The Cerulean Read online

  She opened the drawstring on her red satin purse and fingered the jewelry inside, her most expensive pieces. It wasn’t much, but Agnes hoped it would be enough to buy her a ticket at least to Arbaz. Thaetus was closer than Cairan, the main island where Ithilia was located, and hopefully less pricey a voyage. She had never arranged for her own travel before.

  The motorcar stopped and she was brought abruptly back to reality. The Granges’ brownstone was only two stories, made of red brick with white trim, a large bay window on the ground floor and a small balcony above the front door. Agnes swallowed and found her mouth had gone completely dry. The car idled for nearly a minute before Eneas said, “I think it’s time to go in, my dear.”

  Her legs felt disconnected from her body as she walked the path to the house, up four steps; then somehow, she was pressing the ivory doorbell. A great booming clang rang from inside. A few moments later, an aging servant with graying hair and a large Solit triangle pinned to his breast answered the door.

  “Miss McLellan,” he said, bowing. “Young Master Grange is expecting you. Do come in.”

  She followed the man into the drawing room, her stomach crawling with spiders. The room was decorated in light-colored wood with blue and copper accents. An oil painting of a ship in a storm hung over the mantel. There was a small bar cart with crystal decanters in one corner and a bookshelf with leather-bound volumes in another. The coffee table was set for tea, and there was a bouquet of lilacs and lilies on a side table. The air was muggy, even though the windows were open.

  Ebenezer Grange sat on a periwinkle sofa, looking nearly as anxious as Agnes felt. He jumped at the sight of her, shoving something behind a throw pillow and standing.

  “Miss McLellan, sir,” the butler announced.

  “Thank you, Peter,” he said. His voice was slightly nasal. He had thick brown hair and a very simple beard, Agnes was pleased to see—she hated all the ornate ways men in Old Port wore their beards, with ribbons or pins or curls or, worst of all, perfume. Ebenezer’s olive skin had a sallow quality, and his wire-rimmed glasses slid down the bridge of his nose; he pushed them up and blinked at her. He gave her the overall impression of a very thin owl.

  “How do you do, Agnes?” Ebenezer said, stepping forward and offering his hand, before seeming to remember that men and women did not shake hands. He put the offending appendage in his pocket, took it out and wiped it on his trousers, and then put it back in again.

  “Very well, thank you,” Agnes said stiffly, making her traditional awful curtsy. Her father must have had quite a laugh at this pairing. Two misfits who couldn’t do anything right.

  “Would you like some tea?”

  Agnes thought she might have preferred whatever was in the crystal decanters—she never drank hard alcohol but was willing to make an exception on this day.

  “Yes, please, that would be lovely,” she said, sitting on the sofa by the lilies and trying to keep as much distance between her and Ebenezer as possible. His hands shook so hard as he poured that he nearly spilled the tea. Agnes almost felt bad for him, but still not as bad as she felt for herself.

  She held her saucer and sipped her tea. The silence was oppressive. Ebenezer took a great amount of time adding the correct ratio of milk to sugar in his. She wondered if he was merely nervous or if it was a compulsion.

  They sat and sipped and sipped and sat. The only noise was the occasional hum of a car passing or the chirp of a bird.

  “Quite the heat wave we’re having, isn’t it?” Ebenezer said at last, and she groaned internally.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Even hotter than last year.”

  They fell into silence again. Agnes had just about had it. She hadn’t asked for this arrangement, and she certainly wasn’t going to twist herself into knots for Ebenezer Grange.

  “At least you don’t have to wear a corset,” she said. “I feel as though my ribs are trapped in a very sweaty vise.”

  Her words certainly had an effect—Ebenezer choked on his tea, his cheeks darkening.

  “I—I—I—” he stuttered.

  “What?” she asked innocently. “You do know what a corset is, don’t you?”

  “Of course, but . . .” His whole face was coloring. “I’ve never heard a lady speak of one quite like that in public before.”

  Agnes swept a hand out at the room around them. “We are alone in your parlor. It isn’t exactly the lobby of the Regent.”

  Ebenezer went to drink more tea and found he had finished it. He put the cup down with a clink. “My father told me of our engagement only last night,” he said. “I am feeling quite . . . unprepared.”

  “So did mine,” she replied. “And so am I.”

  He cleared his throat. “It isn’t fair, is it? To have them decide.”

  “It isn’t.” She put her teacup down as well. “Look, Ebenezer, I know I’m not the greatest catch for a wife. My father has money and a good name, sure, but I’m not a pretty little Kaolin society girl. I say the wrong things and I wear the wrong clothes and I hate parties and small talk. And to be perfectly honest, if there was any way I could get out of this arrangement, I would.”

  “So would I,” Ebenezer said miserably, and Agnes felt herself warm to him. He looked mortified, however. “I don’t mean that you aren’t . . . I didn’t . . .” He wrung his hands. “I meant no offense.”

  “None taken,” she said. “If we have to endure this dreadful charade, we should at least be honest with each other, shouldn’t we?”

  His thin lips twitched. “You are not like other girls, Agnes McLellan.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not.” It felt good to say that, at least. She was glad she wasn’t being forced on someone like Robert Conway or Bernard Foster-Brown or one of her brother’s other awful friends. She would gladly take awkwardness over arrogance.

  “Did your father say when the wedding will take place?” he asked.

  “No, did yours?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe we have some time then.”

  Ebenezer snorted. “Not likely, knowing my father. He’s ready to get me out of the house so he can focus on Gerald and Louis like he’s always wanted to.” He made a gasping croak, like he was trying to suck the words back into his mouth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

  “Ebenezer.” Agnes cut him off before he could keep apologizing. “Nothing you say will offend me. My father wishes I had been born a boy; he even told me so to my face. I am not one to adhere to manners and courtesy, and I know firsthand how cruel fathers can be. Never apologize for telling the truth, at least not to me. It’s refreshing, to be honest.”

  He grinned. “Old Port society can be quite stifling, can’t it?”

  “You have no idea.” She sighed.

  “I didn’t know your father was aware of my existence, actually,” Ebenezer said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on a napkin.

  “He makes it a point to know everything about everyone,” she said. “So he can better exploit weakness.”

  “He seems a terribly frightful man.”

  “He is.” She remembered the vein throbbing in his neck when she’d challenged him the night before. “I’m afraid he will not make a pleasant father-in-law. But then, I don’t imagine he will be visiting much.”

  “Mine won’t either,” Ebenezer mused. He looked at her fearfully. “There isn’t some other young man in Old Port who will be angry with this . . . arrangement? I cannot imagine my family was the only one that made an offer for your hand.”

  “No, there is no one,” Agnes said. “I don’t know who else offered. Father would never let me in on such minor decisions like who I marry.”

  She smiled at him so he knew she was joking, and he relaxed.

  “What about you?” she asked, realizing she was being quite selfish. For all she knew, Ebenezer was in love and was now being ripped from his own happiness.

  His ears turned pink. “There was one girl, but she, ah, did not share my affect
ions.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It’s all right. I was not surprised, really. I know my family isn’t as rich as some, and I’m certainly not as handsome as . . . well, as your brother, for one. Girls seem to like him.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll be even more insufferable than he already is.”

  “I must say, Agnes, I’m quite relieved. You are not at all what I thought you would be like.”

  “And what was that?”

  He cocked his head and thought for a moment. “I imagined something along the lines of an overbearing headmistress.”

  “The horror,” she said, grinning. “I only dress like one.”

  Ebenezer let out a loud laugh. “You have the sharpest tongue of any girl I have ever met.”

  “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 the
ater bursting open, and Leo stared, starstruck, as James Roth ran down the aisle.

  “Kiernan! They said I’d find you here. We’ve got to see Xavier at once.” He stopped when he caught sight of the girl. “In the name of the One True God and all his holy missives,” he gasped. “Who is that?”

  “We aren’t entirely sure,” Kiernan said, standing and wiping his hands on his trousers before extending one to James to shake. “I’ve taken some samples, so we should know more by the day’s end. What on earth is all this fuss about then?”

  Leo couldn’t stop staring. James Roth looked just the same as when Leo had seen him in The Great Picando, except he was in normal clothes. He had brown skin, thick, dark hair, and piercing green eyes, and he was a bit shorter than Leo had thought—perhaps he seemed taller onstage.

  “My god, haven’t you seen the papers?” James said. “There’s been a development. An island in Pelago has been discovered. We’re needed at—oh, hello,” he said, just noticing Leo. “Sorry, are you new to the production?”

  “Why, this is Xavier’s son,” Kiernan said, surprised. “Surely you two have met before.”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure,” James said, holding out a hand. “James Roth.”

  “Leo McLellan.”

  “Leo caught our newest addition here,” Kiernan said with a nod to the girl.

  “Really?” James looked impressed. “Any idea what she does? Is she like the others?”

  Leo assumed he meant the mertag and the Arboreal, but since he still didn’t feel entirely confident of what they did, he shrugged and said, “We don’t know much yet.”

  “Well, you’re Xavier’s son, so I’m sure you’ll have it solved and sorted in no time.” He gazed down at her, cocking his head. “She’s sort of pretty, isn’t she? In an odd way. Unique.”

  Leo hadn’t thought much on the subject either way. James glanced at Kiernan.