Page 29 of Atlas of Unknowable Things

Instinctively, I let go, and my chest nearly bursting, I kicked off the metal and swam up as fast as I could.

As I surged through the surface layer, air flooded my lungs, and I had a momentary sense of complete and total gratitude before remembering that I still had to make it to the beach.

Gasping for air, my head straining out of the water, I raced for the shore, doing whatever I could just to propel myself to safety.

My thoughts spiraled, but I tried to calm myself.

Whatever was going on here, I could think about it later.

For now, all I needed to think about was getting out of the lake.

As soon as I was in waist-deep water, I stood and pushed through the rest of the way to the shore, where I collapsed on the sand. I lay there longer than I should have, my chest heaving, my body shaking. Staring up at the early-morning sun, I tried to reorient myself.

When I finally pushed myself up to sit and gazed out at the water, myriad questions flashed through my mind, but they were all drowned out by two overriding ones: What the hell was at the bottom of that lake, and why were they trying to keep it from getting out?

I took a nap when I got back, sleeping fitfully into the late morning, and when I awoke, I was disoriented and confused.

Rattled by everything I’d found out on that island, I barely knew where to begin.

They were growing an ancient plant, there was something seriously messed up going on with the lake, and these people knew Paloma.

I needed answers, but I also knew that getting them was going to be next to impossible.

I’d discovered all of these things by doing the main thing I’d been told not to do.

If they found out what I’d done, they could rescind my residency at any time and send me packing, and then I’d never find the relic.

When I went up to lunch, I was in something of a state.

Unhinged, angry, I decided it was time to stop being polite.

I knew I couldn’t mention the silphium or the lake, but I could figure out a way to find out about Paloma.

I had to. I still hadn’t been able to get ahold of her, and although I’d been telling myself that my fears were unfounded, I now had reason to believe she was connected to this place, connected to Isabelle. What if she was in danger as well?

I must have seemed distracted as I toyed with my grilled branzino and potatoes lyonnaise.

“Are you feeling all right?” asked Aspen. “You’re quiet today.”

I looked up from my food to see the four of them staring at me. “As they say, Celui qui ne comprend pas devrait apprendre ou se taire.”

“Who does not understand should learn or be silent,” Finn translated.

“I saw it out front when I first arrived. John Dee, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Dorian.

I set my fork down. “Why John Dee?”

“He was a prominent mathematician,” said Aspen.

“He was also an occultist. Seems like a strange choice.”

Aspen laughed. “He was the court advisor to Elizabeth I.”

I turned and looked toward the kitchen. “I’ve been wondering, I never see any kitchen staff. Who is making all this delicious food?” I didn’t mention that I’d seen Paloma dressed as a maid standing in this very room. I would leave that out for now.

“Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity,” I said, but then I had an idea. “Also, I’ve been thinking about writing an article about Hildegard.”

They looked at me blankly.

“What?” Lexi said after a moment.

“I’m just interested in the history of the place, and until I can find Casimir’s artifact, I think this might be a good use of my time. I find Hildegard fascinating. So really, where is the kitchen staff? Can I meet them?”

Finn, Lexi, and Dorian looked unnerved, but Aspen was unfazed. She slid some fish onto her fork and lifted it to her mouth. “There is no kitchen staff,” she said after she’d swallowed.

I laughed. “Then who is making the food?”

“Lexi is,” said Aspen with an authoritative nod.

Looking remarkably like a deer caught in headlights, Lexi took a generous sip of her wine. “Yes,” she said uneasily. “It’s me.”

It was such a ludicrous lie that I didn’t even bother to hide my disbelief. “My compliments,” I said, and she raised her glass in thanks before brushing a lock of blond hair nervously behind her ear.

“What about during the school year? Surely a tenured professor of behavioral psychology isn’t making food for the entire campus.”

“Of course not.” Dorian laughed.

“So the regular kitchen staff, would it be possible to get a list of their names?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m not at liberty to share their contact information. It would be a breach of privacy.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lexi, her tone thick with sarcasm, “but you’re writing an article about Hildegard? How can that possibly intersect with your current research?”

“I’m a historian,” I said stiffly. “I’m interested in the history of the college. For instance, Finn tells me you all grew up here, but I’m having trouble understanding this. You all grew up here, went to school here, and then what, started teaching here? This is beginning to sound a little culty.”

“No,” said Dorian. “We went away for our undergraduate and graduate degrees, but this is our home, and we return to care for it.”

That seemed like an odd turn of phrase. “You realize this is strange, though, right? That’s not how academia works.

You don’t grow up together at a college and then all get jobs at that same college.

What about the postdocs, the visiting jobs, the hellish adjunct positions? You have to admit this isn’t normal.”

The others were growing increasingly agitated as I spoke, but Aspen seemed calmly interested, like she wanted to see where I was going with my line of inquiry.

“What about Isabelle? Did she grow up here as well?”

“No, she came to us much later,” said Aspen. “Recruited because of her exceptional talent.”

“But what did she do exactly?”

“That’s not something we can disclose,” she said. “She worked with very sensitive material. It came with her position.”

“I see. And what sensitive material would that be?”

Dorian held up a chiding finger and laughed. “That is exactly the kind of information we can’t disclose.”

My thoughts drifted to the night I was awakened by the siren, back to the idea of animal testing. “Did it have anything to do with the dogs?”

He looked confused. “Dogs? No.”

“I was just thinking about that night, about the siren. It seemed like something of an oversize reaction for a dog getting out. It got me wondering exactly how dangerous these dogs of yours are.”

He looked at me straight on, unblinking. “They are for security. They are only dangerous when they are supposed to be.”

“That’s the weird thing, though. If they’re for security, why do I never see them? What exactly are they guarding?”

In response, though, he just gave me a broad smile, and then turned his attention to his meal. Lunch wrapped up quickly after that, the others scattering like I was Typhoid Mary. Clearly I was hitting some nerves.

A storm rolled in that afternoon. It came down hard and fast beginning around four.

I holed up in the scriptorium during the worst of it, but even though I was belowground, I could hear how loud it was—terrible, lashing rain and ominous thunder.

I worked until well past what sounded like another raucous dinner and on into that time of night when the house was beginning to shut down for the evening.

Finn and Aspen separately came in to say good night, and I assured them that I would turn off any lights and lock up before I left.

The storm was still raging when I did finally give up for the night, and as I hurried from the library and out into the night, I had a feeling once again that I was being watched.

The storm had brought with it frigid temperatures, the likes of which I’d yet to feel at Hildegard, and by the time I made it into the cabana, I was soaked and shivering.

After changing into dry clothes, I made myself some tea and then double-checked that all the doors were locked before sitting at my desk.

Rain lashed against the windows, and thunder echoed through the mountains.

When lightning lit up the sky a few seconds later, I thought I caught movement in the garden just out of the corner of my eye.

Quickly I turned off the lights and stared out at the patio.

But there was nothing there. Just torrents of rain splashing against the flagstones.

Sinking onto the couch, I cradled my tea, and despite the warmth, I shivered.

I felt like a fawn isolated from the herd as a pack of wolves slowly surrounded it, closing in, preparing for the sacrificial feast.