Agent of Chaos (The X-Files: Origins #1)(34)

Gimble rotated the campus map in his hand until it was right side up. “The Lauinger Library should be behind the old library over there.” He pointed at the far end of the quad.

They passed a group of guys wearing Georgetown Crew T-shirts with gym bags slung over their shoulders. Two girls giggled and flirted as they walked beside them, their sorority letters prominently displayed across their chests.

Phoebe narrowed her eyes. “When I get to MIT, I’m starting a sorority for girls who know more about splitting atoms and hydraulic energy sources than lip gloss. If they can’t run through the periodic table of elements like it’s the alphabet, they’ll get cut.”

Gimble turned around so he was walking backward as they moved between two buildings. “Instead of Greek letters, you can put the symbol for francium on your shirts. It’s the most un—”

“Unstable element on the periodic table, with a half-life of twenty-two minutes at its most stable,” Phoebe finished for him. “I like it. And we’ll throw the best parties, because all the drinks we serve will produce cool physical reactions, like nitro cocktails and dry ice martinis.”

Mulder wondered if Gimble realized she was serious. Some people spent lots of time talking about all the cool things they planned to do, but Phoebe actually went out and did them.

When Mulder was younger, he believed that anything was possible. Before his dad told him that he couldn’t be an astronaut. Before Samantha vanished.

What was he supposed to believe in now? Brutal memories and broken families? Unanswered questions and unhappy endings? Numbers on a yardstick in his closet?

Other people moved on after tragic events, but he wasn’t one of them. Moving on meant giving up on his sister. Accepting that she might never come home and finding a way to live with it. And he wasn’t capable of doing those things.

A sudden breeze shook the branches of a cherry tree, and pink blossoms fluttered through the air and settled on the grass. Mulder wondered if he’d ever be able to look at flower petals again without picturing Billy Christian’s eight-year-old body lying on top of a bed of them.

Phoebe stopped walking and scrunched up her nose. “Is that it?”

The building at the end of the sidewalk was a solid mass of concrete, modern and utilitarian compared to the detailed Gothic architecture that surrounded the quad.

“It’s like someone played that Sesame Street game ‘One of these things is not like the others,’” she added.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s ugly, as long as it has the books we need,” Mulder said, taking the steps two at a time.

He held the door open for Phoebe, and let go before Gimble made it through.

His friend caught it and followed them. “Real funny. I’m going to tell the Major that you want him to tell you more about the cyborg the aliens are building.”

“While you’re at it, ask him about Elvis,” Phoebe said.

Inside, the building stretched skyward, with floor after floor of narrow shelves facing the railings and the lobby. Students were crammed beside one another, scouring the shelves.

“It’s claustrophobic in here,” Gimble whispered.

“Think of it this way,” Phoebe said. “The sooner you find the information we need, the faster we’re out of here.”

“Or the faster you find it,” Gimble shot back. “This is a team effort, Phebes.”

Mulder cringed as if he were the one about to face Phoebe’s wrath. Then he did what any best friend would do and took off for the circulation desk.

Just before he was out of earshot, he heard Phoebe say, “Have I ever told you how I feel about cutesy nicknames, Gims?”

Mulder approached the desk and waited for the librarian to notice him—if the woman wearing a pastel-pink V-neck sweater and a macramé choker sitting behind it was actually the librarian. She stood out in the sea of Hoya sweats and preppy collared shirts with alligators on the pockets.

She looked up from the stack of library cards she was stamping. “May I help you?”

“Yes. I’m looking for books about magpies, metamorphic rocks, and…” He lowered his voice. “Aconite poisoning.”

The woman didn’t bat an eye. She was definitely the librarian. “That’s an interesting combination. Some scholars believe the Roman emperor Claudius was poisoned with aconite.” She stood and came around the desk. “Come with me, and I’ll point you in the right direction. Are you researching Claudius or just the poison?”

Mulder coughed and followed her toward a narrow staircase. “I’m researching deadly plants.” That sounded plausible.

Gimble and Phoebe caught up to them, and Mulder gestured in her direction. “And my friend is writing a paper about metamorphic rocks.”

“Minerals, actually,” Phoebe said. “Everything from the physical properties to new age stuff, like crystal healing and—”

“Magic spells,” Gimble added.

The librarian paused on the third-floor landing and gave Gimble a curious look. “Are you interested in alchemy?”

Phoebe swooped in. “He plays Dungeons and Dragons.”

The librarian started to ask a question but changed her mind. “Here we are,” she said, leading them to the stacks on the third floor.

Phoebe stood at the railing and peered down at the floors below and then at the ones above. Despite the fact that the layout forced people to squeeze past one another as they searched the shelves, the view was impressive.