“You should have met his father,” Fernando commented. He swept his hat off and bowed to the blinking monarch. “Your Majesty.”
It was every library patron’s nightmare—that you were secretly being observed whenever you took a forbidden cough drop out of your pocket. In the Bodleian’s case, it turned out the readers had good reason to worry. The nerve center for a magical security system was hidden behind the eyeballs of Thomas Bodley and King Charles.
“Sorry, Charlie.” I tossed my yellow helmet in the air, and it sailed over to land on the king’s head.
I flicked my fingers, and the brim tilted down over his eyes. “No witnesses for tonight’s events.”
Fernando handed me his helmet.
“Use mine for the founder. Please.”
Once I’d obscured Sir Thomas’s sight, I began to pluck and tweak the threads that bound the statues to the rest of the library. The spell’s knots weren’t complicated—just thrice- and four-crossed bindings—but there were so many of them, all piled on top of one another like a severely overtaxed electrical panel. Finally I discovered the main knot through which all the other knots were threaded and carefully untied it. The uncanny feeling of being observed vanished.
“That’s better,” Linda murmured. “Now what?”
“I promised to call Matthew once we were inside,” I said, drawing out my phone. “Give me a minute.”
I pushed past the lattice barricade and walked down the silent, echoing main avenue of Duke Humfrey’s Library. Matthew picked up on the first ring.
“All right, mon coeur?” His voice thrummed with tension, and I briefly filled him in on our progress so far.
“How were Rebecca and Philip after I left?” I asked when my tale was told.
“Fidgety.”
“And you?” My voice softened.
“More fidgety.”
“Where are you?” I asked. Matthew had waited until after I left for England, then started driving north and east toward Central Europe.
“I just left Germany.” He wasn’t going to give me any more details in case I encountered an inquisitive witch.
“Be careful. Remember what the goddess said.” Her warning that I would have to give something up if I wanted to possess Ashmole 782 still haunted me.
“I will.” Matthew paused. “There’s something I want you to remember, too.”
“What?”
“Hearts cannot be broken, Diana. And only love makes us truly immortal. Don’t forget, ma lionne.
No matter what happens.” He disconnected the line.
His words sent a shiver of fear up my spine, setting the goddess’s silver arrow rattling. I repeated the words of the charm I’d woven to keep him safe and felt the familiar tug of the chain that bound us together.
“All is well?” Fernando asked quietly.
“As expected.” I slipped the phone back into my pocket. “Let’s get started.” We had agreed that the first thing we would try was simply to replicate the steps by which Ashmole 782 had come into my hands the first time. With Sarah, Linda, and Fernando looking on, I filled out the boxes on the call slip. I signed it, put my reader’s-card number in the appropriate blank, and carried it over to the spot in the Arts End where the pneumatic tube was located.
“The capsule is here,” I said, removing the hollow receptacle. “Maybe Andrew was wrong and the delivery system is still working.” When I opened it, the capsule was full of dust. I coughed.
“And maybe it doesn’t matter one way or the other,” Sarah said with a touch of impatience. “Load it up and let her rip.”
I put the call slip into the capsule, closed it securely, and placed it back in the compartment.
“What next?” Sarah said a few minutes later.
The capsule was right where I’d left it.
“Let’s give it a good whack.” Linda slapped the end of the compartment, causing the wooden supports it was attached to—and which held up the gallery above—to shake alarmingly. With an audible whoosh, the capsule disappeared.
“Nice work, Linda,” Sarah said with obvious admiration.
“Is that a witch’s trick?” Fernando asked, his lips twitching.
“No, but it always improves the Radio 4 signal on my stereo,” Linda said brightly.
Two hours later we were all still waiting by the conveyor belt for a manuscript that showed absolutely no sign of arriving.
Sarah sighed. “Plan B.”
Without a word Fernando unbuttoned his dark coat and slipped it from his shoulders. A pillowcase was sewn into the back lining. Inside, sandwiched between two pieces of cardboard, were the three pages that Edward Kelley had removed from the Book of Life.