Ivy could only nod . . . then fix a quick smile on her face as Mr Daniels turned around. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she asked.
‘It really is.’ Brendan’s dad had been in a dark mood for days, but the exhibit was working its magic on him. At last, some of the scowl lines were easing from his forehead. ‘Your father has done an amazing job, Ivy. This whole exhibit is gorgeous.’ He sighed. ‘It’s such a rich history that our kind has. I forget that sometimes.’
‘You have to see this next piece.’ Forcing herself to move as if this really were nothing more than a casual wander, Ivy led him to a velvet cushion around the next corner.
On top of the jet-black cushion lay a long, swirling piece of gold jewellery studded with deep-set, glinting gemstones, from white, black and yellow diamonds to pigeon-blood rubies. Two golden serpents lay ensnared, apparently as a single piece . . . but in actuality, as the chart in the back of the glass case showed, the two serpents came apart at a single twist. Then, the yellow-gold serpent would form a bracelet while the white-gold serpent became an ornate ring.
‘The Jewellery of the Two Sisters,’ Mr Daniels breathed. He reached out as if to touch the glass case, and visibly stopped himself just in time. ‘I can’t believe I’m really seeing it with my own eyes.’
Brendan coughed. ‘So . . . you’ve heard of it before?’
His father couldn’t seem to look away from the ensnared serpents. ‘I’ve heard the legend,’ he replied. ‘It’s said that these pieces originally belonged to two va– that is, V sisters. The serpents represent the two qualities that are most important to any of our kind – discretion and power.’
He drew a deep, reverent breath, and dropped his voice to a thread-like whisper that only another vampire could hear. ‘Almost a thousand years ago, the two sisters were sent away on a vampire crusade. They divided the two pieces between them as a symbol of their desire to one day find each other. But only one sister returned with her half of the jewellery. The other sister was never found. And according to legend, her ring was left discarded beneath a pile of crumbling stone.’
Sniffing, he dropped his head. ‘Sorry.’ He shook his head, keeping his eyes averted. ‘That story has always got to me, every time I’ve heard it. And to actually see the pieces now, making it all so real . . .’
‘Of course,’ Ivy murmured.
It got to her, too. How could it not? The idea of being separated from Olivia forever . . . it was unbearable.
And to think, just over a year ago, I still thought I was an only child! Ivy gave a rueful smile. I am so thankful to have been proved wrong on that.
But that wasn’t – couldn’t be – her main concern. Right now, she just had one big question . . . the same question she could see in Brendan’s eyes:
Would Mr Daniels’s spontaneous monologue soften him up for the surprise they’d prepared? Or was everything about to explode in their faces?
‘I’ve always loved that story, too.’ Carla spoke behind them, her voice soft. As Mr Daniels spun around to face her, she smiled tentatively. ‘Ever since our father first sat us down and told it to us. Do you remember? It was on a steam-train journey to California.’
But Marc Daniels still hadn’t said a word. He was staring at his sister, his face completely unreadable. Ivy shot a quick, questioning look at Brendan – who only shrugged, looking just as baffled as she felt. Was his dad outraged? Too furious to speak? Or . . .?
The chiming sound of a fork tapping a glass filtered through the noise of the crowd, making everyone fall silent.
‘May I have everyone’s attention?’ Charles Vega stood in the centre of the room, smiling broadly. ‘I’d like to give my most sincere thanks to all of you for making the effort to visit the museum today. I hope you’ll all put the word out so that everyone in Franklin Grove knows we have no need to leave town to experience a bit of majestic culture. We draw quite a lot of culture and wonder to our own community, right here – because this is a magical place, without a doubt.’
As the crowd began to clap, Charles inclined his head graciously, but then he held up his hand for silence. ‘These artefacts on display,’ he said, ‘are not just motionless pieces of clay or gold and silver, brass and stone. They are alive – alive with the history that they have seen and the history that they remember. Through them, we might remember it, too.’
His gaze passed over the crowd. ‘History teaches us many vital lessons, often different ones each time. Perhaps the most important lesson, though, is that history is just that . . . history. The past is the past, and we can only remember it – sometimes fondly, sometimes not. But, whether those memories be positive or negative, we can always learn from them. In fact, we must learn from them – because . . .’ his voice deepened, echoing around the spellbound room, ‘. . . our history shapes our hopes for tomorrow.’
The room erupted into applause, and warm pride rose in Ivy. Just look at my dad!
Charles wasn’t the stressed-out, panicky panicker he’d been all week. Now, he was back to being the charming, confident man Ivy had grown up knowing – except, he was using the kind of grand, airy and vague language that she usually only heard from Olivia’s adoptive dad!
Ivy grinned at the thought, but it didn’t diminish her pride. There was absolutely no doubt that Charles had meant every word he’d said . . .
. . . And Marc Daniels obviously felt it, from the deep, raw emotions running across his face.