I tried not to be too obvious as I scanned the bookshelves. “And what’s your specialization?”
She shook her head quickly. “It’s niche. Suffice it to say, if someone would just give me a gaggle of children to raise entirely without environmental influence, I would be a very happy gal. Unfortunately, that’s unethical.”
“It certainly sounds unethical. So your work really never overlaps with Isabelle’s? It seems like the fields of behavioral psychology and cognitive neuroscience might overlap somewhat.”
She flashed her brilliant smile like she was the belle of a press junket. “They don’t.”
“I’m curious, though, I know she was a cognitive scientist, but I can’t get a clear picture of her work. Can you tell me anything about it?”
Taking another sip, she smirked. “Not allowed, I’m afraid.”
“What, did you, like, sign an NDA or something?”
She looked surprised by that, but remained unflappable.“Yes” was all she said. “Look, Isabelle was a mystery, and if there’s something specific you want to know about her, I’d ask Aspen. Those two were tight—annoying little polymaths always babbling away until the wee hours. If it’s insight into Isabelle, honestly, I’m the last person you should ask.”
“Did you two not get along?”
“Ha!” She picked up her mug and took an enormous swig. I was beginning to think there was something stronger than coffee in there. “Did no one tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“We used to date.”
“No. I had no idea. You must be worried about her.”
“Worried? No. She broke up with me. She’s a heartless bitch, it turns out.”
We locked eyes, as if each daring the other to speak. There was a palpable tension between us, a sort of violent chemistry that I half suspected might one day end in mutually assured destruction.
“Sounds tough,” I said.
She held my gaze an uncomfortably long time, an indiscernible emotion brewing in her crystalline eyes. “There are worse things.” She looked at me like I was supposed to understand what that meant, and then she motioned to the door. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have work to do. Can you…” She made a shooing motion with her hand, and that was that.
Eventually I called it a day and retreated to my cabana’s patio garden. Settling in with a warm cup of Earl Grey tea, sweetened to perfection with milk and sugar, I resumed myThapsia garganicaresearch. After reading a while, I was stunned to come across an image that looked remarkably like the drawing I’d found, and slowly I began to understand why I hadn’t been able to locate it in any of the pharmacopoeia I perused.
It turned out that the plant in question was called silphium and had been extinct for thousands of years. Pliny the Elder described it as a wonder drug of sorts. Most likely a member of theFerulagenus, it appeared one day after a “black rain.” Its resin was said to cure everything from fever to warts. It was also somehow both a fertility booster and a contraceptive, and there was some indication that it had other properties, more mystical ones to which Pliny gave no credence, but to which later occult scholars vaguely alluded. One text described it as “the lifeblood of the Terrible Ones,” but I couldn’t find an attribution on that, and I came across it in only one source.
Before it went extinct, it grew in an area called Cyrene, located in present-day Libya, resisting cultivation but growing plentiful and wild. It was so beneficial and sought-after that the Romans quickly got in on the action, exploiting the Cyrenes and the plant until it was no more.
Bells were beginning to go off in my head, though I couldn’t precisely grasp what I had at my fingertips until a few minutes later when I stumbled across a curious piece of trivia. Apparently the Cyrenes so revered the plant that they stamped the image of its seedpod on their currency. That seedpod, it turned out, looked exactly like the modern-day representation of a heart, and some sources posited that this humble seed was in fact the origin of that symbolism. I thought back to the heart design I’d seen on the front gate when I’d arrived, and possibly even what I’d mistaken for an ouroboros above the entrance to the scriptorium.
My heart raced with excitement, but my mind was getting a little muddled, so I decided to go for a walk to clear my head. The afternoon sun beat down on my shoulders as I headed along the twisting garden paths, around fountains glittering withflowing water, and eventually found myself at a building tucked into a verdant spot in the woods. All heavy beams and stonework, it resembled a formidable hunting lodge. It seemed like a place where important things might happen, and yet it was dark, with looming windows. Shallow stone steps led to an oak door, but when I tried the handle, I found it was locked. I noticed that there was a slot for a key card nearby.
Standing out there at that building, I was overcome by an eerie, uncanny feeling. I peered through a window, and I’m embarrassed to say that something about the deserted, darkened hallway gave me the creeps. I couldn’t tell if it was a dormitory or a set of classrooms, but I was struck by a profound desire to go inside. If only I could get hold of a key card.
Giving up, I headed back through the garden toward the cabana. When I reached the path, I was surprised to see Finn there, gathering velvety spears of lavender and gently placing them in a wicker basket. The scent rose sharply in the air.
“What are you up to?” I asked.
Around us the lavender plant buzzed with insect activity.
“Picking some lavender for tonight’s dessert. Lexi’s making chocolate lavender mousse.”
“Lavender mousse?” It sounded wretched to me, but I made a noise as if to convey I thought it sounded delicious.
“Yeah. It’s disgusting, but we all pretend to like it so Lexi doesn’t throw a tantrum.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I’d forgotten we were supposed to have game night soirée tonight—the whole gang. Back in New York, I loathed activities like game nights (I did not play well with others), but I was determined to be polite.
