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

Capítulo Quince

CAPíTULO QUINCE

I was dreaming, the golden ring a pressing weight on my finger. I didn’t quite know how I knew exactly, but somehow my intuition worked even in my subconscious. My limbs felt heavy, tucked under the bedding, and dimly I was aware that I was encased in a gauzy shroud. The mosquito netting. Cool air rustled my hair, and I sank farther into the soft pillow, squeezing my eyes shut, desperate to remain where I was in the dream.

Cleopatra stood in a softly lit room, rows and rows of scrolls in front of her. Her sheer tunic went past her toes, and the fabric kissed the warm-hued stones as she paced, clearly searching for something in particular. She yanked out parchments, unrolling them quickly, hissing with impatience as she threw them onto the floor, one by one. She went to another shelf and pulled out another scroll, unrolling it, and a moment later, she let out a noise of triumph. Her back was turned to me, so I couldn’t see what she was reading; I tried to shift around her, but the memory wouldn’t let me. I was confined to the corner of the room, as if she only meant to capture what shelf she had taken the scroll from. The smell of ash and smoke filled my nostrils.

Something burned.

She spun toward the chamber’s entrance and called out to someone, holding up a single sheet of parchment. Her face was unlined, her hair glossy and dark. This was a younger Cleopatra than I had seen before. She had none of the world weariness from before, none of the jaded expression lining her features.

This Cleopatra had no idea what was to come.

The memory became hazy. My fingers curled around the edge of the pillow, and I held my breath, trying to stay in the memory. I’d seen something on that sheet.

It looked like a snake eating itself.

And then Cleopatra pulled out another scroll, seemingly at random, and slipped the sheet on top of it and then rolled it carefully, effectively hiding what she’d found. She took both with her as she left, and the memory faded completely.

I opened my eyes, confused and disorientated. Next to me, Isadora’s sleeping form shifted, and she let out a little breathless mutter, tucking herself closer to me. I blinked away the drowsy feeling of sleep, cautiously sitting up, and peeled back the netting. The carpet was cool under my bare feet as I padded around the stacked crates toward Whit’s narrow cot. He slept on his back, long legs stretched out and over the edge of the bed. His hair flopped onto his forehead; the curved line of his jaw was soft.

He looked innocent while he dreamed. Younger and unburdened, the Whit who had once looked at me with hope and a promise I could trust.

I knelt and poked his shoulder.

Whit jerked, his hand reaching under his pillow and retrieving something shiny. A cool, sharp edge pressed against me, right under my chin. Sleepy blue eyes with only a hint of alertness stared broodingly back at me.

“It’s me,” I breathed. “Just me.”

He turned onto his side, hiding the blade back underneath the pillow. “I could have slit your throat.”

I rubbed my neck. “You’re a walking hazard, Mr. Hayes.”

He rubbed his eyes and said tiredly, “Please don’t call me that. We’re not strangers. We’re not even acquaintances.”

“I have to,” I whispered.

Whit lowered his hands and peered at me. Even in the dim lighting, I could make out the serious line of his mouth, the narrowed eyes. “Why?”

“Because one day, that’s all you’ll be to me,” I whispered with a quick glance toward Isadora. I didn’t want to wake her.

A long silence followed, and then he flipped onto his back. “Did you need something?”

“I had another Cleopatra memory,” I said, holding up my ring finger. “She’s been busy.”

Whit turned his head to face me. “And?”

“She was in a room, desperately looking for something,” I said. “At first, I thought it was a scroll, but then she held up a single sheet of parchment. On it was a snake eating itself.”

“The Chrysopoeia of Cleopatra,” he exclaimed.

“Shh,” I hissed. “Don’t wake up my sister.”

Whit rolled his eyes. “I couldn’t care less about your sister.”

Frustration licked at my edges. He and I were going to have words about his opinion of Isadora. His lack of trust and courtesy was beginning to grate on me. Whit was the one who betrayed me, the one who had lied to me. I almost got to my feet, but the memory had stayed with me, and I knew it was important, that it somehow connected to my mother.

“Will you please listen?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand. “At some point during the memory, I caught the scent of something burning. Right before she disappeared, I looked outward, and I saw a view of the sea, parts of the city.” I inhaled, the memory sharp and tasting bitter on my tongue. “It was under siege.”

Whit sat up and swung his legs around, planting his feet firmly next to me. His knee brushed against my shoulder. “Can I speak now?” There was the faintest note of sarcasm edging his voice.

“You may,” I said.

“The city you saw must be Alexandria,” he said. “Cleopatra had a palace close to the water, and if she had inherited the alchemical sheet and was working from it, it follows that she’d keep it close.” He thought for a moment. “I could see why she’d be desperate to produce the philosopher’s stone. Nothing bleeds money quite like war.”

“What war was this?” I asked. “She looked too young for it to be the Battle of Actium.”

“That took place off the coast of Greece,” Whit said.

He was right. I remembered that particular battle, the warships carved onto the walls of her tomb. It was the beginning of the end, that event was a catalyst for the loss of everything she held dear: her kingdom, her children, and eventually her great love, Marcus Antonius. Chills swept up and down my arms.

“It might have been a fight against her brother, who arrived in Alexandria with his army, bent on seizing the throne from Cleopatra,” Whit continued.

“So if she had the alchemical sheet, she might have wished to hide it somewhere. If I were her, I wouldn’t want it in my brother’s hands.”

“Right,” he said. “There are about a million places she could have hidden something so precious.”

“But at least we have the name of the city,” I said. “Cleopatra’s Chrysopoeia must be in Alexandria.”

“Like I said, a million places to hide,” Whit muttered.

“We can eliminate one place for sure,” I said. “The royal palace. The memory I stumbled into made me think she was leaving it in a rush to get out.”

“Agreed.” He paused. “And thank Christ, because the palace is underwater.”

“What happened in the end with Cleopatra’s brother? Did she defeat him?”

Whit nodded. “Thanks to Julius Caesar.”

And thus, her love affair began. I found her story fascinating, but I couldn’t help thinking of Mamá and how she could be on the same track, following the same clues. “Perhaps that’s why my mother is in Alexandria,” I said suddenly, remembering our earlier conversation. “Maybe it isn’t to start a rival black market after all.”

“Or it could be both. Your mother is an enterprising sort of person.” Whit smiled ruefully.

I returned it without thinking. We locked eyes for a beat, and then another. The lighting in the room had brightened considerably since I’d walked over to him, and I could see every line and curve of his face. He regarded me fondly, his shoulders relaxed, his elbows resting on his knees. We had slipped into the natural camaraderie and sleuthing that existed between us from the beginning. It had been so easy to fall in love with him.

And so easy to forget what he had done.

I stood, bristling and annoyed with myself. He would be Mr. Hayes to me and nothing else. I turned to go back to bed, to get what little sleep remained for me, but he caught my hand.

“Wait,” he said. “Wait.”

His fingers were warm against my palm. I hated the way my body sang in response. “What?”

He released me abruptly, jaw clenching. My tone had been curt and iced over.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” came an annoyed voice from within the confines of the gauzy cocoon in the center of the room, “but would you two please bloody be quiet ?”

“I’m sorry,” I called out to her. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Isadora harrumphed, tossing and turning until finally becoming still and quiet.

“What did you want to say to me?” I asked in an almost inaudible whisper.

“It was nothing,” he said after a moment. “Sleep well.”

It was a nice sentiment, but I couldn’t fall back asleep, no matter how much I wished for it, no matter how much I tried. All I could think about was the despairing note in Whit’s voice and the way he had seemed to pull away from me, wall erected in place. This was what I wanted. He didn’t deserve my smiles or my friendship, or any of my thoughts.

But it didn’t stop me from wanting to know what he had been about to say. Nor did it stop the twinge of sadness that I’d never come to know it, either.

I planned for the trip to Alexandria. Of course, talking about going to Alexandria was much easier than actually doing it. For one thing, when my aunt found out my plans, she had promptly burst into tears and fled the seating area in favor of sobbing alone in her bedroom.

“Would it kill you to think before you speak?” Amaranta demanded. “I’m tired of cleaning up your messes, prima .”

She said the word cousin as if it were a dirty one, a robust curse, and I suddenly remembered that she only called me prima when I was in trouble. Which I had been ever since I had accidentally splashed tea onto the pages of one of her favorite books eleven years ago. Amaranta really knew how to hold a grudge.

“I’m trying to make things right,” I said. “I’m trying to put the right person in jail, so that Ricardo and Abdullah can go free.”

What had happened to my uncle and Abdullah had also sent my aunt into hysterics. She had calmed down by the time we visited the prison, but I knew she suffered to see him locked away in a tiny room.

“And going to another city after we’ve only just arrived is the way to do it?” Amaranta asked, one brow arched skeptically. “ After we crossed an ocean to get here? After we learned that Elvira was murdered? This is your best idea?” she scoffed. “I ought to have known you’d run away.”

I bristled. “I’m not running away. Mamá is in Alexandria, and if I have any hope of her spending the rest of her miserable life in prison, that’s where I need to be, too.”

“And what?” Amaranta asked, her voice rising. “You’ll ask her nicely to lock herself up? I know you’re reckless, and stubborn, and too curious for your own good,” she said scathingly, “but I honestly believed you to be smarter than this.”

No one infuriated me more than my cousin did.

“I’m building a case against her,” I yelled. “Wherever she goes, she leaves behind a trail of damning evidence.”

“ Enough , both of you,” Tía Lorena said. She was pale and drawn, half supported by the doorframe opening up to her room. “For years I’ve watched the pair of you squabble like children. And you are not children anymore. One day, and I pray soon , you both will have husbands and households to manage and babies to raise.”

My stomach did an odd little flip. I had forgotten to tell my aunt of my doomed marriage. No doubt the learning of it would send her back inside her bedroom in a fit of tears. Perhaps it’d be best if she never found out that particular secret.

She raised a trembling hand to her lips. “Do you really believe Lourdes is in Alexandria, Inez?”

I nodded.

“And there’s been no word about—” Her voice cracked. She inhaled deeply, visibly fighting to control herself. “About my brother?” she asked.

Shame rose up my throat, hot and tasting like acid. It killed me that I had no new information about my father. Mamá had lied to me the first time, but I refused to accept anything but the truth from her now. I would make her tell me, by any means necessary. If I was forced to, I’d sic my violent husband on her while I still could.

I shook my head. “Nothing. Only Mamá knows the truth at this point.”

My aunt’s face hardened. “Then go and find her. Amaranta and I will care for Ricardo and his business partner while you’re gone.”

Amaranta’s lips parted in surprise. “But Mamá—”

“If it were you in prison, hijita,” she said, “wouldn’t you want your family to visit every day? To deliver food? Blankets? To keep you company?”

“I’m not against visiting,” Amaranta snapped. “I’m furious Inez is leaving us to bear the brunt of the responsibility.”

“Amaranta, enough,” Tía Lorena said. “Basta. Ya no puedo más.”

My cousin fell silent, jaw locked. I couldn’t help feeling that my uncle would rather spend his days alone than have my aunt and cousin descending upon him like clucking chickens, but I refrained from saying so. That revelation might turn my aunt into a puddle of tears. Truthfully, I was moved that she wanted to help me at all.

“I would never be in prison to begin with,” Amaranta muttered.

“That’s beside the point,” my aunt said firmly. “I want to know what happened to Cayo. I must have some way to mourn him. Has there been no word about where his… his body might be?”

In no world would I allow her to share my hope that my father might still be alive. Better my aunt thought her brother was dead than to agonize over his whereabouts. Like I did. “No word, unfortunately.”

Tía Lorena sighed. “Is there anything else you need?”

I considered her question. There was one thing. “Abdullah’s granddaughter, Farida, is worried about him, and if you could include her in your plans from time to time, it would mean the world to me.”

My aunt gave me a small nod. I would take my victories where I could get them. Then she surprised me by walking into her room abruptly. I looked at Amaranta, who delicately shrugged. My aunt returned, carrying the magic-touched teacup.

“If you’re traveling to Alexandria, then you should take this with you,” she said, handing it to me. “That way you can communicate with Ricardo whenever you wish.” She smiled faintly. “I have a feeling he wouldn’t love hearing from me, anyway.”

I forced myself to smile. If my uncle found out I was heading to Alexandria, then he wouldn’t be happy to hear from me, either.

The train rumbled along, sweeping past farmland and palm trees as we left Cairo. It was just the three of us in the cabin, Isadora at my side, Whit on the opposite bench, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

“You are crushing the hem of my skirt,” Isadora said to Whit icily, tugging at the fabric until he finally obliged her by lifting his boots. “Isn’t there an empty compartment you can use?”

“I’m comfortable here,” he replied, moodily staring out of the dusty window.

Isadora pressed her lips into a thin line. She dug into her bag and pulled out a book. I wished I had thought to bring one.

Whit jumped to his feet, glaring down at his seat. “What the devil!”

“What is it?” I asked.

Isadora peered at him from over the edge of her book.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Remember when you gave me the teacup for safekeeping?”

I nodded, glancing at his knapsack. My own bag was too full, and so I had entrusted it to him, and he’d wrapped it in an old shirt of his. “Did it break?” I asked, my heart sinking. There went a way to communicate with my uncle.

“No,” Whit muttered. “Ricardo was trying to communicate with your aunt—”

“Oh no,” I said. “And the cup overflowed, getting your things wet.”

He glared down at his pants where some of the water had soaked the material. “Yes.”

Isadora laughed, and Whit shifted his glare from his pants to her. She smirked and went back to her reading.

“You should pull out your clothes so they can at least be dry by the time we reach Alexandria.”

Whit unpacked several shirts and laid them flat on the bench. Then he sat, stretching his legs, placing them exactly where they had been, crushing Isadora’s dress.

“Do you mind?”

“Not in the least,” Whit said with a cold smile.

Isadora rolled her eyes, then shifted in her seat, facing away from us and toward the window. “I’d like to read in peace, if neither of you minds.”

Whit opened his mouth.

“Where should we stay?” I asked quickly, hoping to turn the conversation from their brewing argument. I wished they would work on trying to find common ground while we were forced into one another’s company. “You’ve been to Alexandria before, haven’t you?”

Whit’s lips flattened. “I wasn’t there for the bombing of it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I wasn’t,” I said. “I only wanted the name of a hotel.”

“We ought to stay at Hotel d’Europe,” Isadora said, not looking up from her reading. “I’ve heard wonderful things about the accommodations.”

“It was destroyed in the bombing,” Whit said. “And anyway, it would have been too expensive. We don’t have that kind of money at our disposal.”

“And whose fault was that again?” Isadora asked, turning the page.

“I don’t see you contributing,” he countered. “You’ve been acting like a parasite ever since you arrived in Cairo.”

“Parasite,” Isadora repeated faintly. She snapped her book shut and stood up, her back stiffening in cold fury, and strode to the compartment door, angrily sliding it open. Without another word, she stalked off in the direction of the dining car.

“Go and apologize, Mr. Hayes,” I said.

“Why should I?” he muttered. “It’s only too true. She almost got you killed the other night.”

I leaned forward. “She is my sister. Family . If you insist on staying, following me around everywhere because of some misguided attempt to make it up to me, or to be reconciled—which will never happen—”

“That’s not why I’m here,” he snapped.

I lifted a brow. “Right. Of course. You’re here because of the alchemical sheet.”

Whit folded his arms across his chest, the press of his mouth a flat, mutinous line.

“I haven’t forgotten,” I whispered. “If it were me or the Chrysopoeia, I know the choice you would make. You’ve made that clear, unless there’s something I’m missing. Something you can’t or won’t say.”

He stayed silent, and I kicked his side of the bench. “Well?”

He lifted his eyes, met mine levelly. “You don’t really want me to answer that.”

“No, I guess I don’t.” I rubbed my eyes tiredly. “Will you please go and say that you’re sorry?”

He eyed me wearily. “It’s that important to you?”

“Sí. Ahora, por favor.”

Whit left me with my thoughts, and my gaze dropped to my canvas bag. I never went anywhere without it, and if I was going to sit here, I might as well do something useful. With a little sigh, I rummaged through the various items tucked inside: pencils, extra candlesticks and matches, and finally, my journal and that of my mother’s. I pulled both out and flipped through the pages of the latter, reading bits and pieces until the words swam across my vision.

Mamá’s journal was thick, and I still hadn’t studied every page in depth; the beginning section interested me the most. She had plenty of sketches, some of them half-finished, some of them finished in color. She had a penchant for drawing statues. I came across the nine muses from Greek mythology; Cerberus, the three-headed dog who guarded the entrance to the underworld; and then a man I didn’t recognize. At first glance, it looked like Hades, especially with the three-headed dog at his feet. But he wore a crown I’d never seen before and carried a staff that I’d never associated with the god of the world below.

Curious, I retrieved a pencil from within my bag and sketched the intriguing god and his dog, sitting on a peculiar structure. The sketch done, I closed my journal and tucked everything back into my canvas bag. Whit still hadn’t returned, and I contemplated going to search for them. Just to make sure they were still alive.

The thought didn’t amuse me.

Frowning, I stared out the window. We had left the city far behind, replaced by long stretches of golden sand that glimmered under the brutal rays of sunlight. The train cut through the unforgivable terrain, and with every mile crossed, I wondered where we were going to sleep, and how we were going to eat.

And just how long we would last, searching for my mother with limited funds and short tempers, and with two people who couldn’t stand the sight of each other.

I sighed, leaning back against the seat as a sea of cotton fields, villages, and gorgeous mountains enclosing the Nile River swept past my window. The train rumbled onward, my worries chasing me every foot of the journey to Alexandria. The bride of the Mediterranean. But I enjoyed none of the scenery.

Instead, I tried not to despair.

WHIT

I started after Isadora, watching her skirt swish as she hustled toward the dining car. She sat at one of the available tables, hands primly folded on the tablecloth. Her posture was perfect, but I knew the secrets that could be hidden behind perfect manners.

I sat down across from her, scowling. “It’s time we have a chat.”

“I’m busy at the moment,” she said coolly. “I’m going to have my tea.”

“I want to know what game you’re playing.”

Isadora raised her brows faintly. “Game?”

“Don’t try to tell me that you weren’t deliberately leading Inez into the worst part of Cairo, or are you really going to sit there and pretend that you care a whit about her?”

She widened her eyes. “That was an accident! It may come as a shock to you, but my father allowed me to accompany him to his various job sites. Not all of them were at fancy hotels and stately mansions. I recalled the old government building being run-down and made an educated guess on where to go.”

“A guess,” I said, my anger spiking. “You risked everyone’s life on a guess?”

“It wasn’t like Inez could ask for directions,” she snapped. “It would have drawn too much attention.”

I tried another line of questioning. “Where is your father?”

Isadora fell silent. She met my gaze unflinchingly. Not fainthearted, this girl.

“Well?”

“I don’t answer to you.”

I slapped the table in frustration, and she jumped.

If Inez were here, she’d demand I apologize for that, too.

“Do you really expect me to believe you have had zero contact with him?”

“Why not?” she asked. “It’s the truth. My God, what happened to you to mistrust everyone, to believe the worst of people?”

Growing up in a house that held no warmth. Joining the military at fifteen. Being sent off to battle in the desert. Too late to save General Gordon, and then being court-martialed for even attempting it. But I would never have said that out loud. She would turn any word I said against me.

“Why don’t you make another guess?”

“I told you—I don’t know. Stop asking me.”

I studied her, on the edge of her seat, barely holding on to her prim exterior. Twin flags burned on her cheeks, and a vein stood out on her brow. It would be too easy to set her off. People always revealed more than they should while on the defense. “You know what I think?” I began softly. “I think your father learned the truth about Lourdes and decided she wasn’t worth the bother. I think he’s searching for a way out—”

“No,” she said.

“Maybe he’d rather take his chances somewhere else, rather than stay with a cold-blooded—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” she cut in, the red blooming across her cheeks turning mottled.

“Maybe he’s looking for another woman. Someone less complicated, more loyal. Not a bitch who—”

She stood and reached across the narrow table, her hand held high. I froze, silently goading her to finish what she started. I dared her to strike me.

Isadora panted in outrage, her anger coating her pale skin in a thin layer of sweat. We were locked in this sickening tableau, each of us not moving, barely breathing.

I waited to see what she would do.

She waited to see if I’d let her slap me.

I arched a brow.

Her lips twisted, her arm trembling as if she fought a battle against it. Eventually, she lowered her hand and resumed her seat. Isadora laid her palms flat on the table, her eyes brimming with white-hot anger. “Papa loves my mother. He never lets her out of his sight. I can’t imagine he’s far away from her.”

“Ever?” I asked softly. “I hardly believe—”

“ Ever ,” she snapped. “They are devoted to each other.”

“Fine,” I said flatly. “Then tell me why you followed me to an opium den the other night.” I threw that sentence out there from out of nowhere, hoping to surprise her into giving herself away. Everything she did felt calculated to me, despite what Inez might believe.

Isadora blinked.

I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes. “You were there.”

She shifted away from me, her arms folding across her chest, an air of offended silence swirling around her like artillery smoke. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it doesn’t matter, does it? You’ve already decided who I am, no matter what I’ll say.”

My frustration grew. She ought to work for imperial Britain as a spy. The chit would be their most treasured asset.

She stared at me, her gaze unwavering. “I don’t care if you believe me, I don’t care if you think the worst of me. What I do care about is Inez. Consider what will happen to me if we are successful in our efforts? Both of my parents in prison, or worse. I will be alone, without family except for Inez. I would never jeopardize our relationship, and while I have made mistakes, they were unintentional.” She leaned forward, her blue eyes latched on to mine. “Are you really going to sit there and judge me for my actions? After what you’ve done?”

Doubt crept into my mind. I had great instincts, and there was something off about this girl. But what if I was wrong about her? It was a good thing, then, that I had more time to figure her out. “You can play your little games, but I’m warning you: if you hurt Inez in any way, I’ll make your life hell.”

“Inez is already in hell,” she said, standing. Isadora smoothed the wrinkles on her skirt and stomped off, chin lifted high. For the second time in as many minutes, she walked away from me in a huff. I sat at the table, thinking, considering, piecing together everything I knew about her and every word she’d ever said long after she’d gone. Egypt swept past the window in a monochromatic blur, but I barely noticed.

Because I finally put together a part of the puzzle I hadn’t seen. Something she had just revealed—but hadn’t meant to. I wanted to run back to the compartment to tell Inez, but doubt niggled at the back of my mind. If I was wrong, Inez would turn away from me further. I had little hope of a reconciliation, but as long as there was a chance, I couldn’t afford to jeopardize it.