Chapter 7: Greenhouse

The greenhouse at Greywater had been the host's one safe place, and Max went there at four with a headache and no plan.

It stood behind the kitchen garden, long and glass-walled, full of tomato vines and potted lemon trees and a warm green smell of earth.

A potting bench ran down the middle.

Max pushed the door shut behind him and leaned against the bench in relief.

"The Registry will hold the page for review," he said aloud, to Rose. "That's all we got."

ROSE: It is more than the book gave you. The clerk will not enter Mary's page this week.

"Is that good?"

ROSE: It is a week.

The latch clicked.

Max turned.

Raven stood in the doorway with the door closed at his back.

He was so tall that he had to stoop a little under the hanging pots.

He was holding the black book, and he did not say anything.

"You followed me," Max said.

Raven stepped forward, one pace, then another.

His boots were silent on the stone path.

His scent came across the warm air, leather and cedar, steady and dry, and it was the first thing about him that was not controlled.

It was strong.

Max backed up until the bench pressed the small of his back.

"You said the page was forged," he said. "Thank you."

Raven said nothing.

"You said you had the original."

Raven put one hand on the bench beside Max's hip.

Then the other hand, on the other side.

He was close enough now that Max could see a freckle under his left eye and a faint white line along his jaw.

He lowered his head, and his green eyes searched Max's face, slowly and thoroughly.

"I'm not going to answer questions the way you want," Max said, and his voice came out thinner than he'd planned. "If that's why you're here."

Still nothing.

Max's pulse was loud in his ears.

He had a head full of memory about this man, and almost none of it was kind.

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