The Cerulean (Untitled Duology, #1)(26)
She put the pencil down and cracked her knuckles. This one-night-only endeavor looked to be the splashiest of Xavier’s productions, as well as his last. She didn’t care a whit for her father’s plays, and she would be happy to see less anti-Talman shows being performed in Old Port. Agnes was not particularly religious, but it seemed to her that everyone in the world was required to ascribe to something, and as far as she could tell, science didn’t count. Talmanism didn’t seem as oppressive as Solitism; certainly not where women were concerned. But something about this new project left her with a cold feeling of dread that she couldn’t quite put her finger on—as if her father was moving past simple propaganda and on to something more dark and dangerous.
The candle sputtered and went out, dousing the lab in darkness. Agnes stood and stretched, then left her lab, locked it, and hid the key in its usual spot in an old jewelry box. She peered out her bedroom window; Creekwater Row was dimly lit with gas lamps and lined with brownstones as large and handsome as the one she lived in. All were silent and dark. The night air was thick with humidity.
Just as she was turning back, she heard a noise, like a hoot owl. It hooted twice, paused, then hooted again. Agnes went still.
“Eneas?” she called softly. The chauffeur stepped out from behind the motorcar, covered for the night in the driveway, and waved up at her. There was an envelope in his hand. Her knees turned to jelly. She pointed down toward the kitchen door and Eneas nodded and disappeared.
Agnes wanted to take the stairs two at a time, but she couldn’t risk waking anyone up, especially not Leo or her father. She froze when she saw the light was still on in his study, the door closed. Ever so cautiously, she crept to the kitchen, skirted the long table that dominated the room, copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, and eased the service door open. Eneas was bouncing on the balls of his feet, a wide grin spread across his face. Agnes put a finger to her lips and pointed in the direction of her father’s study. He nodded and handed her the envelope. She took it with trembling hands. The postmark was from Pelago.
She stared at her name, Miss Agnes McLellan written out in perfect curling script. And the return address: University of Ithilia. Academy of Sciences. The envelope was thick and cream-colored and made a satisfying rip as she opened it. The paper that fell out shook in her trembling grasp, and she read it in the faint light from the kitchen.
Dear Miss McLellan,
Thank you for your application to the University of Ithilia’s Academy of Sciences. I am pleased to inform you that your application has been accepted and you have successfully passed the first round of admissions. We invite you to submit a secondary essay for consideration, followed by an interview with the academy Masters, before the decision to officially offer you a place at the university is made. Please return your essay to us by the twelfth of September. Interviews will be scheduled the first week of October. We look forward to hearing from you.
All the best,
Magdalena Lokis
Dean of Admissions
University of Ithilia
“I passed,” she said breathlessly. She looked up at Eneas, her eyes brimming with tears. “I passed the first round of admissions!”
A bird screeched and took flight from a nearby dogwood, and Eneas wrapped her up in a tight hug.
“Your mother would be so proud,” he whispered. “Now get upstairs before your father sees you!”
Agnes nodded and whirled around, not daring to breathe until she was back in her room. She collapsed onto her bed and read the letter several times before it really began to sink in that she had been accepted. Well, there were still a few more hoops to jump through, but that was better than no hoops at all. The essay shouldn’t be a problem, but her heart sank at the thought of an in-person interview. How was she ever going to get to Pelago by the first week in October?
There was a second sheet of paper containing instructions for the essay. It was only one sentence, which read, Please describe in detail the bravest thing you have ever done in the name of science.
The first thing that came to mind was the day she had asked her father to build the lab for her, but that didn’t seem very brave if you didn’t know Xavier McLellan. And it wasn’t any sort of scientific discovery but more of a personal triumph. All her experiments felt silly and childish, not anything she would classify as brave.
She sat on the edge of her bed and chewed at her thumbnail. She had to stand out. She had to think of something impressive, something unique. . . .
It hit her in a flash. The sprites. What could be bolder than sneaking onto an expedition in the name of science? And for a magical creature, no less? She could discover a new species. That should get their attention. She could steal one away back to her lab to study it.
She’d have to be careful. If she was caught . . . well, she didn’t want to dwell on that thought. But Agnes knew in her heart that this was the thing that would set her apart. She clutched the letter and felt her world turning, shifting, moving closer to what she so desperately wanted it to be.
She slid off the bed and slipped her hand under the mattress, feeling around for the slit she’d cut into its underside, her fingers digging into it until they touched the sharp edge of her most sacred and illicit possession.
Ever since she could remember, Agnes had wondered why there were no pictures of their mother in the house. Until one day, when she was eleven and playing at being the great Pelagan explorer Cadhla Hope, she discovered a whole box of them in the attic. There were letters, and pictures, and even a ring. But Swansea had found her—she’d only just slipped the photograph into a pocket she’d sewn on her skirt before she was yanked away and sent to her room.