“Wherever did you find this second page?” He touched the picture of the dragons.
“Someone brought it to New Haven.”
“Who?” Hamish asked.
“Andrew Hubbard.” After Ysabeau’s warnings I wasn’t sure how much to reveal. But Hamish was our lawyer. I couldn’t keep secrets from him. “He’s a vampire.”
“Oh, I’m well aware of who—and what—Andrew Hubbard is. I’m a daemon and work in the City, after all,” Hamish said with a laugh. “But I’m surprised Matthew let him get near. He despises the man.”
I could have explained how much things had changed, and why, but the tale of Jack Blackfriars was Matthew’s to tell.
“What does the missing picture of the tree have to do with Athanasius Kircher?” Phoebe asked, bringing our attention back to the matter at hand.
“While I was in New Haven, my colleague Lucy Meriweather helped me track down what might have happened to the Book of Life. One of Rudolf’s mysterious manuscripts ended up in Kircher’s hands. We thought that the illumination of the tree might have been included with it.” I gestured at the frontispiece to Magnes sive De Arte Magnetica. “I’m more certain than ever that Kircher had at least seen the image, based solely on that illustration.”
“Can’t you just look through Kircher’s books and papers?” Hamish asked.
“I can,” I replied with a smile, “provided the books and papers can still be located. Kircher’s personal collection was sent to an old papal residence for safekeeping—Villa Mondragone in Italy. In the early twentieth century, the Jesuits began to discreetly sell off some of the books to raise revenue.
Lucy and I think they sold the page then.”
“In that case there should be records of the sale,” Phoebe said thoughtfully. “Have you contacted the Jesuits?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “They have no records of it—or if they do, they aren’t sharing them. Lucy wrote to the major auction houses, too.”
“Well, she wouldn’t have got very far. Sales information is confidential,” Phoebe said.
“So we were told.” I hesitated just long enough for Phoebe to offer what I was afraid to ask for.
“I’ll e-mail Sylvia today and tell her that I won’t be able to clear out my desk tomorrow as planned,” Phoebe said. “I can’t hold Sotheby’s off indefinitely, but there are other resources I can check and people who might talk to me if approached in the right way.”
Before I could respond, the doorbell rang. After a momentary pause, it rang again. And again. The fourth time the ringing went on and on as though the visitor had jammed a finger into the button and left it there.
“Diana!” shouted a familiar voice. The ringing was replaced by pounding.
“Sarah!” I cried, rising to my feet.
A fresh October breeze swept into the house, carrying with it the scents of brimstone and saffron. I rushed into the hall. Sarah was there, her face white and her hair floating around her shoulders in a mad tangle of red. Fernando stood behind her, carrying two suitcases as though their collective weight were no more than a first-class letter.
Sarah’s red-rimmed eyes met mine, and she dropped Tabitha’s cat carrier on the marble floor with a thud. She held her arms wide, and I moved into them. Em had always offered me comfort when I felt alone and frightened as a child, but right now Sarah was exactly who I needed.
“It will be all right, honey,” she whispered, holding me tight.
“I just spoke to Father H, and he said I’m to follow your instructions to the letter, Mistress . . .
Madame,” Leonard Shoreditch said cheerfully, pushing past Sarah and me on his way into the house. He gave me a jaunty salute.