The Cerulean (The Cerulean Duology #1) - Amy Ewing Page 0,32
and Leo was left alone, his heart pounding, wondering what exactly his father was up to.
10
Agnes
AGNES SAT IN HER LAB, A CANDLE BURNING DOWN ALMOST to the nub as she scribbled in her journal, trying to put down on paper as much as she could remember about the Arboreal and the mertag and her guesses as to what her father was planning to do with them.
There was no place in Old Port where Agnes felt more comfortable than in her lab. She had painted the walls a light green, but they were spattered with specks of blood, smeared guts, scorch marks, and various scratchings from when her notepad had been too far away. She didn’t have as much equipment as she’d like—just a lone microscope, a Bunsen burner, a few beakers in various shapes and sizes, some graduated cylinders, and a set of scalpels. She had bottles of chemicals too: hydrochloric acid, ethanol, xylene, paraffin . . . she’d been working up the courage to see if her father would allow her some potassium hydroxide.
She put the pencil down and cracked her knuckles. This one-night-only endeavor looked to be the splashiest of Xavier’s productions, as well as his last. She didn’t care a whit for her father’s plays, and she would be happy to see less anti-Talman shows being performed in Old Port. Agnes was not particularly religious, but it seemed to her that everyone in the world was required to ascribe to something, and as far as she could tell, science didn’t count. Talmanism didn’t seem as oppressive as Solitism; certainly not where women were concerned. But something about this new project left her with a cold feeling of dread that she couldn’t quite put her finger on—as if her father was moving past simple propaganda and on to something more dark and dangerous.
The candle sputtered and went out, dousing the lab in darkness. Agnes stood and stretched, then left her lab, locked it, and hid the key in its usual spot in an old jewelry box. She peered out her bedroom window; Creekwater Row was dimly lit with gas lamps and lined with brownstones as large and handsome as the one she lived in. All were silent and dark. The night air was thick with humidity.
Just as she was turning back, she heard a noise, like a hoot owl. It hooted twice, paused, then hooted again. Agnes went still.
“Eneas?” she called softly. The chauffeur stepped out from behind the motorcar, covered for the night in the driveway, and waved up at her. There was an envelope in his hand. Her knees turned to jelly. She pointed down toward the kitchen door and Eneas nodded and disappeared.
Agnes wanted to take the stairs two at a time, but she couldn’t risk waking anyone up, especially not Leo or her father. She froze when she saw the light was still on in his study, the door closed. Ever so cautiously, she crept to the kitchen, skirted the long table that dominated the room, copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, and eased the service door open. Eneas was bouncing on the balls of his feet, a wide grin spread across his face. Agnes put a finger to her lips and pointed in the direction of her father’s study. He nodded and handed her the envelope. She took it with trembling hands. The postmark was from Pelago.
She stared at her name, Miss Agnes McLellan written out in perfect curling script. And the return address: University of Ithilia. Academy of Sciences. The envelope was thick and cream-colored and made a satisfying rip as she opened it. The paper that fell out shook in her trembling grasp, and she read it in the faint light from the kitchen.
Dear Miss McLellan,
Thank you for your application to the University of Ithilia’s Academy of Sciences. I am pleased to inform you that your application has been accepted and you have successfully passed the first round of admissions. We invite you to submit a secondary essay for consideration, followed by an interview with the academy Masters, before the decision to officially offer you a place at the university is made. Please return your essay to us by the twelfth of September. Interviews will be scheduled the first week of October. We look forward to hearing from you.
All the best,
Magdalena Lokis
Dean of Admissions
University of Ithilia
“I passed,” she said breathlessly. She looked up at Eneas, her eyes brimming with tears. “I passed the first round of admissions!”