Page 5

And if she is clued into all that, then what does it mean that she’s insisted on tagging along?

I study Elodie’s beautiful face, searching her expression for some sort of clue as to what she might be thinking beneath her flawless facade. But Elodie’s a master at disguising her true feelings, so I don’t get very far.

“Okay,” I finally say. “It’s his birthday. Not sure how that helps, but—”

Elodie smirks. “Do the math, Nat. I’ll wait.”

Quickly, I run the numbers in my head. “Oh. Okay, yeah,” I mumble. “I get it. Today’s his twenty-first birthday.”

The grin she grants me is decidedly smug. “And how exactly do you think a young, single, future accountant might choose to celebrate such a milestone?”

I glance between her and the bar she’s now heading toward. “But there’s got to be, like, hundreds of bars in this city,” I say, as the two of us weave our way through a throng of rush hour commuters. “So, how can we possibly know this is the one?”

I shoot Elodie a sideways glance, reluctant to give up my original plan to head to Columbia University, where my dad is currently an undergrad, then scour the campus until I find him. Which, I realize, is probably about as unlikely a success as hopping from bar to bar in search of a green-eyed, shaggy-haired Timekeeper, celebrating his twenty-first trip around the sun by drinking his first legal beer.

As for Elodie, she remains undeterred. She just leans closer and whispers in my ear, “Now’s the part where I really need you to have a little faith for a change. After all, I did get you this far, no?”

I watch as she slides the serpent charm across the gold chain that hangs from her neck, and despite the heat and humidity of a New York City summer day, my skin is suddenly swarming with chills.

“El—” I start, but my voice quickly falters, forcing me to clear my throat and try again. “El, did—did you use magick? I mean, in addition to Arthur’s technology?”

Elodie shoots me a sidelong glance. “What I used isintent,” she says. “So, now’s our chance to see if it worked.”

I watch as she tilts her chin high, tosses her long blond hair over her shoulder, and strides inside the bar, much like she did the day she took me to Arcana, the underground club that turned out just to be another of Arthur’s holograms.

The club that started the whole chain of events that eventually led me to Gray Wolf.

I pause before the threshold, unsure what to do. But, since we’re already here, I repeat what I did back then: I bury my doubt and trail right behind her, all the while whispering to myself, “I really hope I don’t live to regret this.”

2

I pause in the threshold, the opening strains of “Bittersweet Symphony” blaring in the background as I pull at the hem of my T-shirt and tug up the waistband of my low-rise jeans, determined to make the two meet.

Why did I agree to wear this? Why didn’t I insist on swapping outfits with Elodie? Clearly her black slip dress, white baby tee, and chunky black boots would make a much better impression on my dad than this belly-baring catastrophe.

“Quit fidgeting,” Elodie snaps, shaking her head. “Sheesh, you should be grateful you’re not stuck in some awful corset or one of those dreadful panniers. Besides, it’s not a crime to look hot, you know.”

“Looking hot was never the goal,” I grumble, following her lead as she presses through the crowd, navigating this late nineties version of a Manhattan bar as easily as she navigated 1745 Versailles, 1813 London, and present day Gray Wolf Academy. Elodie is a born chameleon; she can easily blend into any environment. And I find myself wishing, once again, that I could trade all my social awkwardness for just an ounce of her confidence.

“And now…” She turns to me and winks as she sidles up to the bar, shouldering ahead of two young Wall Street types dressed in sharp navy suits, crisp white shirts, and expensive red silk ties, both vying for the bartender’s notice.

At first, they’re annoyed by her cutting in front of them. But when she flashes them one of her dazzling grins, they’re practically begging for the chance to buy her a drink.

“Has anyone ever told you you look like a young Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy?” says the one with slick dark hair, his squinty brown eyes roving over her like a dog eyeballing a particularly juicy lamb chop.

“Never,” Elodie tells him. “Although Carolyn once told me she’s often mistaken for an older version of me.”

And…we’re off.I frown, watching as Elodie transitions into full-blown flirtation mode. This is exactly the sort of situation I’d hoped to avoid. Clearly, we both know this isn’t my father. But Elodie never misses a chance to revel in being desired.

“I’m Brooks.” Mr. Tall, Dark, and Smarmy grins.

Elodie extends a hand and dips her chin like we’ve Tripped to Regency England again. “And I’m Elodie,” she says, literally batting her eyes.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” When he presses his lips to the back of her hand, I have to clench my teeth to stifle a groan.

“Please, let me buy you a drink.” He pulls a platinum card from his wallet and waves it in the air with a flourish, as Elodie shoots him a considering look.

“On one condition,” she says, her fingers toying with her gold serpent charm.