I raised an eyebrow. “You mentioned the book. Your cover was a bit on the nose.”
“It had to be. It’s nearly impossible to lie to auditors, so it’s best to tell a version of the truth.”
I frowned. “My apologies for all the trouble.”
“Really?” she asked. “I figured you enjoyed this kind of thing—slipping in and out under your enemy’s nose.”
“I certainly don’t hate it.”
We turned the corner and crossed a skyway that led to a large, round, colonnaded stone building with a domed top. Ms. Cross gestured to the imposing structure. “This is the archives. There is no ground-floor entrance, only an emergency exit. That’s why I had to bring you through the East Wing.”
Two huge wooden doors at the end of the skyway beckoned. The intricate carvings on their surface depicted scenes that constantly changed. Knights fighting dragons, scientists making discoveries, planets and nature and mathematics flashed across the doors in a whirling array.
“The different departments couldn't decide who should be represented at the entrance, so they all were,” Ms. Cross said. “There were so many submissions for the artwork that they ended up squishing them all on there with magic.”
“I suppose that cuts down on interdepartmental bickering,” Carrow said.
“It did, though nothing keeps them quiet for long.”
Carrow chuckled.
We entered the enormous domed space. The interior of the archives seemed much wider and higher than the building we had seen from the skyway. I looked down from the third-floor balcony upon which we stood, studying the chamber. The walls were lined with bookshelves, while the lower level was filled with reading desks. In the very center of the room, a large O-shaped circulation desk ringed a massive pit that descended into the earth. Imps flew down and returned with books of all shapes and sizes.
Ms. Cross gestured to the pit. “There are sixty-seven levels of stacks descending deep below Lake Michigan. It’s supposed to keep the books cool. But boy, it seems like a pretty daft idea to keep an entire archive beneath the water table.”
“Wow,” Carrow said.
“Your book, however, is in Special Collections. It was a hassle to get access.”
We followed her down the stairs into a secondary wing of the archives. It was roofed with a high glass ceiling supported by a lightweight steel framework that simultaneously contrasted with and complimented the stodgy, neoclassical limestone dome.
We were met by a three-foot-tall curator. He eyed us suspiciously as he led us into a small open-top reading cubicle. Inside, atop a large Plexiglas block, sat a single book.
The curator glared at Ms. Cross. “You are responsible for this book. I do not think that people who are not curators should be allowed to touch books like these, but I do not make the rules.”
Ms. Cross smiled diplomatically. “Thank you for entrusting us with it.”
The small man grumbled. “I do not trust you any farther than I can spit a tooth.” He slapped a box of nitrile gloves on the table. “You do not touch the pages without gloves, or you will be evicted from the archive. You do not lick your fingers to turn the pages. You turn them gently, counting to seven as you do so. You do not sneeze on the book, or excrete any other bodily substances on the book, or you will be evicted from the archives.”
He paused for a moment, and then stalked off grumbling. “I will be watching.”
I approached the clear plastic box with the book. A warning label on the container read: “Hazardous: Magical Materials.”
We pulled on gloves, and Ms. Cross gingerly undid the clasp and opened the case. Magic sparked around the tome, shadowy and evil, leaving an oil slick on the air.
She shuddered and held the book out. “What are you looking for, specifically?”
Carrow reached for it, but I was quicker, taking it first. She didn’t need to touch something coated in magic like that. As soon as my fingertips touched the spine, I knew.
Damn it.
I could feel it, the same way I’d been able to feel it on the other book. When I flipped open the pages and saw the section that had been torn out, I wasn’t surprised.
Carrow scowled. “He’s been here, too.”
“Who the hell did that?” Ms. Cross glared from the book to me, and then back at the small man behind the special collections desk.
“Not us, obviously. But that’s why we’ve come. Our copy of this book is missing the same pages.”
“Could I hold it, please?” Carrow asked.
I frowned but passed it over. She took it, grimacing slightly, and ran her fingertips over the stumps of the missing pages.
Her magic flared slightly, and she scowled. “There’s no new information here.”
“What is your gift?” Ms. Cross asked. “And what’s going on?”
“I’m a bit like a psychic or a seer, but my gift is activated by touch.” Carrow handed the book back. “Whoever vandalized our book did the same thing to yours, but we have no idea who.”
“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” Ms. Cross asked.
“A lot more, and—”
“Shh!” Ms. Cross drew our attention to the doorway.
A pair of accounting trolls had entered the room and were asking questions.
8
Carrow
Neve pressed her back against the wall of the cubicle. “Shit! Those are the trolls we walked in on earlier. I think our number is up.” She looked at me. “They may not be after us, but I don’t want to count on it. Do you have what you need?”
“Yes. We’ve got as much as we can.”
“Okay, lets boogie.” We backtracked through the stacks into the central chamber, hugging the shelves beneath the balconies to keep out of the sight of any possible watchers above. I followed Neve, bounding up the stairs to the second floor, and crossed over the lower half of the skyway.
Panic rose as we hurried through the corridors, trying to avoid looking suspicious. We couldn’t get caught breaking into one of the main government buildings in Magic Side. They had the manpower to hunt us down and put us behind bars, and I didn’t have time to chill in a holding cell.
Mac and Seraphia didn’t have time. It was up to us to save them.
I studied Neve as we turned down another one of the endless narrow corridors lined by red doors. If we got caught, it could end her career. Yet, she seemed to be having fun. Who was this woman, and why was she risking her job to help us?
Finally, we exited into the alley, and I heaved a sigh of relief.
It was after noon now, and the sun shone high overhead. Birds chirped from the trees in the courtyard, and Neve said, “Come on, follow me.”
She led us down the sidewalk away from the Hall of Inquiry, skyscrapers to our left and the long parkway to our right. We ducked into a bar in the lower level of a century-old building. Three-paned windows let in the sun, and the bar was well lit, with high ceilings and dangling Edison bulbs. A slender, tattooed woman was working behind a granite bar top. It was trendy but quiet and cozy at the same time.
Heck yeah, this was my kind of place.
Neve flagged down the bartender and took us to a table in the corner. We seated ourselves facing the door.