sugar.
Nicoleta keeps her head high and her walk brisk. A slight smile plays at the corner of her lips. If I didn’t know Nicoleta better, I’d say she was excited. I’ve forgotten about her wild side over the past year.
Gentoa is a coastal city, with long stretches of white, rocky beaches and salt winds that tussle my hair. It’s beautiful. Even the weather is perfection, I realize, as we pass through Gomorrah’s smoke into clean air and blue skies.
One hundred yards behind Gomorrah, a single tent is situated on the dunes.
“Why don’t you want Villiam to know that you’re working with Luca?” Nicoleta asks. “I don’t think it’s wise to keep that from him. It seems awfully suspicious. I can’t see him being an overly protective father type.”
“It’s not about that,” I say. “I was going to tell him, but then I decided I was just going to tell Luca to call it quits, so I kept quiet. Then Luca and I kept working together. Then I found out how much Villiam and Chimal distrust people who weren’t born in Gomorrah.” That came out as a mess. The whole situation is a mess.
“I just don’t want to make him angry,” I finish.
“What are you doing with Luca that’s different from your investigation with Villiam?”
“Luca believes the killer is within Gomorrah. Not related to the Alliance.”
