“Why is the fish coming?” Edmund asked as they walked.
“I couldn’t leave Darwin; if the intruders came back, they might be mean to him. They could freeze his tank to spite me.” She shuddered at the memory of her day in the pool.
Andrew gave her a look of understanding; Edmund stayed quiet. Both wise responses.
Chapter Forty-Two
Once Darwin was settled, his little tank glimmering faintly under the lamplight, Isla carried her satchel to Andrew’s dining table. She placed it in the center, the leather looking far too ordinary for how everyone’s eyes lingered on it. She sat, folding her hands in her lap, while Andrew drew up a chair close beside her. Edmund lowered himself into the seat opposite, his posture straight-backed, watchful. Juliette joined him, leaning her chin into her palm with a sparkle in her eye.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Juliette’s lips quirked. “Tell me I’m not the only one who feels like we’ve stumbled into the sort of scene where a shocking revelation is about to be made,” she said, her tone halfway between amusement and theatre. “All the key players gathered, a fire crackling, and one mysterious satchel on the table. Honestly, it’s practically begging for a dramatic confession.”
Rolling her eyes at her friend’s words, Isla tugged her satchel closer and began pulling items free—papers, notebooks, pens—all in a jumble. For as neat and orderly as her office always appeared, her bag was another matter entirely. She felt a prickle of embarrassment; it was like a hostess with a spotless drawing room, but she had one cupboard stuffed so full of odds and ends that opening the door risked an avalanche.
She supposed you couldn’t be perfect all the time; everyone had a mess they preferred to keep tucked away. “I’m not surethere’s anything in here worthy of a dramatic confession,” she said lightly.
Her fingers brushed against a treasured leather cover. Andrew’s journal. She slipped it quickly onto her lap, the motion brisk—but not brisk enough to escape Juliette’s or Edmund’s notice. Heat crept up her neck. “It’s personal,” she said, voice a little tight, “and not related.”
Juliette arched a brow, her expression clearly promising:I’ll be asking about that later.
She felt Andrew’s hand come to rest on her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.
With nearly everything emptied onto the table, Isla began to wonder if this was a waste of time. But then her hand closed on a notebook she didn’t recognize. Its cover was scuffed, the corners slightly bent from being jammed at the bottom of her bag. She lifted it out slowly, unease prickling down her spine.
“This isn’t mine,” Isla murmured, frowning as she turned the notebook over in her hands.
“What’s inside?” Edmund asked.
Isla opened the cover. The scrawl of handwriting leapt out at her immediately—messy, hurried, unmistakably Ray’s. A slip of paper was tucked into the front, her name inked across it in his hand.
Isla, if anything happens to me, keep my work safe. Give this notebook to Professor William Smith from Oxford. He will know how to use it to help others.
Her stomach tightened. Ray must have known—or feared—he was being watched. She passed the note to Andrew, his hand on her leg tightening and his jaw muscle bulging as heread the note. He slid it across to Juliette and Edmund. She couldn’t speak at first—just turned the pages of his journal, filled with his painstaking work on penicillin. One of her own lecture notes had been accidently caught in the back pages. She remembered that note from the lecture she had been giving when her Sigil mark had flared to life during class.
“He must have left it on my desk—the day of the storm, when my Aetheric Arts awakened. One of my notes got swept into the back. I was in a daze; I must have shoved everything into my bag without noticing. I can’t believe it’s been in there for two months without me even noticing.”
Edmund exhaled slowly. “At least his work isn’t lost. If we can finish what he began, it will mean he didn’t die in vain.”
“It seems even when he felt threatened, his thoughts were on making sure others would survive,” Juliette said softly.
“This must be why I was attacked that day. I thought it was because I was new to the Arts, but whoever it was must have known I had this book with me.”
“That does seem likely,” Edmund said quietly.
“But you didn’t have your work bag with you the day at the swimming pool.”
“Maybe they thought I knew the contents of this book and wanted to eliminate both me and the notes?”
“What do we do now?” Andrew asked, clearly upset with anyone wanting to hurt her.
“I need to update Harold. He’ll know how to get this book safely to William,” Edmund said. “If we can make this research public knowledge, then there’s no reason to keep hounding Isla.”
Chapter Forty-Three
It felt odd to be in Andrew’s room, tucked beneath his blankets. The covers carried his scent, warm and familiar now, and it made her heart skip. Beside her, Juliette wriggled, shifted, sat up, then flopped down again. Sleep was clearly the last thing on her mind.
“Ugh, I can’t get comfortable. Tell me everything, Isla—I need a romantic bedtime story to help me sleep.”
