“Leela,” she whispered. Leela’s heart spasmed and the vision dissolved in a burst of blue sparks. When she looked at the statue again, markings had appeared, running down the length of Faesa’s robe.
Show me, she spoke to the stone silently, as she had with the obelisk, but her heart was not as tentative this time, and she felt a force of will building inside her. Show me the secret that lies beneath you.
Leela stepped back as the statue of Faesa slid to the side. She peered down at a set of winding sunglass stairs, vanishing into the darkness. She had never been more frightened in her life, her pulse racing, every hair on her scalp standing on end.
“Is Sera down there?” she asked aloud, but Faesa was just a statue and could not answer her. Leela felt as if her bones had been replaced with air, a disorienting lightness filling her up.
She sent up a prayer to Mother Sun and began to descend the stairs.
38
Agnes
THE MARIBELLE THEATER WAS SWARMED.
Agnes could not control her wildly beating heart as Eneas pulled up to the theater. She had spent the ride squeezed in between her father and her brother, trying to fidget as little as possible. In her beaded clutch were the thousand krogers, the letter from Ambrosine, and the photograph of her mother. It was terrifying having such illicit material so close to her father, but it was all she would be taking with her. She wondered if Leo had anything stashed away in his tuxedo jacket, something he could not bear to leave behind in Old Port.
She hadn’t told Leo about the letter yet—there were more important things to focus on at the moment, and the letter wouldn’t matter if they didn’t make it to the Seaport. He’d relayed what Sera had told him, about Errol and Boris and the sprites. It all seemed unreal to her. So much could go wrong, so much was out of her control. If this plan failed . . . she didn’t want to think about that.
The article about Sera and the others, about Xavier’s newest venture, had been published in the Telegraph that morning, which was probably why throngs of people crowded the streets leading to the theater. There were groups of Solit protesters proclaiming these creatures to be heretical, enemies of the One True God that should be burned at the stake, and clusters of Old Port’s poorest citizens begging for Sera to heal them. If Xavier took any notice of them at all, Agnes could not tell. Her father seemed lost in thought the entire ride, staring out the window with unseeing eyes, as if his mind was on other things. It seemed odd—this was the night he had been anticipating for months, perhaps longer.
He roused himself as the car pulled to a stop. A reporter recognized them and there was a shout of “Mr. McLellan!” Suddenly, they were surrounded. Eneas pushed through the reporters to open the back door.
“Smile, Agnes,” Xavier said without looking at her. She hated that her lips automatically pulled up in response. He was the first out of the car—Agnes and Leo exchanged a glance before Agnes slid across the seat and took Eneas’s offered hand. Leo followed after her and the two of them flanked their father, Leo right by his side, Agnes a little behind him—this routine was familiar to them both, after so many premieres.
This is the last time, Agnes realized. No matter what, I’ll never have to go through this awful charade again.
Bulbs flashed behind the red ropes that kept the press at bay. Questions were shouted and everything felt too loud and too bright. Whenever her picture appeared in the paper, Agnes looked like she was staring directly into the sun—eyes squinting, cheeks scrunched up. The questions pelted her like pebbles, pinging between her ears.
“How does it feel to be engaged?”
“Give us a smile, Miss McLellan!”
“Agnes, who are you wearing?”
They never asked Leo who he was wearing, and he was the one who picked out this damn dress. Agnes smiled as hard as she could and said nothing.
“Xavier, what made you decide to leave the theater business and start up this Pelagan venture?”
“Pelagan venture?” Xavier stared down at the reporter with an expression of utter contempt. “My only aim is to right the wrong that has been done to this country. My goal is to return Kaolin to its former glory, and I will use any methods at my disposal. I am a patriot, sir. All I do, I do under the eye of the One True God, and he knows what is in my heart. These creatures I have discovered will make our land and seas healthy again. Where they were found has no bearing on what they can do.”
“They’ll make you a pretty penny, though, won’t they?” another one shouted, and Agnes recognized him vaguely as one friendly to her father.
Xavier’s eyes glinted in the flash of the bulbs. “Why, my dear Rudolph, they already have.”
Then it was more fake smiling, their father between them, his hands on their shoulders, the picture of a perfect Kaolin family man.
If only he knew what his children were really up to.
That thought made Agnes smile for real.
Finally, they were ushered into the huge marble foyer. Bars were set up at either end, bottles of champagne chilling in silver buckets, crystal flutes standing neatly side by side. Waiters carrying platters of hors d’oeuvres glided through the crowd, offering smoked salmon pinwheels and caviar on toast. A string quartet played softly in the corner by the stairs to the mezzanine.
Xavier McLellan spared no expense when it came to self-promotion.
There were photographs set on large tripods, the same ones from the house along with one of Sera in the pink lace gown, her hair done up like a Kaolin girl. She looked frightened. Men were lined up to make bids, mostly men who owned cattle ranches or large farms in the west for Boris, shipping and fishing industrialists from the Gulf of Windsor for Errol, but Sera’s line was the longest. A drop of blood that could cure all? People were going nuts over it. The prices were sky-high, simply because there was so little to be sold. There was a small photograph of the vial Kiernan had taken from her at the party, which seemed to be all that was for sale at the moment. Xavier was not foolish enough to bleed his golden goose dry.
Agnes stared at the picture of the vial with hatred in her heart. That was all her father was going to get from Sera. He wasn’t going to take a single drop more.
“Leo.” Xavier didn’t even need to raise his voice and his children’s heads swiveled in his direction. He was standing with the mayor and two city council members. “Come, they wish to hear the story of the capture of our Azure.”
“Ugh,” Leo muttered. “I’ll be back.”
“Play the part,” Agnes reminded him.
“Of course, darling sister,” he said, putting on his most debonair smile and striding over to the four men. The mayor shook his hand and Agnes watched, fascinated, as Leo began to tell the tale of Sera’s capture with great gusto, as if he really was his old self.
“Your brother seems to be enjoying himself.” Ebenezer Grange appeared at her elbow, two champagne flutes in hand. He offered one to Agnes.
“Yes, he’s never happier than when rich old men are showering him with attention,” she said.
He laughed. “So how did it go at the Wolfshead?”
Her face went hot. “Oh, it was fine, just fine.”
“No one tried to steal your virtue, I hope?”
Agnes choked on her champagne. “No, no. Thank you again for the ride.”