Zoé

Our first instinct was to check if there were magic. And Ikshan is sure of it: there isn't. So we've been looking at the text for quite a long time now, trying to decipher whatever code it can be. I copied the words on three pieces of paper and we are all trying every idea that we have. Our plates of pastries are now empty and our coffee and tea cups threaten to reach this dangerous state soon enough. Something has to be done.

"Can I see the original again?" I ask.

Leno lifts the paper in front of him, and when he gives it to me, he freezes.

"What?"

His eyes are locked on the back of the letter and he frowns. "Could it be?" He trails off.

"What?" I ask with more intensity.

Ikshan who sits beside Leno and can, contrary to me, see the back of the letter, frowns too. "Do you think it could be a clue?" He says.

I snap. "Are you kidding me? Could you be more nebulous? What is it? I'm dying of curiosity here."

Leno finally takes his eyes off the letter and explains. "Look, the message has been written by hand with something like a quill. And some of the ink crossed through the paper. On the other side, you can see parts of a few letters. Maybe..."

"Maybe, it was done on purpose and it's the clue!" I interrupt. "Give me the letters you can identify."

I write them on the corner of my sheet of paper filled with nonsensical doodles. "M.O.R.E.A.U.S.T.A.I.R.S." I read. "Rings a bell?"

Ikshan stands up: "Moreau. Stairs. The Gustave Moreau's Museum! There's a beautiful wrought-iron staircase there!"

Leno and I stand up too in excitement. "Brilliant!" I scream. "First high Five!"

All our winter clothes back on, we take the metro to the 9th district. The museum was the painter's house and studio. In the middle of the 19th century, the neighborhood was the place to be for writers and artists.

The moment we enter the museum we lose Leno. He looks flabbergasted. I must say that the incredible amounts of paintings everywhere and the density of details in each and every one of them can be overwhelming. It's absolutely beautiful.

"I love this place," Ikshan grins. "They kept the original scenography chosen by the painter himself. It's like time traveling."

They almost clap their hands in excitement. Why do I say almost? They do clap their hands.

We find the staircase and start to look around, as discreetly as we can.

Unfortunately, as you know, discretion is not our forte. And soon enough, a museum attendant comes to us. Young, bright smile, brown ruffled hair.

"Can I help you?" He asked.

"Hmm. No. Hmmm. We just," Leno trails off.

"We're contemplating this beautiful staircase," Ikshan says with a smile while I answer at the same time: "I lost a button from my coat."

We look at each other and Ikshan's smile drops.

"Are you here because of V.?" The museum attendant says with a wink.

I gasp. "Yes!"

"I have something for you."

And the young man pulls a letter from the inside pocket of his jacket while smiling at us.