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Randall has worked ceaselessly to find the two remaining keys. That we have not yet done
     so is no fault of his. We have only one name — Helene Castilla — from the list Henry so zealously guarded, and we have been
     unable to locate someone with that name who also bears the mark. The prophecy dictates only that the remaining keys, like
     Sonia and Luisa, be marked with the Jorgumand and be born near Avebury at midnight on November 1, 1874. Nearly seventeen years
     have passed since the birth of the keys, and the spotty nature of birth records in the villages of England has done nothing
     to help our cause.
    Helene could reside anywhere in the world by now. She might even be dead.
    I try to ease Philip’s frustration. “Perhaps we should be grateful. If it were simple, someone else might find them before
     us.” He smiles with something like gratitude as I continue. “I’ve no doubt we will be back on track in short order.”
    He sighs, nodding. “There is never a shortage of leads, though once found, they are often endowed with nothing more than a
     birthmark or scar from a long-forgotten injury or burn. I suppose I’ll take a few days to review the newest reports and prioritize
     them before planning my next trip.” His eyes drift to the door of the library before returning to mine. “And you? Have you
     heard anything new?”
    My mood darkens with the question. It is impossible to believe that Aunt Abigail and the Grigori are unaware of Alice’smovements
     on the Plane and the forbidden use of her power. It is only a matter of time before I am summoned to Altus to retrieve the
     pages before Alice grows even stronger.
    I shake my head in answer. “But I may soon be departing on a journey of my own.”
    He sits up straighter. “A journey? Surely you don’t mean to travel alone?”
    “I’m afraid so. Well, Sonia will likely accompany me, and I imagine we will need a guide, but other than that, I suppose I
     will be quite alone.”
    “But… where will you go? How long will you be gone?”
    It is not often that I must keep something of importance from Philip. Hired by my father before his death, Philip knows more
     about the prophecy than any other person outside of it save our old coachman Edmund. But even still, I have guarded closely
     many details in the interest of Philip’s safety and mine. The Souls are forbidding, their power immeasurable. It is not impossible
     to believe they could find a way to use Philip for their own gain.
    I smile. “Let us simply say that it is a journey necessary to the prophecy and that I shall return as quickly as possible.”
    He stands suddenly, raking his fingers through his hair in a gesture of boyish frustration. It makes him look young, and I
     realize with a start that he may not be as old as I believed, despite the quiet confidence and wisdom that so reminds me of
     Father.
    “It is dangerous enough for you here in London; you cannot possibly consider such a journey.” All at once he straightens.
     “I will escort you myself.”
    I cross the room, taking his hands in mine. It does not feel at all improper, though I have not touched another man since
     leaving James behind in New York.
    “Dear Philip. That is impossible. I don’t know how long I will be gone, and it makes far more sense for you to continue searching
     for the keys while I see to this other bit of business. Besides, this part of the prophecy must be shouldered only by me,
     though I heartily wish it were not so.” I lean in and brush his cool cheek with the back of my hand. It is an unexpected impulse,
     though when his eyes darken I see that my surprise is no match for his. “It
is
kind of you to offer your company. I know well that you would join me if I would allow it.”
    He lifts his hand to his cheek, and I have the strangest feeling that everything said after my brief touch is forgotten. He
     does not mention my journey again.

    That night I travel to Birchwood. I no longer will