1.

"Occultists, magicians, alchemists, dream-diviners, interpreters of the voices of statues, bird-seers, geomancers, demonologists, masters of the apocryphal: a modern day commentator could be forgiven for presuming that Byzantium was a hotbed of the dark arts."

Istanbul—a Tale of Three Cities—Bettany Hughes

Zoe knew it was her birthday by the cold dread that crawled along her half-asleep body. She opened her eyes slowly, her stare fixed on the cream ceiling above her, and willed her sleep paralysis to release her. It was these moments that were the worst—her consciousness awake and her body frozen as she convinced her limbs to work after a nightmare. She focused on naming what she could see to make her brain react again. Lamp, books, glass of water, reading glasses…

Her town house in Fulham was silent except for the cars zooming with the usual London commuters outside. The sounds her mother usually made in the bottom half of the house in the morning were painfully absent, reminding her starkly of what day it was.

Her mother, Anita, always took off on some fabulous holiday every year on Zoe's birthday. She always made a point of celebrating Zoe's birthday in the days before she went away; she just never hung about for the actual date. Zoe didn't blame her. After all, it was also the day her father had died.

For Zoe, her grief was a well-worn party dress that she dusted off once a year to wear when no one was around to see it.

She breathed in and out, trying to push away the memories and nightmares of her blood-stained dress, her father's office piled high with books, and his murderer still crouched over his body. She would never forget the heart he had tattooed on one hand, a feather on the other, and everything stained in scarlet. She remembered the tattoos in detail but could never recall his face. Her paralysis let her go, and she inhaled a sharp breath.

"Not today, Satan," Zoe murmured. She dragged herself into the shower, focusing on her breathing and not on the memories of that warm Istanbul night twenty-three years ago.

She'd had a long time to get over it—as her ex-boyfriend had pointed out many times. She just never had. Her mother dealt with the anniversary by being on a beach on the other side of the world. Zoe was more pragmatic. She worked so she wouldn't think.

She had a private commission to finish, a binding restoration of a gorgeous first edition of History of the World by Sir Walter Raleigh, and that was all she needed to focus on that day. Not her father's unsolved murder. Not ruined birthdays and absent mothers who taught her to be self-sufficient too early in life. Books—her eternal refuge.

Zoe was an expert in the rare and the damaged. In a way, it helped her feel closer to her good memories of her father, who had been a rare book dealer, but also because books made her feel safe. For a few hours, her world was contained between two covers. It was a place that was controlled. Nothing else mattered.

Downstairs, Zoe made coffee and tied her bronze hair up into a high bun. She ate a croissant for breakfast and stared at the wisteria in the tiny back garden that was turning the outside world lavender.

Food always helped the grogginess of the sleep paralysis go away, and slowly the nightmares relented. She needed to get on with her day, not stare at the garden and imagine what life would be like if Oman had lived.

Coffee, emails, invoicing, more coffee. Zoe kept moving from task to task, not stopping long enough to think. Thinking was the enemy.

She was wrapping the Raleigh in tissue paper late that afternoon when the doorbell buzzed loudly, jolting her out of her working zone.

Zoe hurried downstairs, expecting a bunch of 'I'm sorry' birthday flowers from her mother, but what she got was a tall, dark-haired man in a suit. Zoe kept the chain on the door as she opened it a crack.

"Can I help you?" she asked cautiously.

"Good afternoon. Are you Zoe Kartal?" he replied, his English perfect but with a slight accent.

"Yeah? Who's asking?"

"My name is Kerem Polat. I am here on behalf of your father's estate." He offered her a card through the crack in the door, and she took it. He was a lawyer from a firm in Istanbul. Zoe's stomach flipped, and she removed the chain from the door.

"I don't understand what this could be about. My father has been dead for twenty-three years. His estate was cleared up long ago," Zoe replied, her brows drawing together.

Kerem smiled politely. "This was a special request that could only be delivered today on you thirty-third birthday. May I come in? Or if you would feel more comfortable, we can go to the cafe at the end of the street?"

"Cafe would be good. I could use the break." Zoe's fingers tightened on the card. "Let me just get some things."

She shut the door on him and stared at the card again. It was heavy white stock, the firm name printed in clean black lines. On the back was the imprint of a set of scales.

Anyone could print a card, so Zoe pulled out her phone and quickly Googled the firm. They were legitimate, based in the Karakoy district of Istanbul.

What could have her father possibly left her? Zoe's fingers hovered over her mother's phone number, and then she decided against calling her. Anita always said that talking about Oman was too painful, and Zoe was annoyed with her enough to say something that would piss her off. Going off with a strange lawyer to talk about her father would definitely annoy Anita to no end.

Her father had left something for Zoe alone—it didn't concern her mother—and there was only one way to find out what it was.

Outside, Kerem was waiting patiently on the footpath, a black leather folio tucked under one arm. He had a sprinkling of gray in his black hair and a touch of amusement in his eyes as he smiled at her. If it wasn't for the card burning in her pocket, Zoe wouldn't have picked him for a lawyer. He seemed far too jovial and his eyes too kind. He also seemed familiar in a way that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She decided it was probably the Turkish accent, reminding her of childhood.

"Should I ask what this is about, or would it be better to wait until I have an espresso in me?" Zoe asked as she fell into step beside him.

"Coffee is always best when discussing business," Kerem replied. "Miss Kartal, I understand that this might seem strange, but I want to assure you that we handle these kinds of requests often."

"Requests from fathers to their daughters after being dead for decades? God, I feel crazy just saying it out loud." Zoe gripped the leather strap of her bag to keep her hands busy. "You know there is still family in Istanbul that could have taken care of any estate matters."

"We are aware, but this isn't for the family. It's for you, specifically, to take care of." Kerem opened the door to the cafe for her.

"Hey, Zoe, hot date?" Lily asked from behind the cash register. She was the owner and was always trying to set Zoe up with her sons.

"Very funny, but no. Business as always," Zoe replied, her neck going hot. She ordered her usual double espresso and was surprised when Kerem ordered the same.

"English coffee isn't robust enough. It needs to be double, don't you think?" he said and tipped Lily.

They found a table at the back of the cafe, out of the way of other customers. Kerem's eyes flickered to the people around them, as if scanning for something.

"Are you okay?" Zoe asked, uneasiness settling under her ribs.

"Yes, of course," he replied, placing the leather portfolio in front of him. "Shall we begin?"

Zoe swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay. I'm ready." She really, really wasn't, but she refused to be a chicken shit about it.

Kerem opened the folio and passed her a pale blue envelope. Her throat closed at the swirling letters stamped in the left corner—Kartal Rare Books. It was her father's stationary.

Zoe ran her thumb over it, and her name that was written on the front in a barely legible handwriting. She looked up at Kerem, feeling like she didn't inhabit her body properly.

"It's okay, Zoe. Take your time," he said kindly.

Zoe opened the letter and took out the single page.

Happy Birthday, my dearest love.

I'm sorry I can't be with you on this day, but know wherever I am, I'm thinking of you and the amazing woman you have become.

For your present, I wish to give you the family legacy that was passed onto me on my thirty-third birthday. The bookstore and everything in it are now yours to care for. I know your shoulders and clever mind are both strong enough to bear its burdens with grace and wisdom.

Should you need help of any kind, the Order is there for you. You can trust them with your life.

With all my love,

Your father.

P.S. Please don't be mad at Kerem for this surprise. You might not remember him, but he's not bad. For a lawyer x.

Zoe read the letter twice more before folding it carefully with shaking fingers. "You knew my father well?"

"Very well," Kerem confirmed with a nod.

Zoe's eyes narrowed. "You don't look old enough to have been friends with him."

"I'm older than I look. I've been blessed with excellent genes. The deed and keys to the bookstore are waiting in Istanbul for you to collect," he said and pushed the leather folio towards her. "These are your flight details. A car will be waiting to pick you up from the airport…"

"Wait, wait. I can't go to Istanbul!" she said, leaning back in her chair.

Kerem lifted a brow. "From my understanding, you run your own business?"

"So? That doesn't mean I can just drop everything and run off to Turkey." Zoe drank her espresso to stop herself from talking. Technically, running her own business and finishing her latest commission that day meant she could leave whenever she wanted. She just hated feeling like she had no choice.

Kerem frowned and placed his cup back on its saucer. "You don't understand yet, but your family's legacy is an important one. You need to come home, Zoe."

Home . Tears pricked her eyes at the word. She hadn't been back to Istanbul since Anita had moved them to her family home in London after her father died. She should have gone back but had known it would hurt her mother if she did. Her mother could be difficult, but Zoe had always tried to avoid causing her more pain.

"The bookstore has just…sat there all this time?" she asked, her fingers tapping on the table.

"Yes. As someone who has restored antique books her whole life, I thought you would jump at the chance. It would be worth going to take a look at least, don't you think? Who knows what treasures Oman had hidden in there that are just waiting for you to find."

Zoe laughed despite herself. "That's playing dirty, Kerem."

"Is it?" Kerem asked, smiling over the brim of his cup. "You have nothing to lose by taking a look at what he left you, do you? He always did have such an eclectic collection."

Zoe wasn't a coward, not by a long shot, but she wasn't feeling particularly brave to open the doors to her past. She summoned her stubborn streak that usually worked better than bravery anyway.

Fuck it. Just go.

It wasn't like Zoe had plans for her birthday anyway. Maybe a few days in Istanbul to clear up the legalities of her father's estate would be a good thing for her. It would get her out of London and into some warmer weather.

Hopefully, going back would finally lay her father's ghost to rest and she would be able to let his death go once and for all. She opened the leather folio in front of her.

"What time was the flight for?" she asked, straightening her shoulders.

Kerem smiled brightly. "Whenever you are ready."