Icy needles rained down around them as the duo hurried through the streets. The sky overhead was dark gray with thick, rolling clouds. Odd sneezed as a whirling snowflake flew up his nose.

Aelita had insisted on being one of the ones to investigate the location she'd discovered; the rest of the group had drawn straws for the task of who would leave the warmth of the Hermitage to go with her. She was glad Jeremie hadn't insisted on coming along when Odd drew the short straw—for a moment, she thought he might, before he'd just nodded and told them to stay warm.

"I'm just saying," the blonde said as they turned down Place de la Révolution, "it's been like twelve years since they worked on the house, possibly more. Seems like we're out here catching pneumonia for nothing."

"If there's even the slightest chance I can find out more about my parents, I have to take it. And we're almost there."

She pointed to a road on the other side of the square. "That's Rue de Provence, and Rue de Tivoli should be the second of third road on the left."

They headed off, trucking through the snow. Odd sighed, but his voice was light. "I know, I know. And we're all with you. I just reserve the right to complain every step of the way."

"You mean as opposed to how you normally act?"

They both laughed. I'm lucky to have my friends, Aelita thought.

Rue de Tivoli was a run-down district with offices, warehouses, and apartment complexes, each building growing sadder the further you went. The heavy snow and wind made the walk down it feel longer than it probably was. Their destination was an old and shabby building with peeling olive paint. The door was filthy glass with a tarnished bronze frame. Next to it was an intercom with twelve buttons. None were marked. The place seemed, for all intents and purposes, dead.

They looked at each other. They looked at the icy street behind them. They looked at the intercom. Not wanting to admit defeat just yet, they started mashing buttons.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" a thin voice screeched. "Goodness, people these days…"

A key turned. The door shook. Impatient, Odd seized a handle and yanked it open. On the other side stood a short, frail and elderly woman.

"My goodness, you really are hasty," she said in a voice like a whistling teapot.

Aelita flushed at their rudeness. "Excuse me, madam. We're looking for someone from the firm of Broulet and Brothers. Is this the correct address?"

The woman smiled. "Aren't you a little young to be in the builder's trade? But yes, this is the correct address. Hurry inside, it's much too cold to be talking out here."

Aelita tried to speak, but the woman was already moving away. She exchanged a helpless look with Odd. With nothing else to be done, they followed.

The woman's apartment was on the ground floor, and full of antique furniture: a large, crackling radio, a black-and-white television, a beautiful mahogany table. Feeling somewhat awkward, Aelita and Odd took a seat on the parlor's floral-printed couch, watching their impromptu hostess move around.

"I'm Marie Lemoine," the old lady said as she laid out a tray of biscuits and tea. "And you said you were looking for the Broulet brothers? They haven't worked out of here for quite some time. Ten years, I believe."

Before Aelita could say anything, Odd snatched one of the biscuits and stuck the entire thing in his mouth. His eyes bulged comically. She promptly decided to pretend she was full. "Do you remember anything about them?" she asked as Odd forced himself to chew.

Aelita shrunk under the severe glare Miss Lemoine shot her. "For your information, young lady, I have been the superintendent in this building for almost twenty years, and I have a photographic memory. If you thought I'd forget Philippe, Jean-Jacques and Jean-Pierre Broulet, then you're much mistaken."

"I didn't mean to offend you," she hastened. "I just wanted to make sure."

"My, what fine manners you have. Now let's see...the Broulet Brothers lived here for ten years before Jean-Pierre and Jean-Jacques died in an unfortunate work accident. They didn't have many workers, it was a small firm, and within six months Philippe had sold the firm and rented the offices out to Mister Gaston. Such a shame, he was such a cheerful young man-but well, death changes us all, doesn't it? Now Mister Gaston..."

Aelita waited politely as the woman rambled on for a little longer. As soon as Miss Lemoine paused to take a breath-and force another biscuit onto an unfortunate Odd-she interjected, "And what happened to Philippe?"

"Oh, yes, you were asking about him, weren't you? He moved south to Marseille. Said he couldn't bear to stay here anymore."

"Was that in the same year he sold the firm? Did he leave you any contact information?"

Miss Lemoine took a long sip of her tea. Her eyes seemed to sparkle, as if she was enjoying the suspense. "You two are strange, I may say. You come here, in this weather, to interrogate an old lady about things that happened over a decade ago?"

Aelita's heart skipped a beat. Dozens of horrible different scenarios flew through her brain, of Miss Lemoine getting suspicious and throwing them out. Or maybe she'd been asked to cover something up, and now she would be calling the police. Or-

"But, no matter. Yes, I do believe it was the same year he sold the firm, and yes, he left his new address and telephone number. So we could arrange for his payments to be suspended and other matters, you understand. Closing a business is a complicated affair, there's a mountain of bureaucracy…"

Oh. Or it was nothing. She fought to not slump in relief. "Do you still have it?"

"Why are you interested?"

"He's my grandfather," Odd said, having bravely choked down the biscuit at last. "I've never met Grandpa, but I've always wanted to."

"Philippe's grandson!" Miss Lemoine exclaimed. With a strange agility, she leapt to her feet and grasped Odd's face, turning it side to side. "I never knew he had a child…but yes, I can see it. You've got the same eyes…and why have you never met?"

"He had a falling out with my parents." Wow, he's actually tearing up, Aelita thought. Impressive. "They haven't spoken since before I was born, but recently Mom has started to regret their spat. She's afraid he won't speak with her, so she'd like me to make contact, and it's been a dream of mine to reunite the family…"

When Odd truly put the charm on, it was hard to resist him. Even for old women, it seemed. Miss Lemoine's face practically melted. "What a dutiful young man you are! Of course, I'll help. I've got an archive of all the old building tenants, it'll be somewhere in the living room…"

She shuffled into another room. Several minutes later, she returned and pressed a crumpled slip of paper into Odd's hand—and another biscuit. His face paled; in the interest of helping her friend, Aelita hurriedly bid farewell.

As soon as the door had closed behind them, Odd discarded the biscuit in a trash can. Aelita gave him an amused look. "Were they really that horrible?"

"You have no idea."

As they walked down Rue de Provence, a rough voice called out. "Aelita?"

She turned towards it with a smile. "William, hey!"

He was stepping out of a café close by, a few shopping bags in his hands. With him was Sissi Delmas, carrying more bags with similar logos.

"Hey," he said. He made a motion to put the bags down, but Sissi let out a sharp a-hem and glanced meaningfully at the snow. Rolling his eyes, William aborted the act. "I didn't know you were back early. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, nothing much," Odd jumped in. He wrinkled his nose at Sissi. "Hey, Delmas. Shopping in this weather? Good to know you're still brain-dead."

"And that's still more brains than you, Della Robbia," she retorted in the same playfully disgusted tone. "William was asking Aelita, not you."

Aelita bit her lip as tension, unnoticed by Sissi, crackled in the air. She was acutely aware of Odd's stare on her back. She knew what he wanted. She knew what they'd agreed: to not involve William in this. But not telling him was different than brushing him off to his face. Desperately, she searched for a way to satisfy both her friends.

"Um, well…we're just…looking into some things."

It was the wrong thing to say. His gaze became sharper, searching. "Some things? Is…everything alright?"

Is it XANA? She knew he was really asking. Is it the factory?

"Everything's fine!" Odd threw an arm around her shoulders. "We're just taking a trip down memory lane. Nothing you'd be interested in, romantic stuff like how her parents met, what their wedding was like... She's an orphan, you know."

Aelita barely suppressed the gasp as William flinched, all too-well feeling the dagger Odd slipped in. With Sissi right there, she couldn't scold him for it or give him the aghast glare she wanted to. But oooooh, he was going to get it later.

"Aww, that's sweet," Sissi said, oblivious to all this. "But she's your cousin, right? Shouldn't someone in your family be able to tell her about that?"

"Yeah, you'd think, but my whole family hated her dad! He's persona non grata as far as they're concerned!"

"Wow, that sucks."

"You don't know the half of it," Odd said. "Anyway, I'd love to stay and chat, but—nah, I wouldn't, not in this weather. Gotta run!"

Odd moved away, but Aelita slipped out from under his arm and gave William an apologetic smile. "Sorry about him. It was nice to see you both."

"Yeah," William muttered, fists clenching and unclenching around the bags. Sissi pursed her lips as she watched Odd's receding back.

"I'll see you at lunch tomorrow?" Aelita pressed hopefully.

He didn't answer her right away, the space between his eyebrows crinkled in thought. Then suddenly, he turned. "Is everything alright, Aelita? Be honest."

She thought she was going to choke on the guilt. At that moment, Aelita hated both her friends for putting her in this position. "Everything's fine, William. Really."

He nodded, slowly. "Alright."

"Lunch?" she reminded him.

"Right. Yeah, I'll see you then."

Biding the pair goodbye, Aelita hurried to catch up with Odd. "And here I thought you were done with the weirdness, William…" she heard Sissi saying, followed by a chuff of laughter. It made her lips twitch upward. Now that's a friendship I never thought I'd see…but I'm glad I am. He could use more of them.

At that, the anger boiled under her skin again. As soon as William and Sissi were out of earshot, she wheeled on her 'cousin'. "Odd, what was that?! You know what happened wasn't his fault—in fact, he had nothing to do with Daddy's death!"

"Hey, I know," Odd said, holding up his hands placatingly. "But I needed to distract him, and guilt's a pretty good way."

"Still, there was no need to be so—so cruel!"

"Princess, look, it's freezing out here. My goosebumps have goosebumps. Can we agree to disagree and get back to the nice, warm Hermitage?"

He was genuinely shivering, and even though all her layers, Aelita could feel the cold seeping in. So ultimately, she relented, though she narrowed her green eyes to signify she still wasn't happy. "Fine."

When they returned to the Hermitage, they filled the rest of the group in. The others had found few items of interest; the occasional trinket at best. But the most valuable thing they'd uncovered was a framed picture of Daddy, Mommy, and a very young Aelita. It had been knocked to the floor and half-hidden under a piece of furniture, they said. The glass was cracked; she touched it with trembling fingers. Then, carefully, she packed it and the other things away in a little bag she'd brought just for this purpose.

She and Odd filled the others in on what they'd found. Agreeing it seemed like something worth pursuing, they settled around the living room.

As the unspoken leader of the group, it was silently agreed that Jeremie would be the one to make the call. But if all went well, Aelita would get her chance to speak, too. She held her breath as he took out his cellphone and began dialing.

"Hello, good afternoon to you. I'm looking for Mister Philippe Broulet? ...Jeremie Belpois. I wanted to talk to him regarding something from several years ago. I'm a friend of someone who once hired him."

He listened to a reply they couldn't hear. "Hello, sir."

That must be Mister Broulet! He was there! She gestured for Jeremie to hand her the phone, but he made a negative motion with his hand. "I'm Jeremie Belpois. I'm calling from Paris. I attend Kadic Academy and I was hoping you could tell me about one of the past professors there? ...Hopper. Franz Hopper."

His eyes widened at whatever the response was. Aelita leaned forward. "But we-my friend and I-we're sure you worked on his home. The Hermitage-"

He stopped abruptly. Then he slowly snapped the phone shut.

"He hung up?"

He nodded at Yumi, mouth thinning. There was a certain set to his face. They all knew it by now. It was his planning face. "Well, if Mr. Broulet won't answer us on the phone, he'll just have to answer us in person."

8 hours behind France, in California, the school of Meredith Logan High School was abuzz with activity and excitement. Stationed between Berkeley and the Briones Regional Park, the school was highly acclaimed for the quality of its education and campus. The grounds contained luxuries like a golf course, an artificial river for rowing, winding footpaths for nature walks, and a six-story building shaped like a horseshoe. It was the definition of a rich kids' school.

This January 7th, the students had returned from their holidays early, faces eager. The staff had done it again—put together an extracurricular activity that trumped all competition. The main courtyard was full of various trucks and caravans, an army of workers scurrying about like ants. They were unloading cables, lights, strange pieces that didn't quite seem to fit in-until they were assembled together. Then the hullabaloo started to make sense. The workers were putting together a stage. Hung decorations announced what for: GARDENIA LIVE CONCERT!

For Eva Skinner, though, the concert her fellow alumni were all so excited about wasn't that big a deal. Well, okay, that was wrong; anything involving Gardenia was a big deal. But compared to the stage at Los Angeles, where Gardenia had performed in front of almost a hundred thousand people, this was small fry, and she told her cooing friends as much.

"You're so lucky, Eva," Suzy, a small, mousy girl with braids, sighed. "My dad promised he'd take me, but he had a conflicting appointment at the last minute.

"He bought you a pony for Christmas as an apology," Jennifer reminded her, twirling a sandy strand of hair around a finger.

"Yeah, and I hate horses. They stink."

"Anyway," Eva said, turning the conversation back towards her favorite subject. The girls were gathered under 'Old Joe', an elderly pine tree with a fantastic view of the courtyard-especially the stage's construction. "Not only is the stage smaller, so's the lighting array. And the concert was in the evening, not in the afternoon. So they could project these images of Gardenia against the dark, high enough to touch the stars…"

Her two friends sighed again, perfectly jealous. Eva preened.

Suzy pulled out a digital camera-a birthday gift from her uncle-from her handbag, beaming. "Let's take some photos! We can upload them onto the club's forums!"

Was Suzy not aware of how little time they had left or something? Maybe the heat (for California winter, anyway; 70 degrees in January was ugh) was addling her head. Eva sniffed. "There's only three hours until the concert, and in the time I have to take a shower and style my hair, apply my makeup, pick out my dress...I've got no time to waste-"

"But you're the president!"

That was true. Eva's luck in going to the Los Angeles concert had catapulted her to fame at school, and she'd been instantly made president of Gardenia's fan club upon her return. And while Eva was shamelessly shallow, she valued her position. Sadly, taking photos at the risk of beauty time was one of the costs of maintaining it.

"Fine," Eva sulked.

After the photos, she had to go to the school's reception banquet with a list of the various items of food everyone wanted, then Jennifer dragged her away to help with her hair, then Suzy handed her a CD she'd burned the photos onto to publish them. And no matter how much cajoling Eva did, Suzy was insistent she upload them now, not after the concert.

By the time it was all done, she only had an hour left to get ready, and certain sacrifices had to be made. Eva flew into her room in a borderline frenzy, stripping as quickly as she could. She threw herself into the shower, trading the nice long soak she'd planned for a quick rinse. Instead of blow-drying her hair, she wrapped it in a towel and rushed to her computer in a bathrobe.

"I'm gonna kill Suzy if my hair looks stringy," she grumbled as she booted up her computer. Her blonde hair was chin-length, too short to do much with. But it was so cute on her. Not like Jennifer, who'd insisted on dyeing a strand of her hair pink, which looked totally stupid...

As the computer hummed to life, she grabbed a bottle of varnish and hastily applied it to her nails. Her foot pressed the button to open the computer's DVD-drive. She blew on her fingers and shook them, trying to make them dry faster.

One advantage of being the club's president: she had a reserved space in the front row. Unlike lesser mortals, she wouldn't have to arrive in advance to push against the barrier. But time was still her enemy.

She jabbed the shortcut to the fan club's forums. Why wasn't this thing loading any faster?! Eva growled, drumming a finger against her mouse.

Finally! Gardenia's logo unwrapped itself before her eyes: a rose whose stalk was fused with the neck of an electric guitar.

Then, it flickered and wavered. The petals of the rose opened and darkened. The image warped, changed. Two concentric circles around a black dot. The outermost circle had four lines, one above, three below.

Eva batted her long eyelashes, confused.

Her mouse spat out an electric blue spark.

The spark crawled across her skin.

And then Eva remembered nothing.