But are you . . . are you Elisabeth Scrivener, from the papers?”
The blood drained from Elisabeth’s face. Her first name was so common, she thought she had been safe keeping it.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Parsifal hurried to add. “No one else knows. It’s just that I kept thinking about it the other day, when I gave you the tour, and you knew far too much about grimoires for someone who’d never been inside a Great Library before. And you see, I’d been, ah, following your story in the news.” His ears turned red. “I just—since you defeated a Class Eight Malefict, and all.”
Elisabeth lurched upright. “Has there been anything else about me in the news?”
“No—nothing! That’s why I wanted to . . . it was as though you completely vanished after the Chancellor’s press release.” He glanced over his shoulder. Then he lowered his voice. “Are you on some sort of secret mission for the Collegium? Have you been sent undercover?”
She stared.
“Right,” he said knowingly, tapping the side of his nose. “You wouldn’t be able to tell me if you were.”
“That’s correct,” she said weakly, wondering how much trouble it was possible for a person to get into in one lifetime.
He glanced over his shoulder again. “Well—I have some information for you. I overheard two wardens talking this morning. Apparently, the saboteur struck the Royal Library last night.”
“What?”
“He stole a Class Six grimoire while the wardens were performing a transfer from the vault. They’ve been keeping it quiet, because they don’t want to send the press into a frenzy. But I thought you ought to be aware. For, you know”—he lowered his voice further—“your investigation.”
“Thank you, Parsifal,” she said. “Now, I should get back to—er—” She nodded toward the window, hoping Parsifal would use his imagination.
“Oh, yes, certainly! Is this a stakeout? Are you watching for someone? Right, you can’t tell me. I shouldn’t even be here. I’ll just . . .” He inched toward the doorway. She nodded at him encouragingly and tapped the side of her nose. He hurried out of sight, looking thrilled.
Elisabeth blew out a breath and collapsed back into her chair. At least one good thing had come out of that. If the wardens believed the saboteur had stolen the Codex, they weren’t likely to cast their suspicions toward a lowly maidservant. Perhaps after a few more days had passed, she could turn her full attention to Ashcroft without distractions. Now that the Chronicles of the Dead was on its way to Harrows, the need was more urgent than ever.
• • •
She barely recalled dragging herself home and up the stairs to her bedroom. The only detail that stood out to her was that she hadn’t seen Nathaniel since his nightmare. He had remained shut inside his study all day yesterday, and judging by the emerald light that flickered beneath the door, he was still in there. She wondered if he had even left the room.
Upstairs, she lit a candle. She didn’t change out of her servant’s uniform, aware she might need the salt and iron on hand. Demonslayer went on the floor beside her, within reaching distance, but not close enough to appear threatening. She didn’t want the Codex to perceive her as its enemy.
The grimoire waited under her bed, still inside the sack she had used to smuggle it from the Royal Library. She drew it out and placed it on her lap, feeling the heavy chains clink through the fabric. Seated on the floor, with her back against the mattress, she folded aside the burlap and unraveled the chain onto the carpet. The Codex lay inert and unresponsive. She drew in a fortifying breath, her hand suspended in the air.
“I’m a friend,” she said, willing her intentions to pass down her arm, through her skin, as she placed her palm against the grimoire.
For a moment, nothing happened. No voice howled at her in rage and betrayal. No ominous pressure filled the room. All was silent. Then its pages stirred in an invisible breeze. Slowly, like an old man stretching and rising from sleep, the Codex unfolded itself into her hands.
Hope thrilled through her, followed by a quaver of apprehension. If Ashcroft had spent so much time studying this grimoire without success, why should she succeed where he had failed? Unlike him, she didn’t have the slightest idea what Prendergast’s secret might be about, and she knew next to nothing about codes and ciphers, either. Reaching this step had consumed so much