The trolley rumbled through town on its slow circuit, stopping at various squares, as well as the main entrance to the Midway. Thirty minutes later, I got off at the stop closest to the library and walked the rest of the way through the rundown neighborhood.
It wasn’t six yet, and I thought that I might have to hide in one of the bathroom stalls until the library closed for the night. But the building was already locked up tight, and a sign on the door said that it would also be closed tomorrow so the staff could do inventory. Looked like I’d gotten lucky after all.
I had my chopstick lock picks stuck in my ponytail, so I jimmied open the side door and slipped inside. I walked through the stacks, the storage room, and down into the basement, where I hit the touch lamp, making it flare to life. Maybe it was my imagination, but the basement looked different, even though everything was the same as when I’d last been here. The cot with its tangle of sheets, the faint hum of the fridge, the metal shelf full of what I considered treasures.
But the more I stared at the basement, the more I realized that it was small—small and dingy and just plain sad. Or maybe that was my impression of the items scattered around it. After being surrounded by all of the slick, polished glamour of the Sinclair mansion, my things looked no better than the cheap trinkets at the ticky-tack tourist shops.
Still, they were my things, the ones I’d saved up money to buy from doing all those odd, illegal, dangerous jobs for Mo. I’d earned them, and I was going to take them with me.
Mo had already brought my best suitcase to the mansion, but I still had two left. I could probably get most of my stuff into them. I hated to leave anything behind, but I couldn’t exactly walk around town carrying a cot topped with a mini-fridge. Well, I could, but it wouldn’t be practical—or comfortable. I had no desire to try to haul the cot and the fridge back to the trolley stop, and with two full suitcases, the driver would already charge me triple before letting me on.
I started with the metal shelf, packing up my knickknacks. All the books of fairy and monster tales I’d collected. Some photos of me as a kid, grinning and trying to hold my mom’s sword upright. A cool piece of rock I’d found when Mom and I had been staying in Ashland for one of her jobs. A pretty crystal necklace she’d bought me in a shop in Cypress Mountain.
I’d been so focused on school, my missions for Mo, and just making it day-to-day that I hadn’t looked at some of the items in a long time. All of them brought back fond memories, and I found myself smiling as I packed them away. Even though I hadn’t thought it would, the pain of my mom’s death had slowly eased, and I could look back without as much sadness as before.
I still had plenty of anger, though—especially for the people who’d killed her.
When all of my knickknacks were stowed away, I moved on to the remaining clothes. There weren’t many, and I folded up the few extra pairs of jeans and moved on to my winter sweaters—
Something skittered on the floor above me.
I darted over and touched the lamp, casting the basement into darkness, then dropped my hand to my sword, which I’d belted around my waist before I’d left the mansion with Grant. All the while, I strained to listen to who—or what—was in the library. A sword being drawn out of a scabbard, the scrabble of claws on the floor, the snap-snap-snap of teeth clacking together.
But I didn’t hear any of that—not one thing.
That skittering sound came again, and I finally realized what it was—someone had banged into the shelf of cleaning supplies in the storage room above me. A low, muttered curse confirmed my suspicions.
Someone was in the library.
If it was one of the librarians who’d come back to start on the inventory, then I was screwed. But if it was someone else, well, I was still screwed. Because there was no reason for anyone to be in here besides me.
Unless they were after me.
My heart pounding, I crossed the basement and ducked into the space under the stairs. Still being as quiet as possible, I drew my sword.
“Here,” that low voice muttered again. “There’s another door. Let’s see where it goes.”
The door at the top of the steps creaked open, and a square of light appeared on the basement floor. Someone stepped into the square. I couldn’t tell who it was, but he was wearing a sword, judging from the long shadow poking out from his hip.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs as the shadow eased down. I tightened my grip on my own weapon and waited.
Thanks to my sight, I didn’t need any light, but the shadow grumbled, then pulled out a phone, using it as a makeshift flashlight. He held the phone out, shining it over the basement. Finally, the shadow spotted my lamp and headed over to it. I left my position under the stairs and snuck up behind him.
The shadow reached for the lamp, fumbling for a switch, but the touch of his fingers was enough to turn it on. I raised my sword, ready to cut him down.
“Finally,” he muttered again. “I was starting to think this was some sort of dungeon—”
A terrible suspicion filled my mind, causing me to pull my blow at the last second. Instead of ramming my sword into his back, I slammed the hilt into his shoulder, making him stagger forward. His knees hit the edge of my cot, and he landed face-first on the tangle of sheets. He flipped over just in time for me to press my sword up against his neck.
Felix blinked up at me.
I let out a breath, lowered my sword from his throat, and stepped back.
“Felix!” I hissed. “What are you doing here?”
He gave me a guilty look. “Um, well, you see, it’s actually a funny story—”
“It was my idea,” another voice said.