“That’s where she came from,” said Mrs. Morgan as she pointed at an especially bright star. “Right there. Beautiful Nora. She could talk to her star. She had a true relationship with it. It was remarkable.”
“I miss her,” said Oliver.
“Of course you do, dear. And aren’t you lucky to have known such love on this plane? The love of your life is someone you miss always, until of course you cross over yourself. For someone who has lived as long as I have, knowing that people like Nora are on the other side makes the days a bit easier.”
Oliver sat down in one of the leather chairs and picked up a teacup.
“Now, what did you need to see me about?” asked Mrs. Morgan.
“It’s something you told Nora and me about a long time ago,” said Oliver. “It was an invention you were working on. You said you wanted to find a way to harness the light of a star, the way Starlighters are able to. It was based on a Fresnel lens but much more powerful.”
“I remember that day like it was yesterday,” Mrs. Morgan said. “Goodness, your beautiful Nora clapped with glee when I showed those plans to you both. She was so excited about the possibility. But at the time, that’s all it was. A possibility.”
“Were you able to make any progress on it?” asked Oliver.
Mrs. Morgan smiled wide and rose from her chair. She went to a picture that hung on a wall and removed it to reveal a panel of dials. When she placed her fingers on the center dial, it glowed a bright green. She then turned a series of other dials on the safe so many times that Oliver lost count. Finally a chime sounded, and another wall across the room slid open.
“This way, dear,” said Mrs. Morgan. “You, too, Friday.”
Oliver and Friday followed Mrs. Morgan down a long, narrow, and winding hallway. Eventually, it opened into a large, airy space. As soon as they entered, the room lit up to reveal a true-to-life 3D dome depicting the planets, star clusters, galaxies, and nebulae of the Milky Way. It must have been hundreds of feet high.
Oliver’s mouth fell open in awe. A white light began to trace out a constellation: a large square-like box with five lines running from three of the box corners. It resembled an upside-down horse. Mrs. Morgan turned to face Oliver as a woman’s comforting voice spoke.
“Pegasus. The winged horse. Right Ascension: 22 hours. Declination: 20 degrees. Visible between latitudes 90 and 60 degrees. Seventh largest constellation. Contains Messier 15, a cluster that is 12 billion years old and 33,600 light years from Earth. Contains globular cluster Einstein’s Cross. Son of Medusa. Creator of the spring of Hippocrene. Thundering Horse of Jove.”
“This is incredible, Mrs. Morgan.”
“It’s just a little something I’m working on,” she said. “It barely scratches the surface. I’ve begun to transfer all my knowledge about astronomy into this lovely contraption, starting with the basics.”
“Why?” asked Oliver.
“Well, dear, I’m not going to live forever. And who will you consult about the stars after I’m gone?”
“I try not to think about things like that,” he said.
“Oh, dear, we all have to think about things like that,” said Mrs. Morgan. “We won’t go on forever. Not even the stars go on forever. We’re all going to change forms, leave this plane, and travel on. But before we do, we’ve got to get these things down. Make sure we leave something behind to help someone else pick up and carry on.”
She smiled and entered another hallway on the far side of the room. Oliver followed. Around the final bend, the hallway opened into a cozy nook lined with shelves that were filled with telescopes, cameras, photometers, and spectrometers in all shapes and sizes.
Next to a plush royal blue chair, a sparkling silver contraption sat on the floor. At first glance, it looked like a telescope, but it had many more dials, switches, and buttons.
“Come closer, Oliver,” said Mrs. Morgan. “This is the Fresnel you were talking about. With this device, you can harness the light from any star, regardless of its distance from the Earth. Quite remarkable, if I do say so myself.”
“That’s incredible.”
“You’re only the second person to see this,” she said.
“Who was the first?” asked Oliver.
“Truman, of course,” she giggled with delight as she clapped her hands together.
Mrs. Morgan’s joy was infectious, despite Oliver’s glum mood.
“I remember when he showed me and Raymond his design,” she continued. “It was exactly what I had always wanted. I shouldn’t be surprised that the muses brought him to me. Synchronicity is a beautiful thing. He built this—with my guidance, of course. Other than me, he’s the only person who knows how to use it. These switches and dials magnify and direct the light.”
“By how much?” asked Oliver.
“Infinitely.”
“Infinitely?” asked Oliver, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Mrs. Morgan nodded and sat back in her chair, clearly proud of her accomplishment.
“Have you tested it yet?” he asked.
“In small ways, but Truman and I only just finished building it a few months ago,” she said. “I’m still tinkering with it and probably will for a good long while. Power like that must be guarded and protected with the utmost care. In the wrong hands, it’s a weapon rather than a tool. A weapon with grave and irreversible consequences.”
“Mrs. Morgan, I have to ask you a favor,” said Oliver. “I need to borrow this. Tonight.”
“Oh, Oliver. You know I think of you as a son, but I can’t let you take it.”
Oliver looked at her with pleading eyes.
“It’s not been fully tested,” she said. “It’s too dangerous. A million things could go wrong. A million things likely will go wrong. Oh, I just can’t risk it.”
“Mrs. Morgan, I wouldn’t ask unless it was critically important,” said Oliver. “Unless it was our last hope. For our mission. The Council’s mission.”
“What could possibly be happening that you’d need something as powerful as this?” asked Mrs. Morgan. “The results could be disastrous. It could put all of humankind in jeopardy if it’s not used properly.”
“It’s about Emerson,” said Oliver. “She’s in trouble. Terrible trouble. We all are.”
Oliver’s voice got trapped in his throat like a knot, and he fell silent. His mind filled with images of him finding and cradling Nora’s lifeless body. He used all his strength to push those thoughts from his mind, but he couldn’t break free. He was terrified of losing Emerson, terrified he had already lost her to a power far greater than he could fight. He was fighting legacy, history, and destiny.
Mrs. Morgan didn’t say anything. She understood Oliver’s pain and his misplaced guilt over Nora. In the weeks after they lost her, Oliver repeatedly asked Mrs. Morgan what more he could have or should have done.
“Should I have forbid Nora from trying to fight Cassandra?” Oliver asked.
Mrs. Morgan smiled. “You more than anyone should know that no one was ever able to forbid Nora from following her heart. Once she decided to do something, there was no way to dissuade her.”
Mrs. Morgan looked at Oliver now and could see that same pain in his expression. With hunched shoulders and a well-creased face, he looked like a man hanging on to sanity by one thin thread of hope.
After a long silence, he finally found the strength to continue.
“I have to use every tool I can find to protect my daughter,” he said. “She’s all I have now. And if I lose her, we lose everything.”
Mrs. Morgan looked at him with resolve and tenderness.
“The potency of this device would be deadly in the wrong hands, like being launched onto the surface of the sun,” said Mrs. Morgan. “Do you really want to risk that kind of disaster? Are you prepared to deal with the consequences?”
“We have no other choice now. If I don’t do this, I’ll lose my daughter, the same way I lost Nora and by the same hands.”
“What are you saying? Is Cassandra after Emerson?” asked Mrs. Morgan.
Oliver nodded. “We think she’s determined to capture Emerson and bring her to her side. I’ve got to protect my daughter any way I can. And if we lose to Cassandra this time, it’s over for all of us.”
Mrs. Morgan stood up from her chair and spent a long time looking out at the sky.
“It’s amazing,” she said as she turned to face Oliver. “I have loved the stars all my life. It’s difficult to imagine that something so beautiful could also be our downfall.”
She walked to the Fresnel and pressed a small silver button. With shocking speed, the scope folded up so small that it fit inside a velvet bag the size of Mrs. Morgan’s delicate hand. She handed the bag to Oliver. It was surprisingly heavy.
“Thank you, Mrs. Morgan.”
“Only Truman touches this—do you hear me?” said Mrs. Morgan. “He’s the only other person who knows how to use it. And, Oliver, when this is over, I hope you’ll still be thanking me.”
He tucked the bag into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, and they made their way back to Mrs. Morgan’s office, followed faithfully by Friday. Oliver took a last sip of his tea before heading for the door.
“Be safe, Oliver.” Mrs. Morgan hugged him with a surprising amount of strength and for a bit too long. It felt like a goodbye.
“Friday, you take good care of this man,” she said as she unlocked the massive door.
A gust of wind swept into the office. Mrs. Morgan patted the side of Oliver’s face with her hand, and then he and Friday disappeared down the icy path leading to the street.
Mrs. Morgan picked up Oliver’s teacup and saucer. She walked to the window and swirled the cup three times before turning it upside down onto the saucer. She closed her eyes and took three deep breaths. In the silver light of the almost full moon, she scanned the tea leaves left in the cup.
She quickly and clearly saw a confounding mix of symbols: a globe at the bottom of the cup, signifying long-distance travel; a wolf halfway up the side of the cup, signifying a betrayal by someone close; and an iceberg on the rim, signifying immediate danger. She dropped the cup, and it shattered on the stone floor. As quickly as she could, she shuffled to the door, unlocked the many locks again, and pulled the door open with trembling hands.
“Oliver!” she screamed into the cold, dark night. She frantically searched the thick shadows cast by the orange streetlights on 81st Street. Not a soul in sight, a rare occasion in New York City.
It was lightly snowing now, the flakes catching the light so brilliantly that they looked like millions of fluttering diamonds. Mrs. Morgan looked to the stars now. For the first time in her long and storied life, she worried about their fate.
CHAPTER 38
A CRUSHING DEFEAT
Oliver placed his hand over the breast pocket of his jacket as if it were his lifeline. Considering his options, he chose to go south toward 77th Street where there were fewer and dimmer streetlights. Friday hesitated and tried to pull him in the opposite direction toward 81st Street.
“No, Friday,” he said. “This way.”
When they reached the gate that emptied them onto 77th Street, they scanned the street in both directions.
“Empty,” Oliver whispered, full of suspicion. “When is this neighborhood ever empty, even at this late hour?”
Clutching Friday’s leash, Oliver stepped out onto 77th Street toward Central Park West. They’d be home free if they could get into Central Park without incident and make their way to the boat pond. It was the shortest route back to Emerson. Samuel would be there waiting for them.
He kept to the route above the boat pond and the Alice in Wonderland statue. The path had fewer lights, and he reasoned it would make him less visible to troublemakers. The boat pond was in sight now, and Oliver picked up the pace. He couldn’t see Samuel anywhere.
A tall, lanky figure stepped onto the path only a few feet in front of them. Startled, Oliver slipped on the ice. He caught himself with his arm but not before landing hard on his side. He heard a slight crack come from the coat pocket that held the Fresnel. Cloaked from head to toe in black, the figure towered over him.
“Hello, Oliver,” the figure said in a smooth voice. “My, you’re in a hurry. You must be late for a very important date.”
Friday snarled, and the person laughed. Pushing back the hood of her cloak, Cassandra revealed her face to Oliver. He hadn’t seen her in five years. The blood drained from his face, and her gaze stayed fixed on him. Friday placed himself between Cassandra and Oliver. Her mouth slowly turned into a wicked smile.
“I’d offer you a hand up, Oliver, but it seems your pooch doesn’t like me much,” she said in a sickeningly sweet tone of feigned concern.
“He’s a good judge of character,” Oliver said. He got to his feet without revealing the pain that wracked his body and the devastation he felt knowing that the Fresnel might have been crushed.
“What a terrible thing to say to your long-lost sister-in-law,” she teased. “So I take it you didn’t miss me?”
Fury made his heart race. The acid in his stomach boiled like lava, threatening to explode.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“I want a lot of things, a lot of things that you’ve taken from me,” said Cassandra in a smooth, controlled voice.
“That I took from you?” he spat.
“Well, not you alone, of course,” she said. “Despite your lone wolf exterior, you never act alone, do you? You’ve gotten help from so many people for so long. Jasper, the Council, that poor guy lying over there. What was his name? Simon? Sampson?”
“Samuel!” Oliver shouted.
He looked over to see Samuel lying flat on his back by the boat pond, an oar at his side.
Oliver ran to Samuel, and Friday repositioned himself to protect them from Cassandra. Oliver put his ear close to Samuel’s mouth and pressed his fingers to Samuel’s neck, searching for a pulse. Nothing.
“Murderer!” he yelled and lunged at Cassandra.
With a wave of her hand, she tossed Oliver, and he landed hard on his backside next to Samuel.
“He’s not dead, darling,” Cassandra crooned. “He’s just...out of it. For a bit. I wanted a little time to talk to you, and I didn’t want us to be interrupted.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” growled Oliver, his nostrils flaring. Friday stood at strict attention, ready to pounce on command.
“That’s okay,” Cassandra said casually. “I’ve got plenty I want to say to you. And most of it concerns my beautiful niece.”
“You will not go anywhere near my daughter,” said Oliver.
Cassandra laughed. “Near her? I don’t plan to just be near her. She’s going to join me, Oliver. Against her dear old dad.”
“She will never have anything to do with you. I won’t allow it.”
“Ah, I love that you still think you’re in charge,” Cassandra said mockingly. “First Nora and now Emerson. You don’t own her, Oliver. All children grow up and make their own choices. I’ll show her the future I can give her, the power, the glory, with her own eyes. She’ll appreciate it in a way my sister never could. That’s the beauty of the younger generation. They see possibility and potential as if it’s reality.”
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” said Oliver, desperation rising in his voice.
“Oh no,” Cassandra said. “It’s you who doesn’t know who you’re dealing with.”
Now her tone turned so cold that a violent shiver ran right through Oliver. “You took my sister from me,” she hissed. “You will not take my niece, too.”
“She’s not yours for the taking.”
&n
bsp; “And she’s not yours for the keeping, Oliver.” Cassandra smiled wickedly. “Until we meet again.”
She put her hood back over her head and walked toward Fifth Avenue. Each click of her heels on the pavement pierced Oliver’s ears. He watched her until she was swallowed by the night.
CHAPTER 39
THE QUARTERVOIS
Emerson always got lost in the Met in the most wonderful way. Everywhere she looked, she found herself in front of something inspiring. Every piece was priceless, a one-of-a-kind work that could never be replaced. They were here long before she was, and they’d be here long after she was gone. Her father often said, “In the war of time, art always wins.”
Jasper led them to the American Wing. She felt like she was walking across one of the great plazas of the world, just like the ones in her travel brochures. What had become of those brochures? Burned in the fire, she imagined. She had taken so much care with them all these years, but this was the first time she’d thought about them since the fire. Her old life seemed so far away now. Emerson sometimes wondered if it had ever actually existed.
The first rays of sunlight were just cracking over the horizon and filling the American Wing with the blue haze of morning. Here was Diana clad in bronze, expertly aiming her arrow. The Angel of Death and the Sculptor, perfectly etched in marble. Emerson’s favorites were the Tiffany windows—the fountain, the garden landscape, and autumn. She imagined herself walking right into these scenes, down the long winding paths that seemed to have no beginning and no end. Maybe she’d try that the next time she was in the Lake of Possibility. Maybe she could walk herself right out of her life and into a brand new one free of the sadness, anger, and frustration that weighed her down.
One bright ray of light pierced through the window and landed squarely on an odd piece that Emerson had never seen before; a small glass square atop a simple wooden pedestal. The square splintered the light into a fan of iridescent colors that made Emerson’s heart leap. She’d never seen light shimmer that way.
Emerson Page and Where the Light Enters Page 15