Unknown 9, Layton Green [good books to read for 12 year olds txt] 📗

“Fair enough,” he said, reaching over to light her cigarette. “Maybe it’s time for a little honesty in this relationship.”

She curled on her side and set the ashtray on the bed between them. “I think so too.”

“Who are you, really, Ana? Before the Ascendants and a life as an independent reporter who travels far more widely and lives far more elaborately than her credentials support?”

“Do you really care? It’s hard to look past a pretty face.”

“I care. And it’s hard for someone who looks like you to be so carefree in public with someone who looks like me.”

The cigarette smoldered as she held his gaze, unmoving except for a finger that traced the rim of her wineglass. “All right then. I’m Greek, but I’m not from Athens. I’m from an island in the Cyclades so small there’s nothing to do but watch the ferries go by, pick flowers to sell to tourists, and try not to get married off before you turn sixteen. My mother cleaned toilets for guesthouses and my father drank and complained about the Turks all day. Trust me, when paradise is that isolated, it quickly becomes a prison. So I dropped out of school and scraped my way to Athens. And, sure, I was a model for a few years. Most models make very little and have a tiny shelf life. I was no exception.” Her eyes went distant, and a sad, self-deprecating smile played at her lips. “I was always smart, and could have gotten to Athens with a scholarship. But I was never very studious, and I wanted off that island. So I took the easier path.”

He stubbed out his cigarette and leaned on his side to face her. “As the Stoics say, ‘Easy choices, hard life. Hard choices, easy life.’ Which is impossible to tell a teenager.”

She shrugged. “Except for James Gerald Corwin. You never did anything the easy way. How many degrees do you have?”

“But that is the easy way for those of us who are suited to it. It’s why I joined the Society. I like being a professor, but I wanted something . . . more. That’s my dirty secret, Ana. I’m ambitious as all hell.”

“Which isn’t a fault,” she said as her eyes lowered, “until you’re looking in the mirror, asking yourself what you’ve done to get where you are.”

He gave a tight, agreeing smile. “How did they find you?”

She pressed her lips together for so long he didn’t think she was going to answer. But then she lit another cigarette with the tip of her first and took a longer drag than before, as if convincing herself of something. “I was modeling for a show in Milan. My one and only job overseas, the highlight of my career. I knew I had to find something to do next, and was terrified of going back home. After the show, I noticed a stack of booklets outside the dressing room. The cover read second careers for models and had a picture of a stewardess. When I flipped through, it seemed like one of those fluffy career-assessment personality quizzes. You know the type. On a whim, I took one home, filled it out, and mailed it to the address for my free consultation. A few of my girlfriends did the same, but only I heard back.”

“Let me guess. You got another one in turn, only much more involved, and with some brainteasers. And then you got a third, and a fourth, and then a clandestine meeting from someone claiming to represent a shadowy organization that could change your life, as long as you give up your past life and claim allegiance to them.”

Her smile was bitter this time. “I guess they were on a recruitment drive. Lucky me.”

“No, lucky me,” he said, holding her gaze.

Her eyes slipped to the side as if undeserving of the sincerity. “So what now? After I’ve bared my soul and broken my vow of secrecy?”

“What do you want?”

“I . . . don’t know. I just knew I needed to see you. If they knew what we were discussing, my life would be in danger.”

“If it makes you feel better to hear it, no matter what happens between us, I’ll never breathe a word.”

“Not even to the Society?”

“I’m my own man, Ana.”

She reached out to stroke his cheek, and he felt his attraction stirring again. He pushed the feeling away and gave the conversation the attention it deserved. “I believe you’re being truthful with me,” he said, “and I’m appreciative. But there’s a few more things I need to clarify.”

The coy smile returned, masking a glimmer of hurt in her eyes. She blew a smoke ring. “Okay.”

“Hans is a high-level CIA agent, born Hans Engler, according to his birth certificate. He’s the son of a German American industrialist who immigrated to America after the war. The presumption being that his family had money to hide war crimes they wished to conceal. But we know who his true father was, don’t we? Stefan Kraus, the man who resurrected the Ascendants in 1933 and recruited Ettore.”

“You have good intelligence,” she said.

“Is Stefan dead?”

“As far as I know.”

“Is Hans the mysterious Archon I’ve heard about?”

“I don’t know. If not, he will be someday.”

“If he lives that long,” Dr. Corwin said grimly.

She frowned. “I told you. Don’t bet against him. He knows you’re still looking for Ettore, by the way. You found the cannon?”

Dr. Corwin didn’t bother to hide his grin.

“Hans is obsessed with the search,” she said. “He inherited the grudge his father held, as well as his father’s belief that Ettore developed a device capable of reaching the Fold.”

“Why are you really telling me all this?” he said, looking at her strangely.

“Is it anything you don’t know or haven’t guessed?”

“Maybe not, but I’m sensing a deeper reason, even beyond . . . us.”

After a long moment, she said quietly, “If I’m being honest with you, it’s because I’m not sure which side