Angelology(89)

I immediately regretted what I’d said. The silence we had forged was an uncomfortable truce, but

the artifice had allowed me to progress with my work.

Gabriella stood, took her beaded bag from the table and, her voice unnaturally calm, said, “You

think that you understand what you have seen, but it is more complicated than it appears.”

“I should think it rather obvious that you are involved with an older man,” I said. “And I suspect

that Dr. Seraphina believes as much, too.”

For a moment I believed that Gabriella would turn and leave, as had become her habit when she

felt cornered. Instead she stood before me, defiant. “I wouldn’t speak of it to Dr. Seraphina, or to

anyone else, if I were you.”

Feeling I was in a position of power at last, I pressed my point. “And why not?”

“If anyone were to discover what you think you know,” Gabriella said, “the greatest harm would

befall all of us.”

Although I could not fully understand the meaning of her threat, the urgency in her voice and the

genuine terror of her expression stopped me cold. We had come to an impasse, neither one knowing

how to proceed.

At last Gabriella broke the silence. “It is not impossible to gain access to Clematis’s account,” she

said. “If one wishes to read it, one only need know where to look.”

“I thought the text wasn’t circulated,” I said.

“It isn’t,” Gabriella answered. “And I should not help you to find it, especially when it is clearly

not in my best interest. But you look as though you might be willing to help me, too.”

I met her gaze, wondering exactly what she could mean by this.

“My proposal is this,” Gabriella said, leading me from the Athenaeum and into the dark hallway of

the school. “I will tell you how to find the text, and you, in turn, will remain silent. You will not

mention a word to Seraphina about me or your speculations about my activities. You will not speak of

my comings and goings from the apartment. Tonight I will be out for some time. If anyone comes to

the apartment for me, you will say that you don’t know where I am.”

“You are asking me to lie to our teachers.”

“No,” she said. “I am asking that you tell the truth. You don’t know where I will be this evening.”

“But why?” I asked. “Why are you doing this?”

The faintest look of weariness appeared in Gabriella’s features, a hint of desperation that made me

believe that she would open herself to me and confess everything, a hope that was crushed the

moment it emerged. “I don’t have time for this,” she said, impatient. “Do you agree or not?”

I did not need to say a word. Gabriella understood me perfectly. I would do anything to gain access

to Clematis’s text.

A series of exposed electric bulbs illuminated our passage to the medieval wing of the school.

Gabriella moved quickly, her platform shoes tapping the quick, erratic rhythm of her footfall, and

when she stopped, halting abruptly midstep, I stumbled against her, breathless.

Although clearly annoyed by my clumsiness, Gabriella didn’t utter a sound. Instead she turned

toward a door, one of hundreds of identical doors throughout the building, each one the same size and

color, without numbers or nameplates to indicate where it led.

“Come,” she said, looking to the arch above the door, an assemblage of crumbling limestone

blocks that rose to a peak. “You are taller than I am. Perhaps you can reach the keystone.”

Stretching as best I could, I brushed my fingers against the grainy stone. To my surprise, the block

moved under the pressure of my touch and, with a bit of wiggling, slid from its place, leaving a

wedge of open space. At Gabriella’s instruction I reached inside and removed a cold metal object the

size of a penknife.

“It is a key,” I said, holding it before me, astonished. “How did you know it was here?”

“It will get you into the school’s underground storage,” Gabriella said, gesturing for me to replace

the stone. “Through this door there is a set of stairs. Follow it down and you will find a second door.

The key will unlock that door. It is the entrance to the Valkos’ private chambers—Dr. Raphael’s

translation of Clematis’s account is kept here.”

I tried to recall hearing anything about such a space and could not. It made sense, of course, that we

would create a secure location for our treasures, and it answered the question of where the books

from the Athenaeum were being stored. I wanted to ask more—to demand that she explain the details