Page 16 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)

“I don’t believe you,” Song says, her words as sharp as daggers.

Elodie meets her defiance with a cool, unwavering shrug. “I’m not sure that matters,” she counters, her voice steady and unflinching. “You know the funny thing about belief? It’s not a prerequisite for truth.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Song shakes her head, refusing to give in, but the quiver of her bottom lip betrays her uncertainty. “You wouldn’t do that,” she says. “You’d never betray Arthur. You’re like his fucking devoted little puppet.” Her words are laced with bitterness, but the insult glides right off Elodie, leaving no mark.

“Did you ever consider that maybe, just maybe, I did it for Arthur?” Elodie quirks a brow, looking quite pleased with herself.

Song falls quiet. I join her in that silence.

Elodie leans back, her imperious gaze sweeping over us. “For too many years I’ve watched him collect these lost souls, showering them with every luxury, every opportunity a person could want. And yet, time and again, instead of appreciating the amazing gift they’ve been given, they yearn for their old, mundane, miserable lives. Or at least most of them, anyway. And you two”—she points an accusatory finger—“are no different. Honestly, I got so tired of watching this tedious cycle that one day, I just thought: Fuck ’em. Fuck all y’all.”

The laughter that follows is mocking and bitter. “I mean, you really want to crawl back to your dreary life as a loser? Fine. Here’s a grand adventure I arranged especially for you. A little trail of scattered breadcrumbs that’ll make you feel special, important, like you were specifically chosen for your big secret mission. Oh, and here’s an enigmatic leather-bound book for you to decipher.” She shakes her head, a scornful expression pinching her features, like she can hardly believe how naive we are. “Of course, some of them surprised me by using it only to go back and forth, visiting their family and friends or whatever they do on their silly sentimental little journeys into the past—”

I’m struck by the way she says family and friends . There’s so much contempt in her tone, but I know where it comes from. To her, Arthur and Gray Wolf are the only real family and friends she’s ever known, and her abandonment issues run so deep that every time one of us manages to leave, she takes it as a personal affront, a rejection of her. Despite everything we’ve been through—or maybe even because of it—my heart aches with empathy for her. I tuck this new insight away, refocusing as she continues.

“While I don’t necessarily approve of that,” she goes on, her voice gaining intensity, “at least they’re smart enough to want to stay in Arthur’s world. But for the rest of them—the ones like you and Anjou—” Her eyes narrow, shooting a glare at Song that seems like it could singe the very air between them. “Well, y’all can stay gone for all I care. Gray Wolf doesn’t miss you—doesn’t need you. There’s plenty more where y’all came from.”

Elodie’s face, usually the epitome of poise and control, is now a canvas of someone becoming increasingly unstrung. An angry red splotch creeps up her neck, staining her cheeks, and a small speck of spit glistens at the corner of her mouth. When her flashing blue eyes find mine, they’re churning with an intensity that’s equally unsettling and mesmerizing.

It’s rare to see her perfect facade cracked wide open like this. To witness such raw, unfiltered emotion is a jarring and unexpected glimpse into a part of her she rarely, if ever, allows anyone to see. But it’s her startling admission about being the mastermind behind the Way of the Rose that sends a shockwave crashing through me.

My heart pounds a furious drumbeat that echoes the turmoil in her eyes. It’s like the ground beneath me has shifted, calling into question everything I once thought I knew about our lives at Gray Wolf.

Turning her fierce gaze on me, Elodie says, “And didn’t I try to warn you at your farewell party? When I pulled you aside and urged you to stay out of this mess? To your credit, you mostly listened, which, honestly, I didn’t expect.”

“Elodie,” I begin, my voice calmer than I currently feel, “does Arthur know you’re the mastermind behind all this?”

Elodie dismisses my concern with a nonchalant flick of her wrist, as if swatting away an invisible fly. “Probably.” She shrugs. “Not much gets past him, you know. But all I can say for sure is, he never asked, and I never volunteered the information.”

“But if he did know,” I press on, “don’t you think he’d be furious? I mean, after all the effort and resources he pours into the new recruits, and—”

Her voice sharpens, cutting me off. “Are you planning to tell him?” There’s an edge in her gaze, a hint of challenge I’m not quite willing to meet.

I shift my focus to Song, who returns the look with one of alarm. Switching back to Elodie, I say, “What would be the point? Though I am curious about the book’s origins.” I study her, seeking any flicker of emotion, no matter how small. “I mean, clearly the book works, so we know you didn’t create it on a whim.”

What I don’t say is that I saw the book during an Unraveling on my first day at Gray Wolf, when I stood before my window and watched a girl in a red cape dashing through a long-gone maze, carrying that same small leather book that now sits inside my backpack.

Elodie’s eyes flash with a rare hint of uncertainty. After a considerable pause, she admits, “I didn’t make the book. I—I found it,” she stammers, her usual confidence faltering for a moment, another anomaly I silently note.

“Anyway…” Elodie circles the desk, her movements smooth yet purposeful, and she comes to stand beside Song. “Now that it’s all out in the open, I have two bits of advice. First, be careful with using magick to Trip. It won’t end as well as you think. Second, no one’s going to tell Arthur about you, so just relax already.”

Song’s eyes narrow, her gaze fixed on the serpentine pendant at Elodie’s throat. “And I’m supposed to just trust you—take you at your word?”

“Trust me, don’t trust me.” Elodie shrugs, her indifference swirling around her like dust in an abandoned room. “It’s all the same to me. This is not my circus, and these are not my monkeys. I’m merely a tourist here. And I’m pretty sure the second I’m gone, this will get filed away with all the other insignificant events that have passed through my life.”

Song gives a small, tentative nod, a flash of relief crossing her face. Her brown eyes seek mine, searching for answers. “And Oliver and Finn? Do they hate me for leaving?”

I shake my head. “Finn thinks you left by choice, but Oliver’s convinced you were lost in time, and he’s frustrated that Arthur’s not making a better effort, or even any effort, to find you.”

A shadow of sadness darkens her gaze, her shoulders drooping under an invisible weight. She looks conflicted, torn, caught between two worlds.

“If it helps, I can pass along a message to them. Let them know that you’re safe?”

Her eyes widen. “You’re going back?” she asks, clearly not expecting that.

I nod. “It’s not like I can stay here and risk crossing my own timeline.”

Song’s brow furrows. “But do we even know if that’s true?” She glances between Elodie and me.

I look to Elodie, but she just shrugs. Turning back to Song, I say, “Are you really willing to take that chance?”

A tense hush descends upon the room, laden with unspoken questions and fears. The silence shatters when Elodie clears her throat, and says, “Now, if you could just tell us where you and Anjou Trip from, we’ll be on our way.”

I whirl toward Elodie, alarmed by her question. “Why don’t we just use the portal where we—” The words quickly fade, as the harsh light of reality smacks me hard in the face. Our portal stayed open for only two hours, an amount of time we’ve long surpassed. The next one won’t appear until tomorrow…unless Arthur has somehow managed to intervene and undo that.

Song shoots a glance between us. “You’re lucky,” she says, then pauses as a new thought dawns. “Or maybe you planned it this way. But, as it just so happens, the moon is in its waxing phase, which means there are three portals now open—the Rose Reading Room at the New York Public Library, the Temple of Dendur at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and a little scenic spot in Central Park, which, at this late hour, is probably the only one you can access.”

Once outside, the air between Elodie and me crackles with unspoken urgency.

“Are you sure we should go through with this?” I ask, the worry evident in my voice. “I mean, if it’s as risky as you say?”

Elodie dismisses my concern with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen the first time,” she says. “And probably not even the second or third time. It’s the repeat offenders who risk getting burned.” She gives me a sidelong glance, adding, “Or at least I think that’s the case. I can’t say for sure.”

My alarm must be visible because Elodie laughs. “So, tell me, Nat—was it worth it?”

I stare at her blankly, unsure what she’s getting at.

“Did you get what you needed?” Her probing gaze searches my face. “Reuniting with your dad”—she tugs on the sleeve of the gray Columbia University T-shirt he gave me—“and collecting souvenirs.”

A flood of memories rushes through me. That time spent with my dad will forever be one of the highlights of my life.

“Yeah,” I whisper, the word choked with emotion. “At least, I think so. Only time will tell. And you?”

“What about me?” she asks.

“You knew Song was here, didn’t you? It’s why you insisted on coming along.”

Elodie shrugs, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “It was a lucky guess, nothing more.”

Our eyes lock, and though I sense there’s more she’s not sharing, Elodie leaves it at that.

“And if Arthur is really there when we return—” she starts, but I cut her off.

“He is,” I say, my annoyance flaring. “I know it for a fact.”

She lifts a hand, her expression softening. “Sorry, let me rephrase that. If Arthur is actually waiting for us, then you need to let me handle it, okay?”

“Why, because you’re his favorite?” I snap, instantly regretting my words when I see the hurt look on her face. “Oh…” I say, voice small and contrite. “You’re actually trying to cover for me, protect me.”

Elodie tosses her head, tilting her face toward the sky, her long blond hair glinting silver under the glow of city lights. “Sheesh, Nat,” she says, shaking her head with an exasperated sigh. “Don’t go getting all maudlin on me.”

I smile to myself. This is possibly the strangest, most complicated friendship I’ve ever had, and yet, it’s a friendship all the same.

“Thanks,” I say, watching her give a quick lift of her shoulders and quickly avert her gaze.

As we approach Belvedere Castle, its silhouette looms starkly against the night sky. I’m reminded of my arrival at Gray Wolf and how massive, unwelcoming, and foreboding it seemed that first night.

After we’ve made our way to the top, I dip a hand in my backpack in search of the book. My fingers graze the cool metal of the key my dad gave me, the counterfeit Antikythera Mechanism, and a mysterious slip of folded paper that I don’t immediately recognize but plan to examine later.

When I find the small, leather-bound book, I pass it to Elodie. She flips through its time-worn pages with practiced ease. Finding the marked passage, I lean closer, and together, we recite:

“By the waxing moon’s guiding light,

We wade into the river of time tonight.

Through unseen veils where eras intertwine,

Grant us passage through the flowing stream of time.”

When it’s done, Elodie decisively snaps the book shut, and our gazes lock in a profound silence that’s charged with a shared understanding. Whatever happens next, we are in this together.

All around us, the atmosphere pulsates with an ancient energy—its invisible power a closely guarded secret, whispered among only the select few who know its full truth. Closing our eyes and clasping hands, a tangible electricity sparks between our fingers as we draw in a deep, unifying breath.

“To Gray Wolf?” Elodie says, her voice trailing into the night.

“To Gray Wolf,” I echo, acutely aware of the gravity of our choice, the wrath we both risk should Arthur be waiting for us.

The next thing I know, we’re lifted onto our toes, gliding effortlessly across a vast cosmic sea like sailors venturing into uncharted waters, trusting they’ll carry us to our intended destinies.