“Hello, Marius,” the woman said. She was not young—near forty perhaps—and fine lines marked her face, but she was still handsome and lithe in her green gown.

“You may address me as Lord Albrecht.”

She winced, perhaps mistaking the sharpness in my voice for a note of authority rather than fear.

“We are gladdened to finally have the opportunity to meet you, my lord,” the man said. He was much younger than the woman, though less handsome. He was tall but spindly, like a plant grown in a dark closet. All the same, his blue eyes were bright with humor, and his broad grin was genuine and infectious, putting me somewhat at ease.

“And what was preventing our meeting before?” I said.

They exchanged uneasy glances, and I felt my dread recede further. I was at the advantage here, not they. They wanted something—something the master had not granted them. And, now that he was gone, they thought they could get it from me.

For some reason a boldness came over me, and I began a dangerous game. “I know why you’ve come.” I gestured for them to sit. They did, and I took a chair opposite them. Pietro had left glasses of sherry for each of us, and I picked one up. “In fact, I’m surprised it took you so long.”

The man grinned at the woman. “It’s just as I said, Rebecca. He’s heard of us. I told you he would already know all about the Seekers.” He picked up his own sherry glass and took a drink.

Seekers. I had never heard the word before, at least not in the sense that the man seemed to use it.

“Hush, Byron,” the woman said, not touching her own glass. She turned her brown eyes on me. “So you know of us.”

I shrugged, as if this required no reply, when in fact I was burning to ask questions. All the same, I was certain I’d learn more if I did not ask them. The man, Byron, seemed talkative enough, but I sensed the woman, Rebecca, would not be so easy to maneuver around.

“I know Master Albrecht often went to London on business with the Seekers,” I said. This was a calculated guess; their accents were English, not Scottish.

Byron laughed. “Well, his business was not so much with us as with the Philosophers, of course. They always keep to themselves. I’ve never even met one in person.” He winked at me. “We Seekers are just their lackeys, you see, and they don’t associate much with us mere mortals.”

“Byron!” the woman said sternly, and his grin vanished as he sank back into his chair.

The man’s words fascinated me. Who were these Philosophers he spoke of? By Rebecca’s tone, they were not people to be trifled with. However, I forced my expression to remain neutral.

“Is there something I can do for you?” I said.

Rebecca smoothed the green fabric of her gown. “I hope instead it is the opposite, my lord. I will be plain with you, for I can see there is no need for pretense here. We have never met, but we know a good deal about you. We know you have proven adept at the occult arts, and that you have certain other talents as well—skills our organization is in need of. Thus we have come to extend you an invitation.”

This startled me so greatly I forgot to appear disinterested. “An invitation?”

“Yes, my lord,” Byron said, and while Rebecca frowned at him, this time she did not preempt his words. “We’d like you to come to London with us, to join our order.”

Realization came to me. “To join the Seekers,” I murmured.

“Indeed, my lord,” Rebecca said, meeting my eyes.

Speech fled me. I was right. These two had come to Madstone Hall seeking something of the master’s. Only it wasn’t a book or an arcane object. It was I they were seeking. But why? I was clever, I knew, but surely any talents such as I possessed could readily be found in London. I doubted they were forced to trek all the way up to the northlands for fresh recruits.

They gazed at me expectantly now, but what could I say? Despite my little charade, I knew nothing of the Seekers, yet I dared not ask them about their organization now for fear I would be revealed. I knew I should tell them to be on their way, that I had no interest in their invitation.

Only, little as I knew at that moment, I didhave interest.

You must beware, Marius. Once I am gone, they will come. You must not trust them. . . .

But surely the master had meant the gold-eyed ones, not these two people. They were curious, to be sure, but not strange and forbidding as the three strangers had been. They were, as Byron had said, merely mortals. What harm could they bring to me?

Yet surely, from all they’ve said, the ones with the golden eyes are their masters—these Philosophers they spoke of, the ones the master so often went to London to see, and who came once to visit him here.

Which meant Master Albrecht himself had been one of them. Only what did it mean? He had said not to trust them, yet he was one of their kind. I needed more time—time to decide what to do.

“It grows late,” I said. “You must be weary from your journey. I will have Pietro ready rooms for you. We can discuss this on the morrow.”

Byron quaffed the rest of his sherry, his expression affable, but Rebecca gave me a cool look. “As you wish, Lord Albrecht.”

I shivered, wishing I had not told them to call me that, and without another word rose and left the drawing room.

“You must send them away in the morning,” Pietro said as he turned down the bedcovers in my chamber. His hands shook. “Please Mast . . . please, Marius. For him, you must do it.”

“Good night, Pietro,” I said, and I did not look at him as he shuffled from the chamber.

I did not undress and lie down in the bed. Instead I sat in a chair, watching as a beam of moonlight crept across the darkened room. Then, when I was sure midnight had come and gone, I slipped through the door and passed, silent as a wraith, down the stairs and through the manor’s main hall, toward a door at the far end.

The library. Not since he died had I entered that room, but now I opened the door without sound, stepped inside, and shut the portal behind me. With my dark-adjusted eyes I could see all was exactly as he had left it. A thick shroud of dust covered the desk and mantelpiece. Even Pietro had not been in there.

I dared to light a single candle, then sat at the desk. It felt strange to sit in his chair, yet not altogether wrong. I hesitated, then one by one opened the drawers of the desk. I knew not what I sought, only that it was there, and that I would recognize it once I found it. There were sheaves of parchment, feathered quills, a small knife for trimming pen tips, bottles of ink, and sealing wax. Mundane things. Then, in the last drawer I found it, just as I had been sure I would—a silver key.

Standing, I gazed around the library. There—in all my visits to that room I had never seen it before. I suppose my attention had always been on him, but for the first time my eyes seemed to seek it out: a small cabinet lurking in a corner behind a globe of the Earth. I moved to it.

The cabinet was plain, save for a single keyhole. The key fit, and I opened the doors. Inside were two shelves. One held a row of books. The other contained stacks of papers, as well as a small wooden box.

The writing on the spines of the books made little sense to me, though it was clear from flipping through them that all pertained to various magical arts—with the exception of the art of alchemy. Interesting, perhaps, but they could tell me nothing that might help me just then. The loose papers were no more illuminating. From what I could tell they referred to various business dealings—deeds and notes and the like, that was all.

My eyes fell again upon the box. It was small and quite plain, without latch or lock. All the same, for some reason I trembled as I lifted it, and I opened the lid with fumbling fingers.