Jannik poked his head around the door, not wanting to fully enter. Mr. Kersche kept his office immaculate: a place for everything and everything in its place, a living cliché. The man himself was tall, but you couldn’t tell when he was seated. Most of his height was in the legs. His long arms ended in spindly fingers. Jannik would never tell anyone, not even his wife, but from the moment he met Mr. Kersche, he had reminded him of a spider.
“You wanted to know if the boys were late again. Niklas hasn’t been back yet.”
Mr. Kersche opened a drawer, took out a folder, and flipped it open. He wetted the end of a pencil and marked a check. “Thank you. If he isn’t back in half an hour, let me know.”
Jannik nodded and turned to leave, but he hesitated on the threshold. Mr. Kersche was always asking about any unusual activity. Perhaps Mr. Mayr’s nervousness wasn’t something to comment on, but there was something else. “One more thing, sir.”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember Mr. Mayr having a niece?”
Mr. Kersche looked up from his paperwork for the first time.
“Mr. Mayr was in?”
Jannik nodded. “He sent a package. To England. I don’t remember him having any relatives there.”
“Do you have the package still?”
Jannik shook his head. “I sent it out with Luk.”
Mr. Kersche sighed. “Bring me the record, then.”
Dutiful as ever, Jannik ran downstairs to fetch the record book. Niklas was there, so it took a few minutes—and a proper scolding—before Jannik could return to his errand. When he opened the record book, the relevant page had been torn out. He brought the book to Mr. Kersche.
“I’m not sure who would have taken it, sir.”
Mr. Kersche snapped the book closed. “You don’t happen to remember the address?”
“No, sir. I don’t.”
Mr. Kersche let out a nasally sigh, glanced at his watch and stood, moving to put on his coat. “Excuse me, I am late to an appointment.”
“I remember the name though.”
In all the years that Jannik Hass had worked for Mr. Kersche, he had never seen the man smile. Until now.
“Tell me.”
February 4, 1889: Morning
London, England
Nearly Eleven Years Later
The sun bled through a thin gapof curtain, spread across the floor, and sent a beam of light onto Mira’s face. She blinked and turned over as the last vestiges of a dream left her. The details were hazy and fading quickly, but she was left with a warmth in her chest.
The light caught on Clarisse’s golden hair, the little girl still fast asleep. She’d wandered into Mira’s room early in the evening, not wanting to sleep alone in a new place.
Trying not to jostle the bed, Mira slid from the covers and wrapped up in her dressing gown. Her feet were cold on the wooden floor as she moved to the window. Nero jumped from his perch on a chair, giving a soft meow and padding over to her. She picked him up and ducked between the curtains, careful not to let too much light in. She sat in the window seat, her breath fogging up the cool glass as she stroked the cat’s soft fur.
It had been three days since she and her family had left Paris. A day since they had arrived in London and began the tedious process of settling into Swan Walk. While there wereenough rooms for everyone, the house definitely felt full. Filled to the brim, as it were. It was good to be home, but Mira wasn’t exactly certain where she fit anymore. Perhaps it was just that the house was still in a state of transition. The house and their lives. Everything was in upheaval.
After all, it had been less than a month since her Uncle Cyrus and Loretta were married. Less than a month since Emilie had died. Less than two since Professor Burke and the bridge and Durant and Circe...
The family was still reeling from all the changes. All the memories.
Mira’s mind had been better about staying in the present, at least in the few weeks since she had told Byron the truth about her memories and the nightmares. But there was a thread of anxiety not knowing if or when something might trigger an impromptu trip to the past. Could she walk through Kensington Gardens without seeing the ghost of Alexander Durant there? Would she catch a glimpse of Professor Burke standing in the parlor?
