Chapter 43
“I don’t mean to alarm anyone,” I say in a low voice, “but I think we’re being watched.”
Helen tenses beside me, but Adrian calmly continues checking the last two volumes on the shelf. “I can’t seem to find it,” he says, just loud enough for his voice to carry. “What row was it that the reference librarian said to check next? One hundred?”
“I believe so,” Helen says, catching on to his plan.
“Of course.”
We walk along the rail separating us from the gallery below, in full sight of anyone looking our way. As Adrian and I turn into Row 100, Helen drops her purse. Several pencils, a powder compact, a pocket knife, and a tube of lipstick spill out across the floor.
“Drat,” she says, crouching down in a position that will let her survey the room. “I’ll get this, you gentlemen go on ahead.”
We enter Row 100, make sure we can’t spot anyone surveilling us from the balcony across the way, then sidle along the wall using the stacks as cover. The sensation of being watched has lessened, or at least I think it has. Unless I imagined it in the first place.
No—I need to trust my instincts. They’ve been right all along, even when I thought they’d been broken by shell shock. Besides, Adrian and Helen both believed me without question—even if I have trouble trusting myself, I can certainly trust them.
As we move down the rows, we cautiously peek down each one, looking for any sign of a spy. I don’t think we could have been seen from the lower floor while Adrian was searching for the book, so whoever it is must be up here.
The soft murmur of voices sounds from Row 83.
Adrian pulls his gun from its holster and slips it into his pocket, hand firmly on its grip.
Since I don’t want anyone to die if I can help it, I try to reach into that space deep inside where my magic seems to come from.
If only Helen had time to instruct me further, I’d feel better about my ability to summon and control it without damaging the books.
We probably should have switched, and let Helen come instead of me, but it’s too late now.
I meet Adrian’s gaze and he gives a little nod. It’s time.
We swing around the end of the row, ready to confront whoever has been spying on us.
Two students stand locked in a passionate embrace. The girl lets out a shriek when we spring out, and her paramour leaps away as if stung.
All the tension deserts me. This isn’t our spy, just two young people looking for a private place to neck.
“Oh my God!” The girl puts a hand to her chest. “Don’t jump out at people like that!”
The boy’s face goes bright red. “S-Sorry! We weren’t—it wasn’t what it looked like!”
Adrian sighs. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anyone else lurking around the stacks?”
They both looked baffled. “No,” the girl says, then she blushes as well.
No doubt they had better things to look at, such as into each other’s eyes. The sense of being watched has left me entirely, and my shoulders slump. “I think they’re gone.”
“Right.” Adrian tips his hat to the couple. “Er, carry on.”
We rejoin Helen at the railing. “Nothing,” Adrian reports. “And Sterling says the watcher has left.”
“I didn’t notice anyone either,” she says. “Damn it. It’s possible magical means are involved—I can knit us a quick ward when we get back to my apartment.”
“That sounds very useful.” The cult who’ve been trying to kill me somehow found us at the pharmacy, then at Cleo’s. Magic seems as likely as more mundane means at this point.
Helen smooths her skirt and hooks her purse back onto her shoulder. “Were you serious when you said the book wasn’t on the shelf, Adrian?”
Disappointingly, he nods. “I didn’t see it. Perhaps it’s been checked out?”
“I hope so—if it’s been shelved in the wrong place, we could spend months in here before finding it.” She strides back toward the stairs, leaving us to follow.
We return to the front room where Helen makes for the circulation desk near the doors. Putting on a bright smile, she says, “We’re looking for a book, but it doesn’t seem to be on the shelves. Can you tell us if it’s been checked out?”
The old woman behind the desk peers at us through her glasses. “I suppose so. What book is it?”
I write down the title again, and she turns to an enormous ledger. Her wrinkled lips purse as she runs a finger down the pages, flips back in the book, and repeats the action. At last, she nods. “It was checked out in August by Dr. Jessica Dane of the Metaphysics Department.”
I fail to keep the surprise from my face, judging by the suspicious look the librarian gives me. “Thanks,” Helen says breezily, “we’ll just talk to her, then.”
With that, she’s off. We catch up with her just outside the doors, atop the high steps leading down.
“So Dr. Dane has the Lettere Segrete,” Adrian says thoughtfully. “But she isn’t attached to the art department, so why would she be interested in the private letters of a bunch of Renaissance artists?”
“Or was she just interested in the ones from Bianca Giuliani?” It’s too much of a coincidence to believe anything else. “Could this be why Swarm-Me wrote to her? Was he asking her to steal it, since he couldn’t get the copy from Miss Lovejoy?”
“Whatever she wants it for, at least we know she isn’t working with the Timekeepers and the Swarm,” Helen points out. “I think we should just go ask her.”
Adrian arches a brow. “If you recall, that didn’t go so well the first time.”
“I’ll get us past the secretary.” Helen waves off his concern.
“And if she’s part of the cult who are trying to kill me?” I ask. “I don’t want to walk into her hands if that’s the case.”
“If she was, I think she would have tried to lure you here, not ordered the receptionist to send you away.” Helen frowns slightly. “Unless she wasn’t ready to confront you then, and decided to spy on you with magic…”
The devil? “Is she a sorceress, too? Is there anyone in this town who doesn’t cast spells?” I can’t believe what I’m asking.
“I assume someone with a degree in metaphysics would know some arcane secrets, don’t you?” Helen asks. “I really don’t think she’s the type to join a cult, though. Too independent.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“We’ll see if we can even get in to talk to her,” Adrian says. “But if she has the Lettere Segrete…can we trust her? Even if she isn’t working with the Timekeepers or trying to kill us.”
Helen hesitates. “I’d say we can trust her…but I don’t know her that well. I had some classes with her—she’s very no-nonsense and always seemed more interested in her studies than power or fame. But people have done terrible things in the pursuit of knowledge.”
“I suppose we’ll decide when we get there.” This feels dangerous, but I don’t have any better ideas. And if she was the one watching us in the library, better to confront her now.
We head away from the library, retracing yesterday’s steps to the building with the astronomy tower protruding incongruously from the top. As we approach the receptionist’s desk a second time, I slow down and try to duck behind Helen. It doesn’t work, because she’s shorter than I am.
“Hello!” Helen says brightly. “We’re here to see Dr. Dane.”
The receptionist’s gaze goes past her and fixes on Adrian and me. “I’m calling security,” she says, and reaches for the telephone.
“No, wait!” Helen holds up her hands. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I’m Helen Rath, I was a student of Dr. Dane’s. If she’ll just talk to us for five minutes, everything will be cleared up.” She bats her lashes. “Please?”
The receptionist looks at us again, then back to Helen—then sighs. “I’ll ask Dr. Dane, but if she says no, I will have you all escorted out and barred from returning.”
Helen beams at her. “Swell!”
Looking displeased with us, the receptionist departs. She’s gone longer this time; when she returns, her mouth is an unhappy slash. “Dr. Dane will see you in her office. Room 430.”
“Thank you,” Helen says and heads in the direction the receptionist came from. I avoid the receptionist’s gaze as I follow, but I can sense her glare practically burning a hole in the back of my neck. She certainly doesn’t need magic to make me feel uneasy.
We find ourselves in a long hallway with doors along the right-hand side at regular intervals.
A brass room number is affixed to the wall near each door frame, with a small plaque beneath listing the name of the professor within.
Some of the doors are open; as we pass one of them, I catch the student inside pleading with a professor to change his grade.
Room 430’s door is open and waiting for us. Helen enters first, and I follow, with Adrian last.
Dr. Dane sits behind her desk: a thin, severe-looking woman in her middle years, her black hair swept back into a tight bun. Gold-rimmed glasses perch on her nose and she wears a sensible tweed suit. Bookshelves line the walls, packed with books, journals, and papers.
“Miss Rath,” she says severely. “I can’t say I’m pleased to see you again under these circumstances.”
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” Helen assures her. “This is Mr. Adrian Evans and Mr. Sterling Caine.”
“So I gather.” Dr. Dane turns cool gray eyes on Adrian. “Close the door, if you would.”
He does so. I swallow against the nervousness tightening my throat. “Dr. Dane, please give me a chance to explain.”
She opens her desk drawer, pulls out a small Colt automatic pistol, and levels it in our direction. “Start talking, Mr. Caine.”