65 Birdie
BIRDIE
Summer holiday means campus is a total dead zone.
I’m able to weave my way through the maze of empty lots, pulling up to park in the narrow delivery zone behind the anthropology building.
The ivy-covered wall of this building is boxed in by the more industrial concrete wall of the life sciences building.
Frankie gazes up at the closed loading dock. “Can we even get in this way?”
“We’ll enter through the front. There’s a freight elevator we can use to bring the GPR down that will lead us out here to the loading dock.
” Clicking on the hazards, I slip from the Jeep and lead the way around the building, entering via the main lobby.
“Admin is on the fifth floor,” I say, heading for the elevator.
Frankie follows behind. “What do we do if they don’t have what we need?”
I shrug, pressing the up button. “Well, then we thank our lucky stars that Howe can’t get his hands on one either.”
The elevator dings and the doors open. We both step inside. We stand silently, watching the lights change, marking the floors above the door.
“How are you so okay with all of this?” she asks.
“All of what? Trying to sneak a GPR from my university?”
“No, magic. Humans are supposed to freak out about this stuff, right?” Arms crossed, she leans against the wall of the elevator.
“Every book and every movie, they all tell the same horror stories about what happens when witches go trusting humans with the truth of what we are. You’re supposed to panic and flee, not join the freaking team. ”
I smile. “I’m guessing Jasper didn’t tell you about that then, huh? Probably trying to save my credibility with the rest of the coven.”
The doors ding open on the fifth floor, and I lead the way towards the administration suite.
Frankie follows. “Wait—did you run away when you found out?”
“I was processing,” I clarify. “I didn’t flee. I just . . . extricated myself from an emotionally charged situation.”
Frankie chuckles. Sure, my cowardice she finds charming. “I bet you ran like a little bitch baby.”
Rounding on her, I arch a brow. “Well, I’m not running now, am I? Finding out about magic may have been a surprise, but I’m a rationalist. When presented with compelling evidence of fact, I adapt and move forward.”
“Like a freaking robot,” she mutters.
Rolling my eyes, I lead the way into the administration suite. An older white lady named Ronnie sits at the desk, brazenly reading on an e-reader rather than doing any work. “Hello,” I chime.
“Oh—hello there, girls.” She lowers her reader, taking us in. Her gaze settles on Frankie. The cargo pants, the hardware store T-shirt, the stormy glare, Frankie doesn’t exactly scream “friendly college student.”
Taking charge, I step forward, placing my elbows on the high desk.
“Hi, my name is Virginia Rhodes. I’m a PhD student here at Winthrop over in the history department.
” Reaching for my wallet, I slip out my university ID, showing it to her.
“I’m currently serving as the lead grad assistant for Professor Ezra Howe, Director of the Burr Island Historical Society. ”
She brightens. “Oh, we all love Ezra over here. We sure do miss him.”
Perfect.
“Well, he misses you,” I reply with a bright smile.
She hands the ID back to me. “What can I do for you, Miss Rhodes?”
“Actually, Professor Howe sent us over here to see about borrowing a GPR for our dig project. The one we have crapped out this morning.”
“Oh no,” she says on a sigh. “Oh, how awful.”
“I know, right? And we only had one zone left to scan. If you have one we can borrow, I promise we won’t need it for longer than a day. Two at the most. It’ll save us a major headache, and expense.”
“Well, let’s just see what we can do for Professor Howe.
” She turns to the computer, wiggling the mouse to wake the screen.
Adjusting the cheaters on her nose, she scrolls the equipment rental page of the department’s website.
“Hmm . . . I’m sorry, girls, but it looks like all our equipment has been rented out for the summer. ”
My emotions war within me, both relief and frustration. “Well, at least we tried. I’ll let Howe know we need to check with another university. Maybe Boston—”
“Well, now wait just a minute.” Ronnie inches closer to the monitor. “It looks like all of this equipment has definitely been requested . . . hmm . . .” She flicks through open tabs with a few clicks of her mouse. “Yep, I don’t think everything has actually been checked out quite yet.”
I perk up. “Really?”
“Mhmm.” Ronnie glides away from the computer in her wheely chair.
“If a professor has a request for equipment usage, it takes precedent over a student request. If there’s still a GPR in the equipment room, it will go to Howe.
” Rising from her chair, she steps around the desk. “Let’s go take a quick peek.”
I glance quickly to Frankie, who just gives me a glare.
We follow Ronnie down the hall. Rattling a set of keys from her pocket, she unlocks a door labeled “Fieldwork Equipment.” Stepping in, she clicks on the light.
It’s a small room, stacked with metal shelves from floor to ceiling.
There’s everything in here from tablets and cameras to dig kits, drones, clear boxes full of trowels, and survey and measuring equipment.
And there, tucked in the front corner on the floor, is an old model GPR.
“There we are.” Ronnie waves at the machine tucked safely in its box. The cart waits next to it. “Looks like she’s all yours, girls. Just try and have her back by the weekend. Students tend to get persnickety when faculty hog the machines.”
“Will do,” I chime, waving as she walks away. As soon as she’s gone, I turn to Frankie with a smile. “Is this lucky or what?”
“It’s something,” she mutters.
I swear, she likes me. Deep, deep down.
“Come on. Help me get it to the elevator.”
It takes me a minute to remember how to find the freight elevator in this weird maze of a building, but Frankie and I work as a team to get the GPR down to the first floor. She carries the big black box with all the equipment, while I wheel the rickety cart.
Leaning against the wall in the loading dock bay, she waits while I figure out how to work the door. “I’m starving,” she says with a yawn. “I skipped lunch because of you. You’re buying hotdogs on the ferry.”
I wince, jabbing my thumb on a large, grey button.
With a hum and a whine, the mechanical door motor starts to crank open the heavy metal door.
I wish there’d come a time when this kind of thing wouldn’t be awkward to admit.
“Yeah . . . about that. Wanna have a little more ‘getting to know you’ fun?”
She arches a brow in silent question.
“I have no money,” I say with a shrug. “I just sank my last twenty-five bucks into Peep for gas. I won’t be able to buy you so much as a gumball until your high priest pays me.
Which might be kind of hard seeing as he’s fake dead right now.
Also, I’m not actually working in the shop where I get paid because I’m too busy trying to help stop our coven from being wiped off the map by a crazy witch.
So . . . you’re buying the hotdogs.” I snap my fingers with both hands and shoot her a double thumbs-up, which is the most awkward thing possible.
She searches my face before nodding. “Fine.”
I perk up. “Really?”
“Let’s just get this shit loaded.”
I roll the creaky, wheeled cart down the ramp. Frankie follows, hefting the weight of the big black box with ease. I rush to get the back door of the Jeep open and fold down the seats so we can fit both the box and the cart inside.
Frankie grunts, sliding the box in deep. “Gimme the cart thing.”
I go to grab it but then her hands grip tight to my shoulders. Jerking me back, she pulls me in against her chest. “Don’t come any closer!”
Adrenaline zaps through me, sending my heart racing.
What the heck is she talking about? I turn to see a short man strolling down the alley between the two buildings, both hands in his pockets.
At Frankie’s barked command, he stops. Slipping his hands from his pockets, he slowly raises them, a grin spreading on his face.
“Well, well,” he calls. “This is certainly a surprise.” He’s small in frame, both in height and shoulders. His hair is dark, swept back. His skin is tanned. There’s a gold chain at his neck. But it’s his eyes that send a chill through me.
I know those eyes. Dáinn drew those eyes.
Enzo Barsotti is here. He takes a step closer.
“I said don’t fucking move,” Frankie shouts, shifting me behind her.
The witch tsks. “Where’s the ‘please,’ huh? A witch in your position can’t afford to be rude, Francesca.”
He knows her name?
Shit, shit, shit.
“What are you doing here?” she calls. “What do you want?”
“Oh, I think I’ll be the one asking the questions.
You’re not on your island anymore, Miss Poole.
This here is my turf. And you see, my boss is mighty confused.
She was just told you Burr Island witches have nothing to do with the dig site happening up at Homewood.
Yet, here you are, with your paws all over the very machine I was sent to get.
” He points to the back of the open Jeep. “That sonar is mine. Hand it over.”
“It’s a radar,” I hear myself say.
His eyes narrow. “What was that?”
Frankie tenses, her arm outstretched before me like a shield. “Don’t.”
But someone has to try to talk our way out of this mess.
And Frankie “why use ten words when zero and a scowl will do” Poole will be no freaking help.
“I said it’s a radar,” I shout around her.
“Sonar is a completely different kind of wave emitting technology. It uses sound waves, not radio waves. Which you would know if you had any business handling this equipment. But you don’t.
Clearly. So, why don’t I see that this gets safely delivered to Howe—”
“The witch isn’t going anywhere,” he says over me. “Not with that device.”