He said he had come from a Great Family, Otherworld nobility. I got the feeling he grew up with massive wealth. So what choices had he made in life to end up here in this cramped office? Was he the family black sheep, and why?
I open the top drawer of the desk and find a diary, the sort that you keep appointments in. I flip through it, and am disappointed to see it is mostly empty. His secretary must have managed his schedule for him.
The only thing written in it is on the back page. The words Sao Paulo written over and over. An exuberant joy seems to dance out of them. I smile, and touch the words. The feeling of joy intensifies. It must have been Raif’s joy.
Suddenly I drop the diary back into the drawer. Crap! Crappety crap crap! How stupid could I be? I had even brought rubber gloves with me and in my excitement I’d forgotten to put them on! And now Storm’s team are going to find my damn prints all over this room and on this diary, which of course they are going to be very interested in. And Storm has already warned me he has to treat me like a suspect!
Cursing myself for forgetting, I pull on my gloves and then find a tissue in my pocket. I use it to wipe down the leather cover of the diary and the page I touched.
I roll back the chair, intending to wipe down all the pictures. The chair’s wheels crack loudly over broken glass. Something is beneath it that I hadn’t noticed. I freeze, scared Beatrice will have heard the noise from her office. I relax only after I hear her in there, still talking with her patient.
I crouch down beside the desk and find I have rolled the wheels over a framed photograph that was lying on the carpet. I have thoroughly broken the glass into unsalvageable shards. The frame has a little stand on the back, so it must have originally sat on the desk.
I pick it up and carefully shake off bits of broken glass. The picture is of Dr Silverstone standing amid a group of young women in what appears to be a forest in Otherworld. Their smiles are furtive, almost hurried, as if they are worried about being disturbed.
The way that his arm is clasped around the shoulder of one of the young women makes me look twice. She is fine-boned and petite, with jewel-like blue eyes. She is important to him.
Something tells me that this is Zarina. He put her on his desk, hidden away in this group shot. Like all the other women she is wearing a silver metal collar for a necklace. It must be of tribal importance, an Otherworld thing.
I wonder if she was looking forward to visiting Sao Paulo. If she would have found it a big grimy city compared to her lush jungle paradise. I wonder how on Earth I am supposed to get in touch with her, especially if she lives in Otherworld.
I pull the photo out of the frame and turn it over, hoping to find a caption. There is none. But there is a tiny envelope the size of a gift tag hidden behind it. The letter Z is written on it in pencil.
My heart leaps, and for a second I think it must contain the key. But inside is just a small slip of folded paper and a business card. No key.
The business card says: Theodore Grimshaw, Wizard, Purveyer of Needs, along with a London address and phone number. It is plain and yellowish, boring looking. Not the sort of extravagant card I would have expected of a wizard.
I hastily unfold the slip of paper, knowing anything important enough to hide must be a clue. But it is just an ink drawing of a circular symbol. The elegant curves and swirls tell me it might even be a bunch of intertwined sigils, the letters of the magical language.
It is complex and beautiful, the sigils interwoven in a mesmerizing way. I am so busy looking at it that I almost do not hear the noise from the other office grow closer. Then the creak of a door handle turning.
I freeze beside the chair, staring towards the bookcase. There is another door there in the corner, covered in the same wallpaper as the wall. Camouflaged. A second way into this room, and it is opening!
Chapter 12
DIANA
I duck down and scurr
y beneath the desk, just as a soft voice says, “It’s through here.”
The woman who spoke enters the room, bringing a scent of smoky apple perfume that makes my head spin. She is wearing a pair of delicate suede kitten heels that are almost identical to the ones she was wearing yesterday. She is followed by a pair of men’s brogues.
“When was Dr Silverstone last here?” asks Storm’s voice.
I freeze in my crouched position, my heart making such a racket I am surprised they cannot hear it. Of course Storm would come to inspect Raif Silverstone’s office at the very moment I was skulking in it. That I thought otherwise is astonishing.
Why the heck isn’t he focusing on Lynesse, like he was yesterday, dammit?
I cower beneath Raif’s desk, immensely thankful for its old fashioned design. It covers me up on three sides but for a gap of a few inches at the bottom. If they don’t come too close or bend down, they won’t see me.
I pray that Storm isn’t planning on rifling through the desk while he is here. Why couldn’t he have sent Remi to do this job?
Maybe he wanted to see Beatrice’s pretty face again, says the little voice
“He was here on Friday,” Beatrice says in her irksomely soft voice. “It was just an ordinary working day for us. I could never have imagined how it would end…” Her gentle little voice trails off. I can imagine the look of woe on her doe-eyed face.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” says Storm. There is a warmth in his tone that tells me he really is sorry. I wonder if he has reached out to touch her, a comforting brush of the hand perhaps. The thought sets my teeth on edge.