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Back The Progeny Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Dedication
  2. THE CENTER
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  49. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  50. Copyright

We are fifty kilometers from the outskirts of Budapest by the time I fold her letter away and look again at her soaring notes. Churches, some of their names scored out. Names of people and estates written at various angles across the page where she ran out of space. The names of those who visited Elizabeth in her imprisonment, and took her last confession.

The next things in the stack are little pieces of paper like the kind you tear off a cube. I recognize Luka’s handwriting across all three of them, their lines short—the kinds of notes you leave on a countertop, on a refrigerator, or by a bedside.

I love you, Princess.

—L

Do you know how beautiful you are?

—L

One more day. I’ll be the man waiting at the altar.

—L

I stare, frozen, at the last note in my hand.

The paper beneath it is a marriage certificate.

37

I’m married.

I glance at the date on the certificate: September 24. Last year.

Why didn’t he say anything? Why, when he saw the ring on my finger and I thought we were only engaged?

Because as far as he knew, I had seen everything in the vault. And then I deserted him on the plane.

I fumble for the phone, power it back on, and pray it still has a charge. When it comes to life, the screen floods with text messages and voice mails. I dial Luka’s number. He does not pick up.

No. Of course he doesn’t. With any luck he’s on his way to Liverpool. But I know he would never have willingly stayed on that plane without me, would have fought to follow me. In which case at least he doesn’t know where I am or what I’m about to do.

I page through Luka’s texts, sick at heart.

Where are you?

Audra, don’t do this.

Please. I can’t lose you again.

Audra?

I love you.

His voice mails are the same.

Don’t do this. I love you. I can’t lose you.

But I am the one who cannot lose him.

And I have no intention of dying.

“Excuse me,” I say to the driver. “I need to make a stop.”

The next call I make is to Claudia.

38

The numbered gate on Csónak Street is painted like that of any residence below Castle Hill on the hilly Buda side of the Danube. It is by now nearly 11:00 P.M. The street is quiet, only the occasional car or biker passing by.

I step into the light of the lone bulb positioned at the top of the old stone arch and glance straight up at the camera. Ignoring the intercom, I pull off my wig and shades.

A moment later, the gate audibly unlocks. I push it open, step into the tiny overgrown courtyard, and reach the front stoop just as the door opens.