The back endpaper was covered with the story of the Beauty and the Beast. A calligraphed poem filled its center.

Welcome, Beauty, banish fear,

You are queen and mistress here;

Speak your wishes, speak your will,

Swift obedience meets them still.

I froze as Lang took a knife and deftly pried the endpaper from beneath the thick green cover. “What are you—”

But there, buried inside the binding, was a small black box.

My godmother was still speaking from its mouth.

“I’ve mostly tried to talk to you at night, when I thought you’d be alone. But I hope you can hear this, sweet girl, and I hope you’re on your way again. I hope your first visit is over, wherever it was. And I want you to know that everything is all right here. Your father is fine. Alessandra hasn’t made any moves. Everything is fine.”

I turned the box over in my hands, clumsy and desperate. “Godmother?” I blurted. “Godmother Althea?” Tears pricked at my eyes. My heart was a stampede. But she didn’t answer.

“She won’t be able to hear you.” Lang’s dark gaze was careful beneath his lashes.

I wiped my cheeks. “How do you know?”

“It’s too small to be a transmitter. Without a tower to send out a signal, it’s a receiver only.” He paused. “It’s called a radio.”

A radio. I swallowed. “How do you know?”

Lang studied me. “The same way I knew that cover was thick enough to smuggle you something.” He eyed a dial on the radio, then pointed to the bottom corner of the endpaper. “Do you see this number, three-point-four-four?”

I frowned, then flipped a page back. “It’s the wrong page number. And anyway, an endpaper wouldn’t be numbered.”

Lang nodded. “Because this isn’t a page number. It’s the frequency your godmother’s using.”

What is Lang, I wondered, besides a sailor?

He studied me. “You haven’t been communicating with her. You had no idea this was here.”

I shook my head.

Everything is all right here. Your father is fine. . . . Everything is fine.

“I’ve been so worried,” I whispered.

“I know. This is good.” Lang smiled and passed a hand over my hair. I stilled at the feel of his palm against my neck. His lean fingers ran down a stray lock and tucked it behind my ear.

“Will you help me find a—” I broke off. “What did you call it?”

“A transmitter?” Lang asked. I nodded. He frowned, thinking. “I’ve seen only two in my life—both in Zhōng Guó.”

“They’re rare?”

He nodded. “This radio is powered by a battery; I’m not even sure where your godmother would have found one. The transmitters are much larger, and require much more power. The kind of power we hardly even have on our side of the Atlantic. I’d guess it’s rare in Europe.”