Then he cranked his music and peeled out of the lot.
Em felt Drea’s eyes on her as they walked toward the entrance. She wondered whether Drea was as nervous as she was. It felt like there was a marching band in her stomach.
“I think he likes you,” Drea announced.
This took Em completely by surprise. She wrinkled her nose. “Who likes me? What?”
“Crow. I think he has a crush on you.”
Crow? Having a crush? On her? “Are you high?” Em scoffed. “Crow thinks that I’m Princess Popular. He’s only nice to me because you and I are friends.” And they were friends—Em realized it as she said the words.
“It just seems like he likes you, that’s all. He was staring at you in the car. I kept thinking he was going to drive off the road.” Drea shrugged and looked at Em critically. “You are kind of having a good skin day.”
Em shook her head, laughing a little. This was crazy. Since when did Drea talk shop about boys and skin? That was Gabby’s job. “Let’s go in, weirdo,” she said.
? ? ?
The University of Southern Maine antiquities research room was a special section, wood-paneled and remote, near the top of the university library. A severe-looking woman with black hair and dark red lipstick sat at a desk by the door.
She sat up sharply when Em and Drea entered. “You have to sign in,” she said, pointing to a sign that asked for photo ID.
“Can I help you girls?” she asked as she typed their information into the computer.
“We’re just doing some research for a school project,” Drea said, grabbing back her ID and sailing past the desk nonchalantly while whispering under her breath, “We’re not gonna rob the place, lady.” But then she did a double take. “I’ve seen that woman before,” she said to Em as they moved out of earshot.
They searched Furies and made their way to a row of books about ancient Greece; the librarian watched them closely the whole time. She was in heaven, running her fingers over the books’ leather bindings and gold-embossed lettering.
“Here’s one,” Drea said, heaving an oversized volume off one of the shelves. They brought it to a table and hunched over it; meanwhile, the librarian had moved from her watchful perch and moseyed over to the search computers. Em saw, out of the corner of her eye, that the woman was trying to get a better look at what they had typed into the computer. They were definitely being watched.
“Okay, let’s see,” Drea was mumbling. “Erebus . . . Eurydice . . . Fates . . . Furies . . . Here we go. Page 282.” Em could sense now that the librarian was hovering behind them.
They flipped to the page and Em pulled out her notebook, grabbing a pen cap with her teeth and tugging it off so that she was ready to take notes. She was ravenous for the information.
But page 282 offered nothing more than what they already knew.
“What’s the next one called?” Drea asked as Em scanned the computer search printout.
“It’s called . . . oh my god, Drea,” Em gasped. “It’s exactly what we’re looking for. Conjuring the Furies.”
Drea craned her neck to read over Em’s shoulder. “You’re kidding. That’s really what it’s called?”
They eagerly scanned the call numbers; Em’s pulse quickened with excitement. But when they got to the place where the book should have been, it wasn’t there.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” Em approached the librarian politely, trying to contain her impatience. “We’re looking for this book, here?” She pointed to the call number and the book title.
“It’s gone,” the woman said in a clipped tone.
“I thought you weren’t allowed to check books out?” Em was thisclose to leaping over the desk and looking at the woman’s computer herself.
“It’s missing,” the librarian told them. Em looked at her blankly. “It was stolen on November fifteenth. And frankly, ladies, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“What the hell?” Drea’s voice got loud immediately.
“Drea . . . ,” Em warned through clenched teeth. She turned to the librarian and spoke overly politely. “I’m sorry, Ms. . . . Markwell,” she said, reading the woman’s name tag, which showed that her first name was Hannah. “Are we doing something wrong? We’re just trying to locate this book.”
“I don’t know what you girls are up to,” she said, her eyes darting with distress between Em and Drea. Her lips were so strikingly defined that Em could not look away from her mouth. “But you can’t do it here. You should leave.”
The girls exchanged looks. There was something going on here, some undercurrent that neither of them understood.
“You can’t just tell us to leave. We have a right to be here.” Drea stood up straight and defiant.