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“Thank you, Miss Doyle. It was good of you to speak to me.” She does not extend her hand, nor would I expect her to.

“It was good of you to hear me out.”

In the evening, Tom leaves once again for his club. I try to dissuade him from it, but he refuses to speak to me. Grandmama has met with her friends for a game of baccarat. So I sit alone in my room, trying to devise a plan to return to Spence and the realms.

“Gemma.”

I nearly shout as a man steps out from behind my drapes, and when I see it’s Kartik, I’m overcome with joy.

“How did you get here?”

“I borrowed a horse from Spence,” he explains. “Well, I stole it, actually. When you didn’t return…” I cover his mouth with mine and silence him with a kiss.

We lie beside each other on my bed, my head resting on his chest. I can hear his heart thrumming, strong and sure. His fingers trace patterns on my back. His other hand is linked to mine.

“I don’t understand,” I say, enjoying the warmth of his fingers traveling the length of my spine and back again. “Why hasn’t she shown me how to save Eugenia?”

“Could Wilhelmina have been aiding Circe? You said yourself they were close.” Kartik kisses the top of my head.

“Why would she betray the Order and Eugenia?” I say. “It doesn’t make sense. None of it does,” I sigh. “The key holds the truth. It’s a phrase that recurs in my dreams, my visions, Wilhelmina’s book. But what does it mean?”

“There was no key inside the leather pouch along with the dagger?” Kartik asks.

“No. And I thought perhaps the book was the key.” I shake my head. “But I’m not certain of that. I think…”

I’m remembering the pictures Wilhelmina drew for A History of Secret Societies. The Hidden Object. Guardians of the Night. The tower. I’ve deciphered them all save one—the room with the painting of boats.

“Yes?” Kartik prompts. His hand wanders to my breast.

“I think it might be a place,” I say, reaching up to kiss him.

He moves on top of me, and I accept the weight of him. His hands slide down my body and mine push down the broad expanse of his back. His tongue makes small explorations in my mouth.

There’s a knock at my door. I push Kartik off me, panicked.

“The drapery!” I whisper.

He hides behind the drapes as I quickly arrange myself. I perch on my bed, a book in hand.

“Come in,” I call, and Mrs. Jones enters. “Good evening,” I say, turning the book right side up. I can feel the flush on my cheeks. My heart thumps in my ears.

“A parcel has come for you, miss.”

“A parcel? At this hour?”

“Yes, miss. The boy just left it.”

She hands me a box wrapped in brown paper and tied crudely with string. There is no name or card with it.

“Thank you,” I say. “I believe I shall turn in. I’m very tired.”

“As you say, miss.” The door clicks shut, and I lock it, exhaling loudly.

Kartik comes up behind me and wraps his hands around my waist. “Best open it,” he says, and I do. Inside are Tom’s ridiculous hat and a note.

Dear Miss Doyle,

You possess something of great value to us. At present, we possess something of great value to you. I am certain we may come to an agreeable arrangement. Do not be tempted to use the magic against us. At the first hint of it, we shall know, and your brother will die. Mr. Fowlson is on the corner. Do not keep him waiting.

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