Book of Night(55)

But it wasn’t brought into the study and faded away after a few minutes.

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief.

She listened as the locks were engaged and the alarms set. Outside, night had fallen. Charlie crawled out, more nervous than she thought she’d be. Despite all the houses she’d walked through, this felt different. The slightest sound made her start.

Taking a few steadying breaths, she used her phone to give her enough light that she could pick the lock of the cabinet. It took her three tries before her fingers were finally steady enough to open the door.

Behind it, she found the notebook they wanted—it was one of the ones on display. She flipped through until she found a page marked “Shadow Energy Exchange,” then took a razor out of her backpack.

But as she got ready to slice, she felt guilty. It seemed wrong to hack up a book. When it was Rand doing stuff, she never had to think about morals. He was a bad guy, and they were doing bad stuff, and that was that.

Charlie ate a granola bar from her backpack, looking at the cabinet.

She walked around the room, looking at the photos. Arthur Thompson’s original sketches of the lightning farm. A congratulatory letter from the governor. And in one corner, a letter from someone claiming to be a Blight in a looping, spidery hand.

To A. Thompson in the City of Northampton.

You have been trying to contact me and I urge you to desist. Yes, there are ancient beings in the shadows, but you are better off letting us stay that way.

I have no interest in being studied. My origin may have been with your kind, but I am of you no longer.

Written on the 23rd day of April by Cleophes of York

She frowned at it, wondering if Arthur Thompson’s Blight was still hanging around, writing letters.

Finally, Charlie took out her phone and took a photo of the page from the notebook. It had the same information, and if that’s what they wanted, this ought to be enough. Even as she did it, she had the sinking feeling that she was screwing up, but she couldn’t bring herself to slice out the page.

Then she went to the windows, hoping there was a way out, but they were alarmed. Charlie sat down in the chair, spun it a bit. Played a game on her phone. Crawled back under the desk and napped.

And then she saw something in the window. A shadow in the corner of the room, sliding away from the wall. Charlie curled up more tightly and tried not to breathe.

It moved across the room, pausing at a strip of black tile that crisscrossed the floor. Then the shadow stepped over, becoming more solid as it did. For a moment, it took on features, as though of the gloom controlling it. Then it was past the onyx tiles and to the cabinet. It flooded through the keyhole and the cabinet door swung open.

Then the shadow became solid again, as though someone shaped the night into a human form. It must have to be like that to carry the book. Charlie’s heart thundered and she held her breath again as it passed her by. It left the book tucked into a corner of the room, in a basket of rolled-up architectural plans that might have been reproductions.

As it flooded out the window, Charlie realized why it hadn’t taken the book with it. It couldn’t get it out the window or the door any better than Charlie could. But it could relocate the book so that the gloamist could come in tomorrow and slide it into his bag and leave without anyone the wiser.

It was almost dawn when she decided the shadow wasn’t waiting outside and went over to the basket to look at the book.

And scowled. It was the exact volume she’d been sent to slice the page from. And belatedly, with a sense of wicked glee, she opened the book and took out her razor.

Whoever the gloamist was who was attempting to take the book was going to be very surprised when he got it. She hoped he was furious. She had the sudden, wild urge to sign her work and fought it down.

By the time the first class filed in the next day, Charlie was feeling giddy with victory and desperately in need of a toilet to pee in. As they left, Charlie scrambled out from under the desk and behind the bookshelves. One more class. One more lecture. And then she was out of there.

The next group filed into the study. Charlie smiled at a boy who moved to stand near her. She wiped the edge of her mouth and then frowned at him.

“You have something—” she said.

He knuckled where she’d pointed and she reached out to fix it for him. “There,” she said. “Got it.”

Charlie managed to stay out of sight of the teachers until it was time to leave. Then she tried to file out with the others, head down. Just at the door, she heard a voice.

“Hey,” one of the teachers said. “You’re not with this class.”

She turned around guiltily, lipstick smudged. Watched the teacher’s eye go to the boy, whose mouth she’d smeared with her lipstick.

“Keith!” she said. And then Charlie was out the door, and out of the museum, with what she hoped was a believable excuse for hightailing it out of there.

Benny set up her meeting for later in the day, at the parking lot behind a coffeeshop in the middle of town.

Three twentysomething glooms showed up. One of them had a vape pen in her mouth. Another was carrying a skateboard. They looked at her as though they would never have hired her if they’d realized how young she was.

“Here’s your three hundred,” the gloom with the vape pen said, gesturing airily.

Charlie opened her mouth to object and one of the others interrupted, smirking. “Take it or leave it.”