CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Isis and I are riding in a limo, and I’m giddy with excitement.
“Again, props to you,” Isis says. “I can’t believe Eduardo was behind it all—and you’re the only one who figured it out.”
Something about what she says feels wrong, but I let it go because what really matters is that we’re on the way to finally heal Mom. I look out at the city as Isis showers me with compliments. If Manhattan could pass for a small outskirt of Gomorrah, that’s not the case for Brooklyn.
We get stuck in traffic twice, but eventually, the limo reaches JFK airport and drops us off among the hordes of people rushing to their flights. We navigate our way to a secret door guarded by wards; no human could ever go this way. Opening it, we slip into an underground labyrinth of corridors leading
