The Lost Codex Read online

  Is this all there is to life?

  The sun makes love to the horizon. I release my fingers and rise. It is time to ensure my father’s dinner reaches the table.

  On a perfectly ordinary afternoon, after arriving home from another dull tea and marriage talk, I find my father slumped in his favorite chair, a picture of my mother in one hand. The cook is in town, shopping. The gardener is outside tending his plants, as the sun is miraculously shining. It is the maid’s day off.

  I lower myself onto the bench before him, eyes dry yet stinging. My chest heaves. He does not appear to be in pain.

  Only a broken heart, which is perhaps the worst pain of all.

  What little purpose I had is now gone.

  Bleakness unlike any I have ever known stretches out before me, vast and far as the eye can see. I pluck strands of my hair out, one at a time, until a soft pile grows in my lap.

  When I am assured that my voice will not crack, I make my way outside and ask the gardener to fetch the town doctor. And then I head inside and begin a list of all of the things I must do in the coming days and weeks.

  PLEASE COME TONIGHT. I have to see you.

  There is a plaintive whine, a desperation to Leopold’s note, one increasingly all the more evident lately, even in written form. Despite the circumstances, it isn’t attractive in the slightest.

  Sometimes, I wonder if I left my physical heart in Wonderland alongside my crown.

  I fold the unsigned note and tuck it into a desk drawer, massaging my forehead. I already planned on attending Lord and Lady Ashbury’s ball tonight, although a lingering headache tempts me to send late regrets.

  A knock on my door brings a maid bearing a bouquet of primroses. “These just arrived. They came with no note, Miss Alice, but aren’t they pretty?” She fusses with the leaves after she situates the vase on a table.

  She knows just as well as I do who sent the flowers. It isn’t exactly the first time the Prince of England sent me a bouquet, and since his mother issued her stringent edict, his deliveries have doubled.

  I thank Edwina, and she leaves. I stare at the flowers, simple flowers who have no faces or voices, and wonder why I cannot be bothered to feel anything other than mild pleasure or irritation toward them.

  I tug a stem from the vase and rub the petals against my cheek. Against the pads of my fingers.

  Feel something, dammit.

  I toss the poesy into the wastebin.

  I first met Leopold when I was collecting my father’s personal items from his office at Oxford. The prince was finishing his education, and I suppose it was comforting to make the acquaintance of a learned man who did not care about trivial matters. Or, at least, in those early days, he did not portray himself in such a way. He was charming and intelligent, and I was egotistically blinded by his crown, assuming him an equal. Our conversations were political, not superficial. We argued good-naturedly for hours. We debated, and not once did we discuss advantageous marriages or horse racing. For months, we danced around the friendship we built, and for the first time since I returned from Wonderland, I almost felt as if I’d come close to finding a bit of myself.

  Leopold took me for a boat ride on a cool yet sunny afternoon. Willow trees wept all around us. He kissed me, oars still in hand. His lips were gentle against mine, smooth and closed. I felt nothing except mild pleasure, but I accepted it, because Leopold was a flash of light in the bleakness before me. Soon, he informed his mother he was in love with a commoner—at least to his knowledge—and his mother, the grand Queen Victoria, informed him he must discard me immediately.

  At first, I bristled, incensed at her proclamation. She dare find me, the Queen of Diamonds, unfit for her son?

  And then it came, slowly, then quickly, a dam crumbling beneath a torrent of a storm: I had been ready to settle. I, the Queen of Diamonds, who knew the strength and beauty of true love, almost settled with a man whom I shared no viable chemistry with. Someone who did not hold my heart, because I would never think to willingly give it to him.

  Would I tear apart England to be with him?

  I knew the answer. I did not even have to take time to consider it.

  I will go to the ball tonight, to tell him in person that his mother is right. He deserves his happy ending. My affections for him are true enough for those wishes.

  The crush of the crowd leaves beads of sweat tracing paths down my neck less than a quarter of an hour after arrival. Leopold has his spies looking for me, so the moment I’m spotted, I am escorted to a private balcony upstairs.

  He is quite handsome tonight, fashionable and the epitome of every English lady’s dream. I curtsy; the moment the door shuts behind the servant who showed me the way, Leopold rushes over to take hold of my hands. “Sweet, lovely Alice. You are a divine sight tonight. I was worried you might not show.” The prince presses several kisses upon the palms of my hands, an action that would send most ladies downstairs swooning straight to the ground.

  My spine, instead, stiffens in resolve. “Leo, we must talk.”

  Another kiss is offered, against the inside of a wrist. Surely another swoon-worthy moment for any other woman. He deserves better than me, better than a woman whose heart and purpose were carved out by a prophecy.

  “I truly feel that if Mother meets you, she will change her mind.”

  I squeeze his hands and then gently extract myself. I step away, steeling myself against the confusion and hurt before me. “Her Majesty desires the best for you, for England.”

  Betrayal adds to the mix of his messy emotions. “I should know my own heart!”

  As do I. Part of me wants to tell him my story, explain how it is I came to be this person. Part of me will miss this prince. While I know he is not my match, that we are not meant to be, he is a soul that I like very much.

  I will miss him. At times, I believe I will miss him quite keenly.

  I tell him a lesson I have learned most painfully. “As a royal, sometimes you must put crown above heart.”

  Leo gapes, outrage staining the pale skin peeking from his collar. “I am willing to break with the crown for you. With the queen.”

  I tell him calmly, “I refuse to allow you to do that.”

  If he believes he can intimidate me into changing my mind by staring at me the way he is, sizzling me with an intensity I have never seen from him before, he is sorely mistaken. I have faced more belligerent monarchs than him before. I have sacrificed greater.

  I will not settle. I am worth more than that.

  I close the space between us, reaching up to touch his smooth cheek. I press a kiss against it, inhaling the musky smell of his expensive cologne. No Bread-and-butter-flies search for flowers within my chest. No tears spill down my cheeks. I do not even wish to pull my hair out. “I will always think of you with great fondness, Leo. I hope you will do the same for me.”

  He whispers, “I love you, Alice. This cannot be how our story ends.”

  I walk through the doors and back down the stairs.

  I do not leave the ball. I do, however, find a waiter with champagne and have myself a glass. And then I allow myself to be pulled into several conversations by several nitwits who discuss their marriage prospects and carefully avoid asking about mine, long accepting I am unavoidably now a spinster, or better yet, as the gossip mill is churning, soon to be Prince Leopold’s mistress. Painfully polite gentlemen request to dance with me, and each time I am on the dance floor, I can feel the weight of Leo’s eyes.

  It is better this way.

  My head pounds. The volume in the room is deafening. I escape to the dessert table in search of sweets and possibly punch, and while there, I map out exit routes. Just as I am reaching for a crème puff, someone knocks into me, tipping my plate to the ground.

  “My sincerest apologies,” a rich, warm voice says as a tawny-haired gentleman bends to clean up the fallen food.

  “You need not do that,” I tell him at the same moment a waiter rushes forward to assume
the job.

  The gentleman straightens, his cheeks flushed just the slightest. And . . . frabjous. I am certain my own have pinked just a teeny bit, because heavens, is the man before me handsome. Tall and sandy-haired, eyes an alluring shade somewhere between blue and gray, he smiles at me winsomely yet ruefully all at once. “I’ve never been to a ball so crowded.” He holds up his hands. “That’s no excuse, though. You have my sincerest apologies for knocking into you, Miss. . .?”

  “Liddell.” I offer a cool smile, even though my pulse skips a beat. “Miss Alice Liddell.”

  If I am not mistaken, the corners of his mouth lift a bit higher. “Miss Liddell, I am delighted to make your acquaintance, even if it is under such poor circumstances. My name is Finn Van Brunt.”

  Finn. I like the name.

  He bows; I curtsy. I ask, reluctant to move away yet, “You are American?”

  He leads us to the side of the table, away from the guests desperate for Lady Ashbury’s decadent crème puffs. “I am. Is it that obvious?”

  It is, although I do not tell him this. “Which part are you from, if I may be so bold to ask?”

  “Originally Missouri, but I live in New York now.”

  I use the moment to peruse him. His suit is impeccable—dark and tailored, not as flashy as so many of the other gentlemen’s. His collar is snowy white. He doesn’t stand rigidly, not the way Society dictates. Everything about him is done so assuredly, as if he knows himself and is comfortable with that person.

  I am envious and intrigued all at once.

  “And now you are in London,” I muse lightly, curiosity burning throughout my veins like a wildfire throughout the Dark Meadows during summer, “attending the Ashbury’s ball.”

  “I’m in town for business,” he confirms, his blue-gray eyes holding me to where I stand. A moment passes, but then he leans in and says quietly, almost naughtily, “May I tell you a secret?”

  I ought to place a proper amount of space between us, but goodness, does this gentleman smell frabjous. Is that mint? “Is it scandalous or worthy?”

  He accepts a drink from a passing waiter; I do the same. I ignore inquisitive eyes discreetly studying us from all around the room. The Ice Queen and the American Stranger. “Earlier today, I very nearly went home when my partner left. You see, work wasn’t going the way we’d wanted. This particular assignment has been been. . .” He presses his lips together, amused. “Let’s just say it’s been a hell of job that’s really tested my patience for several years.”

  I say mildly, “Mr. Van Brunt, I am terribly scandalized at your use of profanity in polite society.”

  He sips his champagne slowly, eyes never leaving mine. “Should I stop telling my secret?”

  “Oh no.” I, too, take a sip. “If you do, I might be forced to do something drastic. Perhaps the vapors might take hold. And then you will feel obliged to finish, your guilt will be so heavy.”

  He laughs then, and it is so lovely that I cannot help but to wish to laugh, too. Really laugh, in just such a way I have not done in too long.

  “You don’t look like the sort of lady who partakes in the vapors.”

  “You are right. Nevertheless, you must continue.”

  He nods, and takes another sip of his champagne. “My partner wanted to head home. But I had a feeling that despite all of my . . . challenges over the last few years, this day was different. So I came here, to this ball.”

  As he finishes his drink, I murmur, “That is a terrible story, with an unsatisfying end. You would be a wretched author.”

  This, too, amuses him. And his mirth, I realize, makes him . . . attractive.

  I am stunned.

  “Would you dance with me, Miss Liddell?”

  I am ashamed to admit that no answer emerges.

  “I promise you that, while I am an American, my mother did her best to make sure I’m not an embarrassment on the dance floor.”

  I fight for words. For clarity. The Bread-and-butter-flies found their flowers after all. “Oh, she has, has she?”

  I am attracted to someone. Me. I am attracted to a stranger. Well over a year after I was exiled from Wonderland, and I meet an American of all people at the Ashbury’s ball.

  “She loves to dance, and throws parties all the time,” he’s saying. “My brother and I took dance lessons for years.” He holds out a hand. Not an arm, but a hand.

  And still, I hesitate.

  My heart is in Wonderland, isn’t it? I left it with my crown.

  “While we dance,” he says, his voice lowering, eyes still holding mine, “I’ll tell you a better story. One I think you will like.” The hand stretches closer, alluring. “Are you ready for an adventure, Alice?”

  My heart skips as I stare into those blue-gray eyes.

  I take hold of his hand.

  “NO, NO. NOT LIKE that.” I set the bucket down and stand behind Alice. I reach up and grab one of the apples clustered on the low-hanging branch. “You twist and then pull. You never just try to yank it off the tree.”

  She leans back against me, smelling like apple blossoms even though they’re long gone. It’s a gorgeous fall day. The air is crisp, with just a hint of fog rolling through Opa’s apple grove. New York in the fall, no matter what Timeline or century, is incomparable.

  “Like this?” She twists and tugs an apple, and it gives way with no resistance.

  I kiss the base of her throat. “Exactly.”

  She drops the fruit into the bucket and turns around, her arms curving around me. Her lips brush across mine, and my pulse jumps. Two years after our first meeting, and each touch, each day, feels just as intense as the very beginning. “Remind me how long we can stay? Please say forever. At least for right now, in this moment, say forever.”

  After the last year’s heavy rotation of catalyst collections, we are more than due for a vacation. Even now, even though she’s obviously blissful at my Opa’s farm, I wish it could be somewhere else, somewhere where it’s just the two of us. But my mother wouldn’t take no for an answer. She patted my cheek, like I was sixteen rather than nearly thirty, and said, “Your grandfather’s birthday is a family tradition, Finn. We spend it in Sleepy Hollow.”

  I kiss Alice as leaves float on the gentle, perfumed breeze around us. I whisper against her mouth, “We can stay forever.”

  She touches my cheek, her lips lingering on the spot her fingers marked. “Now tell me what the Librarian gave you before we left the Institute.”

  I definitely can think of better things to discuss than work. “Details on our next assignment. Or at least, what she considered to be details. It’s going to be . . . different.”

  Interest piqued, she pulls away and wraps her brown sweater tighter across her shoulders. Although she originally hails from Victorian England, it is always jarring to see her wearing anything other than Twenty-First-Century clothing. “How so?”

  I collect our bucket and we stroll down the vast grove, back toward Baltus Van Tassel’s house. “She wants us to find a book.”

  She tucks her arm in mine, her head resting on my shoulder. “Why is this different?”

  How to explain? “The Librarian said our mark was a special book that would probably have empty pages. She doesn’t even know what Timeline it’d be in, but it’s critical we find it so it can be protected. What’s really intriguing is that she added it would allow us to remember the past.”

  “Sounds like typical Librarian mumbo-jumbo mysticism.”

  I pause, wondering if I’ll sound crazy with the next part. But I tell Alice anyway. “I get the impression she was referring to us specifically.”

  “You and I?”

  I nod, our heads sliding comfortably together.

  “I wasn’t aware we’ve forgotten anything.” She squeezes my arm. “Although, I must say, when we first met, it was as if I were coming home. It still feels that way, as if I’ve always known you. Perhaps we knew and loved one another in a past life. It would explain a lot of things.”


  “Like?”

  She considers this. “Remember when you and Victor had too much to drink on that one mission, and you got the tattoo on your chest. I told you it was eerily, yet beautifully, familiar.”

  I chuckle. “To be fair, it’s the Queen of Diamonds insignia, so I would think it’d be familiar.”

  She snorts. “Do you remember when we were on a mission, and we were sleeping beneath the stars? That was the first time we called one another north star—at the same time, to boot. That cannot be mere coincidence.”

  Okay, yes, that was a bit miraculous.

  Alice hums. “I think I will help your mother make pies tonight.”

  I try, I really do, but a derisive laugh falls out of me anyway at her sudden change of topic. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

  “It could be fun.”

  In the distance, Mary and Victor sneak out of the barn, brushing hay off their clothes. Katrina asked them to pick apples, too, but the barn proved too alluring.

  I don’t want a quickie with Alice in a barn. I plan on spending all night making love to my warrior queen.

  “Fun for you is practicing with your daggers, not baking pies,” I say. “Since when are you interested in the culinary arts?”

  She hums serenely again. The sound is utterly addictive. “A lady can have many interests.”

  I kiss her forehead, wanting more than that but taking what I can get when I know we are needed back at the house. Supper must be close. “Bake away. Just don’t kill my mom.”

  My brother and his lady love head back into the main house. Alice asks as she watches them, “Do you think he’ll ever man up and put her out of her misery?”

  “Look at you, using all that Twenty-First-Century slang.”

  She pats my arm. “My point remains. I adore Mary, but if I have to listen to the marriage spiel one more time, I may use my daggers on her. There is more to conversation than marriage prospects. Why do so many people fail to understand this?”

  I know Victor loves Mary. She is the love of his life, just like Alice is mine. But he’s got a lot of demons, and I don’t know he can ever truly exorcise them, even for her.