Emmy’s shoulders slumped. That’s what Master Barlowe had said, too. If her dad could communicate with Boyd and Barlowe, why couldn’t he communicate with her? Sending her a few cryptic letters last year definitely didn’t count.
“He’d like you to come with me to the Royal Bank of London,” Boyd said. “There’s a safe-deposit box there that he’d like you to open. And he said—and I’m assuming you know what this means, because I have no idea—that if you saved any of his relics, please bring them along.”
Emmy looked at Lola. They both knew exactly what Thomas meant.
The medallions.
Her father had stolen them years ago. He knew the medallions would open the Order’s secret vaults, and he didn’t want Jonas to get all the valuable artifacts inside. Emmy found the medallions before she went to Wellsworth, and when Jonas had cornered her, she pretended to throw them into the North Sea. Only Emmy, Lola, and their friend Jack knew that Emmy still had them. At least, that’s what Emmy had thought. Her dad must have guessed that she’d try to save them.
Emmy clutched at the straps on her backpack. “I have everything I need. Let’s go.”
A short while later, the three of them clambered into a black taxicab, Madam Boyd in the front, the girls in the back.
“Royal Bank of London on St. Martin’s le Grand,” Boyd told the driver. The cab lurched into traffic, and they started winding their way through the endless lines of cars headed downtown. “I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer through a bit of sightseeing after. Just in case someone’s…keeping an eye on us. We don’t want them to think too much about us stopping at the bank.”
“Did you get my last text?” Lola asked, completely ignoring the fact that her mom had just said that someone might be following them.
“About Jack?” Emmy asked.
Lola nodded.
“Yeah. Sounds like he’s ready for summer to be over.” Jack was their other best friend, and spending time with his family wasn’t his favorite thing.
Emmy leaned closer to Lola. “Do you know if his dad has said anything about…you know?” she asked. Jack’s father and older brothers were part of the Order. It made his friendship with Emmy a lot more complicated.
“I don’t think he’s told me anything he hasn’t told you,” Lola said. “Both his older brothers are still living at home, which isn’t exactly comfy. He’s excited that Oliver’s starting at Wellsworth, though.”
“Oh right, that’s his younger brother, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Jack’s hoping he can steer him away from you-know-what and generally keep him in line. I told him I’d help since I have such a great record of obedience.” She winked.
Emmy grinned and put her head on Lola’s shoulder. Two months of text messages were no substitute for actually being together.
Emmy hadn’t been in a car in London before, but it was a lot like the few times she’d been to New York City: lots of people, lots of cars, and nobody seemed to be getting very far. Finally, they crawled to a stop outside a rambling stone building.
“Here ya are, ladies,” the driver said. Emmy and Lola scrambled out of the cab while Madam Boyd paid the driver. The building was five stories high and made of thousands of gray and white stones. At the top was a fancy balcony that wound its way around the building, which took up an entire city block.
Emmy and Lola followed Madam Boyd inside. Instead of more stone, they were surrounded by dark wood that was so shiny it looked like someone polished it every day. They waited in line for one of the two dozen tellers to call them forward. The longer they waited, the more Emmy’s fingers twitched. What was in that safe-deposit box? And what did her dad want her to do with it?
“Next,” said a teller at the end.
Emmy, Lola, and Madam Boyd walked up to the desk. Emmy tried to focus on the bank teller’s kind face and not the knots in her stomach, but it wasn’t working.
“What can I do for you today?” the teller asked.
“We’re here to access a safe-deposit box,” Madam Boyd said as she handed the woman a key and an identification card. “Under the name Margaret Boyd.”
“Okay, it looks like everything is in order here. I just need to get the manager so we can go back to the vaults.”
The teller came back with another woman. “You can come back,” she said.
They followed her down the hallway, past offices and meeting rooms until they finally reached a heavy-looking door with a keypad beside it. The teller and the manager both entered codes and the door swung open, revealing a long line of new doors. These ones were huge and round, and there were two combination locks in between each one.
“Stay here, please,” the manager said. She and the teller walked down to a door and each of them started clicking the combination locks into place. A loud clack echoed off the concrete. The manager turned the metal rods on the front of the door and it slowly eased open.
“Only one of you can enter the vault,” she said. “I can stay out here with the children if you—”
“No,” Madam Boyd said, “this is Emmy’s box.” She pushed Emmy forward. “She’s the only one who should go in.”
The teller and the manager looked at each other. Part of Emmy hoped the manager would say no. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with whatever was inside.
The manager held a key out, dictating “Number 847.”
Emmy took a deep breath and walked in.
The vault was brighter than she expected, and bigger, too. There were rows and rows of thin boxes built into the walls. Number 847 was on the bottom, which was the only row with boxes that were tall enough to fit more than paper or jewelry. Somehow that made Emmy more nervous, like having a bigger box meant bigger trouble. She crouched down, put the key in the lock, and turned.
The box opened easily. It was lined with green velvet, and inside was a single piece of paper. She picked it up with a shaking hand and started to read:
Dear Emmeline,
If you have any relics, please leave them here. You’ve carried them long enough.
Sincerely,
A friend
Emmy turned the page over. That was it. That’s all her dad wanted. The medallions. It was always about the medallions.
She didn’t know what else she was expecting. She should have been relieved that there wasn’t some dangerous task, or something else that would throw her in the Order’s way again, but if he could find a way to leave a letter in this safe-deposit box, why couldn’t he leave something more meaningful?
She was about to take the medallions out of her bag when she saw something else, something that had been hidden under the letter. It was a photograph. And it made Emmy’s insides crawl.