“Look at this.” I wasn’t sure if Abby hadn’t heard, or if she just didn’t know how to respond. Her voice was as blunt and forceful as always, not a hint of softness or consideration in it, but I was glad; the first time I caught a whiff of pity off her, I knew I’d stop trusting her.
She held out a large glossy photo print for Liam and me to inspect. I recognized the format immediately: a group photo in front of the LARC building, just like the ones in the foyer out front. This one was marked 2003. There were seven people, and I read their names one by one. Dr. Damien Breckenridge. Dr. Helen Whitcomb. Dr. William Hardcastle. Dr. Vanya Kapoor. Carolyn Baker. Martin Carreau. Joy Novak.
She was here. “Where was it?” I asked, failing to disguise the shaking in my voice.
“In a box labeled ‘Reimbursement Receipts 2005–2007,’” she said.
“Misfiled?” I asked.
“Not a chance,” Liam replied. “That’s my mother’s handwriting. And she does not misfile things.”
Abby grunted. “I’ll take your word for it. There’s some other stuff in there, but I think we should take it with us. We’ve been here long enough.” She took off the empty backpack she’d been carrying for this purpose. Just as she unzipped it, something clattered down the hall. We froze.
“Goddammit!” croaked a familiar voice. “Hello, hello, hello.”
I relaxed. “Moriarty,” I said.
Liam shook his head ruefully. “He’s likely picked the lock on his cage again, the little bastard. We can’t just leave him wandering the halls—last time he managed to injure himself.”
“I’ll pack up here; you two corral the bird,” Abby suggested. “We can meet up outside.”
“Don’t forget to lock the door behind you,” Liam said, and she waved a dismissive hand at him, turning back to the mislabeled box.
We exited the file room and looked in the direction I thought the sound had come from. With all the echoing it was hard to be sure—but then Moriarty gave a gurgling chuckle, settling any confusion. “Silly bird,” I murmured, and we headed down the hall.
“What do you think of her?” Liam asked as we walked.
“Who, Abby?” I shrugged. “She’s smart. Seems like she knows what she’s doing.”
“Just remember that you don’t have any reason to trust her,” Liam said.
“And what reason do I have to trust you, Liam Kapoor?” I asked.
“My good looks and ravishing accent,” he replied. I shook my head, chuckling, but there was a strain in his voice.
“Are you all right?” I asked him. “I know this is a lot.”
“That’s a hard question to answer, for me. Even in the most normal of times,” he confessed. “I often find that the moment I think the answer is yes, I’m about to fall into a hole again. All of this . . . It’s almost pleasant to have something to be afraid and angry about that’s real, and not just a chemical imbalance trying to mess with me.”
“I think I know what you mean,” I replied. “It’s not quite the same, but knowing that this is real, and that I haven’t been imagining it all my life? It’s weirdly a relief.”
“Three cheers for objectively real horrors,” Liam said wryly. This time neither of us laughed.
Moriarty was near the bathrooms, perched on the top of one of the ubiquitous stacks of plastic tubs and cardboard boxes that migrated around the LARC like glaciers of clutter.
Moriarty croaked and examined us with one black eye. “You’re not supposed to be out here,” I told him. He made another guttural caw.
“Come on, bird,” Liam said. “Let’s get you back to—”
Moriarty gave Liam a withering look, spread his wings, and launched himself down the hall. I threw myself back, avoiding the storm of black feathers and flashing talons. He didn’t get far before he thumped down on the ground, hopping along at a surprisingly fast gait.
“At least he’s heading in the right direction,” Liam said. “Maybe we can herd him.” We hustled along after the bird.
My foot slipped in a wet patch, nearly making me fall. Water had pooled on the floor. Random drips and patches of wet—and others that weren’t so random. Bare footprints traced a path along the hallway before vanishing. Moriarty crouched at the end of the trail, his wings hunched, his pupils narrowed to pinpricks.
“Liam,” I whispered, goosebumps prickling up my arms. “I don’t think we’re alone here.”
“Hello, little bird,” Moriarty said, but with the odd angle of his head, I couldn’t tell if he was