Twenty Years Later

It has long been said that the beat of a butterfly's wings sends ripples out into the universe. There are billions of theories on the passing of time, none of which are entirely accurate. How can anyone understand a problem when half the equation is missing?

To understand time, one must first understand the extent of the universe. Time is not simply a set of numbers. It is a force like light and sound. It can be harnessed and warped, flipped upside down, and folded. Each moment can stretch like a rubber band and snap back just the same. It is a rhythmic thrum yet, now and again, it will skip, pause, or pick up to double time.

The day that forever altered the path of Lilly Cole's life did not begin as anything extraordinary. It was chilly in New York City, though nothing remarkable for late November. A blustery breeze swept through the streets, dragging along stray pieces of trash and hissing through bare branches.

As Lilly stared at the impeccable towering brownstone, she found it more daunting than expected. It was always a bit intimidating when she visited a client's home. She'd been in the business of paper conservation for almost four years, and in that time, she'd had the pleasure and misfortune of dealing with the wealthiest of New York City. Lilly had been privy to the most elaborate private collections of the one percent and had done her job to authenticate their potential purchases.

But collectors were a prideful sort, and when the newest piece in their collection sometimes turned out to be false, they would often take out their anger on her. She'd lost track of how many clients had tried to tell her how to do her job, feeling that they knew better than she about how their piece should be handled.

It wasn't every client, but it was enough that every house call felt like being shipped off to war. It was this part of the job she would much rather do without. If Lilly had her way, she'd spend her time in the lab, working directly with the paper she was authenticating or observing. Certain relationships needed to be maintained for the sake of their funding. If it weren't for their client's generous contributions, she would be out of a job.

As Lilly ascended the stone steps of the home, she took a deep calming breath and plastered a friendly smile onto her face. Her knocks were sharp and firm, a perfect set of three raps of the golden knocker. Lilly pulled at the hem of her blazer as she stood in wait. Dark curls framed her face, pulled into the air by blustery winds.

A young man and woman about her age strode down the sidewalk with arms hooked. Lilly expected them to pass by without a second glance, but they paused beside the very steps she stood upon. The woman's long chestnut hair was curled in loose ringlets and left to flow free past her shoulders. A blush of pink bloomed across her pale cheeks and small nose from the nipping air. She wore a red and blue plaid scarf and a well-tailored wool coat. There was an air of easy confidence in this woman. The sort of confidence that made the man look out of place on her arm.

His unkempt hair was cut to chin length and looked as if he'd brushed it through too many times trying to tame it. The wrinkled button-up and a tweed jacket were too large for his narrow shoulders. He reminded Lilly of a child playing dress-up in his father's closet. His body was stiff, and the defined creases along his forehead made Lilly wonder if he was well or if he'd just eaten something that didn't agree with him.

"I-I didn't know there was anyone else interviewing right now." Quentin looked her up and down, his voice wavering on a slight stutter.

"An interview?" Lilly tilted her head, a cordial smile lifting her lips on instinct. "No, I have an appraisal meeting scheduled at five thirty." Lilly pulled the sleeve of her jacket back and glanced at the ticking watch on her wrist. It was a handsome thing, her timepiece -- A gift from her mother on the eve of her twenty-first birthday. It arrived via courier, as almost all her birthday gifts did. "I'm right on time. Are you early?" Julia and Quentin exchanged a puzzled look. Lilly asked to satiate her curiosity and to avoid uncomfortable silence.

"No, my appointment is at five thirty, too." The man gripped the strap of his messenger bag tighter, adjusting it every few seconds as if he could pull it like a ripcord and escape the situation. His weight shifted between his feet and the fabric of his pants hissed with friction.

Lilly glanced over her shoulder at the door and squinted through ripples of stained glass for any sign of movement. She faced the others again with a little sigh. The woman smiled up at Lilly as she took the first step, resting a gloved hand on the railing and extending the other in greeting.

"I'm Julia, and this is Quentin." Julia's breath culminated in a faint white puff in the frigid air. Quentin forced a smile that ended up looking more like a grimace. He hovered at the bottom of the steps as if ready to turn around and go home.

"Lilly," She took Julia's hand and gave it a firm, professional shake.

"This is the address he gave." Lilly's brows furrowed as she glanced at the still quiet door. Maybe he hadn't heard her knock? He did sound like an older gentleman when they'd spoken. Julia placed a hand on Quentin's arm. He flinched almost imperceptibly.

"Q, it's fine, don't worry." He looked as if he might be sick on the sidewalk. "Let's just go in and get this sorted out." Lilly nodded her encouragement.

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding." Lilly was reassuring herself as much as he. She had traveled all the way there and it would be a serious inconvenience if it was all for naught.

"We should, uh, head inside then." Quentin piped up, glancing apprehensively towards the door.

"I knocked, but no one answered." If the document the man teased over the phone was anything less than ground-shattering in value, Lilly might have given up and gone back to the office.

"Strange," Julia stepped up beside Lilly and lifted the knocker. The rapping was as sharp and resonating as it had been before. Quentin ran a hand through his hair. There wasn't the slightest stir from within. Julia shared a quizzical look with her peers and knocked again, pounding on it like a furious landlord. Still, no answer.

Julia fumbled with the handle for a moment, then shoved her shoulder into the wood. The door swung open with a drawn-out echoing squeal. Julia turned back and shrugged. The old wood floors creaked beneath her feet as she stepped inside, Lilly following close behind and Quentin after. They entered a grand foyer.

"Hello?" Julia's voice swept through archways and open doors, up the grand staircase, and to the second floor. The interior was as exquisite as expected for a collector. The entryway was lined with gold-framed works of art that Lilly was sure to cost more than a year's rent at her apartment.

The building was historical, as stated by the stone plaque by the front door dated 1862. Antique vases, marble busts, and exotic potted plants adorned the walls and corners. It was a familiar setup for a wealthy collector of rare and unique items, which, if he had called her to appraise a document, was very likely. Quentin shut the door behind them with a final click. It was almost silent, save for the muted hiss of cars passing outside and the rhythmic tick, tick, tick of a phantom clock.

"Um...it's Quentin Coldwater," his voice tapered off on the last syllable as if he couldn't muster the courage to see it through. "For the grad school interview?" The sentence sounded more like a question than a statement. Lilly's eyes scanned everything with a keen eye. She began to think they were the victims of a catastrophic scheduling mishap.

"Mr. Partridge? We have an appointment for an initial appraisal of a document in your collection." The door was unlocked, so he must be home. Yet there wasn't the slightest sound of stirring. There were two sets of french doors on either side of the grand foyer. Through the door to the left, was a formal sitting room set for company. A tea set was laid out on the coffee table before a luxurious loveseat.

Lilly made her way toward a pair of open french doors to her right and peered inside. The floor creaked, crackled, and popped with every step. If Mr. Partridge was moving about, they would no doubt have heard it. Quentin hovered behind her at a respectable distance, but close enough that Lilly could see him from the corner of her eye.

As she stepped into the open study, her eyes widened at a towering antique grandfather clock. It was centered on the left wall and framed by shelves upon shelves of thick spined leather and canvas books.

"Is that-" Quentin sucked in a breath behind her.

"I don't believe it," Lilly stepped towards the clock, her lips parted. They stood in the shadow of the hulking mahogany grandfather clock. A big fat brass face was orbited by four smaller dials tracking the months, the phases of the moon, and the signs of the zodiac, all framed in an intricately carved design. Erupting from the crown were two massive ram heads, horns curled atop their heads. One might assume it to represent the sign of Aries, but any Fillory fan knew that these were the Gods Ember and Umber.

"A replica of the clock from Fillory. Those books are literary masterpieces." Lilly reached out to run a finger along the edge of its face. Quentin stepped beside her, his brows raised as he turned his head to look at her. She was too absorbed in the clock, stood like a Roman statue, to care that he was examining her.

Fillory and Further was the most beloved of all the books Lilly had ever read. Stories of fantastical adventure and a world of magic had carved a special place in her heart. Her mother loathed the story and tried her best to keep it out of her little hands, but Lilly was a very resourceful and determined child. Unfortunately for Evelyn Cole, her daughter inherited some of her more vexing traits.

"You're a Fillory fan?" Quentin's voice held a fair bit of misbelief. Lilly tilted her head to examine the swinging pendulum and nodded. She could hear Julia slowly moving towards them from the other room, each step creaking a map of her movements.

Julia's ear-splitting shriek echoed deafeningly throughout the room. Lilly gasped, her body jerking around to face the room behind her as she latched onto Quentin's forearm. Julia stumbled back to the doorway she'd just come through, her face drained of all color. Lilly's blood chilled when she spotted the cause of the outburst. Draped lifeless across an overstuffed armchair in the corner of the room, his eyes wide and unfocused, was Mr. Partridge.

Lilly hadn't even noticed him as she entered. She'd been too focused on the clock to assess the room. He was pressed into the shadows along the same wall as the door. His hair was pure white, and his hands wrinkled and kinked as they hung limply over the side of the chair. His skin tinted a sickening blotchy blue and purple. Shattered glass and puddles of amber liquid splattered across the floor beneath him. Mr. Partridge was dead.

"Oh my God, call 911!" Lilly choked out, gripping tighter to Quentin's arm. His jacket bunched and twisted in her fist. Quentin whipped his phone out of his back pocket, frantically dialing the three numbers. Julia hurried over to join them, pressing her back against the bookshelf to put as much distance between her and the body as possible. Quentin's hands trembled, and his breath came sharp and uneven. The faint garble of the 911 dispatcher sounded through the phone.

"Hi, we just found a dead body. We need help, like, right now." He spoke breathlessly into the phone, rattling off the address in a stuttering stream. His free hand ran through his hair as he shoved the phone back into his pocket. "They're on their way and should be here in a few minutes. Until then, uh, just- don't touch the body."

"Yeah, 'cause that was my first thought." Lilly was still fixated on the body strewn across the chair in the corner. Had they just walked into a murder scene? He had planned to be alive that day if he scheduled two appointments. A million scenarios swept through her mind, winding and twisting like a cyclone, growing wilder by the second. Mr. Partridge's eyes were hauntingly empty, milky, and cloudy, with no telling what color they were when he was alive. Lilly couldn't shake the feeling that they were watching her.

Lilly, Julia, and Quentin shuffled into the other room a moment later. They waited in heavy silence for the police to arrive. Lilly sat at the foot of his grand staircase, plucking at the threads of her sweater with a vacant gaze. Her spine crawled in the silence. Every creek of the floorboard plucked at her nerves like the strings of a violin.

She was almost relieved when the blaring sirens reached a crescendo, and flashing red and blue lights pierced the stained glass door. Paramedics and police entered the townhome in a somber parade. There were no frantic orders given or a rush to resuscitate. It was all so dreadfully slow. There was no rush to save someone already dead. They were only cleaning up the mess.

Quentin's shoulder brushed hers as he shifted on the step beside her. The paramedics and police cataloged the scene, examined the body, and finally wrapped it up in a bag. Quentin gave his statement, and Julia was finishing up her account of the discovery to a young officer across the foyer.

A gurney with one squeaking wheel pushed out of the study, a body bag laid atop it. A blonde woman in a paramedic uniform leaned over the body with a clipboard clutched to her chest and scribbled notes onto her paper. She let out a few tsktsks and shook her head. She muttered something to a colleague, and the body was wheeled out the front door with two accompanying paramedics. The woman, evidently in some superior position, turned to face the stairs. Lilly's back straightened as the paramedic crossed the room and paused in front of her and Quentin.

"Well, he's dead." Her voice held a distinctly British accent. The name tag pinned to her shirt read-- Eliza. "By the looks of him, he was a big--" She mimed, tipping back a glass. Lilly and Quentin shared a look of unease. It was not how Lilly expected someone to speak of a man found dead in his home.

"I'm sorry?" Quentin muttered, more a question than an apology.

"Why? Did ya' kill him?" Eliza fired back with a straight face. Lilly's brows furrowed, and the corners of her lips tugged down.

"No, Jesus." Quentin straightened from his slouch, which Lilly assumed must be a habit.

"I was kidding." Eliza smiled at the two as if they were the strange ones. If it was a joke, it wasn't funny. "When you're around death as much as I am, you learn to have a sense of humor." The woman's smile didn't fade as Lilly watched her. Something stirred in the back of her mind, like a memory long forgotten in a storm. There was something familiar about this woman. For the life of her, Lilly couldn't figure out what.

"Have we ever--"

"Oh!" Eliza threw up her arms as if having only just remembered something of great importance. Lilly started, jostling Quentin with her shoulder. "I think he left something for you." Eliza scurried off to the study again, leaving Lilly and Quentin to raise their brows. She returned a moment later with a thick manilla envelope in the crease of her arm. "It's for both of you, actually," Eliza held out the stack, the front half flopping over towards them. Neither made a move to accept it. There was a bright pink post with a note stuck to the cover.

For Lilly Cole and Quentin Coldwater.

"Shit." Lilly couldn't believe she'd forgotten. The manuscript. The whole reason she was in this shit storm in the first place. Mr. Partridge meant to have her appraise it. That was before he wound up dead in his own home. But if this was the document, why was it addressed to Quentin, too?

"I'm sorry, but, both of us?" Lilly's forehead creased as she looked between Quentin and the envelope. He looked like a deer in headlights. "I had an appointment to appraise a document. He called me a few days ago to set it up. Why is Quentin's name on it?"

"How would I know? I'm not a detective." Eliza shrugged. "C'mon, take it." She wiggled it beneath their noses like she was trying to tempt a child with a piece of broccoli.

"But, isn't this evidence or something?" Lilly's eyes shifted between the pile of papers, the woman, and Quentin with the same bewildered expression. Quentin seemed just as skeptical as she was. His nose scrunched up, and his mouth set at the edge of a grimace.

"Nah, I know a crime scene when I see one. This is just good old-fashioned liver failure. You can take it. He was gonna give it to you anyway." Lilly narrowed her eyes, trying to dissect Eliza's expression. Part of her wondered if this was some trick. She took the folder, taking care to support it.

"Um, can we go now?" Julia stepped up beside Eliza. She looked drained from the short questioning, her shoulders slumped and eyes drooping. Eliza smiled and nodded.

"Miss Cole will have to make a statement before she can leave, but you two are free to go. It shouldn't take long." The woman directed the last bit towards Lilly, who somehow found it within herself to deflate further. She just wanted to go home and curl up with a good book and a cup of tea.

"Q, come on, let's go," Julia called, gesturing for him to follow. Quentin's jacket rustled as he stood from his seat beside Lilly. She craned her neck to look up at him. He hesitated, eying the envelope.

"I guess I'll, uh, wait for you outside, then. We can figure that out when you're done." Lilly wasn't quite sure how to handle shared custody of the mysterious envelope when they'd only met an hour before. She supposed his idea was as good as any. Lilly nodded and watched Quentin join his friend in the doorway.

"Bye, Lilly," Julia muttered. "It was nice to meet you, I guess." Lilly forced herself to pull a weak smile and halfhearted wave.

The police only asked her a couple of questions. As Eliza said, it was pretty clear that there was no foul play involved. She hadn't been lying when she said it wouldn't take long. It was all simple to answer. "What time did you arrive? Who was with you? What was your relationship with Mr. Partridge?" Each one gave her a headache, but after only a few minutes, she was released.

Grabbing her bag, Lilly absconded from the building like a bat out of hell with the envelope nestled in her arms. The bracing air was a relief after being stuck inside with a dead man, hordes of cops, paramedics, and their equipment for the better part of an hour. Quentin Coldwater had claimed the bottom step. His slouched back was to her as he rested his chin in his hands.

"Hey," Quentin's head whipped around in alarm. Then, registering that it was Lilly, stood and wiped hastily at his blotchy cheeks. "Did Julia leave?" His expression strained, his eyes rimmed with the last dregs of tears.

Lilly didn't ask if he was alright or point out his distress. It would do nothing but embarrass him, and by the bright red tone of his skin, he was mortified. Lilly couldn't help but wonder what had transpired in the minutes they were apart. It was a shitty situation, sure, but Quentin hadn't even known Mr. Partridge.

"Oh, um, yeah, she had some errands to run..." His gaze flitted anywhere but on her. This was a blatant lie and not the reason for Julia's absence, but Lilly knew better than to pry. She had only just met this man. It wasn't her place.

"I'll be honest, I don't know the best way to handle this." Lilly dipped her chin towards the document. "Do you know anything about historical documents?"

"Uh, no, not really." Quentin pressed his lips together and readjusted his grip on the strap of his bag.

"Well, Mr. Partridge called my office the other day to set up an initial appraisal for an authentication." Lilly beckoned him to walk with her. He jumped up and settled by her side at a leisurely pace. "He claimed to have an authentic manuscript for Fillory and Further, Book Six." His legs halted, and it took Lilly a few steps to realize he wasn't with her. She turned to find his eyes wide as saucers, and his lips parted.

"You're saying that- that- this envelope is- Fillory and Further, Book Six?" He pointed a finger. "You're kidding."

"Nope." Lilly shook her head, popping the p. "I had him check it over the phone for the obvious signs of forgery so I wouldn't be wasting a trip, but there weren't any red flags. Well, other than the fact that he claims it's a lost manuscript of one of the most famous novelists in history. I was supposed to take a look and bring it to the lab to authenticate it today."

"Holy shit." Quentin ran a shaking hand through his straight brown hair. "This is insane." A smile began to curl the edges of Lilly's pink-tinged lips, but she shoved it down as soon as it began.

"It's probably not authentic. I try not to get my hopes up before I've examined a document."

"But, what if it is?" Quentin planted a seed of thought in her mind, and the longer she held the manuscript in her hands, the more that seed took root. "If this is real, it would be a monumental discovery." Lilly fought to quell his infectious excitement. Lilly's mind was a labyrinth of unanswered questions and dead ends. None of this made sense. The harder she tried to put the pieces together, the more scrambled they became.

"I just don't understand why he gave it to both of us. What was his plan?"

"I don't know, but I want to find out," Quentin looked toward the woman who was scarcely more than a stranger to him. They'd found themselves intertwined at the heart of a mystery. If there was one thing Lilly could never resist, it was the opportunity for discovery.