Despite our late night, Alec was the first to join Asha and me in the kitchen. His headphones were in, but when he saw us at the table, he turned off whatever he was listening to, draping the cord around his neck like an accessory. Everyone else trickled in over thecourse of several pots of coffee, until the only person still sleeping was Boomer. It took multiple wake-up attempts, a plate of Oliver’s scrambled eggs, and an offer to drive JJ’s car to get him out of bed. Once he was finally alive and moving, we said our good-byes to Alec’s friends and headed out within the hour.
From Safe House, the drive to Seattle took less than three hours. The closer we got to the city, the straighter I sat in my seat, watching the exit signs and landscape fly by. I tried to relax and listen to Alec’s music, but I was too anxious. Each mile we drove was another closer to finding my sister.
By the time we pulled off the highway, nerves were hula-hooping inside my stomach. The sun had come out in the early afternoon, streaking through the clouds to warm the day. When I glanced at Alec for a boost of confidence, I caught a glimpse of the shimmering inlet out the driver’s side window. The Space Needle towered ahead of us, its slender legs rising up to support the flying-saucer-esque observation deck. The design was a stark contrast to the remaining skyline, like it was stolen from a futuristic metropolis or a science fiction movie.
Under different circumstances, I’d have been embarrassed to admit I didn’t know much about the city besides that it was the birthplace of Starbucks and the setting for one of Asha’s favorite rom-coms,Sleepless in Seattle. But I wasn’t here to sightsee. I was here for Rose.
She had to be here. If she wasn’t…
No!I scolded myself.Don’t think that way.
After weaving our way through traffic, we arrived in Belltown, aneighborhood within walking distance of Pike Place Market. The metered parking lining the road was packed, and I thought we’d have to circle around the block a few times before we found an opening. But like a sign from above telling me we were on the right track, a Prius pulled out of a space directly in front of us. Alec turned on his blinker, claiming the spot. As he parked, I stared up at the building we’d driven so far to find. Like the rest of the street, which was comprised of bars, cafés, and expensive shopping, it was a business, not a residential address as I’d hoped, but I pushed my disappointment down and unbuckled my seat belt.
“Are you sure this is the correct place?” Asha asked from the backseat.
We all glanced to Alec for confirmation.
He reached for the scrap of paper Kelsey had given us to double-check the address. “Yeah, this is it.”
I turned back to the window.
The sign above the shop, which was painted a brilliant royal blue, was for Lost Marbles Art. Based on the window display, the gallery specialized in glass. There were colorful vases of various sizes, abstract sculptures that reminded me of sea creatures with spiraling tentacles, and a long row of hand-blown marbles, each one glittering like a gemstone.
“Kind of a ridiculous name, don’t you think?” Boomer asked, surveying the gallery with a critical eye.
“It’s quirky.”The kind of place Rose would love, I realized. “Come on, let’s go.”
Incense was burning strongly inside the gallery—somethingspicy, possibly cinnamon or ginger—and the smell hit me as soon as I opened the door. A Guns N’ Roses song raged softly from a radio next to the cash register. Not bothering to look around at the wares, I marched over to the boy behind the counter. He was about fourteen or so and completely absorbed in the manga spread out in front of him.
“Welcome to Lost Marbles Art. You’ll lose your marbles over our marbles,” he greeted without looking up. “My name’s Steven. How can I help you?”
“Um, hi. I’m looking for my sister, Rose. I think she might be an employee here or a friend of the owner, and I—”
Steven’s eyes didn’t leave the glossy pages of his comic. “Sorry,” he said, not making an effort to hear me out. “Don’t know her.”
The quick answer made my throat tight, but I wasn’t giving up yet. “Her name isRose Lyon,” I started again, as if stressing her name would help. “Maybe she’s a frequent customer or possibly—”
“Nope, sorry. No Rose here.”
Dread’s sharp claws sank into my heart and twisted, but I forced a deep breath into my lungs and tried to stay calm. “Are you sure? This gallery is her forwarding address.”
Steven heaved a long sigh, as if answering my questions was an inconvenience. “Hundred percent,” he said and turned the page.
The muscles in my face twitched. I wanted to reach over the counter, grab the kid by his collar, and shake him until he spouted answers, but Asha gently grabbed my elbow, her fingers cool on my hot skin, and steered me out of the way. When she turned to Steven, the sympathetic look on her face switched to a menacing scowl.
“Look here, you little shit,” she said, jabbing a finger at him. “We drove all the way here from LA looking for hermissingsister, so the least you can do is look up from your stupid anime and help us.”
Lips pursing, he shut the comic with one fluid snap of his wrist.Shadow Days.The girl on the front had comically large breasts and a flaming sword held high over her head.
“Sorry ’bout your sister,” he replied and casually flicked his bangs out of his eyes. “But like Ialreadyexplained, I don’t know a Rose. My parents own the gallery, and the only other employees are my cousins, okay?”
My eyes watered. After everything that had happened since I found the letters, after how far we’d come, I wasn’t going to give up now.
“Maybe if you saw her,” I suggested, reaching inside my bag. I didn’t have a recent photograph of Rose, but I was certain there was an old wallet-size print of her senior picture in the pocket of my bag. For the first few months after she ran away, I’d carried it around and showed it to strangers, asking if they’d seen my sister.
“I know it’s in here somewhere…” I dug around blindly until my fingers skimmed a thick square of paper that was worn around the edges after four years of being buried in my bag. “Aha!” I exclaimed, yanking the picture out triumphantly. A few crumbs stuck to the glossy surface, and I brushed them away.
I turned to Steven, and as I did, something caught my attention at the edge of my vision. A line of paper hearts strung on a piece of twine. They framed the back wall of the room, draped in swags like party streamers. I hadn’t recognized them right away becausethey were made out of origami paper, vivid and embellished with flowering patterns, and Rose never used to waste money on the real stuff. Receipts and notebook paper worked fine for her.
