“You think Nikola has the survey,” I say.

“Undoubtedly. It is the reason the Budapest court is the safest and most famous in the world. It has been the safe haven of the Progeny who found their way to it for years.”

“So Ana’s looking for Nikola,” I say. With the key and a copy of the symbols on my back. “But you’re saying she may never find him. That she may never see the light of day again!”

“Unless he reached out to her first. Look.” She points to the screen. “These are not the movements of a girl wandering aimlessly. She knows where she is going.”

And as I watch the specter on the screen, she’s right; I’ve never seen Ana so resolute.

“Why would she look for Nikola?” Claudia says.

“To exchange information for Nino.” I get to my feet, fingers digging into my hair.

“She’ll be underground in minutes,” Jester says. “I can try to trigger a fire or smoke alarm near the church, but then they’ll know something is up. They’ll be that much harder to find.”

“No,” I say, getting up. “Let her go.”

“She’s got your key!” Claudia says.

“Her fake key,” Luka says quietly.

But that’s not all Nikola will have if she reaches him.

He’ll have Ana, too.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fists pressed to my head.

It won’t stop. It will never stop. Who will be next? Claudia? Piotrek? Or will they go straight for Luka?

Claudia was more right than she knew that first night when she said it would have been better if I’d stayed dead. At the time, at least, she had been talking about the Scions—not our own blood.

Piotrek returns and listens, grim-faced, to Claudia’s rapid account in Croatian. Luka asks if there’s someone in Budapest close enough to intercept Ana, but she has since disappeared.

I get up, grab my jacket. “Let’s go,” I say.

Luka, watching me all this time, closes up our bags.

“She could be anywhere underground by the time we get to Budapest,” Claudia says.

“Not Budapest,” I say, shouldering my backpack. “Vienna.”

Because the only way I’m going to have anything to bargain with is to get to it first.

We skirt down the back stairs to the first floor. Just outside the common room Piotrek slows and nearly stops altogether. The television in the corner drones on to no one. Two girls at the center table sit engrossed in conversation, the guy in the corner oblivious to all but his laptop. Luka veers toward me without slowing.

“Move. Don’t stop,” he says, taking me by the elbow.

Too late. Even after he walks me swiftly out the side door to the car, the television screen is embedded in my memory.

Filled with a picture of me.

31

Sitting in the back of the Skoda, I might be in shock.