Page 31 of Cross My Heart

Lara nods slowly. “I wish she had. And now, with her gone…” she sighs. “It really is a tragedy.”

It’s not the word I would use. A tragedy is when there’s nobody to blame.

What happened to Wren was a crime.

“Did Wren have any other close friends at Oxford?” I ask, steering the conversation back to my research.

“A few. We hung out with some people who lived in our building,” Lara says, frowning as she tries to recall. “Wren was serious about her work though, so she spent most of her time at the lab. You should talk to Phillip.”

“Phillip McAlister?” I ask, remembering another face from the photos.

Lara nods. “He was a post-doc, doing some big research project at the lab with her. Nice guy, one of those brainy scientist types.”

“I think she mentioned him,” I say, thinking back. “At least, she said she had a work husband with a really dorky sense of humor.”

Lara grins. “That’s Phil. I think he might still be there. I can look up his number, if you want?”

“That would be amazing,” I say gratefully. Then I pull a page from my notebook and place it on the table. “I don’t suppose you recognize this?”

I show her a sketch, with the crown and snake tattoo Wren remembered from her assailant. I had her draw it, back when we were searching for answers together. Now, I’m the only one left to search for justice.

Lara takes a closer look at the sketch, puzzled. “No, I don’t think so. What is it?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” I place the cryptic note from the party down beside it. “What about this, does it ring any bells?”

“’Legacy is our gift, and a sworn bond.’”Lara reads it aloud. “I’ve never heard it before. It sounds like some kind of motto,” she adds. “You know, all the Oxford colleges have them.Constantia omnia vincit,” she adds. “‘Constancy conquers all.’ That’s Ashford’s motto.”

“A motto…” I repeat thoughtfully. Then I tuck the pages away. “Thank you so much for meeting me. And if you remember anything—or anyone—who was important to Wren, then let me know. I’d love to talk to whoever I can.”

“Of course.”

Lara has to get back to work, so we finish up, and exit the café, but just as she’s about to leave, she pauses. “I don’t know if he wasimportant, but she did start hanging out with Max Lancaster, right before the holidays.”

“Max…” I think back, but I don’t recall seeing that name in the yearbooks. “Was he another student at Ashford?”

Lara sounds a peal of laughter. “No. Lancaster, as in, Lancaster Media? He’s the son and heir. Real big shot. At least, he likes to think so. His father endowed some big multimedia center to the college, so he was in town for the opening. I think they went out a few times, he can be pretty charming. An asshole, but charming.”

“Lancaster…” I repeat, making a mental note to look into the guy. “Wren never mentioned she was dating anyone.”

Lara grins. “She never told me either, but… I could have sworn something was going on. She seemed all flustered and glowy, like she had some big secret. Anyway, you take care of yourself, OK?” she gives me a quick hug. “Wren thought the world of you.”

I give a sad smile. “The feeling was mutual.”

My train backto Oxford isn’t for another couple of hours, so I take a wander through the streets of London, lost in memories of Wren. The stories that Lara told brought her back to life for a brief while. Not the angry, bitter, broken Wren from the end, but the girl she used to be, full of life and sweetness.

That’s the Wren I miss. The sister who helped me sneak out past curfew and stayed up late to quiz me with flashcards before the SATs. The sister with a bright, shining future ahead of her, who worked so hard, and always had time for a kind word, or a generous gift.

The sister who was taken from me.

My grief wells in my chest, but this time, it’s hot and sharp, edged with pure rage.

Somebody did this to her. Someone took my brilliant, kindhearted sister and broke her into a thousand pieces; left a shattered mess so splintered, none of us could mend the damage. Not her, or my poor grief-stricken parents.

Not even me.

I look out over the Thames, chilled by more than just the wind. The guilty questions bubble in the back of my mind, the same traitorous whispers that haunt me now.

Is there something I could have done to save her?

---