Spirit and Dust

29


AS WE MADE our breathless way to the third floor, Glasses Lady introduced herself as Marian. Marian the Librarian. Once the nine of us—the security guard and Carson bringing up the rear—had filed into the large reading room, Marian pulled her key card from under her sweater, ran it through a reader next to the door, then entered a code, locking us in.

It seemed like an electronic lock would be particularly easy to undo with magic. But I was just guessing. Until two days ago, I hadn’t thought magic could materialize stuff out of thin air. Maybe a physical lock wouldn’t make any difference.

The security guard—his name tag said SMITH—went directly to a phone on the desk and punched in a number. Besides him and Marian, there were Lab Coat, Soul Patch, Margo the administrator, and the retired couple, all anxiously watching Smith, waiting for word of rescue from outside the museum.

“Bad news,” he said as he hung up. “There’s some sort of problem with the computer that controls the locks. We’re stuck here for a little while.”

Carson pointed to the door. “Is this lock controlled by the same computer?”

“Hey,” said Lab Coat, “if they hacked the computer to bring down the security gates, they could open this one.”

“Who are they?” asked Margo.

“Whoever’s behind the mummies rising and stuff,” said Lab Coat, almost laid-back in comparison with the administrator’s tightly wound hysteria. “Someone’s got to be, right?”

The question was half rhetorical, half aimed at Carson and me. Instead of answering, Carson propped the spear he was carrying against the wall and gestured to one of the massive library tables. “Let’s move this in front of the door.”

It took four of us to get the barricade in place, which seemed to make everyone feel better. Everyone but me. Walls seemed so flimsy next to the power I’d felt from the Jackal and his minions.

Going on instinct, I climbed onto the table so I could put my hands on the wall near the electronic lock. I’d kept a thin trickle of contact with the museum’s ghosts, but the connection swelled in a rush of approval when I focused my intent on protection. The collective remnant pulsed through the walls like the building’s own psyche; it took only a little direction from me to shield this room from spirit animal attack. I felt the defenses take hold, almost like a change in the air pressure in the room, and I let myself take one long breath of relief.

“Okay,” I said to Carson, who I sensed standing protectively close as I worked. “I’m not sure it will hold against the Jackal if he goes thermonuclear, but it should keep the minions and their magic out.”

Carson cleared his throat and I turned to find our whole band of refugees staring at me, eyes full of questions. “Maybe it’s time for you two to tell us what’s going on here,” said Smith.

The Goodnight ability to make fantastic things sound reasonable saved a lot of hassle, but took some faith, because you just had to jump in with the truth. So I did, keeping it simple: “Evil secret brotherhood. Raising the dead. Taking over the world.”

They stared at me for such a long moment that I wondered if the Goodnight charm had failed me. Then Soul Patch said, “Is that all? Secret brotherhoods have been trying that since the beginning of time.”

“If we’re going to be here a while,” said Marian the Librarian, “I have an electric kettle and instant coffee in my desk.”

The group dispersed. Except for Carson, who offered a hand to help me down from my perch on the table. He kept his voice a low rumble, and a bemused smile hinted at one devilish dimple. “You are impressive, Daisy Goodnight.”

“Yes, I am,” I said through my blush.

He grinned. “I wish I’d met you in a normal week.”

I snorted to cover another flustered rush of heat. “In a normal week, we never would have met.”

The others had clustered around one of the library computers. “Come look at this,” said Lab Coat. There was a breaking-news Web page with the headline HOSTAGE CRISIS AT NATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM. HALLUCINOGENS USED TO CAUSE PANIC.

“Hallucinogens,” Carson said, reading over Lab Coat’s shoulder. “That’s the story they’re going with?”

“Just wait.” Lab Coat switched to a grainy video of the patrons running from blurry, dark figures, and one really good shot of my face as the mummies converged on me. “You’re a YouTube sensation!”

“Awesome,” I said, not feeling awesome about it at all. “Famous on the Internet.” Then a detail from the news site’s splash registered in my brain. “Go back to the main story for a sec.”

When he did, I scanned quickly, finding the line right away. FBI agents already on the scene. So it was more than possible I hadn’t imagined someone calling my name in the chaos. Since Taylor had Johnson’s name, he could have tracked him back to Chicago.

First things first. I turned to Carson and held out my hand. “Flash drive.” FBI or police, sooner or later, someone was going to send in a SWAT team to rescue the hostages, and that would be the end of my chance to put an end to the Black Jackal. I had to figure out how to do that before he worked loose of my binding or I got arrested.

Carson dropped the drive into my palm. It seemed to have faired well even after we’d gotten drenched. The plastic case was damp, but under that it was totally dry.

Marian had straightened from the YouTube watching and stepped over to watch us instead. “What do you need?” she asked.

“Answers,” I said.

“Well,” she said, with a hint of a smile. “This is a library. So we came to the right place.”

Finally a glimmer of hope.

Right before the lights went out.