Dried blood. A lot of it. All caked into the dirt in patches, fanning out in all directions from the pillar. I stood up, my spine straightening. It was possible there was some other explanation, but from my current vantage point—the remote location, the ritualistic-looking pillar—it looked a lot like the site of a human sacrifice.
Sick to my stomach, I started quickly toward the lake. The sun was all the way up now. People would be waking soon. At a healthy pace, I made my way back to the shore, and when the water came into view, I noticed something glinting down below. I could see it for only a second before the clouds shifted and it was obscured once again. I scrambled down the rocks and slipped into the water. Again, it felt warm in comparison to the brisk morning air. I started swimming across the lake, hoping to get about halfway to shore before I dove down to see what I could make of the lake bottom. By then the clouds should have passed and the sun would help me see what, if anything, could be seen. When I reached a good halfway point, I treaded water to catch my breath, and then, taking a big gulp of air, plunged quickly down through the water, my eyes fixed on something strange below me. Despite the clarity of the water, the bottom was hard to see. It was as if something was blocking my vision, a kind of sheen. Squeezing my eyes shut and then reopening them, I finally saw what it was that had glinted in the morning light.
Instead of a lake bottom, the place was lined with an enormous metal grate. Kicking hard, I continued down until my hands nearly grasped it. The visibility wasn’t great, but as far as I could tell, the entire lake was lined with some kind of metal, and down below it, the basin extended into total darkness, an unknowable abyss beyond.
I didn’t understand and I was running out of breath, beginning almost to panic. I would need air very soon. I ran my hand along the top of the grate, feeling the algae-covered metal. And when I plunged my hands through the openings, I saw that the other side of the grate was dotted with huge iron spikes. And then I understood what I was seeing. I was up against the mouthof some kind of a cage. The metal spikes were meant to keep something in.
Instinctively, I let go, and my chest nearly bursting, I kicked off the metal and swam up as fast as I could. As I surged through the surface layer, air flooded my lungs, and I had a momentary sense of complete and total gratitude before remembering that I still had to make it to the beach. Gasping for air, my head straining out of the water, I raced for the shore, doing whatever I could just to propel myself to safety. My thoughts spiraled, but I tried to calm myself. Whatever was going on here, I could think about it later. For now, all I needed to think about was getting out of the lake.
As soon as I was in waist-deep water, I stood and pushed through the rest of the way to the shore, where I collapsed on the sand. I lay there longer than I should have, my chest heaving, my body shaking. Staring up at the early-morning sun, I tried to reorient myself.
When I finally pushed myself up to sit and gazed out at the water, myriad questions flashed through my mind, but they were all drowned out by two overriding ones: What the hell was at the bottom of that lake, and why were they trying to keep it from getting out?
I took a nap when I got back, sleeping fitfully into the late morning, and when I awoke, I was disoriented and confused. Rattled by everything I’d found out on that island, I barely knew where to begin. They were growing an ancient plant, there was something seriously messed up going on with the lake, and these people knew Paloma. I needed answers, but I also knew that getting them was going to be next to impossible. I’d discovered all of these things by doing the main thing I’d been told not to do. Ifthey found out what I’d done, they could rescind my residency at any time and send me packing, and then I’d never find the relic.
When I went up to lunch, I was in something of a state. Unhinged, angry, I decided it was time to stop being polite. I knew I couldn’t mention the silphium or the lake, but I could figure out a way to find out about Paloma. I had to. I still hadn’t been able to get ahold of her, and although I’d been telling myself that my fears were unfounded, I now had reason to believe she was connected to this place, connected to Isabelle. What if she was in danger as well?
I must have seemed distracted as I toyed with my grilled branzino and potatoes lyonnaise.
“Are you feeling all right?” asked Aspen. “You’re quiet today.”
I looked up from my food to see the four of them staring at me. “As they say,Celui qui ne comprend pas devrait apprendre ou se taire.”
“Who does not understand should learn or be silent,” Finn translated.
“I saw it out front when I first arrived. John Dee, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Dorian.
I set my fork down. “Why John Dee?”
“He was a prominent mathematician,” said Aspen.
“He was also an occultist. Seems like a strange choice.”
Aspen laughed. “He was the court advisor to Elizabeth I.”
I turned and looked toward the kitchen. “I’ve been wondering, I never see any kitchen staff. Who is making all this delicious food?” I didn’t mention that I’d seen Paloma dressed as a maid standing in this very room. I would leave that out for now.
“Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity,” I said, but then I had an idea. “Also, I’ve been thinking about writing an article about Hildegard.”
They looked at me blankly.
“What?” Lexi said after a moment.
“I’m just interested in the history of the place, and until I can find Casimir’s artifact, I think this might be a good use of my time. I find Hildegard fascinating. So really, where is the kitchen staff? Can I meet them?”
Finn, Lexi, and Dorian looked unnerved, but Aspen was unfazed. She slid some fish onto her fork and lifted it to her mouth. “There is no kitchen staff,” she said after she’d swallowed.
I laughed. “Then who is making the food?”
“Lexi is,” said Aspen with an authoritative nod.
Looking remarkably like a deer caught in headlights, Lexi took a generous sip of her wine. “Yes,” she said uneasily. “It’s me.”
It was such a ludicrous lie that I didn’t even bother to hide my disbelief. “My compliments,” I said, and she raised her glass in thanks before brushing a lock of blond hair nervously behind her ear.
