“I believe you,” I whispered, suddenly feeling shy.
Whit leaned forward and pressed his lips to my cheek, the softest brush of his mouth against my skin. Then he leaned back and asked, “Any more questions?”
I shook my head. “You were onto something earlier.”
“What was it?” Whit tugged at his hair and then snapped his fingers. “Oh, right. The lighthouse. When we were there, you were just coming out of one of Cleopatra’s memories,” Whit said. “And you were telling me what you’d seen. At some point, Isadora snapped. She heard something that made her break character and fire her gun at you. I think we were on the brink of making a discovery.”
I rubbed my temples, fighting to remember exactly what I’d seen. “Let me think,” I murmured. “Cleopatra was in a rowboat accompanied by oneguard, and he was rowing while she sat behind him, dressed in a dark robe with a hood. Her hands were on the railing—no, wait. That’s not true. She was carrying something. It was… it was the roll of parchment!”
“The Chrysopoeia,” Whit said. “She had it on her, which makes sense. Her brother is trying to reclaim the throne, and he has his sights set on Alexandria. And who knows? He might have been looking for the sheet, too. He was also a descendant of the famous alchemist.”
Another part of the memory surfaced in my mind. “Whit, by the time Cleopatra arrives at the Roman tower, she’s no longer carrying the parchment roll. Cleopatra had made a turn before arriving at the palace where she could beg Julius Caesar’s help against her brother. That’s the moment I remember before Isadora started firing at us.”
“Exactly what I remember,” Whit said. “Which brings me back to my original question. Who do we know that could help us with the underground passageways in Alexandria?” His expression turned to excitement at the same moment a name popped into my mind.
We said it together: “Abdullah.”
A knock sounded as my stomach grumbled. “Hurrah, our food is here. Whit, why don’t you fill up the teacup—”
He was already up and moving toward the water basin, albeit very slowly. I went to the door, permitting entry to two waiters who brought in a tray laden with covered dishes, a small round table, and an extra wooden chair. The table was placed in front of the bed, the chair on the opposite side, tucked underneath. Together we arranged the dishes, uncovering the array, the savory aroma wafting through the room making my mouth water. Whit tipped the waiters, and they left us to enjoy our meal.
“How long before they answer?” I asked, eyeing the magical cup.
Whit fixed a plate and handed it to me and then piled the second with a truly spectacular amount of food. “I would think soon. There, see?” Whit pointed to the cup with his fork. “It’s already working.”
Sure enough, the water within the cup was shimmering silver, and when I brought it closer to me, Tío Ricardo’s face appeared, distorted from the constant rippling of the surface.
“Finally,” my uncle snarled. “It’s been days, Inez. And don’t think Idon’t know where you went. Lorena told me everything. Why the hell are you in Alexandria?”
“You’ve flooded the carpet twice,” I remarked dryly. “We had to walk around the room in our shoes or risk sodden stockings.”
“No less than you deserve for making me worry,” he snapped. “I’m stuck in this room, and you’re a hundred miles away, getting into all kinds of trouble, I’msure. And there’s been no word. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”
I squirmed, absolutely ashamed of myself.
“We’ve been busy,” Whit said between chewing. Somehow, he’d managed to clear half of his plate of food.
“Is thatWhitford?” Tío Ricardo asked. “Tell that scoundrel he ought to know better— Whatisit, Abdullah?” My uncle turned his face away, and I heard someone speaking in a muffled voice. Tío Ricardo returned to the cup, rolling his eyes. “Abdullah thinks I’m being too hard on you both. And he sends his greetings and congratulations and I don’t know what else. Health for all eternity or some such.”
I laughed. “Can we speak to him, por favor?”
“Am I not worth a few more minutes?” Tío Ricardo demanded.
Whit paused in his eating and came to sit next to me on the bed. He pressed his temple close to mine and peered into the cup. “It’s important, Ricardo.”
“Humph,” he said, but disappeared. Abdullah appeared in the cup a moment later, looking tired, his face thinner, beard overtaking the bottom half of his face.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, anxious.
“Much better now that I’m seeing you two,” Abdullah said. “I am so happy for you both. You make a great pair. Now, if only there was someone I could introduce Farida to. I’d love to see her settled down with the right person—”
“Abdullah,” Whit broke in firmly. “We have something we need to speak to you about.”
“Oh?”
Quickly, we relayed each of the memories I’d seen, skipping over theevents at the lighthouse. My uncle didn’t need to hear about Isadora or Whit getting shot. He’d have questions, and neither Whit nor I had time to reassure him.
And anyway, it would be a lie.
