Wesley walked in and took off his suit jacket. I went into the kitchen and poured him a glass of wine. “Come. Sit. Catch me up on all the crazy happenings.”
In the living room, I curled up on the couch while Wesley stood near the fireplace and sipped
his wine for a second. “Sydney, we need—what’s that?” Wesley pointed at the journal.
I felt guilty at having lied to him about making a copy of the flash drive. Biting my lip, I decided to tell him the truth. “I made a copy of the jump drive. And then I followed the clues.”
“You went to the house on Commercial Street?”
“Yes.” Then I froze. “Wait, how do you know about the house on Commercial Street?”
“Fuck.” That put me on edge because Wesley never cursed. He was practical and sophisticated. “I need you to come with me. It’s time we talked.”
“Wesley, you’re scaring me.”
“Sydney, I would never do anything to hurt you. I swear it. But you need to come with me. Bring your computer and anything else you have regarding this. If I walk out that door without talking to you, I don’t know what will happen.”
I stood. “What will happen when? To who?”
“Sydney, I need you to trust me. Please.”
There was an urgency in his voice. Wesley had been my friend for as long as I could remember. But this was scary. “Where are we going?”
“My house.”
“Okay,” I said, unsure what was happening but trusting my friend.
I crated Maggie Maye before we left. Wesley’s shoulders were tense as we got to the car. He said nothing on our way to his house. The tension was thick as we pulled into the garage at the back of his house. The garage door shut, and Wesley got out. “Come with me.”
There was something different about Wesley—he appeared almost daunting as we entered his house. My tennis shoes squeaked against the pristine floor while Wesley’s dress shoes made an almost clacking noise. I followed him into the living room.
His house was traditional and refined. The leather couches were divinely comfortable and the heavy oak coffee table was a masterpiece of carved intricacies. I’d never felt uncomfortable around Wesley, but something was wrong. He had always been my go-to guy, but I felt something dark hanging over us.
“Wesley, you’re making me nervous. What’s going on?”
“I need you to tell me everything, Sydney. It’s a matter of life or death.”
His abruptness brought me up short, and I took a few steps back. “How is it a matter of life or death, Wesley? What are you talking about?”
He took my hands in his, his green eyes staring into mine earnestly. “I need you to trust me for a few minutes more, and then I will tell you everything. I promise.”
We took a seat on the couch in his living room and I told him everything: the jump drive, the journal, the visit of the house on Commercial Street, the graveyard, and finally Harvard. “I have no idea what happened to Quinn, if the Alchemists even exist, the Truth-seekers’ involvement, or why my grandpa was involved in this.”
“I need you to promise me you’ll hear me out.”
That was not the response I expected. Slowly, I said, “Oooo-kay.”
“I’m an Alchemist.”