“Exactly.” Morrie picked up a magnifying lens from his desk and held it against the page. “I’d need to study both the paper and the ink under my microscope, but I think this letter might be contemporary with that book. Notice the handwriting?”
My stomach flipped as I compared the writing on both documents.That’s where I’ve seen it before.The strange flicks on the letters looked familiar because they exactly matched Herman Strepel’s handwriting.
“Does this mean my father is Herman Strepel?” I shook my head. “No, that’s impossible.”
In my pocket, my phone buzzed again. I ignored it.
“Is it? We know that your father was able to travel both ways through time, since Victoria noted he’d visited her at least once before.” Morrie smiled. “And implied they had shared intimacies.”
“Yeah, don’t say that,” I gulped. “You’re talking about my father doing things in that bed, andwedid things in that bed.”
“Not nearly enough things,” Morrie said with a sigh. “I conclude that Herman popped over to our century-long enough to impregnate your mother and make some kind of powerful enemy before heading back to his own time.”
I rubbed my head where the migraine had progressed through my temple and across the left side of my skull. “This sounds like an episode of Doctor Who.”
“Doctor who?” Heathcliff grunted.
“Exactly.”
Heathcliff glowered at me. “What are you on about?”
“How have you not heard of Doctor Who? It’s only the best-loved British science fiction show of all time.”
“Heathcliff won’t let us have a TV,” Morrie said.
“What are you talking about? We have a TV.” Heathcliff pointed into a dark corner of the room, where the boys had stacked a mountain of dirty laundry. Morrie dug underneath it and pulled out a tiny box the size of his head. A large, crescent-shaped hole shattered the screen.
“Mr. Simson left that for me. He said I’d enjoy it.” Heathcliff stretched out his leg to demonstrate how the hole in the screen exactly corresponded to the toe of his boot. “He was wrong.”
My pocket buzzed again. I removed my phone and turned it off. Quoth raised an eyebrow at me.
Morrie held up the letter. “Can I hold on to this? I’ll do some investigation and see what we can find out. But it won’t be tonight, not if you’re staying.”
“She’s not staying,” Quoth said quietly. “I’ll walk you home, Mina.”
“You don’t speak for her, little birdie.”
“Neither do you. And Quoth’s right. I’m not staying. But I’m not going back to my flat, either. Jo and I are having a sleepover.” I lifted my rucksack from behind the chair. “I should get going. She’s waiting for me.”
“Why go to Jo’s when I’m here?” Morrie pouted.
Because you’re being a wanker and I need to not be around you right now. Also, because when you’re not a wanker, you’re a beautiful distraction, but I can’t have what happened last night happen again, not with this letter in my hands.“I just need some girl time, is all.”
“But I need you…” Morrie’s eyes darted to his computer, where Lydia was gyrating against his webcam.
“Have fun with Lydia and Ahmed!” I pecked him on the cheek. Heathcliff wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug, stealing a kiss that left me breathless. Quoth followed me down the stairs.
“Why aren’t you going home?” he whispered as he helped me into my coat.
“You know why.”
“You’re avoiding the guys and ignoring your mother.” Fire flickered in Quoth’s eyes. “You’re going to have to ask her about the letter. And your eyes.”
“I know.”
“What if the blood Victoria was talking about is hers—”
“I know!” I pulled my wool beanie down over my ears. “Trust me, I know. But not now. Not tonight.”
