The tea churned in her stomach. “How long have you been watching me?”
“Almost from your first day with the Seekers. I have good instincts as well, you see.” He set down his cup and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. “After I detected the first signs that perihelion between Earth and the otherworld approached, I searched in earnest for one in whom I might place my trust. After a time I began to fear the search was in vain. Then you entered the Seekers, and I knew I had found what I was looking for. You were clever, curious, and willing to bend rules in the pursuit of knowledge—all traits I required. Yet you were also honest, loyal, and possessed of a highly developed sense of rightfulness. You are not simply a good person, Deirdre. You are a justperson. In the end, you will place the greater good above all else, above all other desires and obligations.”
Here he was at last, her mysterious helper, and Deirdre had absolutely no idea what to say. Perhaps his belief in her intelligence was overrated.
“No, Deirdre,” he said, as if sensing her doubts. “Your behavior these last years has only confirmed all my beliefs in you. That I had made the right choice was apparent from the moment you began working on the James Sarsin case.”
She started in the chair, and tea sloshed out of her cup, onto her slacks. “It wasn’t chance, was it? I always believed it was simple luck that I stumbled on that letter from James Sarsin. No one else in the Seekers could have known it referred to Castle City. But you made sure I came upon that letter.”
She set down the cup, sagged back in the chair, and halfheartedly dabbed at her wet slacks with a napkin. Her discovery that the immortal London bookseller James Sarsin and Castle City antique dealer Jack Graystone were the same man had been a major breakthrough—one that had caused her to rise swiftly in the Seekers, and to be assigned as Hadrian Farr’s partner. She had always believed the discovery had been her own, and somehow she felt disappointed now, as if she was far less special than she had believed.
Again he seemed to hear her thoughts, though it was more likely he had simply read her expression. “Don’t be so glum, Deirdre. The fact that I put that letter in the stack of papers on your desk doesn’t change the fact that you recognized it for what it was.”
“But you already knew,” she said, feeling hollow inside. “You already knew Jack Graystone was James Sarsin.”
“Yes, I did. As you know from my journal, it was I who first identified Sarsin’s otherworldly nature. After I became a Philosopher, I continued to keep an eye on him, even though he would have nothing to do with the Seekers. Once he vanished from London, I kept searching for him, and eventually I uncovered evidence that he had traveled to America, to Colorado. After I learned you had a connection to Colorado yourself, I realized it was the perfect opportunity to introduce you to the case without anyone suspecting I was involved. It looked like you made the connection yourself because you didmake the connection yourself, Deirdre. The same was true with the Thomas Atwater case.”
“So you gave me that as well,” she said bitterly. Had she done anything on her own these last five years?
“I did, though it was a bit trickier. More tea?” He filled both their cups, then picked his up in a long-fingered hand. “I wanted to draw your attention to Thomas Atwater, but I couldn’t do so in a direct manner, lest the others realize what I was up to. That’s why, when you were reinstated in the Seekers, I dreamed up the task of researching historical violations of the Desiderata and had Nakamura give it to you. I knew your researching skills well enough to be confident you would eventually be drawn to Atwater’s case. And you were, more swiftly than I had hoped.”
She frowned; something was wrong with what he had just said. Then she had it. “But that wasn’t my first assignment after I was reinstated. I was supposed to do a cross-cataloging project. Only Anders took the assignment before I could start.”
“Just as I had suspected he would. Which is why I waited until he had done so to pass the second assignment to Nakamura.”
These words thrust a cold spike into Deirdre’s heart. “Anders,” she said, licking her lips. “That first night you contacted me, you warned me that he was coming. What did you know about him?”
“Only what you soon knew yourself: that he was overly eager and less than truthful.”
She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket, touching the crumpled photo Sasha had taken. “I think he’s working for the Philosophers. At first I thought he was in league with the Scirathi, but now I know that the Philosophers used the sorcerers to get the gate from Crete. Which means Anders is working directly for them.”
Marius nodded. “I have long suspected that some among my cohort maintain special and secret contacts among the Seekers.”
“Like you’ve maintained me?”
“Just so,” he said and sipped his tea, as if he had not discerned the venom in her words. “That’s why secrecy was imperative in my dealings with you, Deirdre. I could not hide from the Philosophers the fact that you were in contact with one of us. But as long as you didn’t know which of us it was you were communicating with, then they couldn’t know either. And since Phoebe—and no doubt most if not all of the others—have such illicit helpers within the Seekers, none would dare press too hard to learn who you were in contact with, lest their own minions be exposed.”
“What a trusting bunch you are,” Deirdre said, making no effort to disguise the irony in her voice.
Marius laughed. “Oh, we’re a perfect family all right. We all loathe one another, and we’d each have murdered the others outright centuries ago if we were not all of us bound to one another.”
“Only now you have me to do your dirty work.”
He did not look at her, instead gazing out the window at the failing day. “They’re close, Deirdre. For centuries they’ve searched for the Philosopher’s Stone. They crave it above all else. And now it’s within their reach.”
“Immortality,” Deirdre breathed. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it? Philosopher’s Stoneis just a name alchemists give to a substance that can bestow perfection and immortality.”
“Yes, true immortality—like that possessed by the Sleeping Ones.” His lip curled in disgust. “Now, if we did not drink a sip of their blood at least once a decade, we would grow decrepit and die. Nor are we truly safe from death. Illness and age cannot harm us, but we might still be slain. However, the Sleeping Ones themselves are perfect. They do not decay, but remain ever beautiful. And when they are wounded, their golden bodies heal instantly. That’s what the others desire for themselves.”
“And you don’t?” Deirdre couldn’t keep her voice from edging into a sneer.
“No,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I don’t.”
There was no reason to believe him. He had shrouded himself in mystery for more than three years, manipulating her to suit his ends. All the same, she did believe him.
“You want to keep them from reaching it,” she said. “You want to stop them from getting to Eldh and finding what it was that made the Sleeping Ones immortal. From finding Orú.”
The change was sudden. The smooth demeanor, the languid motions were gone. He slammed down his cup and clenched a fist, banging it on the arm of the chair. “They do not deserve it! They are fools and devils, and they are not worthy of everlasting life. No one on this Earth is. And if anyone could possibly be worthy of such a thing, then it was—”
He didn’t speak the name, but it sounded in her mind all the same. Alis.
After a long moment she spoke. “That was Travis’s sister’s name, you know. Alice. He loved her more than anything. She was only a girl when she died. He believed it was his fault. For the longest time, he didn’t forgive himself. Only then . . .” She smiled, thinking of Travis. “He did.”