The Fifth Healer

74.

Sloan grunts, and his footsteps carry him out of the room. We both exhale at the same time, both having been holding our breaths.

"That was close," she says.

"No kidding."

"Not that we're doing anything wrong."

"Sure, but, you know..." I gesture at my clothes on the floor and then indicate the distance, only inches between us.

"I wouldn't forget you," she says. "If I was retromanced, I mean. It would be impossible to make me forget you."

It's a nice sentiment. But I know better. Unfortunately, nothing survives retromancy. "Same," I lie. This doesn't seem the time for disheartening nuance.

She smiles.

"But like I was explaining," I say, "this is going to sound weird, and I'll explain once we're free and clear, but the thing is, these tattoos have information in them."

"Information?"

"Like, clues."

"About?"

"Uh, well, about this. About the guild. Our trials."

"Nikolai," she says, looking somewhere between shocked and offended, "you knew this whole time what was going on?"

"Not all of it."

"But you knew enough to make yourself a human cheat sheet. How?"

"I don't know."

"Where'd the tattoos come from?"

"I truly do not know."

"You're making literally zero sense."

"I agree. It's been a confusing several days."

She raises her eyebrows as if expecting me to say something, give her a key that unlocks these mysteries.

"Believe me," I say, "I wish I knew how to explain it."

"Just when I thought life couldn't get weirder, I find out my crush has alien abduction tattoos that predict the future."

"It's not quite-"

"Do you have a better explanation?"

"No, but I know it has something to do with my parents."

"Of course it does," she says. Then she adds quickly, "May they rest in peace, God bless their souls. When did they die?"

I frown.

"You don't know that, either, do you?"

I cough. "Listen, let's just focus on the task at hand. I'm wondering if maybe one of my markings could help us here."

She sighs and then, apparently willing the drop the subject of my memory loss for now, bends down to get a closer look at my skin. I admit, I don't hate having her run her fingers over my skin, her face close enough I can feel her breath.

"What language is this?" she asks, looking at my left arm.

"A lot of it is Greek. Some of it is ancient runes, dead languages," I say.

"Right. Ancient runes. Do they have a Duolingo for that?"

"What's-?"

She rotates me back, so I'm facing her. "What about this one here on the front?" She taps at the big tattoo on my chest. I've seen it in the mirror. The one that looks like an upside-down castle.

She counts, moving her finger up my chest in a series of taps. "One...two...three..."

Ending at ten, she looks up at me with excitement burning on her face.

"What is it?" I ask.

"There's ten lines here on this structure."

"Okay," I say.

"Everything else around here comes in twelves, right? Except for what?"

"Ten...the number of levels in the Kastro."

"Bingo."

"It's a map!"

"Has to be."

"So...does it reveal anything?"

"As maps go, I gotta say the detail is low. Your tattoo artist was clearly not much of a cartographer," she says.

"Nothing? Really?" I say, craning my neck in a failing attempt to see the details.

"Some designs, you know, swirls and stuff. And this guy floating above it-is that part of this tattoo? Or another one? Hard to tell with your tattoo density."

"The angel?"

I feel her face just inches from my chest.

"Yeah, I guess it's an angel," she says. "Weird thing about him though is he doesn't really have a forehead."

We both say it at the same time. "Icarus!"

"What's he doing there?" she says.

"No idea," I say, my mind reeling. "Are there any other details you see?"

"It looks like the tenth floor and second floor are both colored in with a different crosshatch design than the other floors."

We both take a deep breath, stuck.

Then I exclaim, "Hey, isn't that Icarus statue on this floor?"

"Niko!" she says, grabbing my shirt and vest and springing to her feet. "You're a genius!" I take the garments from her. Opening the shower door, she says, "Come on! Let's go!"

The Icarus statue is on the opposite side of the balcony, around the square atrium, from our quarters. We slink over there, keeping an eye out on the other floors who anyone who might recognize us.

The statue is life-size. He's posed dramatically, as if in flight, one hand reaching toward the heavens. Or, toward the sun, I suppose. Ironic that he's positioned here on the ninth floor, so close to the artificial sun. Or maybe that's on purpose. A warning to anyone who flies too close to the awesome power the sun affords us.

"What now?" says Ainsley, indicating the statue.

I press my lips together. "Hmm." There aren't even any doorways particularly nearby, and he's positioned halfway between two of them.

She reaches behind him, grabs one of the wings. Nothing. She grabs the other, twists, and and it rotates easily in her hand. A hidden door opens in the stone wall.