28
Ilsa sat on her bed, the diagram she had found under Gedeon’s mattress open in her hands.
She had looked at it at least a dozen times, hoping that some meaning would pop out at her. She had memorised the numbers and symbols, and read them every which way; from left to right; clockwise and anti-clockwise around the shape in the middle, and kept them in her mind all day long, in case she discovered them elsewhere.
But nothing could make the diagram make sense, and unless it related somehow to the amulet, it didn’t even matter. But something kept her from giving up her fascination with it. It was an irrational fancy, but a little voice inside said Gedeon had left it for her. She clung to the diagram and its secret meaning like it was the tether with which she would reel her brother back home.
* * *
It was the following evening, and Ilsa was barrelling down the main staircase, her eyes on her feet, when a second pair of shoes came into view.
Eliot was stood in her path at the bottom of the stairs. As she reached the last step, they met eye to eye.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
Ilsa was sure she had put together a watertight argument concerning something Eliot had done wrong, but now she couldn’t retrieve any of it, nor was she sure it had been truly watertight in the first place.
It appeared Eliot, on the other hand, had his argument all sewn up.
“Hmm. It looks a little like you regret running into me,” he said with a sardonic tone and a frightening smile.
Ilsa squared her shoulders – like that would help her hide the riot of feelings; nervousness, irritation, and still, worst of all, desire. “I don’t know what you’re talking ’bout.”
The smile widened. “Don’t worry. Your sprint from the garden yesterday was a big enough hint.”
It had been bold to think Eliot would let her get away with that, yet still, it was a little unfair. She had kissed him too, and at the time she hadn’t been shy about how much she wanted to. Short of a way of reminding him of that and still keeping her dignity, Ilsa said nothing.
Eliot studied her, then his eyes fell away. He straightened his shirtsleeves like the conversation was boring him. “I was kidding myself, I know.” He was still trying for malice, but despite the ice in his tone, it wasn’t coming off. “Sooner or later you were going to see what everybody else does.”
Somehow Eliot’s self-pity was even worse than his wrath. “Have you always got to think the worst ’bout everybody?” Ilsa snapped, throwing up her hands. “You really assume I wished I hadn’t, even after them other times I almost—”
“Almost what?” His gaze snapped to hers, part thunderstorm, part wariness and hope. Ilsa so rarely struggled for what to say, but nothing felt adequate, or allowed.
In the silence that fell between them, a carriage pulled up in the forecourt.
Eliot broke their gaze. “I thought it might be about Fyfe,” he said.
“Fyfe?” So he did know. That meant he also knew how awful she was for kissing him in the first place.
“It’s difficult to miss how close you two are, and—”
“Wait, what?”
“—well, Fyfe’s a saint. And a gentleman.”
And Eliot was neither of those things. He was also an idiot. And Ilsa needed to tell him.
“Eliot—”
The carriage door creaked on its hinges and they both turned at the sound of a familiar drawl. The front entrance had been left open to let the breeze in and cool the rooms, and through it, Aelius was disembarking from a carriage that was not the Zoo’s. He turned and tipped his hat to the man who had given him a ride; a man wearing a yellow tie, and a large gold pin on his lapel.
“Who’s that?” Ilsa muttered.
“The pin means he’s an enforcer,” said Eliot curtly. “Heart militia. Aelius has been trying to feel out Sam Lucius and find out if he’s an ally.” Eliot sank his hands into his pockets; the right one closed around his father’s watch. “We’re not sure yet what keeping our relationship with the Heart will cost us, but if we don’t find Gedeon… Aelius will be the one to negotiate it.”
Ilsa took in the tight set of Eliot’s jaw, and his wary glower. “You think he bets too high.”
Eliot’s gaze found hers again, and in it, Ilsa saw something that unsettled her deeply. Vulnerability. Perhaps even fear. Ilsa knew, as sure as she could read Eliot’s tells, that whatever he said next would be the truth. “I think he’s gambling without all the information,” he said quietly.
Ilsa shook her head. “What do you—”
“Ilsa, my darling.” Aelius shot her a smile as he crossed the hall towards them. “Whatever your reasons for hiding away indoors on a day as glorious as this, I’m sure they are spectacularly wise.”
Ilsa was about to shake Aelius off – to drag Eliot somewhere private and make him tell her whatever he had been about to say – when a realisation hit her like a steam train.
She had been going about this all wrong.
“Aelius,” she said, blinking. “Aelius, you and I need to talk. ’Bout Gedeon.”
Eliot shot her a warning look, but she ignored him, and led them both into the empty drawing room and closed the door.
“So,” said Aelius, tossing his hat onto a nearby loveseat. He still gripped his cane. “What’s this about our errant alpha?”
“We think Gedeon is looking for the seventh Seer’s amulet—”
“Ilsa,” hissed Eliot.
“—because then he can make a bunch of them and use all six magics to protect Camden. We also figure it’s what the rebel Sorcerers are after with these attacks, and I reckon if anyone knows ’bout that, it’s you.”
Aelius blinked, his wide, amiable smile frozen in place and slowly souring. Eventually, he laughed. “Is that so? Do tell.”
“You were the one what said the rebels were searching for something, weren’t you?” A
