Lyra and Grayson needed that box, but all they had were the old billionaire’s keys. There were a hundred and seven of them on the ring—elaborate, bespoke keys, each bearing a unique design. Some were gold. Some were copper, bronze, or silver. White or black iron. Rose gold. Platinum. There were keys that looked rusted and keys that shone like they’d been polished just hours before, keys that boasted embedded jewels and keys that looked plain in comparison.
There were keys for each letter of the alphabet, keys that bore numbers or complicated shapes. There was an apple key and one depicting a pair of cherries. A harp key and another with a violin. An eagle. A scorpion. A snake.
The old man told me once, Grayson had said the night before,that the story of his life was in these keys. I should have realized he meant that literally.
And that meant somewhere on that key ring, there could be one or more keys that told the story of Alice’s death, of Tobias’s realization that she was alive—the story of the Gilded Blade. But there was no key bearing a lily, no key depicting a hand, not a monoceros or a unicorn in sight, though two other mythical creatures, a mermaid and a dragon, each made an appearance.
“I’ve started trying to identify all of the keys whose meaning I can decipher as parts of my grandfather’s life story that I recognize.” Grayson didn’t have to so much as turn his head to know that Lyra was awake.
She sat up. “If you got less than four hours of sleep,” she told Grayson, “I feel pretty confident Nash is going to start the day by kicking your ass.”
“He can try.” Grayson didn’t even blink. He just looked down at the palm of his left hand. In it, Lyra could make out a rock, a smooth, plain stone.
Seeing the direction of Lyra’s gaze, Grayson uncurled his fingers a bit, revealing words carved into the stone’s surface:IT GOES BOTH WAYS.
“The other side has a Latin phrase,” Grayson told Lyra. “One Avery heard me say when my brothers and I had known her for only a very brief time.”
“Latin forfamily?” Lyra guessed.
“She is one of us. We protect her.”Grayson translated the phrase, then set the stone gingerly down on the nightstand and returned his attention to the keys. “These four keys,” he told Lyra, pulling a sequence of keys out one by one, “all depict eyes. Look at the jewels the old man chose for the pupils: a tiger’s eye, a brown diamond, an emerald, and a tourmaline.”
The last of the four gemstones was a pale grayish blue. The emerald was a vivid green, the other two distinct shades of brown.
“It’s the four of you,” Lyra realized. “You and your brothers—the stones are the colors of your eyes.”
“One key for each of us,” Grayson said quietly. “I wonder how long the old man waited after we were born to make them. Long enough for our eyes to settle on a color, I suppose. There are other keys I’ve deciphered as well. I know the exact moment the violin key refers to. The snake almost certainly corresponds to a tale of misplaced daring on Jameson’s part when he was seven. The tree on this one?” Grayson pulled another key. “That story involves XanderandNash.”
“How many keys have you identified?” Lyra asked.
“Thirty-one.”
That left seventy-six keys whose meaning was up in the air. “Who would know more of your grandfather’s life story, the parts of it youdon’tknow?”
“Zara,” Grayson answered immediately “Nan. Oren, who was the old man’s head of security before he was Avery’s. And each of my brothers likely knows at least a few stories that I do not.”
If there was information about the Gilded Blade in Tobias Hawthorne’s key ring, it would be a lot easier to find it if they could narrow in on a small number of keys whose meaning was unknown.
“What about Alice’s box?” Lyra moved onto the next item on her mental list. “Where do we start if we want to find it?”
“Hawthorne House has nearly two dozen secret passages,” Grayson replied, “and those are just the ones we know about. Add in hidden compartments, drawers, and chambers, and that number easily quadruples. The House stands at roughly forty thousand square feet, and that’s not even touching on the grounds or the tunnels that run beneath the estate.”
Forty thousand square feet.That number didn’t even compute for Lyra.
“Proverbial needle in a haystack,” Lyra summarized.
In reply, Grayson swung his feet over the side of the bed, then stood. Lyra went to follow him, then realized he was heading for his suite’s massive bathroom. She stopped dead in her tracks.
“I need to shave.” That was all the explanation Grayson offered, but he left the door to the bathroom open.
Lyra gave him space, right up to the point that she decided that space was the last thing Grayson needed right now. By the time she stepped through the open door, Grayson had already applied a thin layer of shaving cream to his face and neck. A blade—the old-fashioned kind, not a modern razor—gleamed in his hand.
It figured that Grayson Hawthorne was the kind of guy who shaved in a way that left zero margin for error.
“What’s your grandfather saying in your head right now?” Lyra asked, coming up behind Grayson in the mirror.
“That there’s no such thing as a needle in a haystack.” Grayson slid the blade over and down his skin with military precision. “There are just people who know where and how to look and people who don’t.” He rinsed the blade in the sink, then brought it back to his face once more. “Your turn,” he told Lyra, after his next pass.
“To shave?” For a split second, Lyra could imagine the weight of the old-fashioned razor in her hand, imagine herself shavinghim.