She’s suddenly unable to move even if she wanted to—a trigger has been pulled, and Poppy is falling, spiraling, whirling all the way back to a time she was Helen, and she’d come home from work, and Paz would be sitting in a dark room, drunk, awaiting her return. And she’d be too scared to speak, because any tiny thing she said would become an excuse for Paz to backhand her, knock her to the ground, kick her in the ribs, bruise her in all the places that wouldn’t show in public. Tears well into her eyes. Her lip begins to tremble.
“What do you want with me?” Her voice comes out weak, tiny.
“We need to talk,” he says.
She still can’t move. Her hand is still on the chain. Her brain still scrambles for ways to flee, but her body stops her dead.
“Look at me, Poppy.”
She struggles to turn slowly and face him.
He has a knife. It’s a flick-knife. He’s flipping it in his hand, and the blade glints as it catches the refracted light coming through the shades.
“How did you get in?” she asks.
“Roshaan helped me. Let’s just say she owes me.”
She stares at the blade.
“Are you ready to talk?” he asks.
Tears sheen down her cheeks, and she nods meekly.
“Okay, let’s go.” He surges to his feet, dwarfing even her spacious suite.
“Go where? I ... I thought you wanted to talk?”
“Not me. Lillith. She wants to talk. It’s time. Come—she’s waiting for you.”
Carter
The sun sinks low on the horizon and paints the ocean gold as theBlack Orchiddeparts Kusadasi and starts toward Santorini, where it will hold anchor during the night in the volcanic caldera. Early the next morning guests will be able to board tenders for shore.
Carter sees his grandfather through the window—the old man is out on the deck, leaning over the railing and sipping a drink as he watches the coast of Turkey fade into the distance.
Carter pulls open the slider and steps out onto the deck. He joins his gramps at the railing.
“Heya, son,” Gramps says in his big warm gruff voice that has always made Carter feel comfy, but doesn’t now.
“Hey,” Carter says as he leans over the railing next to him. He’s been thinking about stuff the whole time in Turkey while going through the ruins at Ephesus. He’s disappointed with the adults in his life—once idols and mentors who have now let him down. His mom. His dad. Gramps. Especially Gramps.
Carter feels a bit like Theseus today. Not that he emerged from the caves a hero. Rather, he feels he’s left something of an idealistic kid-hood behind in the darkness. Something has been stripped away, and in the harsh light he sees the adults in his life as very flawed human beings. It kinda hurts. It makes him feel a bit lonely. And vulnerable.
“Are you having a good time?” Gramps asks, not even looking at him. He seems distant, his gaze out to sea, and his thoughts even farther away on some invisible horizon.
“No,” Carter says bravely.
Gramps glances down at him. Carter’s stomach tightens, but he proceeds anyway.
“I—I know why you wanted to come on theBlack Orchidinstead of the Disney cruise.”
Gramps’s eyes narrow. He studies Carter for what seems a long time. Wind gusts and his silvery-gray hair blows across his brow.
“Tell me what you mean, son.”
He hesitates. Then he inhales deeply and says, “It’s Vincent. I know about Vincent Kapoor.”
Silence.
