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Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Pastries?”
“Lemon,” I said. “Your favorite.”
“Oh, you know the way to a woman’s heart.”
“How are you?” I asked. “How’s the book going?”
Charlotte brightened. “I found somewhere to write.”
“At Blackwood?”
“In the gardens. There’s a little glass house tucked behind the hedges. I have no idea what it was originally meant for, but there’s an old table inside. It’s perfect.”
“Doesn’t it get a little eerie out there alone?”
“At night, yes. I try to leave before the sun sets.” Her smile widened. “I wrote three thousand words there yesterday.”
“Three thousand? Charlotte, that’s wonderful.”
“I know.”
“You’ll have to show me this place sometime.”
“Absolutely,” Charlotte said. “You’re going to love it.”
“I’m sure I will. Just don’t walk back alone after dark if it starts feeling strange. Call me. I’ll come get you.”
She laughed. “So you believe in opera ghosts now?”
“Maybe. Blackwood is changing me in ways I didn’t expect.”
Charlotte smiled. “How was your morning?”
I couldn’t contain my excitement. “Really good, actually. We finally have enough data to start trusting what we have been seeing in Aurora. Dr. Mercer stopped by with what was supposed to be a quick question. An hour later, we had outlined a collaboration neither of us expected.”
Charlotte stirred her tea. “That sounds promising.”
“I think it is.”
“Okay, I can’t wait any longer. Tell me about the man you were dancing with at the gala.”
I took a sip of tea. “I was wondering how long it would take before you would ask.”
“I have shown remarkable restraint.”
“I’m still not completely certain who he was. Most of me thinks I know. The rest is waiting for more data.”
“Emilia, you’re such a scientist. What kind of data do you expect? And who do you think it was?”
“I don’t want to say it out loud in case I’m wrong.”
“Then don’t say it. Just promise me, when you do say it out loud, you’ll call me too.”
I laughed. It was so easy to be around someone who respected when I wasn’t ready. Silence settled comfortably between us before Charlotte’s attention drifted over my shoulder.
“Marcus.”
I turned as a tall man in a dark suit approached along the stone path. I recognized him as the man I had seen briefly outside the Fellows’ Dining Room on my first day at Blackwood. Up close, he was broad-shouldered and powerfully built, with light eyes and strong features. His expression was composed, almost unreadable. He nodded politely when he reached us.
