“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” I wave goodbye and dash into the dark apartment. His shy grin stays with me until my eyes adjust to the falling night. The place is a mess. Boxes opened with Seb, the tiny pile of clues, my clothing mixed with Angela’s, and shoes splayed about the room. Flicking on the light switch, I toss my bag on the bed, then freeze.

Coordinates.

Angela’s mapping class.

I hurry to the laptop, click the bookmark for her blog, and find the message as I left it:

Divine Research

48535.75 2201

A cut and paste in the browser reveals these digits are not a phone number but latitude and longitude. I text a quick message to Jean-Luc:

Meet at 11:00 a.m. tomorrow. We’re grabbing an early lunch.

The ping of his cell phone is audible one floor above. Within seconds, I receive his reply:

Wouldn’t miss it.

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Day 4, Wednesday

Famine. Urban planning. Plague.

An orchestral call and response pierces my thoughts. Three notes trill in repetitive sequence outside Angela’s third-floor window, and they tear me from reviewing highlights I made in Angela’s notes.

The birds’ song would be beautiful had I not passed out around two in the morning and woken six hours later with my face sticking to a handout on cities that developed on top of marshland. I fiddle with the shutters, trying to open them to shoo away my avian band, but the damn metal clasp sticks. They’re quiet for a moment. Then resume chirping with fervor. Between the shutter clasp and the sticky dead bolt on the door, it’s a miracle I can get in and out as often as I do.

My smartphone vibrates against Angela’s writing desk, and Seb’s name rolls across my screen.

What are your plans today? We need to work together. This is not about you and me.

“Exactly,” I grumble. “Get lost, Seb.” I lock my phone to black and wonder whether it was wise to share with him that I’d extended my trip.