The day is like a diamond, all beautiful warmth on the outside but without any heat to accompany it. Henry is sitting in his chair by the river with Edmund. It is one of Henry’s favorite places, and though I was young, I remember well the construction of the smooth stone pathway that winds almost to the water’s edge. Father had it built when Henry was but a babe who loved the sound of stones thrown into the water. Edmund and Henry can often be found near the terrace on the banks of the rushing water, skipping stones and placing the small secretive wagers that are forbidden but overlooked by Aunt Virginia.

I circle the house and am relieved when Alice comes into view on the patio outside the sunroom. Next to the wide open spaces surrounding the house on every side, the glass-enclosed conservatory is her favorite, but it is closed off from November to March due to the cold. During those months, she can often be found on the patio, wrapped in a blanket and sitting on one of the outdoor chairs even on days that I find uncomfortably cold.

Her legs are stretched out in front of her, the stockings at her ankles showing enough to be considered inappropriate anywhere but within the confines of Birchwood Manor. Her face, soft and round again in contrast to the harsh angles of night, is tipped to the sun, her eyes closed. The shadow of a smile toys with her lips, and they curve upward in an expression that might be either sly or peaceful.

“Why do you stand there staring, Lia?”

I am startled by her voice and the way her face doesn’t change at all. I have not made a sound, having stopped in the grass before stepping onto the stone that would announce my arrival. And still she knows I’m here.

“I was not staring, Alice. I was only watching you. You look so happy.” The heels of my boots click on the patio as I walk toward her, and I try to hide the note of accusation that has crept into my voice.

“And why wouldn’t I be happy?”

“I wonder why you would be, Alice. How could you be happy at a time such as this?” My face burns with anger, and I’m suddenly glad her eyes remain closed.

As if reading my mind, she opens her eyes, focusing on my face. “Father is no longer in the material world, Lia. He is in heaven with Mother. Isn’t that where he’d like to be?”

Something in her face puzzles me, some shade of peacefulness and happiness that seems altogether wrong so soon after Father’s death.

“I… I don’t know. We have already lost Mother. I should think Father would have liked to stay and watch over us.” It sounds childish now that I’ve said it aloud, and I once again think Alice the stronger twin.

She tips her head at me. “I’m certain he watches over us still, Lia. And besides, what is there from which we need protection?”

I feel the things she has left unsaid. I don’t know what they are, but they pluck at something dark, and all at once I am scared. All at once, I know I will not ask Alice what she was doing in the Dark Room, nor will I show her the mark, though I cannot put words to a singular reason.

“I’m not afraid, Alice. I only miss him, that’s all.”

She doesn’t answer, her eyes closed once again to the sun, the look of calm restored to her pale face. There is nothing more to say, nothing more to do but turn and leave.

When I return to the house, I follow the sound of voices in the library. I cannot make out the words, but they are the voices of men, and I listen for a minute, enjoying their baritone vibration before opening the door. James looks up as I enter the room.

“Good morning, Lia. We’ve not been too noisy, have we?” There is a thread of urgency under his greeting, and I know immediately there is something he wishes to tell me in private.

I shake my head. “Not at all. It’s nice to hear noise coming from Father’s study again.” Mr. Douglas is peering with a magnifying glass at the cover of a thick brown volume. “Good morning, Mr. Douglas.”

He looks up, blinking as if to clear his vision before nodding kindly. “Good morning, Amalia. How are you feeling today?”

“I’m quite all right, Mr. Douglas. Thank you for asking, and thank you for continuing the catalogue of Father’s collection. He wanted so to see it done. It would make him happy to know that the work continues.”

He nods again without smiling, and the room falls still with the shared grief of friends. I am relieved when Mr. Douglas becomes preoccupied, looking away and shuffling around for something he seems to have misplaced.

“Now… where is that blasted ledger?” He pushes papers aside at an increasingly frenzied pace. “Ah! I think I’ve left it in the carriage. I’ll return in a moment, James. Carry on.” He turns and marches from the room.

James and I stand in the sudden quiet left by his father’s departure. I have long suspected that the never-ending job of cataloging the library had as much to do with Father’s desire to see James and me together as it did his constant acquisitions to the collection. As with his views on women and intellect, my father was not a conformist with regards to class. Our bond with the Douglas men was based on true affection and a shared love of old books. Though there are undoubtedly those in town who think the friendship improper, Father never let the opinions of others form his own.

James reaches out, taking my hand and gently pulling me toward him. “How are you, Lia? Is there anything I can do?”

The worry in his voice, the gruff concern, brings the prick of tears to my eyes. I am at once flooded with both sadness and relief. In the safety of James’s company, I realize the strain of my constant caution around Alice.

I shake my head, clearing my throat a little before trusting myself to speak. “No. It will simply take time, I think, to become used to Father’s absence.” I try to sound strong, but the tears spill onto my cheeks. I cover my face with my hands.

“Lia. Lia.” He moves my hands and grasps them in his. “I know how much your father meant to you. It’s not the same, I know, but I’m here for anything you need. Anything at all.”

His eyes burn into mine, and the tweed of his waistcoat brushes against my gown. A familiar rush of heat works its way outward from my stomach to the far reaches of my body and to all the secret places that are only a distant promise.

He reluctantly steps back, straightening and clearing his throat. “I should think there might be one day when Father would remember to bring the ledger in from the carriage, but it’s a stroke of luck for us. Come! Let me show you what I’ve found.”

James pulls me along, and I find myself smiling in spite of the circumstances, in spite of his fingers nearly touching the mark. “Wait! What is it?”

He drops my hand when he reaches the bookshelf near the window, reaching behind a stack of books waiting to be catalogued. “I discovered something interesting this morning. A book I didn’t realize your father had acquired.”

“What…” My eyes light on the black volume as it comes into view. “… book?”

“This one.” He holds it toward me. “I found it a couple of days ago, after…” Unsure how to make reference to my Father’s death, he smiles sadly and continues. “Anyway, I put it behind the others so I could show it to you before it’s catalogued. It was in a hidden panel at the back of one of the shelves. Father, as ever, was looking for his spectacles and didn’t see it at all. Your father… Well, it’s obvious your father didn’t want anyone to know it was there, though I’m not sure why. I thought you might like to see it.”

When I drop my gaze to the book, recognition ripples through me, though I am certain I have never seen it before in my life.

“May I?” I reach out to take it from him.

“Of course. It belongs to you, Lia. Or… It belonged to your father and I assume it belongs to you. And to Alice and Henry, of course.”

But this is an afterthought. He is giving the book to me.

The leather is cool and dry in my hands, the cover decorated with a design I can only feel through the raised figures under my fingers. It is very old, that much is clear.

I find my voice but am too enthralled with the book to look up at James. “What is it?”

“That’s just it. I’m not sure. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The cover sighs and creaks as I open it, little particles of leather sprinkling the air beneath the book like pieces of dust in sunlight. Oddly, there is only one page, covered in words I vaguely recognize as Latin. I am suddenly sorry I’ve not paid more attention to our language studies at Wycliffe.

“What does it say?”

He leans in, brushing my shoulder as he looks at the page. “It says, ‘Librum Maleficii et Disordinae.’” He looks into my eyes. “Approximately? The Book of Chaos.”

“The Book of Chaos?” I shake my head. “Father never made mention of it, and I know his collection as well as he knew it himself.”

“I know. And I don’t believe he ever mentioned it to my father, either. Certainly not to me.”

“What sort of book is it?”

“Well, I remembered you have trouble with Latin, so I took it home and made a translation. I knew you’d want to know more.” His eyes twinkle with these last words, and I recognize it as a small jibe toward my endless curiosity.

I roll my eyes, smiling if only to feign exasperation with James. “Never mind, what does it say?”

He looks back to the book, clearing his throat before beginning. “It starts out, ‘Through fire and harmony mankind endured until the sending of the Guards, who took as wives and lovers the woman of man, engendering His wrath.’”

I shake my head. “Is it a story?”

He pauses. “I think so, though not one I’ve ever heard.”

I turn the single page. I don’t know what I’m looking for when clearly there is nothing else there.

“It goes on from there,” he adds before I can begin asking questions, “to say ‘two sisters, formed in the same swaying ocean, one the Guardian, one the Gate. One keeper of peace, the other bartering sorcery for devotion.’”

“Two sisters, formed in the same swaying ocean… I don’t understand.”

“I believe it’s a metaphor. For the birth fluid. I think it alludes to twins. Like you and Alice.”

His words echo in my mind. Like you and Alice.

And like my mother and Aunt Virginia, and their mother and aunt before them, I think. “But what of ‘the Guardian and the Gate’? What does that mean?”

He shrugs a little as his eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry, Lia. I don’t know about that part.”

Mr. Douglas’s voice drifts down the hall and we glance at the library door. I look back at James as his father’s voice gets louder and nearer the library door.

“Have you translated the whole page?”

“Yes. I… Well, I wrote it down for you, actually.” He reaches into his pocket as Mr. Douglas’s voice sounds from just outside of the door, giving us fair warning of his arrival.

“Very good, Virginia. Tea would be most lovely!”

I put a hand on James’s arm. “Can you bring it to the river later?” The river is our usual meeting place, though not normally for something as staid as a book.

“Well… Yes. When we stop for lunch? Can you meet me then?”

I nod, handing the book back to him as his father comes through the door.

“Ah, here it is! You see, James, it’s just as I said—I am losing my wits in my old age!” Mr. Douglas waves a leather-bound ledger in the air.

James’s smile is brilliant. “Nonsense, Father. You’re simply too busy, that’s all.”

I only half-listen to their banter. Why would the book be hidden in the library? It was unlike my father to keep to himself so rare and interesting a find, but I can only assume he had a reason for doing so.

And I have reasons of my own for wanting to know more.

It cannot be chance alone that Father was found dead on the floor of the Dark Room, or that shortly thereafter I discovered the mark, observed my sister in her eerie ritual, and was given this strange, lost book. I cannot be sure what it all means or how these events work in concert, but I’m certain they do.

And I intend to find out how.