“But this is relevant to your interests. I thought you wanted to find your sister. Isn’t that what you asked me to do?”
“It is.” Asher’s expression tightens. “Zahar has no idea where Camellia is.”
“But she saw her last,” says Lysander. “And so that’s where we’ll start.”
•••
Poppy Zahar is waiting for them in the boardroom when they arrive. It’s impossible to miss her—if a color exists, she’s wearing it. It’s like a rainbow vomited and she waded right through the mess. She looks perfectly at ease atop the table, her legs swinging, shoelaces trailing. A possum lies beside her as though dead, belly up on the varnish. There’s a round metal tin in her lap, a line of butter cookies printed along the rim. She grips it tight, like it’s full of gold bricks.
Cyrus sits at the head of the table, feet up and looking grim. “Is it dead?”
“Kit? No. That’s just how he sleeps.”
“Like he’s dead?”
She fixes him with a look. “How doyousleep?”
Spotting Lysander, Cyrus launches to his feet. His relief fades the moment he catches sight of Asher sidling in after him. “What’s he doing here?”
“He’s with me,” says Lysander. “Leave.”
Cyrus blinks over at him. “You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
The pause that follows is heavily weighted. In it, Lysander can practically hear his patience fraying. He’s had enough of Cyrus for one day. Enough of his sideways comments. Enough of his paranoia. With a last glance at Asher, Cyrus wedges himself past Lysander and disappears out into the hall.
The moment he’s gone, Poppy places a protective hand over the cookie tin. “You’re going to ask me to show you what’s inside here, but I’m not going to do that.”
Lysander slants his gaze toward her. “Are you psychic?”
“No. Your friend already asked.”
“And what’d you tell him?”
“Same thing I told you. It’s not important.”
“But you were at Shea Parker’s house looking for it,” hedges Lysander. “Nkosi found you searching her room.”
“Hypothetically,” says Poppy.
Lysander frowns. “You were wedged under her bed—”
“Allegedly.”
“—looking forthattin.”
They all look down at the cookie tin. Poppy sighs.
“Camellia and Shea passed notes in school,” she says. “Incessantly. One time, in fourth grade, Mr. Belrose caught them and made them read their notes aloud to the whole class. They started writing in code after that, swapping out their letters in a reverse alphabet. They got pretty good at it.”
“That’s what’s in there?” asks Asher. “Coded notes from my sister?”
Poppy’s grip tightens around the tin. “I’m only telling you this because I want to find Camellia.”
“I know,” says Asher, his voice gentling. “I want to find her, too.”
Poppy squeezes her eyes shut. It’s several seconds before she opens them again. “You have to understand, Shea is—well, she gets really attached, doesn’t she? She’s been that way since her dad left. It was so sudden, remember? He didn’t leave a letter or anything.”
