“I see.” She refrains from making a snide comment, likeI’m glad you follow the same calendar that we all do. She eyes the scroll, which is wound in a burgundy velvet cover with a series of mysterious dots on it. Likely geomancy symbols, she now realizes. Interesting. One of the patterns reminds her of Peter’s wrist tattoo.
But it’s what’s inside the sheath that she finds much more interesting. How many of her ancestors are transcribed on that scroll? Rachel would have a field day with this. “That’s a pretty valuable square foot of real estate right there,” she remarks.
“Yes, it is. And it’s heavily secured,” he adds.
“I don’t doubt it. So the new members are the so-called heart of the Knox?”
“Allthe members are the heart, of course.” Peter gestures tohis chest. “Sometimes we call that scroll ‘the Lungs,’ too. Because the members are what breathe life into the Knox.”
“I see. Where’s the head, then?”
She’s joking, but he answers her seriously, pointing to the ceiling with a slender finger. “We have two other scrolls. The one directly above, which we call the ‘Brains.’ ” He extends his finger downward. “And the ‘Bowels’ scroll.”
“Let me guess. The Brains are the rules of the Knox, and the Bowels are its sins.”
“Not bad. The Brains are indeed a scribe of our ancient ways, our beliefs. Our handbook, so to speak.”
“And the Bowels?”
He seems hesitant to answer, but finally says, “It’s the members’ allegiance to the Knox.”
“What does that mean, their allegiance?”
“You know,” Peter says, after a beat, “for some reason I always tell you things that I shouldn’t.”
“Oh?” she replies, but inside she’s thinking,Tell me about “Milan,” then.
Suddenly, loud laughter erupts from the other end of the room, and people turn to look. Oliver enters, bent over and gasping, as if he’s just heard the funniest thing.
Vivian glances around for Jerry, given their brawl, but he’s hightailed it in the other direction. Smart boy.
She takes another sip of her martini, a longer one. Being in the same vicinity as Oliver is not exactly soothing. She hopes he doesn’t make his way toward them, but Peter is already gesturing him over.
Vivian sinks back in the sofa.
“Hello, Peter. And it’s the famous Vivien Leigh, right?” Oliver says, when he reaches them. He’s wearing a gold shimmerytracksuit, like he’s just left a Studio 54 party. His cheeks are hollow, his long, greasy hair tucked behind his ears.
“Vivian Lawrence,” Peter replies. “And far prettier than any movie star.”
“Hello, Oliver,” Vivian says.
“You know my name.” He grins at Peter. “She knows my name.” He clearly doesn’t remember that she bore witness to his little scrap. He slides into the chair opposite them.
Christ.
“What are you doing here, chap?” Peter asks. “I thought given—well, I thought you were planning to stay at the Mansion for a while.”
“It’s so much more exciting here. I just don’t want to miss the action,” Oliver says with a laugh, his jacket glittering as the light catches it.
“Well, it’s good to see you looking so well,” Peter remarks. Vivian doesn’t think Oliver looks “well” in the slightest, but who is she to say?
“Yes, incredible what a few days removed from stress does.” Then, he pops up abruptly, like the release of a tightly wound spring. He waves to someone behind them, and a few seconds later, a familiar-looking man approaches.
Vivian is so surprised that she nearly chokes on an olive. Her eyes water as she bends forward in a coughing fit. When she is finally able to compose herself, she meets the man’s gaze.
It’sXavier.
“Are you okay, or should I fetch the house doctor?” Peter asks, offering her a glass of water.
