“Yes, exactly.”
The tunnel layout reminds me of this video I once saw of an artist pouring melted aluminum into an anthill, filling up the tunnels, all invisible from above ground. Once the metal hardened, they pulled the cast out, preserving the complexity and pure engineering of the colony forever. I’d love to build something as beautiful as these tunnels someday.
“Wow, good work, Finch,” says Dorian, sounding genuinely impressed as he gazes at the map.
I love that he calls me Finch; he’s the only one who does. If only he knew how much it means to me.
“There will be risks—we’re trespassing—but I think it’s worth it. A room full of magical texts seems like the perfect place to start our education, right?” I ask.
“No doubt,” says Dorian. “But these tunnels are a maze.”
“I mostly remember the path we took,” says Raven.
“ ‘We’?” Dorian asks.
“Me and one of the senior archivists, Aspen. I can retrace my steps, and there isn’t a lot of security—it’s a library, it isn’t a bank or anything like that. But we’ll need the key to get into the restricted archive.”
“Can you get it?” I ask.
Raven folds her lips nervously. “Maybe? Aspen had it on a chain. I thought about taking it when we first visited the library, but I’ve never done anything like that.”
“We just need it for one night,” I say. “Take it for a few hours, return it before he knows it’s gone?”
It’s the best plan we’ve got, and Raven seems like she understands that. Resolve hardens her eyes. “I’ll try to get it tomorrow,” she says, tapping nervously on her mug with the tips of her manicured fingers.Clinkity-clink—one-two-and-three,like a rallying drum. “Then we can slip into the tunnels at night. There won’t be many people. We can be quick.”
“Raven,” I say, and glance at Dorian for support, “actually, maybe you should stay behind.”
Dorian nods gravely. He’s with me—I knew he would be. He cares about her too much.
Raven looks crestfallen. “What do you mean? Why?”
“You should be conspicuously out in public when the book goes missing so they don’t suspect you.”
“Finch is right,” Dorian says softly. “It’ll be better this way.”
Raven’s lower lip juts out a little, but she nods in understanding. “I think Aspen was hitting on me, so maybe I can get close enough to him to get the key. Distract him. Ask him out or something.”
“Raven, you don’t have to do that,” says Dorian. One of his eyes twitches, and the air around his head shimmers and turns green, but he smothers it like pinching a candle flame, and the aura vanishes.
“It’s fine,” Raven tells him. “It’s for us. I don’t like him like that anyway, I like…” Raven trails off, eyes on me, suddenly looking like an animal trapped in a corner. She stiffens, straightens up, and rubs her hands together. “Never mind.”
I think I hear Raven say something, so quiet it’s like it’s under her breath.
I like you.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
She stares at me, startled.
“Did you say something?” I ask again.
“What? No.” She looks genuinely surprised I would even ask. “I didn’t say anything.”
Then it hits me. She didn’tsayanything. She was thinking, and I heard her thoughts. Clear as day.I like you, she thought plainly.
Hearing her thoughts feels like spying. My gift means I sometimes hear people’s deepest secrets. People’s feelings are sometimes so loud, they’re screaming in their own heads. Being gay myself, I know how it goes. I used to think it was just raging hormones for me to be attracted to boys like Dorian—tall, athletic, smart—but the more I’ve thought about it and the more my feelings have grown, I think a better way to put it is: I’m not straight. The scope has become broader, more fitting for how I feel.
I don’t know what Raven sees in me, though. Does she not care that I’m not straight? Sometimes the heart ignores reason. I guess I can’t talk, what with my just-as-hopeless pining for Dorian.
