She stops and takes a small vial out of her pocket. “If you ever get lost, remember: water flows downhill.” Opening the vial, she pours the liquid it contains onto the ground. It rolls in a small trickle to the right. “You can follow it to the Vault’s other entrance.”
“It’s all downhill from here,” I say. “Got it.”
“Exactly.” She winks. “This way.”
We make two more lefts, then a sharp right, and I’m already lost. The corridors are all practically identical.
“Here we are,” Allard finally says.
She stops abruptly, and I almost bump into her.
“Where is here?” I ask.
“This is the Crypt. Our library.” She pulls open a rusted metal door and ushers me inside. “It’s modeled after the International Spy Museum in Washington, D.C., and contains hundreds of code-breaking machines and all sorts of gadgets. Are you ready for your first lesson?”
Inside, the space is shockingly modern, with polished cement floors and lit-up display cases containing briefcases, old-fashioned cameras, and antique computer keyboards.
“I guess so…”
She closes the door and leads me past a fingerprinting display. “It’s imperative you learn to transmit messages that won’t be intercepted. You’ll need to learn to code and decode. This place is an amazing resource—you can check anything out. We have Enigma machines and ciphers dating back to medieval times. Those are located back here.” She pushes open another door, and the air sucks in around us, becomes colder. “These are the archives, modeled after Yale University’s Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library.”
Dozens of individually lit bookshelves rise in front of us, forming a massive cube encased in glass. The surrounding walls are made of paneled marble, and brown leather couches are scattered at the base of the cube, arranged next to gold-framed rectangular tables.
As we enter, a boy about my age looks up from a massive book he’s studying on one of the tables.
Having expected to be alone, I almost jump out of my skin.
He slams the book shut and leaps to his feet.
“Garrett,” Allard exhales. “It’s good to see you.”
I’m instantly self-conscious. Terrified he’ll recognize me as Ella, I get busy studying my toes. Even though my hair now finishes in a jagged crop above my shoulders, and beneath my angled bangs, a row of white stars explodes over my black eye. I feel his stare and I imagine he sees right through me. He’s a thief, after all; they’re perceptive.
“You, too,” he says.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Allard says.
“It’s fine. I was on my way out.”
“You don’t have to leave.”
I venture a peek at him. Dark, messy hair falls across his forehead, and three smeared black bars are painted under one eye. He’s wearing a jumpsuit like mine, but his stretches across wide shoulders, his sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms. His smoldering green eyes pop, amplified by exhausted red rims, and his full lips purse in a frown. If I were remotely able to find anyone attractive at this moment, I would surrender at his feet. Something about him has me buzzing like there’s static electricity in the air, and I wouldn’t be surprised if my hair was standing on end.
“It’s not you,” he says. Peeling off a pair of white gloves, he discards them next to the book. “I leave for Atlanta in a few hours.”
“Ah.” Allard smiles. “Good luck.”
“Hopefully I don’t need it.” He brushes past us without so much as a glance at me, but his nearness sends a rush of heat up my spine all the same. He’s much taller than I am. But then, most people are.
The door sucks closed behind him, and the buzz fizzles.
“I thought you said the campus was deserted?” I ask, staring after him, the air stagnant without his energy filling it.
“It is. Garrett’s parents—Whitney and Jeff—live here year-round. They’re the heads of the training program and the only people beyond me who know your identity. I’ll introduce you to them when they return from their summer heist.”
“Does he know—”
“You can trust your secret is safe.” She cuts me off before I finish my question. “Garrett doesn’t get special treatment. He’ll be leading his Initiation Heist this year and is headed out for some extracurricular practice. If all goes well, we’ll be adding the secret recipe for Coca-Cola to our archives soon. He was studying…let’s see…” Heading to the desk, she puts on his white gloves, studying the cover of some ancient text. “Interesting…”
“What is it?” Joining her, I study the cracked brown cover. “It looks really old.”
“The Voynich manuscript… It’s a legendary book dating from around the fifteenth century written in a secret language and filled with illustrations of zodiac symbols, naked people, and plants that don’t exist.” She opens the book, revealing colorful flowers painted over illustrated symbols that look like they were written with a quill.
“So cool. What does it say?”
“Nobody knows. Some people think it’s a medieval alchemic Kama Sutra, others think it’s an anatomy and biology book, while still others think it’s a hoax—gibberish. It was stolen from the Beinecke by yours truly, as a matter of fact.” She smiles, and her eyes take on the hazy glow of memory. “We thought we’d try our hand at deciphering it before anyone else could make up their own version of what these codes mean. Many have tried, and personally I think it might be unsolvable, but at any rate, it’s safe here.”
“What does it have to do with the recipe for Coke?” I ask.
“I’m not sure. Maybe Garrett was deciphering it for practice.” She shrugs. “It’s good to train your brain how to think when faced with code. Maybe he was getting in the right mindset.”
“Maybe…” Peering at the strange illustrated plants and random symbols, I feel my stomach knot. I can’t imagine making sense of it.
Seeming to read my thoughts, Allard says, “Let’s start with something easy.” Closing the Voynich, she heads to the glass tower, and I expect her to wave a hand so the doors will slide open, but instead, she punches in a code on a keypad and pushes the door open manually. She disappears inside, returning a couple minutes later with another book, this one with an eight-point cross on the cover.
“Pigpen ciphers,” she says, setting the book on the table, “are a series of grids and dots based on the ciphers used by the Knights Templar in the twelfth century…”