There was no answer. There was nothing for him to see, but he felt it again. A small yet unmistakable taunting. That invisible cord, knotted between his ribs.
He resisted the pull toward the unknown.
{5}
The First Alouette
“I don’t think he’s turned,” Iris said. “Roman is trying to stay alive.”
Helena arched a brow. “That very well could be. But that also means he’s unreliable and compromised. I can’t trust him anymore, and now he’s going to cause conflict for us by writing for our competitor.”
Iris returned her gaze to the Oath Gazette, still in hand. Her mind was spinning, but she focused on Roman’s article. She could almost hear him reading it to her, his cadence sharp, cold. Almost unfamiliar. Until her eyes caught on one word, easily overlooked in his sixth sentence: A story not just confined to a museum or a history tome that many of us will never touch, but a story that is in the process of being written.
“Museum,” Iris whispered.
“What’s that?” Helena asked.
Iris blinked. Her heart was suddenly racing. “Nothing. Just a thought.”
Helena sighed, hands on her hips. “Is this going to interfere with your ability to report, kid?”
“No. On the contrary,” Iris said, striding to the telephone. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this.” She held up the Oath Gazette and gave the newspaper a good shake, just to appease Helena and the editors who were still watching her. Then she picked up the earpiece and dialed for the operator.
A male voice crackled over the line. “How may I direct your call?”
“The Oath Gazette, please,” Iris said.
“Please hold.”
She waited, tapping her foot. She could hear the static on the line, the sound of switches being flipped, and then a steady ringing in her ear. She knew the Oath Gazette had multiple telephones. There was no telling which one her call had been directed to, and she counted in her mind, waiting, hoping, praying …
“Hello, this is Prindle speaking for the Oath Gazette.”
A smile broke across Iris’s face. It was just as she had hoped, and it took her a breath to gather her words.
“Hello?” Sarah Prindle said again, a touch impatient.
“Prindle.” Iris spoke in a low voice. “I have some important news for you. It must be delivered in person. Meet me at Gould’s Café in twenty.”
“Meet at—” Sarah sounded indignant but cut herself off. Her voice softened with a small gasp. “Wait a minute … Winnow, is this you? I recognize your voice.”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“But Autry … I don’t have off until my lunch break.”
“I know, but I need to see you as soon as possible. Can you slip away?”
It was quiet for a minute. Iris could nearly see Sarah in her mind’s eye, glancing furtively across the hustle of the Oath Gazette. No doubt Zeb Autry was in his office, pouring whiskey over ice with a stack of papers on his desk.
“Yes, I think I can,” she finally said, her voice tinged with excitement. “Twenty minutes, you say? At Gould’s?”
“Yes,” Iris replied. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Then I’ll see you in a bit.”
Iris hung up the receiver and turned. The Tribune was still watching her, wide-eyed with interest.
She tucked the Gazette under her trench coat, to protect the paper from the rain. With Roman’s traitorous words pressed to her heart, Iris departed the Tribune. She walked through the swirling gray mist to Gould’s Café.
* * *
Sarah Prindle was a few minutes late, but Iris didn’t mind. She had chosen a small round table in the corner of the café, between a bookshelf and a potted lemon tree. A perfect place for a surreptitious conversation, and Iris had just hung up her trench coat and ordered a pot of tea when she heard the bell ring above the café door.
Sarah looked just as Iris remembered. Although truth be told, it had only been a matter of months since they had worked together at the Gazette. But since then, the weeks had been full of strange, darkened days, and Iris’s breath snagged when she acknowledged that it truly felt like years had passed.
“Winnow!” Sarah whisper-cried in excitement, hurrying to the corner.
Iris rose with a smile. “It’s good to see you, Prindle.”
They embraced so tightly that Iris felt her spine pop, and she got a good mouthful of Sarah’s fine blond hair.
“Please, sit,” Iris said, easing back into her chair. “I just ordered us a pot of tea.”