The guards look panic-stricken. “We, uh…”
I snap my fingers. “Wait, I’ve got it. Maybe there’s something in the bathroom.” I slam the door shut and wait. Here’s where I see if my favorite non-battle battle strategy works yet again. A few seconds pass, and there’s not a peep from the guards.
Another mission accomplished. That will keep them out of my hair for a while.
With the guards safely outside, I return my attention to the office. Harper said Prescott’s briefings take a while, but I still want to hustle here. I scan the shelves of books and massive desk. What’s the best way to go about this? Last night, Prescott said the codex was hidden in the library.
Books first, then.
I run my hands across and behind the books, looking for anything out of place. Nothing seems odd, unless you consider it a little strange that everything is dusted to perfection. Prescott is a total neat freak. Other than that revelation, the library shelves are a total bust.
On to the desk.
The brushed-steel desktop holds a neat pile of books. I recognize these as the same volumes that Prescott got from Acca last night. Now, I’m no scholar. I do know people, though. The headmaster seemed super-excited about these books. In fact, he mentioned them this morning as being crucial for his search, so I’ll check them out next. The thick volumes are encased in heavy leather bindings. They look hundreds of years old. I flip open the first few books and scan the contents.
Great. They’re all in Latin.
Sure, I can understand spoken Latin. It’s a weird side effect of becoming the great scala. I would have preferred the ability to fly or have laser beams shoot out of my palms, but whatever. Understanding spoken Latin is fine. Reading it is another matter, though. I can’t make out a word of what’s on these pages.
Fortunately, Prescott has already read these books for me. In fact, he’s even gone ahead and marked a few pages with Post-its. How helpful. I stare at the ancient sheets of parchment. Lincoln would know how to read them, easy peasy. I finger the worn edges of the pages.
One of these days, once Purgatory gets more technology and Antrum gets any, I could get a functioning cell phone of my very own. Then, I could take pictures of stuff like this. After all, these books belong in a museum. I should be super-careful here. I stare at the books and ponder before coming to a momentous decision.
Meh. The super-careful way is way too much hassle right now.
I tear out the marked sheets, slip them into my jacket pocket, and refuse to feel guilty about it. After all, a demonic army means the end of the human world, including all museums. So there.
With my inspection of the books behind me, I decide to tackle the rest of the desk. Plunking down in the headmaster’s chair, I pull open the drawers.
Aaaaaaaand it’s official. The man is a crazy-ass neat freak.
There are pens arranged by color. Post-its stacked by size. Quill pens arranged by manufacturer. Some kind of wax thing, probably to perfectly seal envelopes. Tissues. Mini wipes. Hand sanitizer. I shake my head. At least I know I didn’t get any germs on me when he groped my ass. I eye the largest drawer hungrily. It’s a big one. The codex could easily fit in there.
I yank the drawer open. Small envelopes sit inside, all of them arranged into neat little piles. There must be a thousand of them in here, all jammed in tightly and with infinite care. In fact, the rows are so neat and straight you couldn’t actually shove another envelope between stacks.
It’s official. Prescott just graduated from nutjob neat freak to OCD. I pull out a random envelope from the top. It reads:
To: My Dearest Prescott-kins.
From: His Lady.
My stomach sours. I get the Lady part, but Prescott-kins? This is going to be gross. Still, I need to read this nastiness, just in case there’s a clue hidden somewhere. The envelope has already been opened, so I pull out the letter.
My dearest man,
I’m sitting alone, missing you, and thinking of our last time together. Remember how I twisted my fingers through your long, sweaty chest hair right after we—
Whoa.
I fold up the letter like it holds the contagion for a zombie apocalypse. No way am I reading another word. I only got through two sentences, and now I’ll never unsee the image of my headmaster’s nest of sweaty chest hair after getting intimate with his so-called Lady. I jam the letter back into the envelope and slam the drawer shut.
My inspection of the desk is officially over. I pat my pocket. Although I did have to read about Prescott-kins, I still got these sheets for Lincoln. Go me.
Voices sound outside the front door. It’s Prescott, and he’s talking to the guards. I can’t tell everything they’re saying, however the word tampon comes up quite a bit. I haul ass so I’ll be standing before the headmaster’s desk when he comes in.
The door opens slowly. “Missy?”
“Yup.” I don’t even correct him this time.