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She laughed. “You did not.”
“No,” I admitted. “But I thought about it.” I hugged her again. “So you have a room here?”
“Well, sort of,” she said, and for the first time since seeing her, she looked anxious. “I arrived and told the kind gentleman at the front desk that I was family, and waiting for you to arrive. He put me in your room—in your parents’ room, I suppose. Do you mind?”
I shook my head.
Elvira sagged against me in relief. “Oh, I’m so glad. I worried that it would have bothered you.” She linked her arm through mine. “Well, come upstairs. I have something I think you need to see.”
“What is it?”
She bit her lip. “A letter from your papá.”
CAPÍTULO TREINTA Y UNO
Elvira had her own brass key, and she used it to open the door. I stepped through, half-anxious to read the letter, and half-terrified. These words would be my father’s last to me. They would wreck me, no matter what they were. My cousin seemed to sense my inner turmoil because she quietly and efficiently lit the candles about the room, leaving everything touched in a soft, golden glow.
She opened the door to my parents’ former room and I gasped. Elvira had organized the entire suite; no longer were my parents’ things strewn everywhere. Their luggage was stacked side by side on the sofa, all of their clothes folded neatly. Their journals and letters were stacked atop each other on the coffee table. She had made up the bed in their room, and had put piles of various things on the bedspread in like categories.
My cousin watched me, wringing her hands. “I wanted to be helpful.”
It was far more than I had done.
“Elvira,” I breathed, overcome. “Gracias.”
She daintily sat down on one of the chairs facing the sofa and smiled in relief. Then she reached forward and plucked the top letter off the pile, and held it out to me. I sat in the armchair next to hers, eyeing it warily, and then I took it out of her hands.
“It’s dated from July.” She hesitated. “Would you like to be alone?”
I considered her question, but her presence felt familiar, like a return voyage home. “No, gracias.”
With a deep inhale, I opened the envelope and pulled out the note and began to read.
My darling girl,
If you’ve found this letter, then you are more my daughter than I could have ever dreamed, and I need you to know how incredibly proud I am of you. By now, you must have discovered your mother’s deception. If you have not, I beg you to keep asking questions, keep searching for the truth. Your curiosity and stubbornness will assist you on your quest.
Your mother is many awful things, but worst of all, she is disloyal. Please take care that she never lures you into her trap, like she did to me. I pray that you are smarter than me in that regard.
Lourdes and I have reached our inevitable end. I wish I would have seen what she was earlier. Perhaps we both could have been spared. But now I must protect everything I hold dear from her vile hands. Which is one of the reasons I sent you the golden ring, querida. Because of it, I was able to make a discovery on Philae that I’ve tried to keep from everyone else—especially your mother. But I might have failed. Finding people to trust has been supremely difficult, thanks to your mother.
I must end this letter, but I beg you to do one more thing for me.
Please, never stop looking for me.
Your loving papá
Here, the letter ended abruptly, my father’s handwriting cutting off in a discordant loop. It was that final squiggle that terrified me the most.
“Where did you see this?”
“It was sealed and tucked in with the rest of their correspondence. It must have gotten mixed up with everything else and was never sent out. Or he might have forgotten to add it to one of his packages he sent to you? I know he was terribly absent-minded.”
My mind raced. Clearly, Papá had found Cleopatra’s tomb because of the magic pulsing between the two objects—the ring and… thetrinketbox. The same thing had happened to me. He’d taken the ring from the antechamber, knowing that if anyone found the wooden box in the bazaar, it could potentially lead them to the same magnificent discovery. And knowing who and what my mother was by then, he tried to keep Cleopatra safe from her clutches. But my mother found a way to Philae and had used me to access the artifacts.
A feeling of profound bitterness stole over me. I shook my head to get myself clear of it, holding on to the rest of the letter, and what my father was trying to tell me.
What had happened to him afterward? Dread piled high on my shoulders as realization dawned. My mother might have found him, and was holding him captive somewhere, or worse, she might have killed him. But maybe he was hiding, and even now, hoping I’d find him. I curled the letter in my palm, the last line searing itself into my mind like a scorching brand against my skin.
