I touched the paper, following the sentences line by line with my finger. I felt a connection through the confession. I felt as though I knew the person who'd written this.

Jack let me peel his fingers away from the excerpt and take it into my possession. He looked up, and his eyes squinted as if in a daze. "Evangelist? Juju? What are those words?"

Stories from the books I've read arose in my mind. The descriptive imagery created a vivid picture. Constantine. Charlemagne. The memories poured in, but I didn't share them with Jack. "They're things of the Old World, no doubt. Now, I want to buy the journal, Jack. I'll give you the five thousand citz. I won't even take the other document with it. One for five thousand, Jack. I'm sure it's a record-breaking sale."

His eyes glinted sharply. "You really want this journal, Celeste. So much so, you'd pay five thousand?" He shook his head. "A moment ago, you were shredding me to bits for the two for five offer. Now, you don't care"—he snapped his fingers—"just like that."

"Don't play games with me, Jack. I said I'll pay you, and I will."

"How?" he asked.

I waved my hand off abstractly into the distance. "I don't know, but I will. I'll get a loan or something. Ask for an advance on my allowance. Does it matter?"

"You'd be willing to do that," he said, his gloved hands hiding inside his satchel, "for this." I watched as he pulled out the dull cloth of the bound journal.

"In a week. I promise. On the twenty-fifth, we'll meet here. Same time. Same place. I promise," I repeated.

"Ten," he said. His face was stoic and hard, harder than I'd ever seen it. "I want ten thousand citz."

My feet stumbled backwards. "You can't do that, Jack. No substitutions. No negotiations. Remember? For you and for me."

He scratched his jaw. "Didn't I tell you that my rules are subject to change at any given time?" I shook my head. "No? How uncouth of me. If it's too much, then refuse. It's so easy, right? So what is it? Yes...no? Maybe? Come on, Celeste. Tell me. Tell me so that I can leave and get on with my life." His taunts swamped my ears. He flipped the journal up in the air and juggled it around and around to the rhythm of his dancing eyes.

"What happened to the honor among street thugs?" He smiled grimly and caught the journal in one hand before placing it in his jacket pocket. "Poverty happened. But this, this journal, is my insurance. I can find another girl like you, Celeste, easy. There are hundreds of them waiting for a chance to mix up with a thug like me, all in the name of adventure. The choice is yours. This journal is yours, if you dare. Everything comes with a price."

"What about the price of friendship?"

"We were never that kind of friends."

"What? The ones who deal in honesty?"

"No. The ones who deal in lies. Let's not pretend that if you ever saw me in the walls of your fancy city that you'd greet me. No, I'm your dirty secret. Something that you feel smug about as you lay in your bed. I bet you wait for our nights together. It amuses you to court danger. The feeling keeps you going through your sad, staid life.

"Just as you do this for the thrill, I'm doing this for the money. I've never lied about that, and I won't start now." He strode toward me and rested his hands on my shoulders. "I want out, and I'll do whatever it takes."

I turned my cheek away from his face, away from his accusations, away from his truths. He read right through me. I felt as naive and childish as he made me sound.

Feeling like a novel. I rolled my eyes inwardly at myself. I was no more an adventuress than he was a gentleman. This was all messed up. He messed it up, and I let him. I'd known his nature since our first meeting. Only then, it delighted me to be acquainted with someone like him. Now, I fully regretted the times I blew my opportunities to end this.

But even knowing this, I still felt the pull of the journal as it drew in my soul. I wanted that journal. I wasn't prepared to give it up. I looked at the paper in my hand. To read this excerpt and not discover the full treasure would be a travesty, like glimpsing paradise but never arriving.

Our moonlit rendezvous were drawing to a close, and I needed one last adventure to keep me going past the next eighteenth and through the rest of my life.

I turned my face to meet his sharp eyes. A moment passed. And then another. The wind whipped and pelted my face with sharp stings and cold slaps. My hood was torn from my head by the powerful gusts' strength. My hair lapped around my ears and over my eyes, extending forward to tickle Jack's chin. The silver threads glinted in the moon's beam.

"I'll do it," I said, feeling his shock, and then his slow smile. The gambler inside of me lived for the thrill of high stakes vicariously through him. The hidden doubt. The exposed confidence. The raw victory. I felt it all as he experienced it. "I'll pay," I continued. "Just give me one week. And I'm taking the other document with me. Call it a parting gift from you to me."

A budding smile curved his lips. "I don't give freebies or extensions."

I kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. "You do for me."

I turned my back on his bemused expression and ran the two miles to the walls. I felt an explosion of energy and the need to expel it. My feet swept past the small, rounded hills, kicking up clumps of snow, fresh from yesterday's storm. I maneuvered around the trees, ducking my head from the low branches as I swerved between the thick trunks.

Fifteen minutes later, I hunched over—heart pounding, chest constricting—with my hands resting on my knees. The wall loomed before me. It stood high, at least one hundred feet above ground, and its circumference stretched twice as wide. The smooth, stone, exterior proved to be un-scalable; it lacked foot-holes and hand-grips. I couldn't see it, but I knew there to be an interior, steel, framework. One slip, one breech, and you were toast, fried by the electric currents working underneath. True to its design, it faithfully kept outsiders out and my people in.

So much danger I put myself through. And for what?

My breath caught as I grazed the distinctive bulge in the seam of my overcoat, and then pulled out a slight rectangular box. It was covered with dull cloth and bound with twine. I carefully placed it into the built-in folder of my briefcase, next to the political document.

I peeled off my white gloves, stuffed them inside my pocket, and then studied my quick fingers in the dawning light. Jack would never let me get close to him again.

I passed the straps of my briefcase through the rusted buckles. It was dark and roughened from use. I swung it behind my back then rolled up my sleeves. My feet ambled around the start of the wall.

Moments later, I heard a hushed crack. I looked down. The broken remnants of a twig were left scattered under my foot. I looked beyond it. What seemed to be an animal's cache laid against the thick mortar of the wall. Slim sticks, tufts of snow, and thorny acorns were heaped in a pile. I knelt to the ground. My knees left tracks as my arms stretched toward the small stash. I pulled out the acorns and sticks. My arms swept aside the snow to reveal the underground tunnel. It was a gaping breach within the underground network of pure steel that shot about ten feet below the wall.

I pushed my bare forearms ahead of me as I lowered my knees and skid forward on my belly. I sucked in my stomach and slowed my small hiccups of breath as I squeezed myself through the seven feet of dry heat, musty air, and solid steel.

Somehow, I managed to smile as I made it through the tight space. I managed to grin as I passed by the artist's signature initials, C.N., near the end. I managed to laugh as my head broke through the opening, and I shoved the rest of my body out.

With a certain smugness, I stole through the night, unscathed and undetected. Letting the fading stars be my guide, I followed them as they led me to the palace, my home. I winded myself around the stairs and to my room. I collapsed on my silk sheets and feathered pillow. I gripped my briefcase close to my body and buried it underneath my fur coat.

The thrill was decreasing. I was left cold and tired, but an insistent thread of excitement persisted on beating strong.

That night, I smiled as I fell asleep.