I am so lost. “How can you possibly make that kind of guarantee?”

  “My comrade should be arriving soon. He’ll keep you safe. Don’t try to talk to him, though. He isn’t the talking type.”

  Eden walks out the door with a brief wave of his hand, and I’m left wondering whether his whole reason for being here was to guard me until his replacement showed up. The fact that I need guarding at all unnerves me. But I suppose I should be grateful the guy who’s impervious to bullets is on my side… sort of… for now.

  His comrade walks in, looking like his polar opposite. He’s young with a milk-and-honey complexion, ocean-blue eyes, and tousled black hair. I can tell he’s Eden’s comrade because he’s wearing the same oversized black coat. He stands at the counter, reaches into his pockets, and pulls out two sticks of chewing gum. After popping the first in his mouth, he hands the second to me. “Want some?”

  His friendliness seems unnatural. But he’s polite enough, and who am I to judge? I decide not to question him. “Thank you.” I take the gum.

  He offers his hand, and I briefly shake it. “The name’s Aiden Yeager, in case you were wondering. I’m here to keep you safe. I thought you might like an introduction before I start the job.” He smiles warmly then immediately turns and walks right back out the door.

  “What the hell,” I murmur. This is unbelievable. I can’t help wondering what Dad has gotten me into eight years after his death, what he never told me about the rest of his life. In a daze, I go back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up for the night.

  At eight, my phone alerts me that it’s time to lock up. Who knows how long I would have gone on working like some kind of machine if it hadn’t? I tend to hyper-focus, and the alarms help bring me back to reality. Outside, Aiden sits on the hood of a yellow Camaro and sips from a matching travel mug. He waves. I hop into my own car, roll the windows down, and turn the radio on. Vivaldi blares from my speakers, and I let it drown out my thoughts for a little while.

  * * *

  Bachman House in the Oakleigh Garden Historic District has been in my family since 1906, and my family’s been in Mobile since the birth of the city. Over time, we’ve accumulated money and property. It pays to put down roots, I guess. I have childhood memories of listening to the white noise of heavy traffic on Government Street. Even then, it didn’t help me sleep. I pull into the drive beside Mom’s Tesla. The Spanish moss hanging from the oak trees around our house has already left a mess on her car. Mine will be next if it rains more tonight, and that means I’ll wind up having to clean it in the morning. I can’t stand a dirty car any more than I can stand a dirty anything else.

  Mom’s out front getting the mail when I open my car door and step out. “Hey, Rion! I have dinner on the table,” she says. She always insists on being a mom no matter how old I get. It’s best not to fight it.

  “Thanks, Mom.” I kiss her on the cheek as I pass by. “By the way, do we still have Dad’s old stuff stored in the garage? I think maybe something of mine got mixed up with it.” I’m determined to discover the truth myself. I need hard evidence, more than just an old photograph. And if Eden wasn’t lying about that artifact, I need to find it and get it out of the house.

  Mom shrugs. “Yeah, his stuff is still in the garage. I doubt I’d have packed any of your things with it, but who knows? Your grandpa’s forgetful these days, so maybe he’s the culprit.”

  After dinner, I head immediately to the garage. I’m anxious to go through Dad’s old things. I haven’t seen anything of his since the day he died. I wonder if I’ll find evidence of another family among his things. Mom and Grandpa packed everything away with such efficiency, I’m almost afraid to find out they knew something I didn’t.

  At the back of the garage, alongside my dad’s old workbench, are stacks of dusty boxes. I open the first box and set it on the workbench to go through. Inside, I find a book called Sacred Myths buried under old maps and travel paraphernalia. There’s nothing that looks like any kind of artifact here. I pull out the next box and go through it as well. There are so many books among his things—books about the Quran, Arthurian legends, the Crusades, and other religious histories. I knew he was into religion, but this seems a bit over the top.

  After an hour, my head starts to spin. I put the books away and take the folded picture of my dad out of my pocket to examine it more closely. I can’t believe it’s really him. He’s posing in front of the Palace of Versailles beside another man. I’ve never seen Dad with long hair before. He looks young, like he’s got his whole life ahead of him. But who is that man with him? I wonder if Mom knows. I decide to ask her. She’s never hidden anything from me before. Why should now be any different?

  As soon as I step into the kitchen, Grandpa pulls his head out of the freezer to ask, “Do you know what happened to the chocolate ice cream?”

  “No, sir,” I respond with a grin, knowing Grandpa has likely forgotten eating the last of it. Then I have an idea. His short-term memory isn’t great, but maybe his long-term memory is. “Grandpa, do you know who this is next to Dad?” I hand the old photo to him.

  He squints down at it. “Doesn’t look familiar. Your dad did travel a lot when he was young. That’s probably just someone he met in Europe.”

  Disappointed, I take the photo back. “Do you think Mom would know?”

  From behind me, Mom snatches the photo out of my hand. She’s always been able to sneak up on me. It’s impressive, really. “Would I know what?” She stares down at the photo.

  “That man standing next to Dad. Do you know him?”

  “Hmm… No, but your father never introduced me to his friends. Even at our wedding, he only had three groomsmen, and I didn’t know them. He was always secretive about his social life. Where did you find this photo? I’ve never seen it.”

  “It was with his stuff in the garage, tucked inside one of his books.” It feels wrong to lie to her, but I don’t want her any more involved in whatever this is than she has to be. “He had a lot of history books, didn’t he?”

  Mom leans back against the counter. “Well, he was a history major, but he wasn’t crazy about it. I think it was mostly the religious aspect that interested him. He was obsessed with religious history. Of course, that might’ve just been the Catholic in him. I doubt that man missed a day of church in his life.” She folds her arms and narrows her eyes at me. “How come you’re asking so many questions about your father all of a sudden? You’ve never been this curious about him before.”

  I push a hand through my hair and prepare to lie to her again. “Went looking for an old book of mine and wound up going through his things. I don’t know. It brought back a lot of memories, I guess. I just miss him.” That part is true.

  Mom pinches her lips together and gets that look on her face—that half-pity, half-pride look only mothers seem to get. She pulls me in and hugs me tight, and I breathe in the familiar scent of her lavender perfume. “It’s okay, Rion. I miss him too.”

  Soon, Grandpa joins in, and it’s like the most wholesome greeting-card commercial is being filmed in our kitchen. My family is like that—wholesome. I love them so much. I love that they love me too and aren’t afraid to show it. Yes, I know how lucky I am. Not everyone has what I have, which brings my thoughts back around to Eden and how alone he seemed, how much he drank, how easily he killed. There’s no chance in hell he had an upbringing like mine. Yet, he might actually be my brother.

  After my shower, the rich scent of cinnamon fills my nostrils. Mom is baking downstairs. No one can make cinnamon rolls like she does, not even me, and I’m once again grateful that she’s my mom, that I live in this multi-generational household where I’m rarely alone and everyone cares about each other. The idea that I could lose all of it to some warring extremist organizations terrifies me, and I don’t want to think about it anymore. I grab my phone off the nightstand and start texting Remy and Jacob.

  Me: Hey! Do you guys want to get a drink at The Opener?

  Jacob: Sure! Be there at 10. I’m not drinking, so I can be DD. Does anyone need a ride?

  Remy: I’m in! See you at 10.

  Me: Jacob pick me up

  Jacob: I got you Rion! Be at your place in 30.

  Me: Bet

  * * *

  “Finally, the almighty Rion has time to hang out with the peasants!” Jacob shouts as soon as I walk out the front door.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I hop in his car and buckle up. As we back out of my driveway, Jacob turns on the radio. The station’s halfway through Kanye’s “Jesus Walks.” I don’t share Jacob’s taste in music, but I wouldn’t dare ask him to turn it down. He says something to me, but I can’t hear a word of it. I just nod and smile. About three cars back is the yellow Camaro. I’m pretty sure it’s Aiden trailing us. Good. Let him see who my friends are. Hopefully, he’ll include them in his list of people to look out for.

  When we get to The Opener, Jacob parks out front and we both head straight for the bar. Phoebe’s there cleaning the counter, and Jacob raises his hand to call her over. She doesn’t look happy to see him, but she never is. As soon as she spots me, she lights up. She gives me that winning smile that goes all the way to her eyes. “Hey, O!” she says, sliding up across the bar from me. “How’d things go after I left this morning?”

  Jacob looks hurt. “You’re not going to ask how my day was?”

  Phoebe’s eyes stay locked on me, but her smile disappears. “Ugh. What do you want, tubby?”

  “What the hell, Phoebe?” Jacob says. “You don’t have to be rude.” I’ve always thought he might have a crush on her. Can’t say I blame him.

  She turns to face him and completely changes her attitude. “Oh, I apologize. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me? Is there any way I can hope to win your favor again? How about a glass of our best wine on the house, a thousand dollars in your pocket, a female servant to do your bidding? Is that the sort of greeting you were looking for?” I still think Phoebe would make a terrific actress. All her sarcasm aside, it is a great performance.

  Jacob snorts and slaps the counter. “Jesus, Phoebe, never mind. Can we have a bottle of the cheap merlot?”

  I can tell Phoebe’s about to unleash another cutting barb, so I reach over the counter and take her hand. “Come on, Phoebs.” She relaxes at my touch. I’ve always been able to calm her. For some reason, I get the impression I’m her only friend. One day, I plan to ask her out for real. She jokes about it, but it’s not a joke to me. Our age difference isn’t as big as she pretends it is. I can’t help agonizing over how she’ll respond, but I’m waiting until the time is right. She deserves my full attention, and classes are taking too much of it now.

  She chews her cheek and considers her options. Apparently, she decides to try being sweet for a change. “Sorry, Jacob. You’re not tubby—you’re thick. And I love your skin. It looks like smooth chocolate. You have to teach me your secret one day.”

  Jacob grins at her, clearly pleased with the compliment despite the fact that it was grudgingly given and a touch problematic. “Thanks, Phoebe. One day, I’ll teach you how to moisturize.” When Phoebe leaves to get us a bottle, Jacob grabs my shoulder and pulls me close. “Bro, she runs too hot and cold. I can’t figure her out.”

  I shake my head. “She’s just teasing. She’s probably tired of being here all day. Don’t take it personally.”

  A flash of bright orange draws my eye to Remy, who walks into the bar wearing another loud Hawaiian shirt. He’s probably the skinniest guy I’ve ever met. He’s tall, though, much taller than he was when we were kids and I was kicking the bullies off him. Now, he’s got swagger. Still, I kind of miss the days when I was his hero.

  I catch a glimpse of Aiden following Remy into the bar, but he doesn’t acknowledge me.

  “So, Rion Bachman finally comes out to play.” Remy grins and slaps my shoulder.

  “Right?” Jacob joins in. “He never wants to do anything.”

  “Some of us have lives outside the bars,” I say. We laugh and drink a while, and I start to feel like all is right with the world. Of course, Phoebe has to remind me it isn’t by drawing attention to Aiden, who sits at a corner table and stares at a framed Picasso print like it’s far more fascinating than it actually is.

  “Hey, you, lurking in the corner!” she calls to him. “Welcome to Mobile’s finest wine bar! Wanna try the special?” Her loud laughter makes it clear she’s trying to provoke him. Sometimes, I wonder how she hasn’t driven every customer away with that big mouth of hers. She doesn’t mean any harm, I know, but she can’t expect everyone to understand her like I do.

  “Thanks. I’m good,” Aiden says without any irony whatsoever, and he goes back to studying the Picasso print.

  Phoebe pouts but quickly shrugs it off and gets back to work.

  An hour or so later, I look back at the spot where Aiden was, and he isn’t there anymore. I try not to worry about it. I just want to enjoy the night out with my friends. It’s a rare treat. I don’t usually allow myself this much leisure when I have so much work ahead of me. But after the day I’ve had, there’s no way in hell I could have concentrated anyway. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Eden.

  At midnight, my you-should-have-been-in-bed-hours-ago alarm goes off, so I pay the tab. It’s the least I can do for my friends. After all, I’m the one ending the party. “I’ve got to work in the morning,” I say. “See you later.”

  Phoebe winks and grins. “Night, O.” It always feels like she has a secret she’s dying to reveal, but she loves watching people squirm too much. That’s probably part of why I find her so intriguing. She keeps me on my toes. I can never predict what she’s going to say next or who she’s going to offend. I’ve had to de-escalate so many near-brawls where she’s said exactly the wrong thing to the wrong drunk asshole. What she did before I came along, I’ll never know.

  Outside, Jacob and I wave goodbye to Remy and get into Jacob’s car. When he drops me off at mine, he turns to me. “See ya, Rion.”

  “Tonight was fun,” I admit.

  He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Love you too, bro. Don’t be a stranger, okay? It’s good to chill every once in a while. You’ll drive yourself crazy if all you do is work.”

  I step outside and poke my head back into his car just long enough to say, “I know, I know. Thanks, Jacob. I’ll try not to be such a hermit after graduation.”

  3: death,

  Eden

  My mother died giving birth to me. Four pounds, two ounces. How a woman can die giving birth to something so small is beyond me. She’d come from Egypt to America to find the man who impregnated and abandoned her. Her parents lived in New York and had every intention of looking after me in her place, or so I’m told. I have no memory of them because they died before I was three.

  Death follows me. It’s a fact I accepted at a young age. I was moved from foster home to foster home and then on to group homes when they labeled me troubled. Everyone I ever dared to care about disappeared, one way or another. Too many of them wound up in the ground. Maybe that’s why I put off finding my brother all these years. I knew where my father had landed, and I had the means to travel. But the idea of getting to know my brother and then losing him terrified me. Then came the damn Chains of Peter, and all my excuses died too.

  I lost The Sun Also Rises on my way back to the Gate, or “home sweet home,” as some sarcastically call it. It’s as much a home as any I’ve ever had—a giant ship that never stops moving, so it can never be found. Its ADAPTIV camouflage makes handing out my home address damn near impossible. No radar can find it. It’s invisible to everything except the naked eye, and to the naked eye, it’s about as uninviting as you can get.

  Alone on a dark beach, I pull my hood over my head and squint through the rain at a shadowy Zodiac slicing through the water like a scalpel. As it draws near, I recognize Sarah Bradley and breathe a sigh of relief. I’m glad she’s the one they sent to collect me. She hops out of the boat seconds before it reaches the shore and marches toward me with that look she always gets when she knows I’ve fucked up again.

  She reaches me and plants her hands on her hips. “So? Where’s the artifact?”

  I groan because she already knows, but I’ll play her game. “I didn’t get it, but I have a pretty good idea where it is.”

  “Then go back. No cookie until you fetch the ball.” She stands tall and points inland, and frankly, she looks magnificent doing it. She’s like one of those statues they make to commemorate victims lost at sea. Her dark hair has the same bobbed cut she wore when I first met her, long bangs and all. It makes the blue of her eyes stand out against her lightly freckled skin. The more Sarah ages, the more she looks like her grandmother. I know a lot of guys say that as an insult, but I don’t mean it that way.

  Sarah’s grandmother Trish works for the House of David, and she’s beautiful in way that screams class. She has long, silver hair and a tall, slender figure. Her crow’s feet highlight her smile so you can’t help but smile back at her. Sarah inherited most of her traits, but unlike her grandmother, who wears them like a queen, Sarah seems more like the queen’s best footman—no less dignified but way less pretentious. I first met her when she was fifteen and I was thirteen. I remember thinking the Gate couldn’t be so bad if such a cute girl was living there. My opinion hasn’t changed.

  I walk right past her still-pointing finger and climb into the Zodiac. She huffs, drops her arm, and follows.

  “Some good may have come out of the trip anyway,” I say as she pushes off the shore and hops in after me. “I may have found my new Acolyte.”

  “Oh?”

  “My brother. I think he’d be perfect for the job.”