Read February for Free Online Page A

folder, with a clip seal down one side. ‘Keep them in this. They’re going to fall apart unless they’re properly protected.’
    He paused and I could see he had something on his mind.
    ‘What?’ I asked, taking the folder from him.
    ‘Man,’ he said, picking up his laptop, ‘be careful, OK? I mean it. Don’t think you’re safe even for a second because you’re not. I hate to sayit, but I don’t want to add you to the list of tragedies.’
    ‘I know. I’m no good to anyone if I’m dead.’
    ‘I’m willing to do anything to help. You know that. I think this blog is a good move, but just remember that it’s never too late to come in from the cold. I don’t want to lose the best buddy a guy ever had. You want to run with it, I’m with you. You want to drop the whole thing, I’m with you, too. So ask yourself … are you totally sure you want to persist with this? Unravelling your dad’s secret? Now that you’re starting to realise the full extent of the danger?’
    In the dim light of the derelict house, Boges’s words sounded ominous, almost frightening: The full extent of the danger . I’d made a promise to myself when I was back in my old house, looking into the eyes of my dad in the family photo, and I wasn’t going back on it.
    ‘There’s no way I can turn back now,’ I said. ‘It’s what keeps me going.’
    ‘Keeps you going? I never picked you for a thrill-seeker,’ said Boges, unsmiling.
    ‘Far from it. I just know that I’d be no good to anyone in juvenile detention either.’
    I looked around the dump I was living in. ‘The only thing I have going for me is the truth .I know it’s dangerous, but while ever there’s the chance to solve the mystery of the Ormond Singularity and clear my name, I must do it. I have to do it. Otherwise I’m going to be on the run all my life.’

7 FEBRUARY

    328 days to go …

    I’d given up trying to ring Winter, convinced that she had given me a dud number. I was beginning to think that she had just been stringing me along with her talk of knowing about the Angel. Who knew whether any of the stories that this girl had spun really happened as she told them.
    True to his word, Boges arrived, climbing up through the floor again. I’d been hanging to see him, not only just to have some company, but to find out whether my blog had gone up live OK.
    ‘It’s up and running,’ Boges assured me, ‘and you’re getting heaps of hits!’
    I felt better hearing that. Not quite so cut off from the world. ‘Has anyone posted anything yet?’
    ‘Not yet, but I think it’s just a matter of someone making that first move—people are probably a bit nervous about it. But I reckon once you getthat first comment, hundreds will follow. I’ll let you know when it happens.’
    Boges pulled out the little black leather notebook that he carried with him everywhere—it was filled with his middle-of-the-night ideas, complicated sketches and almost-indecipherable notes, and was held together by a string of elastic.
    ‘The Ormond Riddle Society is dedicated to the fostering and performance of Tudor and Renaissance music,’ he read. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you about the info I found on the net about the Ormond Riddle. It’s not great—like that was from some singing group’s website.’
    He was right, that wasn’t great news.
    ‘Another website explained that the Ormond Riddle,’ Boges continued, ‘was thought to have been written by a famous Tudor musician, William Byrd. But there wasn’t anything there on the actual words … or music … or whatever it is we’re looking for. I’ll search again when I get a chance. In the meantime, can we take another look at the drawings?’
    ‘Sure.’ I lifted the drawings out from under some loose floorboards, emptied the folder and spread them onto the floor. Boges pointed to the image of the Sphinx, tapping his finger on thepencil drawing of the crouching mythical beast and the Roman guy in front of