Chapter Twenty-One #3
“What’s—” What’s going on? I want to demand, fearfully, childishly. But Vik doesn’t know any more than I do. We both have awful suspicions, nothing more. “Okay. Table that. What did you find out today?”
“Well,” he says, “We have one stroke of good luck and one major problem.”
“Just one major problem?”
Despite the tense mood, Vik’s teeth flash in the evening dim.
“Maybe more. But let’s not borrow trouble.
First, the good news: no security cameras anywhere in the Archive.
Mirabel asked Dr. Langmore about it, and Dr. Langmore claimed the Academy was more worried about CCTV hacks than physical break-ins. ”
“And the major problem?”
“The Miura Collection is big. That means the Highwall Collection must be massive. When Mr. Davis did the first rough itemization of her papers, he tried to batch them by year, but he admits he might have misfiled stuff. That’s assuming he didn’t misfile anything on purpose.
Even if we spend an entire night in the Highwall Collection and only focus on the years after she was bitten, we’ll probably have way too much material to get through—and we still might not find the cure there if Mr. Davis misfiled it. Thoughts?”
I gnaw my thumbnail. Bad habit, I know, but it helps me brainstorm. “What are our assets?”
“We can league. Which means we can see further into the future than other navigators. That saved us, when Mr. Davis almost caught us in the Archive. But it was luck that we were leaguing right before he showed up. To monitor the future constantly, we’d have to stay in flickerstate.
And if we have to run again before we find the cure, we’ve still got nothing. Leaguing can’t help with that.”
“Wait,” I say. “Maybe it could. How’s the Miura Collection set up?”
Vik straightens, intrigued. “Numbered boxes on steel shelves in a cold, dimly lit basement. Kind of creepy. Why?”
“If the boxes are all numbered…suppose, before we start searching, we agree to look through boxes at random. And we agree, every time we find a box with something useful in it, we leave the box in the middle of the room and keep searching. With me so far?”
“With you.”
“Then, suppose before we start searching, we league to look for futures where we leave boxes in the middle of the room. Because the boxes are numbered, we’ll be able to see, in the futures where we pull boxes, which exact numbered boxes we pull.”
“So when we league, we’ll see which boxes have something useful in them. We won’t actually have to perform the full search. We can go straight to the numbered boxes we’ve identified in flickerstate.” Vik blows out a breath. “Crap, that’s brilliant.”
I flush and hope he doesn’t notice in the low light.
“Yeah, my mind’s a diamond. But I think my plan causes a second problem.
When we went off half-cocked last night, we were hand-waving the possibility that we might have to league twice in a row.
But I think we should take it seriously.
Are we sure we can force a door malfunction and then league to search the Highwall Collection? ”
“Well,” Vik says, “if you’re all right with a little more delinquency…”
“Let’s assume I am.”
“Griffin put his Highwall keycard in the dresser in his bedroom. It wouldn’t be hard for me to steal it. The issue would be returning it before he notices it’s gone.”
“We have to sneak into the Archive sometime when Griffin won’t notice his keycard is missing. And when Mr. Davis won’t drop in unexpectedly…” The solution hits me. “Mr. Davis is chaperoning the Winter Formal. And Griffin’s going. We should break in then.”
Vik nods. “The library ought to be pretty deserted that night, which will help. But won’t we need a lookout to watch Griffin and Mr. Davis at the formal? Make sure they don’t creep off to the Archive for whatever reason and discover us?”
“Yeah.” I sigh hard. “Think we can get away with not explaining to the lookout why we need their help?”
“Um. No?”
“God. I really don’t want to tell anyone about…” I gesture to my wound.
“You told me.”
“You’re different.” I say it without thinking and right away regret it.
His eyes lock on my face. I pull my gaze guiltily away.
My fist clenches on my thigh. It was hard showing him my bite, and I deep down at bedrock trust him.
I do not feel that way about most people.
“But you’re right. If we’re pulling someone else in, we’ll have to tell them. ”
He nods. “Who should it be?”
It has to be someone who can keep a secret. Brave, smart, not risk averse. Ideally obsessed with bite cures… “Shit. It has to be Candace. And she’s so pissed at me right now. No point in waiting to loop her in, is there?”
“No.”
“Right.”
I’ll have to trust Candace now—the way I refused to trust her before the final trial.
I brace myself and start composing a text. I type, delete, retype. After a few minutes, I whittle everything I want to say down to a simple plea: Could you meet me on the basketball courts tomorrow at 5 a.m.? Or at least sometime really soon. Need to talk to you. Please don’t tell anyone.
Sent.