Page 31 of Crush
Releasing a puff of air, I push the rest of the way in, starting my scan on the left.
His desk light is on the lowest setting and resembles the type of lamp used by administrators in the 1970s, with a green-colored glass shade. It gives off a low glow, but it’s enough to search the office if I squint.
My fingers glide against the dark mahogany of the desk, brushing past stacks of papers and a sleeping desktop computer, its power button flashing in lazy blue bursts.
I knuckle the mouse, and the password screen flashes on. Not surprising. Maybe one of these nights, I’ll try to break in, but Malcolm strikes me as the type to have top security on his electronics.
I glance up at the corners, wary of any cameras I’ve triggered. I’m not doing anything wrong, per se, just exploring, which he must’ve figured out I’d do at some point while he’s gone. I haven’t exactly been a model daughter. He has information on my birth mother in here. Maybe documents on the Societies, though he’s no longer an active member. Information on his wife.
Spurred on by these thoughts, I try his desk drawers. All locked. His bookshelves don’t give me much information, either, other than that he’s a nonfiction kind of guy.
Disappointing.
Back on track, I search the desk for car keys, lifting his papers carefully, cataloging them as I do. Spreadsheets, tracking the ingress and egress of artifacts, large inventory items like coffee, and…
Hmm.
I pull an interesting document from the stack, holding it closer to my face.
The items shipped are simply numbered 1, 2, 3 and stop at 55. The locations are listed but as acronyms—CBB, RB, BM, WRC—all time-stamped.
What is this?
A noise, like the clanging of a pot being dropped, jerks my head up. I fumble to put the paper back where it belongs, but I knock the stack over halfway. Cursing, I put it all back together, noticing a silver gleam behind the pile in what I at first thought was an ashtray.
Car keys. Yes!
Swiping them, I do one last sweep and pat-down, ensuring the desk is as I left it before sprinting into the hallway and shutting the office door quietly behind me.
I shove the fob under my shirt and between my breasts, held there by my sports bra and wincing when my palm scrapes against my bandages.
Fucking Aurora. I’m going to be late.
I tiptoe past the kitchen where the noise sounded out, peeking through the open doorway and glimpsing Dash pouring steaming water out of a teakettle with a hardback nestled under his arm. Knew it.
He doesn’t look up as I blur past, then I slip my feet into my running shoes and sneak out the front door, for the second time appreciating his attention to oiled hinges lately. Suspicion niggles, forming into a thought that it’s more for Malcolm to creep out of the manor without my noticing than it is in maintaining this crumbling house, but I set it aside for later, too caught up in escaping to ponder the reasons it’s so easy.
When not in use, Malcolm keeps his car in the attached parking garage to the south of the manor. I keep close to the hedges, wary of triggering a motion detector. My feet crunch against soil and stone, the pungent scent of damp underbrush hitting my nose. As I bat a few spiderwebs out of the way, I pray I’m not collecting their owners.
“Going somewhere?”
My heart strangles my throat, a garbled sound coming out of my mouth as I spin to the voice.
Thorne stands languidly near the front doors, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets. “Stealth isn’t one of the traits you put on your Winthorpe enrollment application, is it?”
“What are you doing here?” I grumble as I step out of the bushes. “And get out of the line of sight. Dash is awake, and I don’t want him noticing you.”
Thorne strolls toward me, either unknowing or uncaring of the lights he could trigger. His voice comes out like smooth, uncreased velvet. “Where are you off to this time of night, little pretty?”
“You didn’t answer my question.” I meet him in the middle of the circular driveway. If he can dare the lights, so can I. I will not let Thorne best me.
Thorne’s features stay hooded in shadow, his eyes glimmering through the dark. “I was told you weren’t in school this afternoon, and I don’t recall giving you permission to leave. I like to know where my valuables are at all times, so I came here. You’ve denied me access.”
“Access?” I pause, confused until I remember the passageway into my room has been glued shut. “Were you trying to use the door like a gentleman caller, instead? You know it’s midnight, right? I’d still kick you out, whether you were shoving yourself into my room or ringing a doorbell.”
“Turns out, I don’t have to do either.” He angles his head. “Since you were crawling through shrubbery, instead.”
“For your information, I’m meeting Aurora, as she’s requested. Demanded. I’m not allowed access into the Tomb or to meet the queen until I finish jumping through her circus hoops that she fucking lights on fire, but you know that.”