The Oxford Inheritance by Ann A. McDonald

asked.
    Evie groaned. “Too late, and I shouldn’t have gone. But someone was having a party, and then we needed food, and before I knew it, we were propping up the bar until closing, like always!” They headed downstairs, walking out toward the back entrance. “Have you been past the Botanic Garden?” Evie suggested. Cassie shook her head. “It’s not far, out beyond Magdalen College. We could loop around by the river, it’s nice and peaceful.”
    â€œLead the way.”
    They started jogging, and soon fell into a slow, steady pace as they headed down the street and across the bridge to where the river wound away from Raleigh in the opposite direction of the route Cassie had beentaking. This wasn’t as secluded as her usual path: they passed museums and parkland, but still the early morning silence was draped over the city, muffling distant traffic with birdsong and the gentle lap of the river on its banks.
    Evie chatted easily as they jogged, about her upbringing in the leafy north Hampstead suburbs, her private schooling, her dramatic French mother. She had studied for her undergraduate degree in history and literature at Cambridge and made the move to Oxford to work on her thesis at the site of Raleigh’s activities. Her parents were retired now, idling near a vineyard in the South of France, while Evie happily pursued her master’s digging through dusty Elizabethan research and drinking dry gimlets in the elegant city bars.
    It was a world away from Cassie’s own upbringing, but she found herself enjoying the gentle chatter and glamorous stories all the same, like an anthropologist hearing reports from a foreign tribe. Unlike some of the other students she’d encountered, who boasted loudly about their foreign houses and extravagant vacations, Evie was simply being friendly, and she peppered her own stories with questions about Cassie’s life. Cassie evaded as much as possible and repeated her cover story about a lifelong fascination with Oxford.
    â€œIs it everything you imagined?” Evie asked, when they took a break to rest by the Botanic Garden. The glass hothouses sat neatly by the riverbanks, manicured lawns winding with trimmed pathways. Cassie could see the lush green and vibrant colors of the exotic plants housed within.
    â€œOxford?” Cassie paused a moment, catching her breath. “I don’t know yet. I built it up so much in my mind, I’m not sure anything could have equaled the vision I had.”
    This was true. She’d imagined Oxford to be a mythic place, full of answers, where she’d finally come to know the truth about her mother, but instead . . . It was just a city: beautiful and old, yes, but still a real place, the same as any other, full of darkness and mystery but also the buzz of traffic, wet autumn rains, tourists clustering the streets.
    â€œIt never quite matches what we had in our minds, does it?” Evie replied softly.
    Cassie looked over, surprised by the disappointed note in Evie’s voice.
    â€œMy degree.” Evie gave a bashful shrug. “I thought it would be . . . not easy, but clear. That I’d know exactly what to do, the way I always do. Things make sense to me, they always have, but now . . . I just can’t find the answers I’m looking for.”
    Cassie gave her a sympathetic smile. “You just need a plan,” she said. “Be methodical, and you’ll figure it out. Step by step.”
    Evie nodded. “Hey, thanks. For listening; I know I can babble on.”
    â€œNo problem.” Cassie smiled. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
    They turned back to the college. As they jogged slowly along the river, a familiar figure drew closer—the young man Cassie had seen out running before. His brown hair was ruffled by the wind, ears tipped red from the chill. As he approached them, he gave Cassie a wide smile. “You again,” he