Page 15 of Cross My Heart
“I forgot my pass, but I have to check this out,” she says, brandishing a textbook. “My essay is due first thing in the morning!”
“It’s alright,” the clerk chuckles. “I just need some ID, and I can replace it for you.”
“Oh, thank God!” the girl rummages in her bag and produces a driver’s license. The clerk taps a few things on her computer, then hands her a fresh card.
“The passcode is 0000, so you’ll need to reset it,” she advises. “But it’s all set up to your original account.”
“You’re a lifesaver!” the panicked girl checks out her book, and then races away.
I pause, suddenly getting an idea. “Shit, I forgot my pass too,” I lie. “Can I get a replacement too. Please?”
“Seems like a running theme around here,” she says with a tired smile. “ID?”
“Right here.” I find it in my purse—but it’s not mine. It’s Wren’s old driver’s license, the one I ‘borrowed’ back in college to use as a fake ID and sneak into bars. It’s expired, but it doesn’t matter. The librarian barely looks at it before making me a new one, just like I hoped.
“Thanks!”
I bolt upstairs, and find a quiet corner to unpack my laptop and settle in. I bring up the library system and enter Wren’s ID number and the default passcode.
Her borrower history flashes up on screen. A record of everything she checked out during her time here. It’s a thin connection, but I’m leaving no stone unturned, so I eagerly scan the list of obscure science journals.Neuroscience Today. Microbiology Quarterly.Secret Societies of Oxford…
Hold up.
I scroll back, frowning at the list. In addition to all her coursework, Wren checked out a bunch of books on local history, about Oxford. But not just tourist stuff, no, these were books about secret societies and conspiracies here at Ashford.
Why did my sister care about that?
Curious, I head to the stacks to track them down, skimming the shelves, not sure what I’m looking for or why Wren would’ve been interested. I pick up one of the books that she checked out: it’s a dry, academic overview of the history of Ashford College, from the founding of the school by some bigwig in Queen Elizabeth the First’s court, all the way up to the present day.Saint’s ancestors…Apparently, there were rumors that the college was a front for radical political thought, and all kinds of politicians, nobility, and intellectuals would secretly meet to plot about the future of the country.
I can’t imagine why Wren would have been reading this stuff, not even for fun—she was more into thrillers and mystery books. Maybe she was just interested in finding more out about the school?
I flip through the rest of the books, sighing. I said I’d leave no stone unturned, but it feels like I’m clutching at straws here. And mixing my metaphors. Maybe I should give it up for the night and try again with a fresh mind tomorrow.
I pack up, and head out. Kris and Jia made me promise to meet them for a drink, so I walk the short distance through town. Despite the librarian's warning, Oxford is warm and buzzing on a Friday night, with people spilling out of the bars, and the cobblestone streets busy with new students out to party. I find the right address, which is a historic pub with crooked, Tudor-style beams and a packed beer garden out front. I duck inside and try to weave through the crowds of students inside, packed ten-deep around the fireplace and scuffed, ancient bar.
“Tessa! You came!” Jia greets me with an excited hug, almost spilling her beer.
“I said I would.”
“Yes, but you’ve been so busy, we didn’t believe it,” she grins. “Isn’t this place cool? It’s supposed to be one of the oldest pubs in the city. A least two of your Presidents got high on the patio.”
“Together?” I joke, but she’s already gripped my arm and is dragging me through the packed room to where Kris has claimed a tiny table under the eaves.
“Look who I found!” Jia announces, as we squeeze in to fit.
He slides a full pint glass over to me. “Take this. I can’t even look at beer right now.”
“Tequila, on the other hand,” Jia cracks.
“It’s cleaner. Agave, right?” Kris says, before launching into a story about his lecture, and a new crush who asked him for his notes.
I’m content to sit back and let their gossiping chatter wash over me. It’s nice to feel included, and to switch off from all the stress of my classes and investigation, just soaking up the atmosphere. Kris and Jia are fun, too, already comparing notes about drunken exploits with the men in their study groups.
“… I heard he’s off the list.”
“What? We had such high hopes, all that brawn.”
“Turns out there’s a reason the man’s called the Tiny Texan, when he’s a whopping six-foot-two,” Jia sighs mournfully.