Page 47 of The Devil in Oxford
“Did you?” He made a curious sound in his chest. “One must be careful on the ice this time of year.”
Leona’s letter grew hot in my palm as I kept my fingers wrapped tight around the paper. Reaver’s eyes traveled from my wound down my throat to settle unerringly on my hand. He somehowknewthat I had a message from Leona.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep the panic from my voice. “I will keep that in mind.”
“I hear you are prone to close scrapes, Miss Vaughn. They say you took a bullet in Scotland, if the rumors are true.”
“I tend not to pay much mind to rumors.” I said coolly. “Nasty things, Professor. I’m sure you understand. Now, if you’d excuse me.” I ducked past him, not pausing until I reached the top. He remained there—stock-still—waiting midway on the stairs, watching me with a considered stare. I hurried out the door, forgetting all about my quest for the reader’s card and finding the book at the Bodleian. I pushed open the heavy door to the museum and shivered—for once, it wasn’t the cold.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWOJonathan Treadway,the Younger
Asense of unease settled in my chest as I left the Ashmolean and started in the direction of the natural history museum. Not that I had anyreasonto be unnerved—only a murderer on the loose, multiple people following me, hallucinations of spectral dogs,andI’d accidentally fallen in love with a man I’d utterly rejected. Truly, my life was going precisely to plan. I gave my head a shake and quickened my pace.
The route between the Ashmolean and the Museum of Natural History was lined on both sides by all sorts of structures. University buildings. Shopfronts. Homes. All jumbled together alongside one another as they’d grown together over the years. The street was dark and deserted. Darker than I recalled. Illuminated by the meager glow of the streetlights dotting the path. I paused beneath a gas lamp and withdrew the note from my pocket. If Leona had entrusted it to me, she surely expected me to read it. A cool breeze picked up, lifting my hair as a dog began to bay in the distance, followed by a second. The wind caught the little scrap of paper, fluttering in my palm.
IT’S HAPPENED.
How very unhelpful. Hopefully it meant more to this JonathanTreadway fellow than it did me. Or better yet, perhaps he would know more about theRadix Maleficarum. Leona had acted strangely at its mention, her entire affect shifting from ease to wariness. It had to be related to Harker’s fate—it simplyhadto be. Perhaps this Treadway fellow was Leona’s mysterious caller from last night. If she was sending him cryptic notes, it wasn’t a stretch to believe she was meeting him in private as well.
Snow began to fall as I caught the familiar sound of footsteps on the pavers behind me. Good God, not again. Fists tight, I spun around only to find Ruan there behind me—a stubborn dozen yards away.
I sighed in relief. “It’s you…”
He wore his brown cap pulled low over his brow, dark curls peeking out from beneath.
“How did you find me?”
The edge of his mouth curved up slightly, the tension in his shoulders ebbing. He must have feared I’d be angry with him for following me. “It shouldn’t bethatmuch of a surprise anymore.” His gaze drifted to the scrape on my temple, and the humor fled his face. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, Ruan. I am utterly fine.” I flung an arm out to underscore the point and spun around. “See? Absolutely, miraculously fine.” I narrowed my gaze at him. “But please stop asking.”
He chuckled low, muttering something in Cornish. This time—hopefully—in fond amusement. He stuffed his gloved hands into his coat as he drew up beside me, tilting his head in the direction of the natural history museum. “Lead on then, Miss Vaughn.”
Warmth curled in my belly, along with another less-familiar sensation.Hope.
“You’re helping me, then?”
“It does appear that way, doesn’t it?”
I tucked my hands into the pockets of my coat and matched his long strides step by step, marveling at the change in him—howquickly my country pellar had gone from urging caution to breaking into museums and walking the streets with me in search of a killer.
STEPPING INTO THEnatural history museum was a gateway into another world. One of curious beasts and giants that once roamed the land. Great skeletons of long-dead creatures reached up toward the vaulting glass-and-metalwork ceiling. A veritable sanctuary of science, with columns made of various stone specimens native to Britain interspersed with marble statues of the great scientific minds throughout history. If I had my leisure, I might have spent hours here—wandering the discoveries and losing myself in them—but I hadn’t any time, and I hadn’t come for pleasure. It did surprise me a little that Ruan refused to set foot inside, insisting that he would wait. Alone. In the snow. He truly was peculiar at times.
It didn’t take long to find Professor Treadway’s office. It lay beneath a great stone archway like all the others—this one with the stenciled wordsPROFESSOR OF ANTHROPOLOGYrecently repainted over the doorframe.
I withdrew Leona’s note from my pocket and read it for a second time—as if the words would have changed in the handful of minutes since I last read it. I gathered myself and rapped upon the heavy wooden door.
“Enter,” a muffled voice called from within.
I grabbed the heavy metal door hold and twisted. The old hinges groaned as the musty scent of ancient things, along with the faintest hint of tobacco, assaulted my nose. I stepped inside, the room awash in the warm glow of artificial light.
A man not much older than me looked up from a desk. An objectively attractive sort, I suppose, in the way that beautiful men can be such. He had delicately sharp features and roan, nearly black, hair that he wore cropped close and neatly combed. Thecombination put me in mind of the silent film actors from those American pictures that Mr. Owen dearly loved.
Jonathan Treadway’s shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing thin wrists and an almost birdlike frame. He wore an old herringbone vest that might have belonged to his predecessor in this office at one point.
“I… I don’t believe we’ve met.” He studied me warily before he spotted the torn scrap of paper in my hand. A sudden dawning of recognition came over his sharp features and he frowned. “Ah. Close the door please.”
Close the door? With a man I scarcely knew? It was not the wisest course of action, but at the same time, Ruan was nearby. If things went pear-shaped, he’d likely sense it and come to my aid—despite whatever bizarre misgivings he had about the place itself. There was a peculiar sense of security in our connection—in knowing he was always near, even when we were apart.
