I awake buried under the covers; the room has gotten quite cold overnight. I don’t feel Mireille close to me. I peek out from under the covers just as she comes out from the bathroom. Without a word, she comes over to my side of the bed, picks up a pillow from the floor, and puts it back on the bed.
“Did I do that?” I ask, sniffling as the cold air from the room hits my windpipe.
“You had a busy night.” She yanks open a drawer from the dresser.
“I’m sorry.” I let my eyes wander back to the picture taped on the wall. I know I was there last night, even though I can’t remember details this morning.
“You called out for help.” She sits down on the edge of the bed, and leans over to finish dressing.
But no one came… A sudden flash of terror overtakes me, and I choke out loud.
“Did you say something?” Mireille looks up at me. I shake my head, not wanting her to hear the fear I know must be in my voice.
“I’ll call down for breakfast. You’ll feel better after you eat.” She stands and reaches for the phone.

I take another sip of tea. Other than the tea, breakfast has been quite good.
“Sure you don’t want anything else?” Mireille asks Henry, who stands inside our living room door.
“No my lady, thank you.” He smiles and nods his head. I’ve started to like him. He reminds me of a large, short-haired dog.
A tap at the door and the sound of a voice is heard, and Henry opens the door. Marchaud, our outside sentinel, enters the room. He’s the same age or perhaps even older than Uncle; he’s thin and tall, and his hair and mustache are grey like Uncle’s.
“Telegram for Lady Bouquet.” He hands the paper to Henry, nods at us, and closes the door again. Henry walks over to our table and hands Mireille the telegram. She frowns at it, then opens it.
There’s another tap at the door and Uncle enters. I smile at him but his face tells me something is wrong. Watching him walk, his limp seems to have worsened overnight. He looks tired; I guess this situation is taking its toll on all of us.
“Good morning, Kirika.” He pats my head with a hand that seems to lack any energy. “How are you settling in here?”
“Just fine.” I motion for him to sit down. He looks at Mireille, who is still reading, her frown not entirely gone.
“What have you got there?” he asks. “A telegram?”
“From Droger.” She glances up at him. “Apologizing for his behavior yesterday.”
“I thought he did that already with all those cards and flowers.” Uncle frowns himself and leans forward, extending his hand. “May I see it?”
“No. You may not.” Mireille says calmly, looking back at him. There is an uneasy moment of silence. Why is she being like this?
“Mireille- please…” I blurt out, unable to take the tension any longer.
“It’s addressed to me.” She says firmly, and folds it in half. Uncle straightens up, and adjusts his jacket. He gives me a look that makes me nervous.
“In which case, on to our next matter of business.” He nods his head toward the teapot, and I push the tea tray over to him.
“There was a fire last night at the Jovan abbey.” He pours his tea as he speaks. “Are either of you familiar with that name?”
I look at Mireille, and she shakes her head. We both turn and look back at Uncle.
“After you left the Manor, we returned the book to its original resting place. The Jovan abbey.” He slowly stirs the sugar into his tea. “As of this morning, very little of the abbey remains.”
“The book...” I suddenly feel weak. I look at Mireille, her mouth open in shock. “The book was destroyed in the fire?”
“The fire was deliberately set.” Uncle rolls his spoon between his fingers, then sets it down and looks at us.
“Droger?” Mireille asks, and Uncle nods his head.
“The book…burned.” I whisper, unable to believe it’s gone. The weak feeling remains, and I involuntarily shiver.
“I fear it wasn’t burned.” Uncle clears his throat. “Far worse- I believe Droger has it.”

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