What incident? Whathappened?
Part Two
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
—William Shakespeare,Hamlet
17
Atticus
It is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it.
—Robert Louis Stevenson,The Strange Case of Dr.Jekyll and Mr.Hyde
The black catfollows me to work again, winding its way down the sidewalk, flitting between my boots and purring. It’s been weeks since the Halloween party, and I feel like I’ve been worked to within an inch of my life by Professor White. We’ve spent every waking hour tending to Arches, repairing what we can, and trying to find the root of the problem. It’s been slow going. Even Professor White seems to be at a loss for what to do. For hours at a time, she paces in her office, talking to herself and writing in her notebooks. Consumed by my work, I haven’t seen much of Dorian since the party.
Since that kiss.
His kiss.
Everything I’ve wanted and everything I’ll never have. He wanted and still wants Raven, while I want him, and Raven wants me, and the circle goes around and around without anyone getting what they want. Our dependable trio has splintered. What is it that people say? They don’t want to risk any romance for the sake of preserving the friendship? Well, we have risked and lost, it appears. Dorian’s at Old Bones all the time, and Raven has been seeing Aspen more and more, often leaving me alone in theapartment. She comes back looking satisfied, even if it’s unclear whether she really likes him or is just tired of liking me. I’m happy for her, though—at least she has somebody.
Unlike me. Like this cat, I’m craving attention.
“Are you trying to tell me something?” I ask. “Or are you having fun trying to make me late?” Of course, the cat can’t speak, but it hooks its tail around my leg, almost like it understands me. “I have a meeting first thing,” I tell it.
The cat winds around my legs, as if pushing me in the opposite direction.
“I have to go,” I say. “I promise I’ll do whatever you want after I meet with Professor White. She needs me.”
The cat lets out a mournful kind of yowl, and it stops in the middle of the sidewalk, watching me go with its bright yellow eyes. “Sorry!” I call again, waving.
I’m busy looking at the cat, and I nearly stumble into Professor White.
“Good morning, Atticus,” she says, scanning me up and down. I think that’s the first time she’s called me by my given name. “Follow along,” she says, starting off at a quick pace down the street toward Arches.
“What’s the rush?” I ask, but the answer is staring right at me.
Giant cracks weave their way up the exterior walls of the building, splitting and fracturing like lightning. “Oh, fuck,” I whisper. “How did it deteriorate so quickly?”
Professor White has no answer. She simply shakes her head, hurrying toward the doors.
The block is fenced off, with security guards at every sidewalk redirecting curious onlookers away from the site. “I fear we don’t have much time,” says Professor White. She looks a little gray in the face, like she’s just seen a ghost, and she clutches her satchelslung over her shoulder, white-knuckled, as if she’s bracing for the worst.
“What do we need to do?” I ask.
“I’ve developed a theory. I believe the errors in the renovation, things like the saw marks you found, interfered with the invocations that bound living spirits to this structure at its creation. I’ve been reading all about some of the magic that was used at the time.” She taps the leather-bound tome that’s poking out of her satchel.
“Here’s the book I told you about the other day. Please be careful with it,” she says as she hands the grimoire to me. I almost say something, but I keep my mouth shut. Am I allowed to have this? I’m so thankful. “Maybe study it and see what you can discern that might be of help. You will need a dictionary to translate.”
I already have the world’s best dictionary. I can’t wait to show Raven. We climb the stairs to Arches, and she pushes open the doors. Inside, there are half a dozen architects from her staff, some standing around a small table, studying drawings, the rest standing in a circle.
“What are they doing?” I ask.
“Taking readings, trying to determine the extent of the damage.”
The architects have their eyes closed, so I assume they aren’t searching for physical damage to the building. “They’re measuring magic, or something like—”
