Time passes. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. I stir to wakefulness, rising up out of a deep and dreamless sleep.

The room is dark.

I can hear Felix’s voice, soft and muffled. He’s singing Déjà Vu.

Where is he?

I sit up in bed with a jolt, wide awake, trying to trace the source of the sound.

It’s distant, yet somehow very close… far away, but definitely in my bedroom.

In fact, it’s in my bed.

Silvery light bleeds out from beneath my pillow, a soft glow seeping into the dark.

I lift my pillow and I almost can’t believe my eyes – it’s my long-lost phone. It’s been missing for ages, since my birthday.

It purrs softly in my hand, and in a split second I’m both relieved to have finally found it, and bitterly disappointed to realise that the singing was just my ringtone.

Obviously Ash. You saw Felix get into that chopper, headed straight for the airport or a private jet or wherever they were taking him. By now he’s halfway across the Atlantic.

I hold the ringing phone in my hand a moment longer.

An unknown number flashes across the screen.

I accept the call and hold the phone to my ear, not knowing if it’ll be Felix or Alastaire or Bea or the devil himself, but ready.

“Hello?” I say.

“This is Ashling Shields? Yes?” The voice on the other side of the line sounds like that of an older woman, possibly Welsh or Irish. Her tone is hushed, urgent.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Yes,” I say.

“The granddaughter of Imogen Ailbhe Mulryan?” She asks.

“Yes,” I say, and she sighs, muttering something that could be “good” or “god”.

Why’s she using gran’s maiden name?

“Who is this?” I ask.

“Oh, you’re quite right, how rude of me,” she says. “This is Eagla McAuley. You emailed me three weeks ago asking about the Silver Circle. I see you’ve already met the five.”

“The...five?” I ask.

She can’t possibly mean…

“Yes, as soon as I turned on the news earlier….” she says, trailing off for a moment. “To be quite honest, I wasn’t going to get involved, you see. I thought, let sleeping dogs lie. But when I saw how far things have come… when I saw you with them on the TV… I can’t just sit back and do nothing. Thank goodness you didn’t go with them in that damned helicopter.”

That’s right. Of course we were on the news. Everyone must know by now. There were at least ten people filming us in their phones. Dammit. We’re probably trending on YouTube too. My life is officially over.

“Ashling my dear, I called to tell you that it’s imperative we talk, but not over the phone,” she continues. “You see, there are things we need to discuss. But not like this. It’s not safe, for you or for me. We must speak in person, and sooner rather than later. Ask for Breandan Byrne at the Royal University of Ireland in Blackrock, Department of Ancient History. Face to face mind you, you have to go see him. Tell him little Eggy sent you. That’s little Eggy. Tell him you’re Immy Mulryan’s granddaughter. He’ll know what to do.”

University of Ireland… Blackrock…

“You want me to go to Ireland?” I ask. “But… there’s no way my parents are going to say yes to that… I mean–”

“You’ll find a way,” she says. “Anyhow, we shouldn’t talk too long. Attracts attention. Don’t try call this number back. I’m using a disposable phone, and you’d better believe it’s going directly into the rubbish bin after this. You take care my dear, and don’t you go chasing after him. End all communication. It’s better for you both, trust me.”

“Who?” I ask, but there’s no answer. The line’s already dead.

I lie in bed for a few minutes wondering if I should call her back, even though she said not to.

I’m pretty sure I know who the him she was referring to is.

Felix.

I wish things weren’t so complicated. I wish we were just a normal boy and a normal girl. I wish he was here with me right now.

As I drift off to sleep, I hear a voice soft as moonlight brush the edges of my perception, sweet words once heard in a dream or a memory.

Ondine. I won’t ever let you go.

Wait for me.

Wait for me.