Page 144 of A Society of Traitors

My gaze lingered on one of the wooden Florentine wall consoles, on which, alongside a fiddle-leaf fig and a His Master’s Voice gramophone, rested a Parisian Glaser paper knife from the Belle Époque, as well as an antique magnifying glass.

As if guided by some external force, my fingers were drawn to the magnifying glass until my fingertips glided up the ivory handle adorned with carved patterns, brushed over the delicate golden metal embellishments around the lens, and lingered on the engraving.

Written into my bones.

That all-too-familiar tightness inside my chest came out of nowhere, and I squinted my eyes, trying to remember where I had heard that phrase before. A mistake, because the feeling grew stronger, so I tried to fix my focus on the paper knife instead.

Also a mistake...

The longer I stared at the paper knife, the more uneasy I became.

“Honestly. What fascinates you both so much about...” Emely picked up a book from Alarik's desk that I also had at my mother's house. “Jane Austen or...” She put it down again, reached for another book that was a little further away, and began to read the title aloud while my gaze wandered back to the letter opener in horror. “The Dragonfly Society.”

My breath caught in my throat, and I ultimately tore my gaze away from the letter opener.

At first, I stared at the book in her hands. The next moment, I instinctively stepped forward and snatched it from her hand.

“This book.” I examined the blue leather cover, ran my fingers over the slightly embossed golden dragonfly, and looked at Emely, who was eyeing the book and then me with suspicion. “He lent it to me, and then it suddenly disappeared.”

I was still angry with Mum. But the fact that she had given it back to him...

“Maybe he has several copies of it,” she replied with a shrug.

I shook my head hastily. “No. He said there were only seven copies.” I turned the book over to look for a name, but I couldn't find one. Just like last time. Then the memories came flooding back. “He said a friend had written it.”

A good friend of your mother's and mine.

“Alice,” we both said at the same time, and just then something fell out of the book.

Emely bent down and picked up the small card, which must have been tucked somewhere in the book. Strange that I hadn't noticed it... Even though I had already started reading it.

Now I was burning with the desire to read this book in its entirety and search for clues. I had to know what Alice had wanted to say with this publication, if this copy really was hers.

“Look at this.”

Emely handed me the card.

“What is it?”