“Don’t have one,” I snap. She sounds too much like a Guard. Nothing like my friend.
“Then tell me who you were going to see.”
“Why? So you can report me?”
“So I can take you!”
My feet still.
“Jack, please,” she says. “I’m sorry. How many times are you going to make me say it?”
Her guilt cuts through my thoughts like a pick through a lock. I turn, taking a few cautious steps toward her. She’s given me an opening. All I have to do is bend the truth and push a little.
“I was going to see Professor Lyon,” I school the urgency from my face. “He’s helping me with a research project. I was supposed to meet him in the Hall of Records ten minutes ago, but I lost my pass.”
Noelle bites her lip. She glances behind her into the Crux. “Fine. But after this, we’re even.” She waves her security pass in front of the scanner. I run back through the corridor in time to dart through the gate behind her. The Crux is at least ten degrees warmer than the Winter wing, and a layer of rime forms on my skin before we reach the elevator. I drag my hood over my head as a security camera swings slowly toward us.
From the far side of the circular hall comes the tread of boots. Frost blooms under my hood as I recognize Doug’s gruff baritone and Denver’s laugh. Noelle swears under her breath. The elevator doors slide open just as they round the corner, and she shoves me inside.
“Noelle, wait up!” I keep my head down when Doug calls her name.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” she whispers, slipping something into my hand. She slams the button for the administrative floor, and the doors slide closed before I realize what she’s done.
I stare down at Noelle’s key card as the elevator descends. I’m in the Crux without an escort, holding a key to every secure wing in this place. If I’m caught in possession of this card, I’m as good as dead.
So don’t get caught. The little voice inside my head sounds a lot like Chill’s, and I fight the urge to talk back to it as the elevator lurches to a stop.
The doors open, and I tuck the key card in my front pocket, my shoes squeaking on the polished marble as I cross quickly under the high domed ceiling of the atrium. I listen for the whine of a camera or the click of a teacher’s shoes as I wave Noelle’s key card over the scanner beside the solid steel door to the old wings.
A buzzer sounds and I haul the heavy door open. The air that greets me on the other side is dank and musty, the ceilings lower, the lights softer. The corridor stretches ahead of me, forked with mysterious doors leading to the endless maze of caverns and catacombs below the Observatory. I follow the route by memory, envisioning the dusty maps I drew decades ago, after my last trip down here, only taking my first full breath when the crisp white tiles give way to stone slabs and packed earthen walls.
The hall grows blessedly cold. The drop-tile ceiling ends abruptly, the flickering fluorescent tubes overhead yielding to gas torchères mounted on the rough-cut walls. The shadows they cast move like smazes over the floors. I tell myself that I’m alone. That no one knows I’m here. There are no cameras in the ancient passageways. No power in these oldest sections of the campus, with the exception of the library, where generators preserve the temperature and humidity and keep the entrance to the Hall of Records secure.
I listen for the buzz of wings or the caw of a crow as I scent the passage ahead, relieved to find it empty. The growl of a generator grows louder. A white light glows in the distance, the arched door to the library flanked by ornate electric sconces illuminating the carving in its facade. I pause in front of the tangled and twisted Tree of Knowledge, fishing Noelle’s key card from my pocket. The red eye of the card scanner blinks at me. I pass the card over it with shaking hands, my held breath slipping out of me when the light turns green on the first try.
The iron locks snap open. The doors groan in protest as I lean into them. Motion sensors trigger the lights inside