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“She’s placed in a crowded, bustling, disorderly scene. And yet, she remains wholly detached, immune to the chaos surrounding her. Her gaze is fixed on something beyond the visible—beyond anything we, the viewer, can see.” Catching Arthur’s slight nod, an unspoken cue to continue, I go on. “Some claim it’s a sort of spiritual self-portrait of the artist himself—representing the solitude and melancholy involved in creative endeavors.”

“And you,” Arthur probes, his interest clearly piqued. “What do you think?”

Releasing a breath, I say, “To me, it speaks of elevation, ascension, or maybe even transcending the immediate in the hope of grasping something profound.”

Arthur’s piercing gaze holds mine, igniting a spark of resolve that instantly dispels any lingering sense of fatigue. “And what might that be?” he asks. “This profound thing that you hint at?”

“For one thing”—I slip a hand from my pocket and gesture toward the engraving—“notice the caliper in her hand.” I point toward the object in the angel’s grasp. “Traditionally, they’re used for measuring the gap or scope between two points. Which makes me wonder if it might symbolize her attempt to approximate the distance between her current existence in this worldly domain and a higher celestial realm from which she may originate.”

Arthur nods, urging me to continue.

“And see this ladder?” I motion toward the ladder that leans against a windowless structure. “It has no visible beginning or end, and yet seven rungs are distinctly displayed. In numerology, the number seven pertains to matters of spiritual inquiry and introspection. It symbolizes the thinkers, the seekers, those committed to delving beyond the surface to unearth deeper truths.”

As I speak, my confidence surges. Though I’m not entirely sure where any of this originates from, I can’t help but wonder if this is some of the knowledge the Mystery School Elder imparted.

“Sevens are the investigators, the analysts,” I continue, the words practically leaping off my tongue. “Those who know that the details are the key to true understanding. And to me, that’s what this picture is truly about. This artwork mirrors a profound journey—a quest not just for knowledge, but for deeper comprehension. All these tools that surround her, they’re not just some random assortment of objects, but rather symbolic tools to aid in her exploration of life’s intricacies, of her own existence, of the process of creation, and perhaps most ambitiously…” I pause for a breath, locking eyes with Arthur once more. “…of the elusive nature of time itself.”

After a brief silence, I point to another detail on the engraving. “Also, see this?” My finger rests above a square divided into sixteen smaller squares, each with a different number etched inside. “It’s a magic box. No matter which way you add the numbers—vertically, horizontally, or diagonal—the total always equals thirty-four.”

I glance at Arthur, checking to see if he’s still following, and he nods for me to continue.

“If we look at this from a numerology standpoint—apart from the master numbers eleven, twenty-two, and thirty-three, of course—you always calculate down to a single digit. So in this case, when you add the three with the four, you get seven. Which just so happens to match the number of rungs on the ladder.”

Arthur regards me with a look of deep contemplation. “I see,” he finally says, his expression flat, giving nothing away. “Anything else?”

“There’s a body of water in the distance,” I continue. “Which often symbolizes time, and beyond that is a rainbow. But, since the sky is darkened, lit only by a comet, a star, or as some suggest, Saturn, my guess is this scene is unfolding under the cover of darkness. Which would imply the rainbow is a lunar rainbow—the kind visible only at night, manifesting in ethereal shades of black, white, and gray—a sort of ghostly mirror to the moon’s luminescence.”

I pause to catch my breath, astonished by my own words.Did I really just say all that? And did Arthur notice how that last bit didn’t even sound like me?

And yet there’s more, so much more. The words crowd at the edge of my mind, practically begging to be spoken. “That sort of rare and elusive phenomenon,” I say, “hints at the extraordinary—at the thresholds of perception where the edges of light and shadow merge and blend into one. It’s as if the engraving whispers of those moments when the veil between the worlds thins, offering a glimpse into the profound mysteries of being.”

Um, okay…

My heart slams hard against my ribs as I sneak a glance at Arthur, worried I’ve said too much, or perhaps not enough, or simply come across as having just had a serious break from reality.

“And the hourglass?” He gestures toward the object that’s positioned to the left of the magic square.

“It represents time,” I say, stating the obvious. “But not merely the passage of time, rather its poignancy—the transient, fleeting nature of existence, the boundaries of human knowledge and achievement, and”—my eyes lock with Arthur’s, a silent challenge in my gaze—“the inevitability of death.”

Like my father’s death.

And Braxton’s father’s death and his grandfather’s death, too.

And all the other deaths that were either directly, or indirectly, caused by you.

If Arthur reads the challenge, he gives no indication. Instead, he says, “Once again, your insights are impressive.” With a practiced gesture, he drapes the cloth back over the engraving. “I’ll have this piece sent to your room, so you’ll have time to study it in more depth.”

“Any particular reason?” I ask, my belly tightening with trepidation, not sure I want to hear the explanation.

Arthur fixes me with a probing look. “My hope is that it will lead you to the next Get.”

I pause, curious to hear what that might be.

“I want you to bring me the Star,” he says.

First the Sun, then the Moon, and now the Star. Despite the many pieces still left to find, I need to figure out what’s driving his obsession so I can put an end to it soon.

“You all right?” he asks, his attention drawn to my arm where my fingers absently scratch at the stretch of blue fleece that covers the spot where my new mark resides.