“And Xiomara is no picnic as an instructor either, I’d imagine,” Persi added dryly.
I just shrugged. I didn’t trust myself to say much else. I was afraid I might blurt everything out, or else just burst into tears.
“Here,” Rhi said, getting up from the table. “Take this up with you, have a little treat and crawl into bed. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
She poured me a cup of the tea they were all drinking, and placed two cookies on the edge of the saucer. I took it from her with murmured thanks. I spotted the grimoire, still on the table between them, and swallowed the hundred questions I wanted to ask them. The book—and the questions—would still be here in the morning.
“Good night,” I said.
Their chorus of good nights followed me up the stairs. I could hear they were already deep in conversation again by the time I closed my door. Freya sat on the bed waiting for me and, to my surprise, Diana was beside her, staring at me with all the inscrutable serenity of a sphinx.
Diana was one of those cats that never seemed to bother much with the humans in her orbit, and so I had never really interacted with her very much. She seemed to prefer the garden to the house, and I’d never once seen a bowl of cat food set out for her or seen any sign of cat toys or a litter box for her. Diana, like many cats, came and went as she pleased, with little regard for anyone or anything else. Therefore, the sight of her sitting nonchalantly on my bed like she belonged there was a bit surprising and—given what I now knew about her age—slightly intimidating.
“Hello, Diana,” I murmured. “Didn’t expect to see you up here.”
She blinked at me with her one bright eye. The socket where the other had been was scarred and empty. Her white fur looked almost silver in the dimly lit room. Her tail flicked back and forth like a metronome keeping time. I crossed the room and sat on the edge of my bed, wondering if my proximity would spook her, and then deciding that a four-hundred-year-old cat was probably not easily spooked. Sure enough, she didn’t so much as tense up as I sat down.
“What about you?” I asked her, my voice barely more than a whisper. “You’ve seen some shit. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
Diana merely looked at me, her tail like a hypnotist’s pendulum ticking back and forth.
“All those Vespers you’ve known, all the ones that have gone before us… can you still speak to them?” I asked. “Can you feel them there, just on the other side of the veil? What do they whisper to you, huh? What do you know that the rest of us don’t?”
I stared at Diana. Diana stared back.
“Of course you won’t tell me,” I sighed. “You might be four hundred years old, but you’re still a cat, aren’t you?”
Diana inclined her head slightly, as though acknowledging the truth of my words. Beside her, Freya yawned lazily. Feeling suddenly almost weak with tiredness, I changed into my pajamas and, too tired even to brush my teeth, stumbled into my bed. As I pulled the covers up to my chin, shivering, three bright eyes blinked at me out of the darkness.
I might be confused, overwhelmed, and frustrated; but in that moment, as sleep washed over me, at least I felt safe.
The next daydawned bright and colder than any morning we’d experienced so far in Sedgwick Cove. I’d expected to be plagued by nightmares after the events at the birdbath, but I slept so soundly that I felt disoriented when I finally peeled my eyes open. The light looked wrong coming in the window. What time was it? Whatdaywas it?
I sat up and put my glasses on. Diana and Freya had left their posts, slipping away to wherever it was cats went when they disappeared. I padded over to the window, stifling a yawn, and peered out over the garden. Well, that explained the weird quality of the light—the first frost of the season lay glittering over the lawn, reflecting and scattering the sunlight like a million tiny mirrors. A quick peek at the flowerbeds, however, revealed that my mother had been prepared. I had no idea what spell she had cast, but her blooms were free and clear from the frost, the moisture instead dripping from the branches and petals like rain. I wondered if the spell was one she had cast herself, or if the garden had been permanently protected from frost by Asteria.
Asteria.
I sighed as the full weight of the previous night pressed down on me. I had gone to Xiomara’s house hoping for answers, and instead all I had was a new pile of more troubling questions. I had managed not to mention Jess to Xiomara, and while I still wasn’t sure that was the right choice, I couldn’t unmake it now. If I wanted to understand how everything fit together—the Source, the grimoire, Asteria’s confusion—I needed to find Jess Ballard again.
I was frustrated that I’d let her walk away without getting more answers from her, but I’d been too surprised and wary to think straight. I knew my mother and my aunts would want to track her down as well, so at least we could work together. I was going to take Xiomara’s advice and not mention the messages from Asteria until I understood more. I pushed aside the uneasy feeling that there was quite the collection of lies and half-truths and secrets piling up around me—for now, at least, I could hide them away, like cleaning my room by shoving everything into the closet and forcing the door closed. Eventually it would all bury me like an avalanche when the door burst open, but that was a problem for future Wren. Present Wren had work to do.
When I arrived in the kitchen, it was to find Rhi sitting at her laptop at the table, her reading glasses perched at the end of her nose as she squinted down at the screen. She started when she saw me, but then her face broke into a smile.
“Good morning!”
“It’s weird seeing you in here with a computer instead of a mixing bowl,” I said, sliding into a seat at the table, and helping myself to tea.
Rhi chuckled her high pitched laugh. “Yes, I am rather outside my element.”
“What are you up to?”
“What else? Searching for our mysterious Jess Ballard, of course.”
All at once, I was feeling much more awake. “Any luck yet?”
“Not as such, no,” Rhi admitted, chewing on her thumb nail. “I started with what she told you—it seemed the most logical place. First, I searched Fairhaven University. It is a real place, located near Cambridge, England. Very small and very prestigious private university. But when I search her name along with the name of the university, nothing comes up.”
“Really?”
