Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29 Amy's hands shook as she held the door. She dared to glance back over her shoulder at the others. "Madrigals have wanted to get the family back together since the very beginning," she said softly. "We're descended from Madeleine, the fifth child of Gideon and Olivia Cahill. And—" "They didn't have five children!" Hamilton protested. "They had four!" The others nodded and grumbled, agreeing with Hamilton, not Amy. She swallowed hard and forced herself to go on. "Olivia was pregnant when Gideon died. Madeleine was born after the others fought and scattered. And then it wasn't safe to tell." Amy didn't feel safe now. She tried to finish. "So the Madrigals just want to stop the fighting. They want harmony. Peace. For… for…"

She couldn't quite speak the word forgiveness in front of Alistair, who'd helped kill her parents, and Jonah and Ian and Natalie, who'd tried to kill her and Dan. Or even Sinead, who'd never been anything but mean. "Turns out we're the good guys," Dan chipped in. "Oh, right," Ian sneered. "And that's why Madrigals are always stealing other branches' clues, destroying all their plans—" "To keep any one branch from having too much power," Dan explained. "For balance." Amy couldn't tell if anyone believed him. She swung her flashlight forward, through the doorway. The light illuminated another door and another keypad, with a very obvious purpose this time. This keypad held five buttons in a circle, each one labeled:

"Look at that," Amy said. "Doesn't that prove the Madrigals want everyone to get along? Because someone from each branch needs to be here before anyone can go on?" Nobody answered. They were too busy surging forward to press the buttons. Alistair and Sinead each seemed to be trying to elbow past the other to get to the Ekat button first. Alistair was also watching Ian and Natalie, and Amy and Dan. Amy's heart sank. He thinks the keypad could backfire, dividing people within each branch, instead of uniting anyone, Amy thought. And he's right. It could. Not with me and Dan, but the others…

The door clicked open and everyone scrambled through, casting suspicious glances at one another. Amy sagged against a wall. She must have accidentally hit some sort of switch because the room was suddenly bathed in light. "Another museum?" Dan groaned. It was. Just like at the other branches' strongholds, Amy thought. Looking at the roomful of display cases steadied her. Unlike the Janus museum, with its amazing art, or the Ekat museum, with its dazzling and horrifying inventions, these exhibits were fairly plain. An ordinary-looking wooden table stood in the very center of the room, as if occupying the place of honor. Amy drifted toward it. The table had a display case on top, containing two sheets of paper: one, clearly ancient, was covered with old-fashioned writing in an indecipherable language— Gaelic, maybe? The other page was crisp and white and typewritten, with a label at the top:

A TRANSLATION FROM OLIVIA CAHILL'S ORIGINAL ACCOUNTS Amy gasped and began reading: Our family dining table was one of the few items saved from that awful fire in 1507. This was due to mere happenstance, as I had had Thomas and Luke carry it outside earlier in the day so that I might clean and polish it in the bright sunlight. I did not know the darkness that was to come. I look at the table now and can still remember happier times: my husband, my children, myself, all whole and alive, laughing and talking over bean soup or porridge…. I sit at this table with only Madeleine now, her with her bread and jam, me with my sorrows, and I tell her, "Bring them back. Gather them here again." I will not see Gideon again on this earth, but

my dearest wish would be to see Luke and Katherine, Thomas and Jane— and Madeleine and me!— all sitting around this table together. Please, Madeleine, please… The words trailed off, and then there was more, clearly written at a later time: My dearest wish will never be fulfilled. Madeleine's searches bring her news only of deaths, scattered around the globe. I cannot recount them all— the pain is too great. I cannot accept that my children have died so far from me and from one another, in such estrangement. Madeleine tries to comfort me with the notion that now there will be many waiting for me in the next world— happier versions of themselves, more forgiving, less contentious. And, in truth, I long for that. I am an old woman; I am not far from the next world myself. But I still have hopes and fears in this one. I