Truth. Of course.
And I was just as guilty as anyone else. I’d spent so long shying away from telling Graham the truth…lying by omission to keep him from harm’s way. Years of pretending I was fine when I was drowning in loneliness and fear.
Right. So. Truth might actually be a bit of a problem.
I tucked the pen carefully into my bag and looked at the others.
“So what do I do now? Just go about my day? I feel like we need to research more. I have notes. Lists to make. I think we need more information on my ancestor.”
“We’ll find it. Now that we know what we’re looking for.” Hilda beamed at me.
I nodded, though I didn’t feel prepared. I was exhausted and overwhelmed and vaguely terrified.
But I also felt somethingelse.
Hope.
The Order of Caledonia was complete.
I was part of something much bigger than my family’s curse, even if imagining a way to break the curse was exhilarating too.
I had a path forward. Now I had to work out what my ancestor had broken and find a solution.
And then maybe—maybe—I’d have a future that wasn’t defined by fear and loneliness.
All I had to do was face the truth, it seemed? Or unbury the truth?
How hard could it be to face the truth?
How hard could that be?
“Very hard,”Quilliam said.“Historically speaking, people have died.”
“Och, that’s just grand, Quilliam. Thanks for that. You know what? You’re really bad at pep talks.”
“I’m a great cheerleader, but I’m also honest, lass.”He curled tighter around my neck.“You’ll survive. Probably. The important thing is that you try.”
I left the castle with Quilliam still wrapped around my shoulders, Gran’s pen tucked safely in my bag, and a new heaviness on my heart.
The Bookkeeper of the Order of Caledonia.
The last daughter of a broken line.
No pressure.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AGNES
Two days of research and I was no closer to answers.
I’d turned the back room of Bonnie Books into something resembling a conspiracy theorist’s lair. Papers were spread across every surface, there were sticky notes in four different colors, and a whiteboard I’d dragged from the storage closet now covered in names and dates and arrows pointing to question marks. It was a thing of beauty, if I said so myself. If I managed to get myself out of this whole curse situation and save Loren Brae, I might have a future as an amateur true crime investigator.
Quilliam was curled on the counter near the till, his scales catching the pale afternoon light filtering through the front windows. He’d positioned himself on a stack of ledgers I’d brought from the castle archives, claiming he needed to absorb the information through proximity. I wasfairly certain he just liked the way the old leather felt against his belly. He was under strict instructions to disappear anytime someone came through the door, and so far, he was a champion at hiding.
Except for the one time someone had mistaken him for an ornament, and I had to give him credit for holding the same position until the customer had left.
“You’re muttering again,”he said without opening his eyes.
