Dead and Gone (Thornwood Academy)

Chapter 4

4

Few cars were in the museum car park in the daytime, and none are parked in the small area behind the building this evening. With nothing to lurk behind, Rowan and I stick to the shadows and avoid security lights as we scout for the cameras the curator mentioned.

I'm dressed in one of Rowan's hoodies that hangs halfway to my knees, worn over my usual black attire, but as requested, I swapped my favored Docs for sneakers tonight. I could argue with Rowan that as a half-vampire, I'm stealthier even in big boots, plus I can move fast into the dark, but I don't want him to change his mind about helping out.

Not that I believe Rowan will, despite his initial protests. He noticed the secret because he chose to search the museum and is as keen to get a hold of the item as I am. Perhaps he's becoming more of a Dr. Watson than the Moriarty he originally was to me.

Unless Rowan's attraction to the box suggests darker magic is attached since that's always a pull for him.

Now we're here, Rowan is less sure he wants to be. He huddles against the rough brick wall of the museum, hands buried in his pockets. "If someone robbed the place recently, the curator might have extra security. Like a person."

"I doubt the museum could afford that." I peer at the closest cameras. "And our mind magic would work if they do have a security guard, which seems unlikely."

Rowan's desire to outsmart and outwit everybody includes humans, and he took time to learn their 'magic'—he has a talent for and knowledge of IT, unusual for a witch. This includes disabling computer systems so that if the camera picks us up, Rowan will wipe the footage. I'm not concerned—we've established that the museum's security isn't top-class technology.

Leif's refusal to accompany us turns out to be a good thing as there's no way he'd fit through the window we use to climb into the place. Grayson's lither figure, yes. Leif's larger body, no. I'm fine, but Rowan does struggle, and I'm forced to yank at him until he inelegantly lands on the floor.

The small room we enter contains several wooden chairs around a square table and shelves containing shoe-box-sized containers. I cross the polished floor and snatch one. I'm disappointed to discover they contain nothing but stacks of museum guides, and paraphernalia such as Holly bought from the gift shop, plus a box of worksheets designed for elementary school-age children who visit. As I inspect the shelves, Rowan sneaks off to examine the security.

There's nothing pinned to any wall, but there is also a low metal filing cabinet.

As Rowan returns, I tuck a strand of my long, dark hair behind an ear and point at the cabinet. "Do you think the keys for the display cabinets are in there?"

"Maybe. But if that's locked, we'd need a key to get the keys," says Rowan quietly.

I arch a brow. "Seriously?"

"No, Violet. You can't break anything."

But he's wasting his breath since I've already tugged the metal drawer hard. "Not locked."

Rowan sighs and sits on one of the chairs.

Apart from a couple of visitor books signed by people over the years, there's a packet of chocolate biscuits, a tin containing boiled sweets, and a stapler. A black metal box nestles in one corner, and my eyes widen as I take hold. Hidden? "What is this?"

Rowan glances at the box. "People usually use those to store petty cash."

"Petty cash?" I run my fingers across the lid. "Surely all cash is significant."

"No. Money kept for buying small items." I look at him blankly, and he takes the box. "Like biscuit purchases."

"Oh. Anything magical in this box?" I ask.

He takes hold. "Locked, but I can't sense anything."

Frustrated, I open the lower drawer. This one's deeper, containing a row of files filled with documents pertaining to the museum's financial accounts and other business-like papers. I push the hanging files to one side, and something catches my eye in the bottom of the deep drawer. Aha.

"Keys!" I grab the large bunch of silver and bronze keys in different sizes. "Some of these must open the cabinets."

"Wait," says Rowan, and I look around to where he's flicking through a manila file. "Look." He runs a finger over a tiny silver key taped to the top of a page. Carefully, he extracts the object and takes hold of the black box.

"Why isn't the key with the others?" I ask him.

"I bet the key fits this." Rowan fumbles as he turns the key in the black box's lock, and we both peer inside. "Holy crap."

"Money. As predicted." I sigh. Nothing interesting.

"Yeah, but a lot of money." Rowan takes out bank notes crammed into the box and flicks through them. "Hundreds of pounds. Thousands even. These are all fifties."

"Why is this unusual for a cash box?"

"Violet. The curator claims the museum doesn't have any funds. This can't all be from visitor entry fees or selling his crappy book." He empties the box and runs his fingers along the bottom. "Nothing else. No compartments."

"Hmm." I watch as Rowan tucks the money back. "No wonder the curator hid the key."

"Do you think he's selling exhibits?" he asks, locking the box again. "Maybe he took the mole and the watch."

"The watch, maybe, but not the mole. The town teens clearly have that." I scratch my head. "Odd. He complains that the museum lacks exhibits. Seems unlikely he would sell remaining items. What's printed on the paper?" I point to the sheet the key was taped to.

"Records of visitor numbers. Nothing interesting. We should put the box back and keep moving." Rowan glances at the door. "I don't want to hang around."

From the moment we broke in, I could sense the absence of life—no security guard, who would likely be the curator, anyway. Rowan re-tapes the key inside the file and then double-checks he's deactivated the keypad for the alarm before we wander into the exhibit room.

I've no problem with my vision in the shrouded space, but Rowan almost walks into a table display the moment he steps inside after me.

I hold out my hand and take his, guiding us along the narrow space between exhibits and to the room with the suspected magical item.

"This is romantic," Rowan teases. "You never hold my hand in public."

"This is decidedly unpublic and I'd rather you didn't trip and break glass with your head." I pause. "You're also fully aware that even though I enjoy your company, I don't like public displays of affection."

He chuckles and squeezes my fingers. "Only you would see handholding as a PDA."

PDA . Ah. So that's what Holly means. Another acronym deciphered.

"I'm happy with the private displays of affection," he whispers.

"Good grief, Rowan. We're in the middle of a heist and you want to discuss our relationship."

Rowan snorts to himself. "If he were here, Grayson would take advantage of the dark more than I would."

"He'd get short shrift too. Now focus."

Having avoided the world and all those living in it for eighteen years, I never imagined inadvertently entangling myself with not one but three guys once I set foot in said world. I'm still working on socially appropriate behavior, and relationships prove a whole other level of confusion and accidental insults.

We reach the room, and I pause in the doorway to examine the keyring. Six keys are attached to the ring, a couple large enough for doors, and the smaller silver ones could fit the cabinet locks. After trying several, I locate the one for the desired cabinet, sliding in the key and pulling the glass to one side.

Instantly, Rowan darts a hand inside and picks up the compass, squeezing it in his palm for a moment before shaking his head and replacing it. As I suspected, the jewelry in the cabinet also yields nothing.

"And the box isn't magical. There must be an item inside." He runs his fingers along the lid. "How does it open?"

I take the box and examine it myself. The object is tightly sealed and has a barely visible keyhole at the front. No key from the bunch we stole will fit that tiny lock, and there's no way I'd fit my fingers between the lid and box to prise it open. Handing the item back to Rowan, I study the cards pinned beside each item.

"If the box was on display when the supe council took magic artifacts, they would've sensed something. There's a new item inside the box."

His brow tugs. "Where from?"

"And what ?" I point. "We need to take the box if we can't open it now. And don't look at me like that—our whole purpose for this illegal activity is to locate a magical item." I place the box in a pocket. "Perhaps the curator is hiding more than money, and we're going to discover what."