“Perhaps,” she said. “Or maybe it is just that none of the other girls are brave enough to use theirs.”
He looked surprised. “I never thought of it like that.”
Of course you haven’t.
“Would you like some more tea?” he asked.
“Thank you,” she said, picking up her cup and holding it out.
“Have you seen the papers today?” he asked as he poured. “There’s a whole to-do over—”
“Do you have a paper?” Agnes interrupted. Why hadn’t she thought to ask him before? “My father took ours, and I’ve only heard bits and pieces from my chauffeur.”
“Yes, I was just reading it when you arrived.” Ebenezer pulled a folded newspaper out from where he’d stuffed it behind the throw pillow and handed it to her.
ANCIENT RUINS DISCOVERED! the front of the Old Port Telegraph screamed. And underneath, in smaller lettering, Could buried treasure await on this remote Pelagan island? Agnes put her cup down on the table and gripped the paper with both hands.
Famed Kaolin sea captain Wendell Rivington and his crew were making their way home after a long journey to the very eastern islands of Pelago when a storm blew their ship off course. For five days they steered through the fog-covered waters, uncertainty plaguing them at every turn. On the sixth day the fog lifted, revealing the island of Braxos, one of what the Pelagans call the Lost Islands due to the dense fog that hides them from view.
Captain Rivington and his crew had to use all their skill not to run aground, and as they passed the island they saw the ruins of an ancient fortress, guarded with doors of gleaming metal adorned with strange markings. Gemstones in magnificent colors sparkled underneath the water, leading the men to cast nets down in the hopes of culling them from the seabed. Seaman Harry Withers, an amateur photographer, managed to snap a photograph of the ruins (seen here) before the fog swallowed Braxos up again and the ship was forced to turn away and head for safer waters.
How long have the ruins sat, untouched, on this remote island? What mysteries lie waiting behind those doors? What caused the surrounding waters to be filled with gemstones? And, most importantly, who will be the first to explore this elusive discovery and claim its riches for their own?
“It was all Gerald and Louis could talk about at breakfast,” Ebenezer said. “I think Louis has forgotten he cannot swim.” He chuckled at his own joke, but Agnes wasn’t listening. She was staring at the grainy black-and-white photograph. The ruins were enormous, poised on a cliff jutting out high above the whitecapped waves. They rose to a lofty point with towers curling out from all sides like stone snakes. The doors were clearly visible, shining with a white light.
And perched atop them was a symbol that set Agnes’s heart thrumming in her chest.
“Do you have a magnifying glass?” she demanded.
“I think there’s one in the secretary,” Ebenezer said, taken aback by her intensity. He went to the tall rosewood structure by the door and rifled through one of the lower desk drawers. “Here you go.”
The magnifying glass had a polished ebony handle and was well cleaned. She held it up to the photograph.
A star stared back at her, a star with varying points, none of which were the same size or height. A star that looked shockingly similar to the one she’d seen hanging from the neck of a silver girl with blue hair.
It was the star from Sera’s necklace.
18
Leo
LEO WATCHED WITH GROWING DISCOMFORT AS KIERNAN dragged the girl’s limp form out of the crate.
As thrilling as the conversation with his father had been the previous evening, reality was setting in now. He was being included, at long last, but for what? Leo had wanted to run a theater company. He had dreamed of it his whole life. He’d thought when he volunteered for the expedition that in return he might get to assist the director or have a small role himself. He’d thought he would learn the ins and outs of the theater, what went on backstage during a play, and maybe flirt with the costume mistress. And then eventually he would take over his father’s position and choose playwrights and help with casting and do whatever else it was Xavier did to keep the business running. But there wouldn’t be a theater company for much longer, and Leo did not know how to feel about these stolen creatures from Pelago or the girl he had captured, or his role in all this.
She was still wearing the same filthy dress. The first thing Kiernan did was remove her bracelets and necklace.
“My, my, my,” he said, holding the star-shaped pendant up to the light. “I have never seen a stone like this before, and my aunt was a jeweler. Whoever this girl is, she isn’t from Pelago.”
Leo could have told him that—unless she had jumped from Pelago to the Knottle Plains, there was no way she was from the islands. He had a feeling that she was somehow related to that shooting star he and Agnes had seen, as crazy as that sounded. Kiernan slipped the jewelry into his medical bag, then took out another needle and syringe.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“For her blood, dear boy.” Kiernan sank the needle into the crook of her elbow, and what he drew out amazed them both. The girl’s blood was as blue as her hair. He held the vial up and Leo stared in awe—flickers of light ran through it, crackling and vanishing like synapses.
“Whoa,” he whispered.
“Indeed,” Kiernan said.
“What do you think it means?”
“I have no idea, but I promise you I am going to find out.” He tucked the vial away and took out a small pair of scissors, then cut strands of her hair and took clippings of her fingernails and secured them in their own vials. Then he shone a small flashlight into each of her eyes—their color was stunning, like a sapphire but clearer and brighter. Finally Kiernan took out a measuring tape. First he measured the length of her arm, then her leg, then around her neck and her head, then finally her waist, making notations in a notebook.
“Help me lift her,” Kiernan said, as he tried to get the measuring tape around. Leo rolled her onto her side—he didn’t like moving her unconscious form today any more than he had yesterday. It felt wrong. As he touched her, he saw her eyelids flutter.
“I think she’s awake, Mr. Kiernan,” he said.
“Nonsense. That anesthetic I gave her will keep her out for a good two hours at least.” He made his last notation and snapped the book shut. Something niggled at Leo, something he couldn’t place besides the fact that he was sure her eyelids had moved. Her face was peaceful, and Leo noted that her eyelashes were a very dark blue. Her skin was a color any silversmith in Old Port would drool over, her lips were parted slightly, and Leo detected the fragrance of her hair again, an intoxicating scent that he still could not place.
“All right, let’s get her back in,” Kiernan said.
“In the crate?” he asked.
“Of course in the crate, where else would we put her?”
Leo looked at the box of wood. She was just . . . a girl. It felt wrong to put her back in there. Kiernan had grabbed hold of her legs.
“Come on then,” he said impatiently. “We haven’t got all—”
He was interrupted by the door to the theater bursting open, and Leo stared, starstruck, as James Roth ran down the aisle.