This Wicked Fate (This Poison Heart #2)(25)

“You believe in fate?” Marie asked as the arch of her brow shot toward her hairline. “I’m not saying I disagree. I’m just saying you don’t really seem like the type.”

“I believe in a kind of fate,” Circe said. “And I have a theory about ours, but in order to test it we’ll need to pay Dr. Kent a visit.”

“Road trip?” Marie asked, looping her arm around my shoulder.

“Wait,” I said. “What’s your theory? Do we even have time to make a trip back to Brooklyn? I feel like we’re wasting time.”

Marie pulled me close. “I’m already trying to pull some flights together, but it’s important to keep things as quiet as possible, so it might take a minute.”

“We don’t know where this boy Karter is or who he’s been in contact with, and we don’t know who those people were that were after the pottery shard,” Circe said. “We have to assume they’re trying to get their hands on the last piece of the Heart. While Marie is arranging things I think we have some time to follow up with Dr. Kent.”

“You’re not going to tell me why?” I asked.

“If I’m wrong, I’ll tell you what I was thinking and we can laugh about it,” Circe said. “But if I’m right, you’ll see for yourself.”

“When do we leave?” I asked.

“Now,” said Circe.





CHAPTER 7

Persephone stayed behind while Mo slept and Nyx took off with Roscoe the rabbit-eating griffin in tow. Marie piled into the front seat of the car next to me, and Circe drove. We made the trip in a little over two hours and pulled up to the Brooklyn Museum right before midnight.

I’d been there on a few different field trips but never in the dead of night. As we crossed the plaza in front of the glass pavilion that now framed the original portico, Circe steered us to a path that ran along the eastern side of the giant marble building.

“She said the front doors wouldn’t be open to the public this late,” said Circe. “We have to go around.”

Marie huffed.

“Are we gonna have a problem?” Circe asked as she glanced back at Marie.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Marie gazed up at the glass awning that curved around the Brooklyn Museum’s facade. “Nothing,” she said.

I took her hand and pulled her toward the side entrance as Circe turned her face up to a small security camera mounted above the door. She gave a little wave, and the outer door clicked open. Circe ushered us inside, and we found ourselves in a long corridor draped in shadow.

Circe led the way, and I followed close behind as Marie trailed me. The smell of floor cleaner and recycled air was thick. The hallway ended at the side of a large rectangular courtyard, the floor of which was inlaid with squares of blue glass. Above, the glass ceiling made the starry night sky look as if it were laid on top of the building itself. It was silent except for the steady flush of the AC.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, taking it all in.

Marie and Circe paused and looked up.

“It is,” said Circe.

“It was designed to frame the night sky,” a familiar voice said.

I spun around. A figure stood in the shadows just off the courtyard. Marie grabbed my hand. I strained to see into the dark.

I knew that voice.

“Dr. Kent?” I asked.

“Hello, Briseis,” Dr. Kent said.

I’d spoken to Dr. Kent on the phone. We exchanged emails. But I’d never actually seen her. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as she swept into the open space. She was tall, like Persephone. She had a mass of wavy dark hair that went down to her waist, and her dark brown skin shone in the dim starlight.

“I’m glad you could come,” Dr. Kent said. She stuck out her hand, and Circe took it. “I’m Madeline Kent.”

Something—a feeling I couldn’t put my head around—raised goose bumps on my arms.

Dr. Kent turned to Marie and then looked away. “Would you follow me, please?”

She stepped between us and crossed the courtyard. We followed along behind her as she took us down another series of hallways. The wide legs of her linen pants obscured her feet and made it look as if she were floating. I couldn’t hear her footsteps. The sense of unease I’d had as she spoke to us in the glass atrium had crept up to something much more like fear.

“I wanted to see if—” Circe began, but Dr. Kent held up her hand.

“Can we wait to discuss things until we’ve reached my office?”

Circe looked confused. “Oh. Sure.”

I didn’t understand why, if we were going to discuss some old documents, we needed to wait, but clearly Circe was holding something back. My gut was telling me it was something serious. I glanced back at Marie and her eyes were black as the night sky. In the dark she looked terrifying. I quickly checked to see if Dr. Kent had noticed anything, and when I was sure she hadn’t, I let out a long shaky breath. Marie must have sensed the same thing I had—a creeping sense of dread that now sat at the nape of my neck like a heavy, cold hand.

Marie reined herself in as Dr. Kent led us down a short flight of stairs and through a set of double doors to an area off-limits to the public.

Workstations with pieces of restored art and fragmented statues dotted the floor of a room the size of a school gym. Floor-to-ceiling shelving, six or seven rows deep, held thousands of items. Dr. Kent led us through the tables and down an aisle between two rows of shelves. She paused and opened a long narrow drawer.