‘There you are,’ Lottie breathed, reaching hungrily for her prize, until her fingers froze, confused by what she was seeing.
Not in all her wonderings had she imagined that Haru had been telling the truth: the box did indeed contain a diary.
Humming in thought, Lottie picked up the red leather notebook, flicking through the pages, hungry for a taste of anything she could use against Leviathan. The contents were not the instant clue she’d expected; in fact it was entirely empty until about halfway through where the pages erupted with lines and lines of Kanji and Hiragana, all of which she couldn’t read.
She only noticed her mistake once she reached a page with an upside-down sketch of a cat, and she couldn’t believe what a fool she’d been. The back of the book was, in fact, the front, meaning it must have been a notebook Haru had kept since he was in Japan.
A part of her thought that perhaps, once she turned it over, she might magically be able to understand the foreign characters, but that was pure optimism. As she began making her way through the diary from the correct side, she realized how hopeless it truly was.
Everything was in Japanese, not a single line in English. Here it was, right at her fingertips, probably everything she’d need to figure out what Leviathan were planning, everything they wanted, and Lottie couldn’t read a single word of it.
A sudden pain in her bottom lip let her know she’d bitten down too hard on it in frustration. Despite her efforts to remain calm, her eyes swam with tears that threatened to spill over on to the diary.
With time running out, she hurried through the pages, desperate to find anything at all that she could use, when her attention snagged on three numbers, ones that she knew very well because she saw them almost every day.
In elegant handwriting were four sets of three-digit Arabic numbers.
2 2 1
0 0 9
1 0 9
9 9 9
Underneath Haru had circled some Japanese text three times, clearly indicating that this was significant, but it was those three numbers at the top that had made her pause. They were the numbers of her dorm room.
Fingers shaking, Lottie grabbed a pen and jotted the numbers down on some scrap paper, along with the Japanese characters underneath. Even if she didn’t know what the other three numbers were, it had to link up; there had to be a reason for them all being together.
Her mind racing at the thought that she might have found something actually useful, Lottie’s shaking hands struggled to hold the diary steady as she placed it back in the box. And it was then that she felt it, the way the leather at the back of the notebook gave slightly, something hard underneath it, an odd feeling as if it were a creature trying to shed its skin.
Turning it over once more, Lottie ran her index finger along the seam on the inside of the back page to find that the paper tucked into the crease. All it took was a little push in the right direction and the inner page popped out.
The second it came loose, a dark obsession was revealed: pictures, drawings and notes tumbling to the floor, and every single one of them was connected to Jamie.
It was easy to identify Jamie’s elegant handwriting on the smaller scraps of paper, poetic notes he must have written down absent-mindedly while helping Haru with work, meaningless but pretty thoughts that Haru had felt precious enough to hold on to. Lottie rifled through, finding a dark wad of string that she held up to her eyes, and gasped, dropping it immediately as she realized it was a lock of Jamie’s hair.
Continuing to look through the items with a thundering calm, Lottie picked up each one with the same quiet dread of someone identifying a dead body.
Along with the scavenged musings of Jamie’s were photos and drawings of her Partizan, each one distinct in its own way, including a rare depiction of his smile. It was like a ghostly, twisted version of Lottie’s own art book. But there was one that stood out above the others, and the most confusing thing she’d seen so far. The photo was old, showing Jamie when he was much younger, no more than a child, yet staring at the camera with that same stony face he still wore now. It was strange enough that Haru would have such a thing, and yet there was something else that drew her to it. Haru had adorned Jamie’s head with gold ink to give him a crown of antlers.
Lottie picked up the photo with extra care, tilting it in the light to get a proper look, and, when she turned it over, the world stopped. Written on the back at the bottom in English were the words THE LITTLE PRINCE OF MARADOVA.
‘No.’ The word escaped her lips before her mind had even caught up, the truth of what she was seeing slowly emerging from the fog of denial in her head.
The evidence was there, whether she liked it or not, and what it was telling her was that somehow, though entirely unfathomable, Haru believed Jamie to be the prince of Maradova.
Why is Jamie your Partizan?
The question hit her so hard she jolted upright. Lottie stood up and immediately stumbled back to the door. She had enough sense to quickly place the diary and its contents back in the box and shove the other clues into her bag before she raced outside.
When she reached the laundry room, Max was gone, but Stephanie was there, picking at one of her long nails, which were decorated with a shell design.
‘That was quick.’ She looked as if she was about to make a joke, but her face fell when she looked at Lottie. ‘What did you find?’ Her voice had dropped an octave, a dark hunger there to know what could have terrified Lottie.
Lottie shook her head, shoving the box back into Stephanie’s hands, not able to articulate any of her discovery. ‘You need to get it back into Haru’s drawer. He can’t know I saw it.’
Raising an eyebrow, Stephanie looked down at the box in her hand like it was a poisoned apple. ‘He was in the Ivy building not long ago.’
‘What?’ Lottie nearly choked.
‘Max saw him just now. He had an envelope in his hand. They walked over to the gym so that we can make sure Haru doesn’t return before we have a chance to put this back.’ She waved the box in the air.
Lottie panted, adrenaline rushing through her body. ‘I have … I have to go,’ she managed to gasp out, only vaguely aware of Stephanie calling to her.
Her feet felt like they were made of lead as she ran, knowing exactly what was waiting for her.
There was a letter in her cubbyhole. A manila envelope that she knew must contain all the answers. She picked it up and when she turned it over the top simply read in Haru’s writing: Time’s up.
It was early evening as she dragged herself through the school grounds, students like ghosts in her vision fading in and out of focus, until she reached Stratus Side and the entrance to Liliana’s study.
Usually it felt peaceful to be alone in the heart of the school, in her secret place, but now it was tinged with fear. She didn’t want to be alone any more. She had to help the Wolfsons and fix whatever this mess was, no matter how much it hurt. That way she, Ellie and the Wolfsons could always be together, happy.
With all the pieces in order, she laid them out in front of her on the rug. The Bambi imagery, the stag, the usurping wolves and Jamie’s mother.
In the very centre she placed the unopened envelope. The answers she’d been searching for.
Claude had called himself a victim in his first letter, and now she was going to find out what he was a victim of, and why Jamie’s mother was part of this.
Tracing each image, Lottie caught her breath. Picking up the blank envelope and turning its contents out, she whispered, ‘I’m ready,’ but she knew it was a lie.
A single square of card fell out, and on it was written the exact question that haunted Lottie whenever she looked at Jamie. Why is Jamie your Partizan?
It was written in a seductively elegant script. The answer was on the other side, the ink bleeding through the card. She’d got the answer wrong in the summer when Ingrid had asked her, foolishly believing his tie to the Wolfsons was purely out of obligation. She knew better now, and she had the scar Ingrid had given her on her skin as a reminder.
Still, Lottie was too afraid to turn over the card. Instead she pulled out the folded paper that remained nestled in the envelope, and with shaky fingers she unfolded it.
Lines upon lines revealed themselves, each one forming a branch in a tree of names spanning back through centuries.
One name caught her eye in a flash: Eleanor Wolfson. This was the Wolfson family tree. But it wasn’t Ellie’s name that sent the world spinning. It was the lines that extended above and around her, threads like a spider’s silk twisting around every name and trapping them in their web of secrets.
Ellie had always said she was the only heir to the throne. That she had no cousins or siblings. That it all fell on her. Yet the threads revealed the dark truth. Beside Ellie was the name of a boy Lottie knew so well, and now the strings on the paper linked them by blood.
The truth bloomed in front of her. The name beside Ellie’s was Jamie Volk, and, above him, two names declared him their child: Claude Wolfson and Hirana Rajput.
There was no denying it. Claude was Jamie’s father.
Claude burst forth in her mind. His eyes, Jamie’s eyes. The fiery gold and emerald green swirling together like a forest fire. The two became one, the twitch of his lips, the demons that lurked somewhere beyond his stare.
Blinking away a tear, Lottie gripped the card, her throat thick. Why is Jamie your Partizan?
She choked, imagining she held the knife that would cut all their ties. Gritting her teeth, she bit down hard, bracing herself. On the reverse of the card, written like a stab in the centre, was the answer.
As punishment.
