“Well,” said Zofia, “as part of the infraorder of Mygalomorphae, the fangs of a tarantula pointdown, whereas the spiders you’re thinking of have fangs which point and join in a pincerlike arrangement. That’s rather special.”
Enrique gagged.
Tristan beamed at her. “You remembered.”
Zofia did not find this particularly noteworthy. She remembered most things people told her. Besides, Tristan had listened just as attentively when she explained the arithmetic spiral properties of a spiderweb.
Enrique made ashoomotion with his hands. “Please take it away, Tristan. I beg you.”
“Aren’t you happy for Goliath? He’s been sick for days.”
“Can we be happy for Goliath from behind a sheet of glass and a net and a fence? Maybe a ring of fire for good measure?” asked Enrique.
Tristan made a face at Laila. Zofia knew that pattern: widened eyes, pressed-down brows, dimpled chin, and the barest quiver of his bottom lip. Ridiculous, yet effective. Zofia approved. Across from her, Laila clapped her hands over her eyes.
“Not falling for it,” said Laila sternly. “Go look like a kicked puppy elsewhere. Goliath can’t stay here during a meeting. That’s final.”
Tristan huffed. “Fine.” Then he murmured to Goliath, “I’ll make you a cricket cake, dear friend. Don’t fret.”
Once Tristan had left, Enrique turned to Zofia. “I rather sympathized with Arachne after her duel with Minerva, but I detest her descendants.”
Zofia went still. People and conversation were already a cipher without throwing in all the extra words. Enrique was especially confusing. Elegance illuminated every word the historian spoke. And she could never tell when he was angry. His mouth was always bent in a half smile, regardless of his mood. If she answered now, she’d only sound foolish. Instead, Zofia said nothing, but pulled out a matchbox from her pocket and turned it over in her hands. Enrique rolled his eyes and turned back to his book. She knew what he thought of her. She had overheard him once.She’s a snob.
He could think what he liked.
As the minutes ticked by, Laila handed out tea and desserts, making sure Zofia received exactly three sugar cookies, all pale and perfectly round. She settled back in her chair, glancing around the room. Eventually, Tristan returned and dramatically plopped onto his cushion.
“In case you’re wondering, Goliath is deeply offended, and he says—”
But they would never know the tarantula’s specific grievances because at that moment a beam of light shot up through the coffee table. The room went dark. Then, slowly, an image of a piece of metal appeared. When she looked up, Séverin was standing behind Tristan. She hadn’t heard him enter.
Tristan followed her gaze and nearly jumped when he saw Séverin. “Must you creep up on us like that? I didn’t even hear you come into the room!”
“It’s part of my aesthetic,” said Séverin, dangling a Forged muffling bell.
Enrique laughed. Laila didn’t. Her gaze was fixed on his bloodied arm. Her shoulders dropped a bit, as if she was relieved it was only his arm that was bloodied. Zofia knew he was alive and well enough, so she turned her attention to the object. It was a square piece of metal, with curling symbols at the four corners. A large circle had been inscribed upon the middle. Within the circle were small rows of stacked lines shaped like squares:
“That’s what we planned for weeks to acquire?” asked Tristan. “What is it? A game? I thought we were after a treasure map hidden in a compass?”
“So did I,” sighed Enrique.
“My bet was that it was a map to the Fallen House’s lost stash,” said Tristan.
“My bet was on an ancient book the Order lost years ago,” said Laila, looking terribly disappointed. “Zofia? What’d you think it’d be?”
“Not that,” she answered, pointing at the diagram.
“Looks like all of us were wrong,” said Tristan. “So much for blackmailing the Order.”
“At least because all of us were wrong, none of us have to play test subjects to whatever strange poison Tristan makes next,” Laila pointed out.
“Touché!” said Enrique, raising a glass.
“I resent that,” said Tristan.
“Don’t call it a loss yet,” said Séverin, pacing. “This diagram could still be useful. There has to be a reason why the patriarch of House Nyx wanted it. Just like there has to be a reason why all of our intelligence was on high alert with this transaction. Enrique, care to enlighten us on what this diagram is? Or are you too preoccupied with praying for my immortal soul?”
Enrique scowled and closed the book on his lap. Zofia glanced at the spine. He was holding the Bible. Instinctively, she leaned away.
