Leaving the books scattered upon the table, I collapsed into the hard seat of a chair and tried to pull myself out of the fog of disappointment that had fallen over me. As if defying my efforts, tears welled up in my eyes, dissolving the dim Athenaeum into a wash of pale color. My ambition for advancement consumed me. Uncertainty about my abilities, about my place in our school, and about the future weighed heavily upon my mind. I wished my fate to be known, contracted, sealed, and set down so that I might follow it dutifully. Above all else I wished for purpose and utility. The very notion that I was not worthy of my calling, that I might be sent back to my parents in the countryside, or that I might fail to secure a place among the scholars I admired filled me with dread.
Leaning upon the wooden table, I buried my face in my arms, closing my eyes and lapsing into a momentary state of despair. I do not know how long I remained thus, but soon I sensed a movement in the room, the slightest change in the texture of the air. My friend’s distinct perfume-an Oriental scent of vanilla and labdanum-alerted me to Gabriella’s presence. I lifted my eyes and saw, through the wash of tears, a blur of scarlet fabric so shiny it appeared a swath of inlaid rubies.
“What is the matter?” Gabriella said. The sheet of jeweled fabric transformed, once my vision cleared, into a sleeveless bias-cut satin dress of such liquid beauty that I could do nothing but gape at it. My obvious astonishment only irritated Gabriella. She slid into a chair opposite me, tossing a beaded bag onto the table. A necklace of cut gemstones encircled her throat, and a pair of long black opera gloves rose to her elbows, covering the scar on her forearm. The air in the Athenaeum had grown cold, but Gabriella appeared unaffected by the chill-even with her thin, sleeveless gown and transparent silk stockings her skin retained a glow of warmth while I had begun to shiver.
“Tell me, Celestine,” Gabriella said. “What has happened? Are you ill?”
“I am quite well,” I replied, composing myself as best I could. I was not used to being the object of her scrutiny-in fact, she had taken no interest in me at all in the past weeks-and so, hoping to divert attention from myself, I said, “You are going somewhere?”
“A party,” she said without meeting my eye, a clear indication that she would be meeting with her lover.
“What kind of party?” I asked.
“It has nothing to do with our studies and would not interest you,” she said, ending all possibility of further questioning. “But tell me: What are you doing here? Why are you so distraught?”
“I have been looking for a text.”
“Which one?”
“Something to help me with the geological tables I have been creating,” I said, knowing even as I spoke that I sounded unconvincing.
Gabriella glanced beyond me at the books I had left upon the table and, seeing that they were all written by Dr. Raphael Valko, guessed my objective. “Clematis’s journal isn’t circulated, Celestine.”
“I have just discovered this fact,” I said, wishing I had returned Dr. Raphael’s books to the crates.
“You should know that they would never keep such a text here in the open.”
“Then where is it?” I asked, my agitation growing by the second. “In Dr. Seraphina’s office? In the vault?”
“Clematis’s account of the First Angelological Expedition contains very important information,” Gabriella said, smiling with pleasure at her advantage. “Its location is a secret that only a very few are allowed to know.”
“So you have read it?” I said, my jealousy at Gabriella’s access to restricted texts causing me to lose all sense of caution. “How is it that you, who seem to care so little for our studies, have read Clematis and I, who have dedicated everything to our cause, cannot so much as touch it?”
I immediately regretted what I’d said. The silence we had forged was an uncomfortable truce, but the artifice had allowed me to progress with my work.
Gabriella stood, took her beaded bag from the table and, her voice unnaturally calm, said, “You think that you understand what you have seen, but it is more complicated than it appears.”
“I should think it rather obvious that you are involved with an older man,” I said. “And I suspect that Dr. Seraphina believes as much, too.”
For a moment I believed that Gabriella would turn and leave, as had become her habit when she felt cornered. Instead she stood before me, defiant. “I wouldn’t speak of it to Dr. Seraphina, or to anyone else, if I were you.”
Feeling I was in a position of power at last, I pressed my point. “And why not?”
“If anyone were to discover what you think you know,” Gabriella said, “the greatest harm would befall all of us.”
Although I could not fully understand the meaning of her threat, the urgency in her voice and the genuine terror of her expression stopped me cold. We had come to an impasse, neither one knowing how to proceed.
At last Gabriella broke the silence. “It is not impossible to gain access to Clematis’s account,” she said. “If one wishes to read it, one only need know where to look.”
“I thought the text wasn’t circulated,” I said.
“It isn’t,” Gabriella answered. “And I should not help you to find it, especially when it is clearly not in my best interest. But you look as though you might be willing to help me, too.”
I met her gaze, wondering exactly what she could mean by this.
“My proposal is this,” Gabriella said, leading me from the Athenaeum and into the dark hallway of the school. “I will tell you how to find the text, and you, in turn, will remain silent. You will not mention a word to Seraphina about me or your speculations about my activities. You will not speak of my comings and goings from the apartment. Tonight I will be out for some time. If anyone comes to the apartment for me, you will say that you don’t know where I am.”
“You are asking me to lie to our teachers.”
“No,” she said. “I am asking that you tell the truth. You don’t know where I will be this evening.”
“But why?” I asked. “Why are you doing this?”
The faintest look of weariness appeared in Gabriella’s features, a hint of desperation that made me believe that she would open herself to me and confess everything, a hope that was crushed the moment it emerged. “I don’t have time for this,” she said, impatient. “Do you agree or not?”
I did not need to say a word. Gabriella understood me perfectly. I would do anything to gain access to Clematis’s text.
A series of exposed electric bulbs illuminated our passage to the medieval wing of the school. Gabriella moved quickly, her platform shoes tapping the quick, erratic rhythm of her footfall, and when she stopped, halting abruptly midstep, I stumbled against her, breathless.
Although clearly annoyed by my clumsiness, Gabriella didn’t utter a sound. Instead she turned toward a door, one of hundreds of identical doors throughout the building, each one the same size and color, without numbers or nameplates to indicate where it led.