“I’d like to think so.”
“Then tell me the truth. I will believe you.”
Barnaby met her gaze. He wanted to trust that this was true. There was only one way to know.
“The book is magical,” he said at last.
“I thought it might be.”
“And it… I’m sorry, what?”
“Well, the writing—by Alwin’s human hand—was faded. And yet the pictures—which you said Lyra was supposed to have conjured—were vibrant and sort of otherworldly, you know. It struck me as odd straight away. But I thought it would sound ridiculous to say it out loud.”
Barnaby stared at this wonderful woman he loved. “You’re brilliant,” he said, thinking how lucky he was to have found her.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“I had a reaction of sorts. Not a clever deduction like you. The book had to be very obvious with me, it seems.”
“What sort of reaction? You mean the itchiness? That’s a strange clue to suggest a book is magical.”
“It was more than that,” said Barnaby. “There was the language, too. I didn’t understand the writing at first. The words sort of changed themselves.” He scratched the back of his head. “Look I know how ridiculous this sounds. But I couldn’t read it at first, and then, moments later, I could.”
“So, you don’t actually know Old English or Norse or whatever it was?”
“No, but I couldn’t exactly tell people why I was able to read it when they couldn’t. I had to let them assume I already had that knowledge.”
Joy patted her chin with the tip of a forefinger. “I wonder why the manuscript revealed itself to you. No one else appears to have been affected in this way.”
“You believe me then? You don’t think I am imagining things?””
“These would be some very excessive fantasies, Barnaby. You’ll forgive me, but your many talents do not, I think, extend to a lively imagination.”
“You would be correct to assume that,” Barnaby said, not in the least bit offended.
“But you did say the itching is gone now, didn’t you? And yet you can still read the pages. I wonder if the book cast some sort of charm on you.”
“About that,” said Barnaby, rather self-conscious at discussing his physiology. “The sensation didn’t end so much as it was replaced by a new one. A heaviness, as if a weight dangled from my back.”
“How odd.”
“And then, just now, when we, er, kissed…”
“Yes?”
“The weight, it sort of opened.”
“Opened?”
“Like…” This is so embarrassing… “Like, er, well, wings unfolding.”
“Wings. Like a fae.”
It wasn’t a question.
Barnaby had not considered the particular sort of wings involved, only that it had been a distinctly wing-like unfolding. They hung there now, invisible and very real.
“They’re still there?” asked Joy, peering around Barnaby to see what could not be seen.
