Where the Library Hides (Secrets of the Nile #2)

Capítulo Catorce

CAPíTULO CATORCE

The man looked at me expectantly, brows raised above the line of his mask. The upper portion of his face was hidden, but his lips were pressed into a flat, disapproving line. I got the sense that he didn’t like this errand, and that it was perhaps an unusual request to make during the auction.

“The founder wants to see me,” I repeated.

Isadora lifted her chin. “Whatever for?”

Perhaps the founder wanted to verify I had the funds or he simply wanted to meet me. Either way, I knew of no way to extricate myself from this situation without drawing notice or suspicion. My idea only worked if I followed it through. “It’s all right, Isadora.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m going with you.”

“If you’d like,” the man said. “But he only wants to see her.”

“I heard you the first time,” Isadora said coolly. “But my sister goes nowhere without me.”

“Suit yourself—but you will wait outside the room while they discuss business.”

“That’s not acceptable.”

The man didn’t bother to reply but waited for us to exit the last row, and with an impervious air, he bade us to follow after him. I felt as if I were a child who had misbehaved during dinner and now had to face judgment. He walked briskly, and I felt, rather than saw, the weight of everyone’s curiosity as they tracked my movements. Isadora maintained the admirable lift of her chin, but her hand hovered close to her skirt pocket where I knew she kept her sleek little handgun, a small case of bullets, and the extra gun she’d picked up downstairs.

She was a walking armory.

The masked man led us to the opposite wing of the building, past empty rooms that might have been offices, until he reached the last chamber at the end of the corridor. “Here we are.”

He held the door open and waited for me to pass.

Isadora glared at the man, and I lightly touched her arm. “I’ll be fine, Isadora.” I gave her a pointed look, and slightly raised my eyebrows. If there was trouble, she need only scream for help. Our companions were close by.

She nodded in understanding.

“You’ll be all right out here on your own?” I asked my sister.

Isadora shot a cool look at our stoic companion. “I think he means to keep me company.”

“He does,” the man said, and I caught the faintest hint of amusement.

Satisfied that nothing would happen to Isadora, I walked into the room to find the founder facing away from me, intent on looking out the window. He was the only person within. There were no chairs, not one cushion or bookshelf. Under my feet were dirty rugs, flattened so thin I barely felt them. The walls and ceiling were bare, and the only decoration came from the moldy curtains pushed against the right side of the window. But there was one table and on it were three lit candles, casting sinister shadows from the man faced away from me.

The door was shut behind me and I startled.

The founder turned, his mask still on, hat tipped forward covering the long stretch of his brow. He had lightly tanned skin and a thin mouth that stretched into a crooked smile.

“It seems congratulations are in order,” he said. “Miss?”

“It’s Mrs., actually,” I said. “Thank you. Is there something I need to sign?”

He waved his gloved hand dismissively. “In a moment. All the formalities can certainly wait. I wanted to meet the young woman so enraptured by a snake.”

The way he spoke felt familiar to me. It wasn’t so much his voice but the sense that I had to be careful with every word I uttered. It felt as if I were playing a complicated game of chess, and he knew every move there was to make while I was still trying to understand the rules. “Well, now you’ve met her. Perhaps we can handle the particulars? I’d rather be on my way.” I gestured toward the window where the night had burned away some of its darkness. The morning light would dawn soon. “The hour grows late. Or is it early?”

The founder smiled at me. “How did you hear about the auction? You weren’t issued an invitation.”

There was no use lying. He would certainly know how many invitations were sent out and to whom. “From a friend. I couldn’t resist attending,” I added.

“What friend?”

“I’m not going to break any of your rules,” I said. “I’m a collector.”

“Are you?” he said. “I thought you were a tourist.”

I blinked at him in confusion. “Tourist?”

His lips twisted into a smile. “That’s what you told me last time.”

Horror dawned upon me. I had seen that smug smile, and his slick tone recalled an unpleasant conversation I’d had earlier. The founder raised his hand and pulled off his glove with his teeth. And there, on his littlest pinky, was the golden ring my father had sent me over the summer, right before he disappeared.

“ You ,” I whispered.

The founder peeled off his auction mask to reveal the face of Basil Sterling, complete with his outrageous mustache and condescending air.

Anger swam in my blood, a fast-moving river that made my heart race. This man had given the order to kidnap me, but his henchmen had mistakenly taken Elvira instead—thanks to Lourdes’s sly involvement.

“My cousin died,” I said, my voice shaking. “She died .”

“I know,” he said. “An unfortunate occurrence that could have been entirely avoided. We could bypass another such occurrence if you cooperate.”

Fear crept over my skin, turning it ice-cold. My stomach churned at our close proximity, and the instinct to run overwhelmed me. This man was a monster. I glanced behind me, measuring the distance to the door, and prayed Isadora still stood on the other side of it.

Mr. Sterling chuckled. “I only want to have a productive conversation with you. I promise that you will leave this building unharmed.”

I noticed he hadn’t included Isadora. “My companion, too.”

“Certainly,” he said. “ If you cooperate .”

“You’re not letting me go,” I said, hating the slimy texture to his voice. I felt as if it were coating my clothes, poisoning the air I breathed. “I’ve seen your face; I could easily turn you in.”

His grin widened. “To whom? The authorities? Mostly made up of my countrymen?”

Frustration ate at me, making it hard to talk. He was right, people I could trust were in short supply. But perhaps Monsieur Maspero could be reasoned with?

Mr. Sterling eyed me shrewdly. “I wouldn’t count on Monsieur Maspero, either. I believe he’s enjoying the spoils of my efforts. But please, go ahead and try it, my dear. I can’t wait for you to discover how few options you have left.”

“There must be someone in this country who isn’t corrupt.”

“Everyone has a price.”

“You’re despicable. A criminal with a license.”

He shrugged negligently. “You have no proof.”

No, but Farida would. And the knowledge of it helped me stand my ground. He didn’t know about her magical camera. He didn’t know about Whit sneaking around the corridors. But my mind caught at the thought of my husband. He could be betraying me yet again and stealing as many artifacts as he could carry. Even now, he could be strolling out the front door, leaving us all behind.

“What do you want to know?” I asked, inching backward. Any hope of locating my mother disappeared. My plan would never work now. This night had been doomed from the start.

“What does any man in my position want? Information.”

“I have none—”

“Tell me where to find Lourdes and her known associate,” he said. “A Mr. Fincastle, I believe?”

By some miracle, I was able to keep my face neutral; Whit was rubbing off on me. How on earth did Mr. Sterling know about Mr. Fincastle? Well, I suppose they ran in the same shady circles. “I don’t know where she is, or him for that matter.”

Mr. Sterling tilted his head, as if he hoped to catch a lie in the tone of my voice.

“That’s why I’m here,” I said, insistent. “I have no idea of her whereabouts or those of Mr. Fincastle.”

“Ah,” Mr. Sterling said. “Which is why you bid on the item, hoping to know where to direct the funds.”

I flattened my lips, disappointment crowding close to my edges. Of course he would have thought of the same thing. “She gave a fake address,” I guessed.

“She’s no fool, more’s the pity,” he said. “Well, it seems you are of no use to me after all.”

I stiffened and took another step backward.

Mr. Sterling observed my trajectory and shook his head ruefully. “It seems I’m frightening you. Well, I suppose that can’t be helped. It’s a shame you think so, since we seem to have the same goal in mind. Think of what we could accomplish together.”

“You’re not actually suggesting that we work together,” I said, aghast.

“It would be the pragmatic course.”

“I would never help you, sir .”

“I can’t say that I’m not disappointed,” Mr. Sterling said. “But as a gesture of goodwill, perhaps I can return something of yours?” He slid off the golden ring and held it out for me.

I stared at it, my hands curled into fists. “It’s not mine. It belonged to Cleopatra.”

“But somehow it made it into your possession,” he said. “Finders keepers, as they say. Come, come. Is this your way of saying you wouldn’t like it back?” He started to slide the ring back onto his pinky.

I couldn’t let that happen. That was the last thing Papá had given me, and wherever he was, dead or alive, he wouldn’t want this vile man to have it.

“No,” I said quickly. “I do.”

Mr. Sterling paused and then once again held it out to me. “It’s yours, then.”

No part of me wanted to draw closer to him, but he had remained on the other side of the room. I crossed it and snatched the jewelry from out of his hand. The magic took a hold of me, at once familiar, and the taste of roses bloomed in my mouth. I felt as if I had become reacquainted with an old friend. The feeling crested, and it took several breaths for me to get used to the tingling sensation sweeping up my arm, making the hairs in its path rise on end.

Mr. Sterling motioned toward the door. “You are free to go, just as I promised.”

I fled without a backward glance.

Isadora waited for me on the other side, arms crossed, her foot tapping against the crumbly floor. When I stepped out, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Where’s your companion?” I asked.

“I shot him,” she said smoothly.

“ What? ”

“I’m only joking,” she said. “I can be funny at times.”

I looked at her. “Isadora, I don’t know how to tell you this except to just say it: that wasn’t funny.”

She smiled demurely. “Maybe not to you.”

“Have you seen the others?” I asked.

“I’ve been here this whole time,” she said. “Guarding the door.”

“And Farida? Whit?”

“Assuming Whit hasn’t absconded with the artifacts and abandoned us, he ought to be waiting for us at the meeting spot. Hopefully with Farida.”

Farida looked nervously upward, hazy light bleeding red against the bruised sky. “Where is he?”

We were standing in the meeting spot looking on as the attendees left the building, a steady, quiet stream. We had been the first to leave, quickly walking to the shadowy street corner that opened into the narrow alley. The attendees dispersed in every direction. I looked for Whit, but I didn’t see him in the crowd.

“I hate to say this,” Isadora said, “but your husband is an unreliable thief who—”

“Who what?”

We spun to face the alley. Whit stood with his hands in his pockets, an inscrutable look stamped across his face. “Go on,” he said. “I can’t wait to hear the rest of it.”

“How did you get onstage?” Isadora asked. “Actually, let’s begin with why you were onstage.”

Whit motioned for us to follow him. “We ought to return to the hotel.”

Exhaustion sucked me down like mud, and my steps were slow and faltering. I had been up for nearly a full day and was feeling the effects of little sleep. Farida kept yawning, and even Isadora looked a little bedraggled. Her neat hair had escaped the confines of the tight bun at the crown of her head, and her hem was finally dirty.

“Farida, did you manage to take pictures of the storage room?” Whit asked.

She nodded, yawning again hugely. “Sorry, yes. But it was mostly just of the crates. They don’t open them until right before they are presented, unfortunately. There was a crowbar, and I managed to pry open only one of them. Inside was a large statue; the top of the head was the only thing visible from its wrapping. I still took a picture, but I’m not sure how helpful it will be. However, I took care to take photographs of each crate. They were sent on from Bulaq.”

“I’m sure whatever pictures you managed to take will be fine. You still took photos of the auction room and everyone attending,” I said.

“Who were all wearing masks,” Isadora said coolly.

“And most of their backs were turned,” Whit muttered.

“What about the auctioneer?” I asked. “That Phillip Barnes fellow. He was facing you.”

Farida seemed cheered by this, and then her face fell. “Maybe, except he was constantly moving, wasn’t he? What if the image is too blurry and he’s hard to identify?”

“We’ll worry about that when the time comes,” I said. “You might have captured him perfectly.”

We made the same few turns, and finally Shepheard’s came into view. The familiar front steps gave me a warm, pleasant feeling. Ever since I left Argentina, this was the closest place to a home that I had. Cairo was beginning to wake up, and the street soon filled with all the usual morning bustle. Two donkey carts rumbled across our path, while vendors started calling out their various wares for sell. Someone was selling freshly brewed coffee at a small cart near the hotel entrance, and Whit looked at it longingly but must have decided he was too tired to drink it.

He had remained mostly silent for a long stretch of the walk, and my curiosity was making my head spin. “Whit,” I said. “Are you going to make us ask you again? What were you doing onstage?”

“I replaced the poor fellow who was charged with moving the artifacts on and off the stage,” he said. “In doing so, when I grabbed hold of the asp and returned it to the room where everything else was kept, I was able to learn where the payment ought to go for it.” He dipped his hand into his pocket and held up a small scrap of paper. “I wrote down the address.”

I frowned. “I have it on good authority that it’s fake.”

We had reached the stairs, but at my words, Whit stopped abruptly. “I’d like to talk to you alone,” he said. “Please.”

The others paused, halfway up. Isadora was watching Whit warily, and when her gaze flickered to mine, there was a question in them. I gave her a slight nod. My sister’s face darkened, but she followed Farida inside.

“On whose authority?” Whit asked.

“I had a little meeting with the founder of Tradesman’s Gate,” I said nonchalantly. “It wasn’t pleasant, but it was certainly illuminating.”

Whit waited for me to explain myself, his shoulders tense. His voice was flat with barely controlled frustration. “Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head. “No—but he did reveal his identity.”

Whit arched a brow. “I don’t like the sound of that. Now you’re a liability.”

The man had made my skin crawl, and I shuddered. “It’s Basil Sterling,” I said. “We guessed as much, remember?” I held up my hand. “He gave me back the golden ring.”

Whit leaned forward and brushed his finger across the flat surface featuring Cleopatra’s cartouche. “I suppose he doesn’t need it anymore, now that she’s been found and her resting place pillaged.” A deep groove appeared between his brows as he studied me. “Strange that he’d give you something so valuable.”

“I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “He was trying to bribe me.”

“So he wants something, then.” Whit’s eyes flicked uneasily back to the ring. “Did he say what?”

“He wanted to know where my mother was,” I said. “And her lover. I told him I didn’t know where they were, and he seemed to believe me.”

Whit gave me a narrow-eyed look. “Really.”

“I told him the only reason we were there this morning was to try to find an address for Mamá.”

Whit rubbed his eyes. “Inez.”

“He thought the same thing I did,” I said defensively. “It occurred to him that if my mother dared to try to sell one of the artifacts she’d stolen from him, she might provide a forwarding address for the payment. That’s why he acknowledged it would be fake.”

“Probably so,” Whit agreed. “But Lourdes would never have given away the asp for free. She wants the money.”

I blinked at him. “I know that. What’s your point?”

He held up the scrap of paper. “I’m saying that this address might not lead directly to her , but the next one will. Because if I were her, whatever this address is, I guarantee she’s watching it. In no world would Lourdes lose track of the money. Somehow, she’s following its progress and waiting for it to go to its final destination.” He smiled tiredly. “I think we might have found a way to get to her, despite what Mr. Sterling believes.”

He handed the paper to me, and I read the scant few lines of his appalling scrawl.

I slowly looked up at him. “This address is in Alexandria.”

Whit nodded.

I recalled an earlier conversation with Isadora when she’d revealed how Mamá divided her time in Alexandria, London, and Argentina. She had a home in the former, so while this wasn’t surprising information—it was curious. “If your theory is correct, why send the money to Alexandria? Why put herself far away from every other ancient city of note? Cairo, Thebes, Aswan,” I said, listing each off with my fingers. “And isn’t Tradesman’s Gate typically held here?”

“She could be wanting to start an auction in Alexandria.”

“But then why try to sell the asp this morning?”

He considered, one leg bent at the knee, his foot propped on a higher step. “Suppose it was personal?” He must have read the confusion on my face because he pressed on. “Your mother betrayed Mr. Sterling—why? Lourdes might be motivated by the money, of course, but what if it ran deeper than that? What if she’s trying to run him out of business?”

“So she flaunts her victory under his nose by trying to sell the statuette,” I said, following his line of thought. “And she does need a method to sell off what she’s stolen. The gate is an established auction, with reputable buyers. Meanwhile, she’s moving the rest of the artifacts up north?”

“It’s possible,” Whit said slowly. “And if I were her, I’d want cash to start up a new enterprise that would directly compete with Tradesman’s Gate. She’d need to hire new employees, find a secure location to house all the artifacts, and locate a suitable place to host the first auction.”

“Well, she’s about to learn that the asp statuette earned her fifty thousand pounds. Whoever her emissary was, they’re bound to send a telegram to let her know.” I wrinkled my nose. “There’s still something I don’t understand.”

Whit waited, expectant.

“On Philae, she asked me about the Chrysopoeia of Cleopatra, and you’re also convinced she’s searching for it. If Mamá is intent on opening her own auction, does this mean she’s given up searching for the sheet?”

“Something tells me that if Basil Sterling is looking for it, then she won’t stop looking for it. With the Chrysopoeia in her possession, she’ll have unlimited funds.”

“But only if she employs an alchemist,” I pointed out. “I can’t imagine there are many people living who practice that archaic profession.”

Whit shrugged and said nonchalantly, “You’d be surprised.”

Another thought occurred to me. “Where does Mr. Fincastle fit into all this? He’s her lover, her business partner. Could he be with Mamá in Alexandria?”

“Lourdes might be the one focusing on founding a new black market, while Fincastle could be searching for Cleopatra’s Chrysopoeia. The reverse could also be true.”

“If I were them,” I said, “I would take care not to be in the same place. One person in a different city, or part of the country, and the other on the opposite end.” I studied him carefully, the sun hitting him square in the face, making his eyes squint. “It seems like a logical course of action to split up,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. “Why don’t you stop following me around and continue the search for the alchemical sheet?” And because I was a glutton for punishment, I asked the question I was afraid to know the answer to. Even though it shouldn’t have mattered anymore, the words ran out of my mouth unfettered. “That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

His expression changed subtly, brows drawing inward, the line of his jaw hardening. He was quiet for so long I knew it must be because he was having an argument with himself. This was always the case with Whit. How much of his inner world did he want to reveal? I used to think that he feared being vulnerable because some truths could be used as weapons against him, but now I knew different. Whit wasn’t fearful; he was scheming .

He was helping me only because it served his own interests.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, it’s what I really want.” He locked eyes with me, and my heart stuttered. “More than anything , I want that alchemical sheet.”

It was as if he’d dealt me a physical blow. Hurt bloomed outward, making my chest feel tight. “I’m going to Alexandria,” I said with a finality I didn’t feel.

But should have.

My voice snapped him from his thoughts. The corners of his mouth tightened as he leaned forward, so close the brush of his words caressed my mouth. “Not without me you’re not.”

WHIT

Inez had insisted on visiting Ricardo in prison before setting off to Alexandria, and I had agreed to take her. But of course, nothing was ever going to be as simple as her and me having a quick visit, and an hour before we left, we were joined by the rest of her family: the grieving aunt, the disapproving cousin—the latter of which had done nothing but snipe at Inez and glower at me. When Isadora said she wanted to go, I put my foot down.

We were already going to be a bloody parade.

“Ricardo will punt you out of the room himself,” I snarled. “Under no circumstances are you going.”

Isadora shot a steely-eyed glare at me and left the hotel room, her back rigid, hands curled into fists.

“Was that really necessary?” Inez asked, placing a wide-brimmed hat on her head. She was wearing too fine a dress for the prison. The hem would be up to three inches in dirt and dust. It was the kind of thing Arabella would feel self-conscious about. My protective instincts flared, and I debated letting Inez know the state of the roads, but I bit my tongue.

“Your uncle can’t stand her, either,” I said. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t mention that she’s with us. One more thing for him to worry about.”

Her lips flattened to a mulish line, but she didn’t protest. Thank Christ.

“Let’s go,” I said. “I’ll have enough trouble getting all of you inside once we’re there, and I know we’re in a hurry.”

Inez walked to the door and threw it open, one light hand on the knob. She gave me a sweet smile over her shoulder. “Farida wants to come also.”

I sighed.

I hated coming back to this building. It was once a military hospital, and I wouldn’t be able to walk the halls without thinking of the friends who’d died within these walls. But now it had been converted to a prison. Instead of a place that worked hard to ensure people were able to leave out the front door, it was now a place where people were condemned to be forgotten.

Ricardo and Abdullah hadn’t been tried as of yet, but they were being detained to prevent any fleeing out of the country. Monsieur Maspero assured me they’d be given every consideration for their class and status.

But even so, I worried what state we’d find them in.

And it didn’t help that Inez had gone pale the farther we traveled north of Cairo. It was a journey of eight miles to Tourah, the village where the wounded had gone to be treated.

Inez stared at the plain and austere prison building, her face wincing. “Abdullah and Tío Ricardo are in there?”

“It’s been much improved.” It had been dilapidated, the upper story dated, but it was recently renovated and restructured with well-ventilated wards, new beds and bedding, and the appointment of a well-trained doctor. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

At first the warden didn’t want to permit all of us to visit Ricardo and Abdullah, but eventually he relented under the severe glares he received from all the women in our party. No one, however, came close to Amaranta’s fierce scowl.

I understood why she was Inez’s least-favorite cousin.

Eventually we were led by two guards to the third floor of the prison, down a long corridor, and to the last cell on the right. One of the guards opened the heavy iron door, the key making a loud scraping noise. We were all silent, waiting to be allowed inside. Next to me, Inez was practically trembling, I’m sure terrified of what state she’d find Abdullah and her uncle in.

“You have a visitor,” the guard said in Arabic. “Actually, visitors, I should say.”

Then he stepped aside and gestured for us to enter the cell. I let the women precede me and I was about to walk through, when the guard hissed, “Ten minutes only.”

I nodded. I had spare change in my pocket in case we needed more time.

Inez went immediately to her uncle and gave him a hug, arms wrapping tight around his waist, narrower now, thanks to his present living conditions. They’d been inside, two, no, three days. Farida went to sit next to her grandfather, Abdullah, who broke into a wide smile as she leaned into his shoulder. They spoke quietly to each other in Arabic, while Amaranta stood off to the side, her attention flickering from one thing to the other: the gray walls, the squeaking mattresses, the bare floors. For once, her expression had softened to one of compassion, and she crossed the room to sit on Ricardo’s other side. He seemed surprised by this.

“I suppose we ought to get to know one another,” she said coolly. “My mother and I will be your frequent visitors. Tell me, do you have soap?”

Ricardo gaped at her. “Soap?”

Amaranta glanced around again. “You don’t have a washbasin. I suppose that was a silly question.”

Inez threw the guard a glare. “Perhaps we can request one.”

“This is truly a deplorable room,” Lorena exclaimed, the train of her voluminous skirt swishing around her like the bristles of a broom. “This window is so small, the beds too narrow!” She spun around and gasped loudly. “Are you drinking water from petroleum cans?”

Ricardo shot me a pained look, and I stifled my smile.

She went on and on, finding something to despair over, while Farida gave Abdullah a few letters she had written to him to be read later. She also had brought several treats, which she dug out from within her purse.

“What have you been up to?” Ricardo asked Inez, eyeing her shrewdly. “You look tired. Have you been ill?”

I had to admire the way Inez could lie with a straight face. All of the strain she carried from our disaster of a marriage dissolved, and if I didn’t know better, I would have believed the adoring look she sent me. “The opposite, Tío. I’ve never been happier.”

I knew Inez had a tumultuous relationship with her uncle, but watching him now, with his gaze intent on his niece, the clear love he had for her was more than apparent. But when he fixed a glower in my direction, I received no such love.

That still stung. But my wife wasn’t the only one who could act the part. “Glad to hear it, amor.”

Inez’s eyelid twitched, but her smile did not falter.

Lorena glanced between us in comical alarm. Then she loudly exclaimed, “I’ve brought you a gift, Ricardo.”

I leaned against the wall and crossed my ankles, fighting my amusement. It seemed my wife hadn’t informed her aunt of our matrimonial state. Well, I wouldn’t have, either. I didn’t want to have my ears ringing the whole way home from Lorena’s screeching. It was clear she did not approve of me. Probably wanted Inez to have that Ernesto, son of a consul or whatever.

It probably would have been better if she’d married him.

“Here, look,” Lorena said, reaching into her silk purse. She pulled out a small bundle wrapped in tissue paper patterned in bright colors.

Ricardo had not lost the pained expression on his face. If anything, it had gotten much worse. “No, really, it’s fine. I don’t need anything.”

Lorena brushed his comment aside. “You’ll want this, Ricardo. Now, don’t be stubborn, and be a dear man and open it.”

Abdullah and Farida stopped their quiet conversation and gazed with interest as Ricardo carefully unwrapped the present. When the last of the tissue paper had been set aside, we all stared at the item. Ricardo appeared horrified. “Is this a teacup ?”

“It is,” Lorena confirmed. “Isn’t it beautiful? I think the blue pattern is divine. Don’t you agree?”

“Er,” Ricardo said, eyeing the porcelain cup as if it were a venomous spider. “I won’t be invited to a tea in here, Lorena. What the devil do you expect me to do with this?”

“Well, you don’t drink from it,” Lorena said.

Ricardo eyed the object that was clearly meant for drinking. “I don’t?”

“Is it magic touched, Tía?” Inez asked.

Lorena nodded. “Yes! I have the matching teacup back at the hotel. Whenever you fill one with water, the other will fill up also but glow with a silvery light. That’s when the receiver knows to look inside. You’ll find the sender on the other end, and you can have a conversation as normal.”

“Brilliant,” I said. “Like Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone.”

“Exactly,” Lorena exclaimed. “But with our faces! Can you imagine? What technology could beat this mode of communication? Not a letter, or a telegram.”

“What happens if no one answers on the other end?” Farida asked.

Lorena’s excitement dimmed. “Well, it’s not perfect magic. The water will glow for a few minutes, but if no one answers, the magic stops and the receiver is left with just regular water. Unfortunately, if the sender tries again before the receiver empties the cup, the water will overflow.”

“So if I don’t answer your call, you can call again and again and again, flooding our room with water?” Ricardo asked in an aghast tone.

“You’re welcome,” Lorena said, grinning.