“Dollface, I don’t follow,” Wayne said outright.
“He’s a living, breathingcomputer.”
That got them right on board.
“Are you saying you think you canhackit?” Wayne asked, sounding somewhere in between disbelieving and impressed.
“Haven’t met a computer that’s kept me out yet.” And having the guise of trying to hack into the Bone Carver would give Jo ample time in the recreation room without question or disturbance. It could also further put her destructive powers to the test. It was win-win all around.
“But what will you do once you get inside his . . . mind?” Takako asked next. “I don’t doubt you’ll be able to gain entry, but what good will that do in preventing his capture?”
“Another program maybe?” Eslar offered, and Jo just nodded and stood, mind already whirring with various possibilities, magic tickling like static beneath her skin. She tried not to feel intimidated by it; despite all of the new information she now carried, that magic was still hers.I can control it, she mentally insisted to herself.
“I can do something, maybe create an illegal subscript that would erase all trackable data . . . Hack into his system and embed it deep enough that it can’t be accessed or removed, just keep him invisible to any outside radar. Or, perhaps because we know his targeting scheme, I can throw in some random other baddies—just enough to throw off the cops so he’s not caught out of profiling.” Jo threw out whatever jargon came to mind. Some of it was sound, some of it wasn’t. But it didn’t matter, as long as the teambelievedshe was working toward various ends. “I don’t know yet, I need some time to work it out still. I’ll come back when I have something more concrete.”
“In the meantime. . .” Wayne stood, joining Jo and Eslar as the ones standing. “I propose Takako and I will go back to the real world, continue to scope out the police. We’ll report back if we see them closing in on things. But this should buy you some time, Jo.”
Jo caught his gaze and gave a firm nod. She heard him loud and clear. He was going to keep the team busy as long as he could for her. Jo just hoped that however long that was, it would be enough.
Chapter 9
Wood Grain
Jo practically sprinted out of the common room. Her elongated steps were so hasty that she was nearly tripping over her own two feet.
Buy her some time. Even if she wasn’t sure where, exactly, her and Wayne stood right now, she knew they were on the same page when it came to their deal, at the very least. But how much time he could buy her, and how much time she needed, could be two different things. Jo found herself trying to calculate how long it would take to close her own Severity of Exchange between them.
She cracked her knuckles. It felt like a slumbering monster was waking within her, and she’d put a leash on it before it could get the better of her. She’d channel it and use it to her advantage; it wouldn’t be like the desk, an uncontrolled outburst, but a tool for the Society’s undoing. That much, Jo could vow to herself.
By the time Jo ended up at the recreation room she was breathless from her near-sprint. A small tremble settled on her shoulders with every exhale—purely from the tension that had her back tied into a ramrod-straight position. Yes, she was going to learn how to control this magic of hers and when she did, she was going to use it to break apart the shackles holding them.
She ripped off her watch, throwing it on the shelf. It nearly tumbled off, holding on by some invisible magic as Jo wrenched open the door.
The hinges squealed so loudly that it stopped Jo right in her tracks. Her eyes swung left, looking at the metal that had never so much as whispered a sound before. Jo leaned in for a closer inspection, running her hands over the lacquer of the wood. Her fingernail caught on grooves that she didn’t remember being there before.
Wood grain.
That’s all it was. Grains of the wood. It’s not like she’d ever really inspected it that closely. It had likely been that way all along and she’d had no cause to notice. Carpentry wasn’t exactly her strong suit either—that fell solidly in Samson’s wheelhouse. And there was no need to trouble the man with her paranoia. No need whatsoever.
Jo closed the door behind her delicately, all prior vigor lost, and was immediately plunged into darkness. She turned, back against the door, blinking as her eyes adjusted. It took a second (that felt like a whole minute) but eventually she could make out all the shapes in the room. Her chair was poised, monitors where they always were, modems and servers blinked in the background like lackluster Christmas lights.
“Okay . . . Some light would be nice?” she spoke to no one in particular. As expected, there wasn’t a response. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”
Problem was, Jo had no idea where the light switch was—or if there was even one to begin with. Every time she’d entered the room before the light had been on, waiting. Even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t have bothered her; the glow of the three monitors would’ve been enough. But those weren’t on either.
After another long minute of fumbling in the darkness, Jo’s fingers finally landed on a familiar paddle shape that she’d call a switch. Her hand froze just before she flipped it. A writhing, suffocating feeling crept up on her, clinging to her back. Jo gave a shrug, as if she could physically remove the invisible presence from weighing on her.
Nothing to be worried about.
But suddenly shewasworried. And she didn’t know why. It was like she was about to hit the timer on a bomb, not flick on the light.
“You’re being stupid,” Jo insisted aloud. Hearing her own voice grounded her, underscored the overall ridiculousness of the situation. She made a move for the switch.
And paused again.
Jo balled her hand into a fist and took a deep breath. She could do this. She would conquer this. Running, walking, or crawling, she would get to where she needed to be.
The light blinked on, and Jo breathed an audible sigh of relief.
