The Cloisters(55)

“Leo isn’t my priority,” I said.

“Then act like it. This is huge, Ann. What we’ve found—what you’ve found—is big. And now that we know where the cards came from. With that proof, we can accomplish so much. We need to accomplish so much.”

Rachel started to walk away, but I grabbed her arm. A handful of visitors were watching us, and although our voices were lowered, they were still louder than one would normally hear in The Cloisters’ galleries.

“I am acting like it,” I hissed. “I’ve only been out with him once. Every spare minute I spend with you. I’ve told you everything. Isn’t it clear we’re in this together?”

I didn’t consider myself confrontational, but in standing up for myself I felt the same rush I had felt leaning over the wall in the garden.

Rachel held up her hands. “Okay. Okay. I get it. Maybe I just don’t want to share you right now. I really need you. We need to stay focused. I just don’t want Leo taking that away from me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” I said. And then, I was surprised to find myself hugging her, feeling her slight frame relax against mine.

“I just want to make sure we can get ahead of this before Patrick does,” she said, pulling back.

I nodded. “I want that too. I need it.”

“I know you do,” she said.



* * *



“He’ll ask us soon,” Rachel said the next day as we sat in the library, surrounded by loose papers and notes, the chaos actually a carefully orchestrated curation of material. “He’s been talking about doing another reading. A reading here. At night again. Now that the deck is more complete. We’ll have a chance then.”

Rachel and I needed an opportunity to view the rest of the cards ourselves, an opportunity, at least, to photograph them so we could begin our research. The discovery, we both knew, would cement our careers, our stature in the academic world. It was an opportunity neither of us could risk by sharing what we knew with Patrick. Both of us understood how easily, how quickly the narrative of the discovery might shift, from us—two young women at the beginning of their careers—to Patrick, an established researcher of the occult. And so, we had decided to keep quiet and bide our time.

When Patrick finally asked us to stay late two days later, Rachel and I were out in the gardens, sitting on the far wall, where we enjoyed the waning afternoon sun, Rachel smoking, me allowing the grass to tickle my ankles and the mossy stone to pad my palms. The visitors who filled the walkways admired the carved capitals, the sculptures of frocked friars tucked into their niches. Rachel and I, however, went unnoticed. We had become, it seemed, part of the scenery.

It was Leo I was watching for when I saw Patrick make his way across the cloister, slowly, taking in the scents of lemon balm and lavender, casually dipping his hand in the fountain and then shaking off the water, the beads clear in the sunlight.

“You’re not smoking, are you?” Patrick asked when he reached us, his hands fisted in his pockets. I didn’t bother to look, but I instinctively felt Rachel release her cigarette off the edge of the rampart and into the grass below.

“Never,” she said.

I repressed a smile.

“Smoking is strictly forbidden on the grounds. But you are always welcome to smoke outside the back gate.”

“That’s usually where I do it,” Rachel said.

Patrick looked over our heads, toward the river, before asking us, still not meeting our gazes, “Do either of you have plans for later this evening?”

Rachel and I did our best not to look at each other, but I could feel the blood moving faster through my fingers as they gripped the edge of the wall.

“No,” I said, my mouth dry.

“Nothing really,” added Rachel.

“Would you mind staying late?”

“Not at all,” I said. “Is there anything in particular you want us to prepare?”

Patrick shook his head. “All you need to bring is yourselves. And an open mind.”

Rachel and I both nodded, and Patrick took his leave, this time crossing the garden in a few quick steps.

After that, the end of the day felt like it might never arrive, but we waited, continuing to do the research tasks Patrick had set before us, tasks that now felt futile in light of our secret, until security came through the library to perform their sweep as the sun set.

“We’re going to work late tonight,” Rachel said.

Louis nodded. “We’re short-staffed, if you want to fill in later for us.”

We both laughed, and I thought to myself again how remarkable it was that we were rarely bothered by security, that we were allowed to work, to walk, to pass through the spaces of The Cloisters whenever and however we wanted, despite the value of work on display.

Less than an hour later, Patrick came out of his office, the box of cards in his hand. Outside, the tile roofs had turned a dark terra-cotta as the light of the sun was replaced with the glow of the city. The hanging lanterns that lit the gardens at night swayed in the gentle breeze that worked its way up from the Hudson.

Patrick set the cards on the table and checked his watch. “He should be here soon,” he said.

“Who?” asked Rachel. But she needn’t have asked, because Leo pushed his way into the library, his jeans still dirty from an afternoon spent in the garden.