Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Franco: You doing okay?
Colum: Why wouldn’t I be?
Franco: …
Franco: You’re getting married. Got married? Your rules are weird.
Colum: Ah feck, I forgot about that.
“ Y es? What do you want?”
Annie Ward stumbled slightly at the abrupt greeting of the handsome man standing in the doorway of what—according to the small plaque on the black front door—was the Admiralty Archive.
Upon arriving at Merrion Square, she’d taken a few moments to study her surroundings as well as her destination. She was quite enamored of the quaintness of the area, the sunken green park-like space of Merrion Square Park reminding her a bit of Central Park in New York, though much smaller. The tall green trees, lush grass, and paved walking paths a welcome contrast from the endless brick buildings, roads, and sidewalks that surrounded it.
The archive itself might have once been a fashionable residence, but like the tall, gray stone buildings attached to it, family homes had been replaced by an array of businesses, such as architecture firms and high-profile organizations, like the Royal College of Anesthesiologists.
Annie recovered quickly, giving the man a friendly smile, despite the fact he was all but scowling at her. “Colum O’Connor?” she guessed.
The man’s brows remained furrowed, and she sort of expected him to hit her with that old “who wants to know” line.
Instead, he asked, “Who are you?” in a strong Irish accent.
She put her hand out in a genial manner. “I’m Annie Ward. I believe you’re expecting me.”
Colum hesitated, looking at her hand for three beats too long before finally extending his own. He had a warm, firm handshake, and his initial displeasure seemed to give way to confusion. “Is it already Wednesday, then? I thought it was Monday,” he muttered somewhat absentmindedly.
He ran a hand through his longish light-brown curls, something she guessed he did a lot, given the fact it was already messy. He wore dark-framed glasses, behind which were the brightest green eyes she’d ever seen. His clothing was unassuming and almost bland, given his basic tan pants, cream-colored Merino sweater, and rustic brown leather boots. He was clean-shaven, and his eyes and mouth were surrounded by lines that she didn’t bother attributing to laughter, given the way they followed his frown.
Despite his somewhat frumpy appearance, Colum was attractive, though she suspected that wasn’t something most people would notice if they weren’t looking directly at him. His style of dress and demeanor were those of someone who would have no problem blending in with the crowd. Given his obvious unease at the moment, she suspected that being unseen was his preference.
He remained in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at the hustle and bustle of the street behind her, and she couldn’t help but wonder when he was last outside. His pale complexion gave her the sense he didn’t spend a lot of time in the sunshine.
“Could I come in?” she asked, when it became apparent he didn’t intend to extend the invitation.
Colum jumped slightly, stepping back without offering a word, turning so that she could enter.
She walked inside, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim lighting in what was an incredibly unremarkable office. There was a generic desk and chair, filing cabinet, and a calendar—from three years earlier—hanging on the wall. The walls were two decades past needing a fresh coat of paint, the unappealing color reminding her of cream of mushroom soup.
The sun streaming through the windows didn’t help to create a feeling of warmth, instead illuminating the countless particles of dust floating through the air.
She glanced back at Colum, who still stood awkwardly by the door. He’d shoved his hands in his pockets, which should make him appear relaxed but only illuminated his clear discomfort.
“I believe someone else is joining us?” she asked, trying to draw Colum into a conversation.
“Aye.”
Wow. Colum was going to make her work for it.
“You work here?”
“Aye.”
She glanced around the room again, taking note of the lack of personal effects. The sterility and dustiness of the place left her to believe this office was unoccupied. “Alone?”
“Aye.”
Annie fought not to sigh, unwilling to make the man any more uncomfortable, but damn…
She gave up on the yes/no questions, deciding to go for broke. “And what exactly is it you do?”
Colum tilted his head curiously, making her wonder if he understood the question. “I’m the archivist.”
Annie was torn between groaning in frustration or laughing out loud. She was leaning toward the latter because it was clear Colum wasn’t being obtuse, wasn’t purposely avoiding her questions.
Instead, he was giving her blunt, honest—far too simple—responses, and strangely, she found it endearing.
Before she could ask what exactly the archivist did—God help her if he said run the archive, because she really would lose it—there was another knock at the door.
Colum sighed, his shoulders slumping as he turned to answer. While she was attempting to hide her amusement, Colum made no bones about the fact he wasn’t pleased to have visitors—expected or not.
Annie peered over Colum’s shoulder as he opened the door, spotting a tall dark-haired man she assumed was Xavier Allard.
Annie had been recruited to join the Trinity Masters when she was twenty-four, and in the years since, she’d never been directly contacted by the Grand Master. Her membership hadn’t involved anything more than attending the annual galas held at the Boston Public Library, where members of the secret society gathered to socialize and network, and waiting for her arranged marriage.
So she was surprised when she’d received a phone call from the Grand Master a week and a half earlier, asking her to travel to Ireland to help deal with an issue.
To say she’d been shocked, not only by the request but by the Grand Master’s revelation that there was another secret society like the Trinity Masters in Europe, would be an understatement.
In the days since that phone call from the Grand Master, her curiosity over this mission had grown. As of right now, she’d been given few details about what it was she was being asked to do. The Grand Master had simply sent her flight details for her trip to Dublin, informing her she would meet with two members of the European secret society, Colum O’Connor and Xavier Allard, and all would be explained to her.
She hoped it was Xavier who was doing the explaining, or they could be here until the Rapture trying to draw the details out of Colum.
Unlike her, Xavier stayed silent once Colum opened the door, his posture almost indolent. Awkward silence ticked by and Annie bit down on the urge to say something. When Xavier arched one dark brow, Colum offered him the same wordless invitation to enter, stepping aside without even saying hello.
“Xavier?” Annie asked, smiling.
Xavier’s dark gaze slid to her. Whoa. She felt his attention land on her almost like it was a physical pressure. Intense, probing, and there was something almost cruel in the slight smile that curved up one corner of his mouth, drawing her attention to his well-trimmed beard.
Xavier was at least half a foot taller than her, with a trim, almost lanky frame. His jet-black hair hung low over his forehead, though that was clearly a style choice as opposed to Colum’s shaggy, two-months-overdue-for-a-haircut appearance. Xavier’s eyes were as dark as his hair and framed with long, thick lashes most women would pay big bucks for. He wore tailored slacks and a black turtleneck under a long camel-colored coat and port-wine-colored scarf. It was fashionable in that effortless way that said either everything he wore was expensive, or he knew how to put in a lot of effort to look effortless.
If she hadn’t already known he was French, the chic outfit would have given it away. It basically screamed, “I’m French.”
“ Oui . And you’re Annie Ward.”
“I am.” She shook his hand, smiling warmly before gesturing to Colum. “And this is Colum O’Connor, the archivist,” she added at the last minute, just for shits and giggles.
Colum nodded once, seemingly pleased that she’d handled the introductions, then ran his hand through his hair a few times. One bit stuck up, thanks to the finger-combing, and she resisted the urge to flatten it down.
“Master of the archive,” Xavier said, his tone impressed in a way Annie didn’t understand. “Interesting that I didn’t know this existed.”
Colum lifted his shoulders slowly, though Annie wasn’t sure if that was meant to be his response or if he was uncomfortable by the question. She hadn’t known it existed, but she wasn’t a member of the Masters’ Admiralty. Xavier was, so…was the archive a secret? Her shoulders twitched with an uneasy feeling, but she forced it down.
Xavier didn’t notice the silence, still taking in his surroundings. Like Colum, Xavier was attractive, but while the archivist’s looks were unassuming, Xavier’s dark-eyed intensity, and the vague air of disdain, definitely added to his appeal.
“Why am I here?” Xavier’s cold tone as he addressed Colum made Annie’s eyes narrow. She felt oddly protective of the archivist, even though they’d just met.
“Why am I here?” she asked in a much kinder tone. “I came all the way from New York.” Annie kept the smile on her face, widening it to show her teeth when Xavier looked over at her.
Xavier’s gaze slid down to her feet then back up. Damn it, that should have been insulting, not hot. She returned the favor, looking him over, then pursing her lips in a “not bad” expression that made his eyes narrow. She suppressed a smile.
Xavier and Annie both looked at Colum, and he almost visibly shrank under their gazes.
“I mean…” Colum ran his hand through his hair, and now, several more strands were standing straight up.
“Colum,” Annie said. “Is there somewhere more comfortable where we can all sit down and talk?” There was only one chair in the office, and she had come directly here from the airport, failing to get much sleep on the red-eye from JFK to Dublin, too keyed up about the trip.
Colum nodded, jerking his head toward a staircase near the front door. “We can go up there,” he said, leading the way.
Xavier lifted his hand, gesturing for her to go ahead of him.
“ Trop bien ,” Xavier murmured when they reached the top, though Annie didn’t understand his enthusiasm.
Like the office below, this larger room was in need of a thorough cleaning, something she suspected didn’t—or couldn’t—happen often, given the fact every flat surface was occupied with stacks of papers, old maps, ancient books, and a variety of task lamps, as well as clear tool cases. It looked like an artist’s workshop, or the restoration room in a museum, though a bit more cluttered and dustier than any museum would allow.
One table had bookbinding equipment, and she was pretty sure the box filled with white plastic bottles and a case of cotton buds was for varnish restoration. Shallow plastic bins were stacked together, and a table near the front window had a large magnifying glass and round task light bolted to the side, both on adjustable spring arms.
There was a large antique desk in one corner containing a computer with double monitors. It was also cluttered with an assortment of magnifying glasses, several empty teacups, an overstuffed jar of pens, and—at last—a personal item, which in this case was a small, framed photograph of a woman with curly red hair, freckles, large-framed glasses, and the warmest, most joyful smile Annie had ever seen. She didn’t know who the woman was, but Annie knew she’d like her.
“Will ye have some tea?” Colum asked, his first genuine attempt at social niceties.
Annie wasn’t much of a tea drinker, strong coffee her chosen hot beverage, but she wasn’t going to turn down a jolt of caffeine. “That would be very nice, Colum. Thank you.”
“Milk,” Colum said.
It wasn’t until she replied, “Black is just fine,” and Colum crinkled his nose, that Annie realized he hadn’t been asking how she wanted it. Apparently “black” was doing it wrong.
When he turned to the other man, Xavier shook his head. “No, thank you. I had good coffee this morning.”
Had he put a slight emphasis on the word “good?”
Colum escaped up another staircase and she heard the sound of running water, then the clinking of cups. It would take Colum a few minutes to boil the water.
Annie turned to Xavier, looking him up and down once more. His attitude hovered just this side of “asshole,” but he got away with it because he was hot. She cocked her head, trying to pinpoint why he was hot, besides the obvious. Annie was good at figuring people out fast, and she settled on Xavier’s hotness being a dark academia vibe. He was the kind of man who was vaguely insulting, until he cornered you in a library, pushed you against the shelves, and told you how desperately he loved you, using beautiful poetic words even as he touched you in unspeakably filthy ways.
Whoa. Okay, she needed to get laid. Not that she was wrong about Xavier. She was nearly one hundred percent sure she was right, but the way her body reacted to that mental image told her the dry spell had to stop.
Xavier’s lips twitched sardonically as he slowly looked her over as if he could hear her thoughts.
Colum returned, carrying two steaming mugs.
She took the one he offered her with a smile, then she walked over to a seating area in a large alcove made by the stairwell and sat on an overstuffed couch—which was surprisingly free of clutter.
Xavier followed suit, claiming a wingback chair, as Colum remained standing, holding his mug.
Annie patted the spot next to her on the couch. “You can sit with me, Colum.”
He nodded, slowly crossing the room to join her, clinging almost comically to the far side of the couch, placing as much distance between them as possible. He took a sip of his tea, though she suspected it wasn’t thirst driving that action as much as he was stalling.
“You’re American,” Xavier said after an awkwardly long silence.
Annie nodded.
“A member of the Trinity Masters?” Xavier asked her, in an attempt to get the ball rolling.
She nodded again. “You’ve heard of them?”
“ Oui .”
A quick glance at Colum confirmed he also appeared to know about them. “Looks like I’m the only one in the dark,” she confessed. “I just found out about the Masters’ Admiralty when the Grand Master asked me to travel here. Though I suppose it makes sense there would be a similar society on this side of the ocean.”
“Our society is considerably older than yours,” Xavier pointed out.
“I’m sure it is. I’m assuming the societies have a similar setup? A Grand Master with counselors?”
Xavier shook his head. “No. Our society is made up of autonomous territories.”
“Territories?” Annie asked. “You mean countries?”
Xavier drew in a breath, and she got the impression he was annoyed by her questions.He looked at Colum, who blinked a few times.
“Do you want a history lesson?” Colum asked abruptly.
“Yes, please.” Annie took a sip of the milky tea that was surprisingly delicious, given she rarely drank hot tea, let alone tea with milk.
“There are nine territories with lines that were first drawn when the society was founded, during the height of the Black Plague.”
Annie’s eyes widened.
“Our territories are not unique to individual countries, even though the names of some might suggest that.”
Colum hopped up, rifling through an old atlas stand, before returning with a map she’d never seen before. On it were the territories Colum mentioned, along with the names of their admirals. She was amazed by just how much of Europe—and even Asia—was included in the Masters’ Admiralty.
“The territory of Germany contains modern-day Germany, and portions of Czech Republic, Poland, Austria, Switzerland, and the Netherlands.” Colum pointed as he explained, his enthusiasm evident.
“Interesting. So essentially you have nine Grand Masters, one per territory?” she asked.
Xavier sat back, looking bored and sighing heavily. She had to fight back her own annoyance at his attitude.
“No. Well… Might be? Each admiral is in control of their territory and their people,” Colum said. “But there are a fair few things that the fleet admiral has to sign off on and he helps the territories. The fleet admiral is more like the head of the EU.”
“Big job,” she said somewhat playfully.
“It is a big job,” Colum replied. “I worry that Eric is…” His comment drifted away, the rest of his thoughts unspoken.
“Colum,” Xavier said before she could ask any more questions, clearly ready to move on. “Why are we here?”
Colum rose from the couch, walking over to a large, well-lit worktable. Picking up a painting, he turned toward them.
Annie stood as well, drawn to the piece of art Colum held, studying the style, the brush strokes, the colors of the portrait. In the painting, a young dark-haired man in what would have been casual clothes for the time was sitting, leaning back in a studied yet meant-to-be-casual pose, common with informal portraiture. Both the subject’s clothing and the artistic style dated it to the late eighteen hundreds. Studying his face more closely, she wondered who he was. Because he looked vaguely familiar to her.
Xavier reached out to take the painting from Colum, who pulled it away from Xavier’s grasp. Undeterred, Xavier moved closer, his gaze sharp and focused, the intensity of his interest almost palpable. “Where did you get this? I’ve never seen it.”
“It’s been here. In the archives,” Colum responded.
“Who was the artist?” Annie asked, curious if it had been painted by a Masters’ Admiralty member. Her mind whirled as she considered how many famous artists could have been members. What treasures might be contained and protected by the archive? She glanced around, then at the stairs, wondering if all the physical items were stored here, or if there was off-site temperature-controlled, museum-quality storage.
“When was this painted?” Xavier demanded, crouching and leaning in to study the details. “Where?”
It was the most animated she’d seen the Frenchman.
Annie looked at the painting again, irritated she couldn’t put a name to the familiar face. “Who is?—”
“Oscar Wilde,” Xavier and Colum replied in unison.
She snapped her fingers. “Oh, of course. I thought he looked familiar.”
The only thing missing from the incredulous look Xavier flashed her direction was an audible scoff. This guy was getting on her nerves.
“So I’m here because you need me to evaluate the painting?” Annie asked, even more confused about why the Grand Master had asked her to come to Dublin. Surely in the entire membership of the Masters’ Admiralty, their society had at least one art expert.
“Not exactly,” Colum replied, turning to put the portrait back on the table before picking up a stack of papers. “Maybe I should explain what’s going on.”
Xavier tsked. “No, no, no. Why do that?”
Annie pinched her lips together to suppress a snort of amusement.
Colum blinked at the other man, appearing merely confused rather than upset by Xavier’s sarcasm. Annie considered telling Xavier off, but he had a point. Colum needed to tell them what was going on.
Colum sighed, looking almost irritated that he had to explain. Annie wanted to throw her hands in the air in exasperation, then shake both men.
Luckily, Colum started talking before she had to start manhandling him.
“This painting has been a part of the archive since shortly after Oscar’s death. To be honest, there’s no record of how this and several other boxes of his things came to be here.”
“You have several boxes of Oscar Wilde’s things?” Xavier leaned forward, the intensity amping up until he looked almost predatory. The fact he was this animated about a long-dead poet and playwright reinforced her initial assessment of him as some dramatic, tragic scholar.
“Give them to me,” Xavier added.
Colum’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “No. They belong to the archive.”
“Then let me see them.”
“Maybe.” Colum shrugged.
“Yes,” Xavier insisted.
Colum tipped his head, as if considering. “No.”
Xavier’s hopeful expression collapsed. Annie bit her lips to hide her smile at Colum’s utter indifference to Xavier’s intense demands.
“They’re not useful to us,” Colum added. “I checked.”
“But this painting is useful?” Annie needed to guide this conversation if there was any hope of getting information.
Colum ran his hand through his hair. “Can I just talk?”
Annie nodded, sensing Colum’s frustration. “Of course. Why don’t we all sit down again?”
They returned to their seats. Xavier opened his mouth, clearly ready to start asking more questions, but Annie shook her head, cutting him off. They glared at one another for a moment, before she slapped on a sunny smile and said, “Colum’s going to tell us what’s going on and we’re going to save our questions until the end.”
Xavier grumbled something under his breath in French, but she ignored him, turning her attention to Colum.
“Go on,” she urged politely, giving him an encouraging smile.
“Back a spell, I was doing an inventory of the archive’s contents. I pulled out this painting, and the balance of it was banjaxed. Couldn’t hang it on a wall, it went lopsided. I took it apart?—”
Annie hid a wince, though she’d seen plenty of paintings taken apart so the edges could be photographed and the canvas re-stretched.
“—and there was a bundle of papers between the canvas and the backing.” Colum held up the papers he’d carried over from the table.
“What is it?” Xavier asked.
Annie shot him a “shut up” look, but Colum was already answering the question. “It’s part of a previously unreleased manuscript by Oscar Wilde.”
Xavier’s eyes went wide, and he jumped to his feet, hand outstretched. “Let me see it.”
Colum clasped the papers to his chest, leaning back against the cushion.
Annie stood, stepping between the men. “If you keep interrupting, we’ll never get anywhere.”
“But—”
“No buts,” she said, steel in her voice.
Xavier shot her a surprised look, that one dark brow arching up. Then he sank back down, leaning to one side to watch Colum.
“It’s not like Oscar’s other work,” Colum continued, once Annie had resumed her seat. “It’s more of a journal. Actually, a tell-all about the Masters’ Admiralty.”
This time, it was Annie who broke the rule about holding questions until the end. “Wait, was Oscar Wilde a member of the Masters’ Admiralty?”
Colum nodded. “He was in a trinity with Bram Stoker and Florence Balcombe.”
Annie needed a minute to process that too. Oscar Wilde had been in a trinity marriage with the man who wrote Dracula . That was a lot of creative power in one trinity. She didn’t recognize the name Florence Balcombe, but the woman was probably a badass of some kind.
“But he didn’t get on with them after Bram decided he would marry Florence, and Oscar would have to play bachelor.”
Xavier leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “It was said that Florence was his first love. That he was heartbroken when she chose his friend over him. Knowing that she was his wife, thanks to the trinity marriage, but he could never acknowledge it in public, was heartbreaking for a romantic like Wilde. Tragic.”
Annie considered herself well-read, but all she really remembered about Oscar Wilde was that he was incredibly witty, wrote The Picture of Dorian Gray and The Importance of Being Earnest , and had been gay. Well, apparently, he’d been bi.
“He was disenchanted with his marriage and the secret society. It looks like he wrote this part before going to Oxford.” Colum lifted the papers, and Annie could see Xavier itching to get his hands on them. “It has names, places, dates. Enough information that if it were published, someone could unravel our history.”
The three of them exchanged a grim look, and for the first time, a sense of camaraderie formed. In this, they were united—she might not be a member of the Masters’ Admiralty, but if they were exposed, the Trinity Masters would surely be in danger. This was a high-alert situation.
“The problem is this is only the first part of the story. At the end of this section, he says he’ll keep writing.”
Colum turned the papers around, letting them see the cover sheet, where a handwritten title in elegant cursive sat atop the author’s name.
Control’s Undoing
Oscar Wilde
Her appraiser brain twitched at the sight. Even that one sheet of paper would likely fetch a fair amount if auctioned off.
“You found this several years ago?” Xavier asked.
So much for holding all questions.
Annie figured it had been a pipe dream anyway, given Colum’s stop-and-start style of speaking. He clearly needed the nudges to keep things moving along.
“Yes. But sure there wasn’t any reason to go worrying. The painting and manuscript had been here for decades before I found it, and there’s never been any mention of the other parts of the book surfacing anywhere. Given the way his life went, I thought maybe he never wrote anything more.” Colum sighed. “Until recently.”
Ah, finally, Annie thought. Now they were getting somewhere.
“There was a post on the dark web from someone asking about how much a new Oscar Wilde book would be worth.”
“Someone found the rest of it,” Annie said.
“Or maybe a letter he wrote describing it. The dark-web inquiry used the word ‘menage’ in reference to Bram, Oscar, and Florence. Sure, it’s not great but it wouldn’t be that bad if that’s all this book was, because people already thought he was in one of those…love triangles?” Colum frowned, looking at Annie, who nodded to confirm it was the right term.
“Everyone thought it was a love triangle, and while I think the Dracula scholars would enjoy reinterpreting everything if they got ahold of a book that said Bram and Oscar were lovers…” Colum shrugged.
“It’s not just about the three of them,” Xavier summed up, nodding to the papers Colum held.
“We have to find the remainder of this manuscript,” Colum said. “I’ve already been working on this, looking for clues as to where the rest could be.” He smiled as he said it, and God, that was a hell of a smile. His genuine delight at having played detective transformed his face.
Annie grinned back, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Xavier’s stunned look as he stared at Colum.
“He would have left a clue,” Xavier said. “He would have enjoyed that.”
Colum nodded his agreement.
“You’re an Oscar Wilde expert?” Annie asked Xavier.
Xavier shrugged. “Not an expert, but I feel an affinity for him. I am, how do you say…a fan.” For the first time, Xavier’s smile was almost self-deprecating.
Colum returned to the table, putting down the manuscript and fetching the painting once more. He brought it over, holding it in front of him. “We went through the text, and though he named places important to our society, none of them felt like a clue. So my colleague and I—another American—looked at the painting itself.” Colum was grinning, speaking faster, and with his accent, Annie had to concentrate on what he was saying. “We think the next part of the manuscript is in New York.”
Now she understood her role in this investigation.
“From when he toured and lectured?” Xavier asked.
Colum shook his head. “In 1882, Oscar met with American stage actress Marie Prescott. Marie wanted to produce Wilde’s first play, Vera . Or perhaps you know of it by its other title, The Nihilists ,” Colum said, looking at Xavier.
“Of course I know it,” he replied.
“I don’t,” Annie said, unsurprised when Xavier shot her a look.
“His first play,” Xavier said. “A tragedy, set in Russia. A woman falls in love with the tsar’s heir she’s sent to murder.”
Colum nodded enthusiastically. “If you look at this painting, you’ll see…”
Xavier slid off the chair, kneeling at Colum’s feet. Colum’s eyes went wide, and she saw him swallow.
She couldn’t decide if Colum and Xavier would be cute together or a slow-motion car crash.
Xavier leaned in, studying the painting Colum held at waist height. “Behind Wilde, on the table…” Like Colum, Xavier sounded excited.
So much so that Annie popped up, stepping over to lean in above Xavier and look at the details herself. While Wilde himself was carefully, lovingly rendered in oil paint, the background was almost impressionistic, with none of the careful skill and detail evident in the painting of Wilde’s face.
“There’s a Faberge egg and a dagger,” Colum said, grinning.
“Faberge egg to indicate Russia, a dagger to represent the assassin?” she asked slowly, putting together the pieces based on the information given.
“Exactly,” Colum almost shouted. “These represent Vera . Which was first produced and performed in New York. Marie Prescott played Vera.”
“The rest of the manuscript is with Marie Prescott,” Xavier said, sitting back. He bumped into her legs as he did, and Annie wobbled. Without missing a beat, Xavier reached up and back, grabbing her by the wrist to steady her.
Her skin tingled at the contact, and the feel of his big hand wrapped around her wrist like a cuff had her feeling things she really didn’t need to be distracted by.
Annie looked down to find Xavier twisted to look up at her. She swallowed hard. His gaze was dark, fathomless, and she had an insane urge to kiss his eyelids and feel those soft, thick lashes against her lips.
Colum moved to put the painting down, and that broke the spell. Xavier released her, and Annie stepped back, dropping heavily onto the couch.
“Well, obviously, Marie is dead,” Colum said. “My American friend found her descendants. A great-grandniece, who had inherited some of her things. He got permission to go through all of it. He checked out all the paintings and books, but he didn’t find the rest of the manuscript.”
Annie studied the painting once more. With the exception of those props, there was precious little else in the portrait that might point them in the right direction. “So those clues were a dead end.”
Colum shook his head. “Not exactly. Because, while my friend was able to go through Marie’s personal effects, items from her theater, including props from that first production of Vera , are in a small American theater museum located in Brooklyn.”
“And did this friend of yours check those items?” Annie asked.
“He has other things to be getting on with,” Colum replied. “When we told your Grand Master, our fleet admiral, and…some other people…what was going on, they decided the three of us were the right people to go looking for it.” Colum looked down, grimacing as if he remembered something. “I don’t have long before I have to meet with some other people.”
“I can fly home and check out this museum on my own,” Annie offered.
Xavier snorted. “No. I will be there when we find it.” His gaze jumped to the manuscript on the table. “And I want to read that.”
“So we should each make travel arrangements to New York. When? Tomorrow?” she asked.
“I want a day to read it, first,” Xavier said. “There may be something else in his words.”
Annie expected Colum to object, but he nodded. Colum must have noticed her surprised expression, because he said, “He’s here to think like Wilde. Apparently, he’s a modern-day French Oscar Wilde.”
Annie tipped her head as she looked at Xavier. If he was being compared to Wilde, he was a writer, which was in line with her dark academia assessment. Xavier glanced at her, their gazes locking, and a shiver made the skin on her arms prickle.
Xavier broke the contact first, pulling his phone out of his pocket and sending off a text.
Shaking off her reaction to Xavier, Annie asked, “Okay, then we check in with each other tomorrow, and unless Xavier finds something else, we head to New York together?”
“Sure, that’s grand,” Colum said, shifting restlessly from foot to foot.
Annie rose, taking just a few minutes more to look at the painting before they left. A shiver of anticipation, and the thrill of being on the hunt and unraveling a mystery—something she’d once lived for—worked its way down her spine.