With Connor’s head no longer in the way, all three of us grabbed for the open gate, but Cyrus was quickest and snatched it closed. The clang echoed back into the Black Stacks.
“It’s not what you think, gents,” he said.
There was panic in his eyes, and it felt good to see it. I flicked the bat at his exposed knuckles where he held the gate closed and he flinched.
“I bet it’s exactly what we think,” I shouted.
I flicked the bat again, and this time it cracked fully against Cyrus’s right hand, causing him to let his grip on the gate go entirely. He grabbed another section of it, but he looked scared.
Connor tried to pry the gate away from him, but to no avail. I slammed my bat against the iron bars, rattling them.
“Relax, kid,” Connor said, grabbing my shoulder to stop my next swing. “We just chain this shut and wait until the D.E.A. shows up. I’m sure Cyrus here will be thrilled to have the Enchancellors upgrade him to a Class 3 Paranormal Fugitive!”
Cyrus laughed as he slowly backed away. “Do you really think I built the Stacks with onlyone means of exit?”
“Crap on toast!” Connor said as he reached through the gate toward Cyrus. He got a handful of Cyrus’s shirt for his effort. Cyrus struggled, but Connor impressively held him fast. “Don’t just stand there, kid. Get him!”
It was near impossible to open the gate as they struggled through the bars of it. They twisted and pulled at each other through the bars, each of them jockeying for an advantage. With neither man willing to relent, it was the cloth of Cyrus’s shirt that ended up giving way first. There was a tearing sound and both men stumbled back from the gate, finally giving me an opportunity. I threw open the gate, nearly smacking Connor on the head in the process.
As I closed in on him, Cyrus stumbled farther back into the Stacks. He grinned, showing off his vicious-looking rows of teeth.
“Black Stacks…attack!” he shouted and turned, running down the next aisle, his dreads bouncing side to side.
Before I had a chance to take another step, the bookshelves erupted. They shook as books flew recklessly through the air across the aisles. I couldn’t even inch forward, could only watch as Cyrus disappeared down the aisle. Connor finally entered the section and stopped next to me. We looked at the tornado of malevolent literature before us.
“We’ve got to keep after him,” Connor said, rubbing his throat where the gate had pressed against it. It already resembled the world’s largest hickey.
“How?” I shouted over the growing flutter of pages and heavily thumping tomes. “We’ll never make it through all this.”
“We have to try,” he said, and then grinned. “Besides, I got you a present.”
Connor held up the torn edge of Cyrus’s shirt and dangled it in front of my face.
“Let’s see what you can do,” he said. “Fetch, kid.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I can divine anything off this.”
Connor shoved the piece into my hand, then closed his own around mine.
I didn’t get a chance to argue further. Before I could say that it was probably a useless exercise, Connor pulled his jacket protectively over his head, and dashed off down the aisle into the storm of books. Not one to leave my partner to face danger alone, I wrapped my hands tightly around the bat with the piece of cloth firmly in hand and batted my way after him.
Between the piles of scattered twitching books on the floor and the occasional ones targeting me as they leapt from the shelves, it was slow going. Several volumes gnawed at my ankles, biting like a pack of rabid Chihuahuas, but with only paper teeth, they were more a nuisance than any real threat.
I caught up to Connor, my arms already sore from swinging. He was standing at an intersection looking confused. He looked at me.
“Try,”he said.
“I can’t,” I said. “Clothing is a hard thing for me to get a reading from.”
“Don’t give me that,” he shouted, knocking away several flying books. “Remember when I hit you at the Antiques Annex? Tap into that raw emotion you felt, the kind that sparked your power. There’s a science to this!”
He wasn’t taking no for an answer so I threw my concentration into the strip of cloth and prayed that a book didn’t catch me in the temple while I attempted to pull a vision from it.
I thought of how Connor had hit me, the pain and shock of it causing my blood to rise. Then I thought of the events of the last few days-Irene’s tearful eyes and her trashed apartment, Jane’s fall through the air and her mangled arm. It could all be Cyrus’s fault. Anger mixed in to the swirl of emotion and I felt the sudden spark of connection to the piece of shirt in my hand. My psychometry kicked in.
I wasn’t sure how far back in time my mind’s eye was taking me, but I could see Cyrus sometime back in his past carrying a bucket full of building supplies and tools through the Black Stacks. It was hard to tell what aisle he was walking in, but I hoped it would give me some clue as to where he was going now. I needed some kind of visual clue to orient myself. I caught a small sign along one of the rows of books.
M.
I snapped myself out of the vision. “Head toward theM ’s!” I shouted and dashed off to the right. I plowed my way through fallen books, made two lefts, and then another right before I led Connor into theM section. Cyrus was nowhere to be seen, but the books were even wilder here, harder to push through. I stumbled blindly forward as I attempted to get another reading from the strip of cloth. It took considerably more effort this time to read the item, and when the image came, it was not as strong as the previous one had been. “It’s losing its charge,” I said. I pushed Connor out of the way as a particularly nasty copy ofCrime amp; Severe Punishment flew toward the bridge of his nose. Unfortunately, my selfless act meant that I caught the full force of the book’s corner against my cheek, and immediately tasted blood. But I was still clutching the cloth, and before I could control it, the pain flipped me back into my vision. I saw Cyrus with his tool bucket once again. I pushed back the pain and flipped back out. “Back to theB ’s.”
We must have been on the right track, because as we continued forward, the intensity with which books were throwing themselves at us increased dramatically. I fended off books with such ferocity that I had to make sure I wasn’t in danger of cracking Connor’s skull open. By now, the books were piled knee-deep and our pace grew slower, both from weariness and from plowing the books aside. When we reached theB section, however, there was no sign of Cyrus.
“Again,” Connor said. He continued to dig away at the books around him.
I dropped my bat and gathered the piece of cloth in both hands. Concentrating like a kid taking the SATs, I felt weariness set in as I went for my third use of my powers. I hadn’t eaten anything coming into this to boost my blood sugar, and adrenaline was the only thing keeping me going. There was a tiny tingle of connection, but it was so faint I could only make out a quick psychic flash-Cyrus adjusting the hinges on a hidden doorway built into one of the bookcases. Behind theH ’s, maybe forhidden, I thought.
Abandoning the image, I came back to reality, popped a roll of Life Savers out, and quickly began downing them one by one as we pelted toward theH ’s. I immediately started to feel less shaky. It still took five minutes to clear our way to the bookcase I had seen. My arms felt like they had been digging for hours.
We cleared out a space in front of the bookcase. Once there was room to move, I pulled it away from the wall. Behind it was a hallway that led down a short dark corridor and dead-ended at a door. I pulled out my lock picks, but Connor barged ahead of me and kicked it open instead.