“The warlock with the Green Man tattoo,” I started, holding my position in the air, “the guy with the retractable bat sticking out of his leather coat . . .”
Sixteen
Alexandra
The next morning, my knees were sore from landing hard on the stone terrace during our flight testing, so I slept in before hobbling downtown to the Libra Concordia in the old, abandoned church across from Trinity Church in the hopes of finding more information on either Kimiya production or this splitting of the mind Caleb was so keen on talking about.
Pleased with the angel-specific distractions I fed him, Desmond Locke had made good on his promise and granted Marshall and Rory access to the research room at the Libra Concordia. My friends’ help in sorting through the books made the going much quicker, even despite their constant questioning. If there was information on how to master the production of Kimiya in what the Libra Concordia had on hand in their archives, we would find it. That was, if I could concentrate, what with Desmond Locke poking his head into the research room every half hour or so.
“You can’t dodge him forever,” Rory said, organizing her books where she sat across from me, with Marshall off to her left.
“I don’t need to,” I said, scribbling in my notebook. “I just need to stay on his good side until we can find what I’m looking for.”
“Eventually, he’ll want to know about Stanis,” Marshall said in a low whisper, his eyes on the door, “and what will you tell him?”
“I’m not going to tell him anything,” I said. “He doesn’t need to know about my family’s secret legacy beyond whatever he’s gleaned through his association with the Libra Concordia. And he certainly doesn’t need to know what Stanis has been up to, gathering all those statues on top of the Belarus Building.”
“It’s creepy,” Rory said. “It’s like he’s developing hoarder tendencies.”
“I don’t know what the purpose of it all is,” I said. “But my best guess is he’s amassing an army for Kejetan and his men. He’s actually done us a favor, though.”
“He has?” Marshall asked.
I nodded.
“Caleb and I have made progress on reverse engineering the formula,” I said. “But it would help us perfect what we need if we can find my great-great-grandfather’s ‘recipe’ spell book for it. I was working to build a statue to test it on, but now we’ve got plenty of Belarus-made test subjects gathered in one place.”
Rory yawned. “I miss sleep,” she said. “Dance classes by day, research and gargoyle experimentation by night.”
“So much regular-world stuff to do during the day, fighting evil at night,” Marshall said. “I don’t know how Batman does it.”
I took the conversation’s turning to comics as my cue to get back to work and fell silent, thankful when Rory and Marshall did the same.
Looking through the histories of the late eighteen hundreds and early nineteen hundreds for clues to my great-great-grandfather’s work was a slow and laborious chore, but if there was anything to be found outside of my family’s library on the man, the Libra Concordia was the most likely of places for it.
“You’re doing it again,” Rory said, smacking me with one of the books from her side of the table.
“I am?” I asked. “Counting?”
“Yes!” Marshall confirmed it by hitting me with his own book.
“But I wasn’t doing it out loud this time,” I protested.
Rory pointed to the pen I had poised over my notebook. “You were tapping it out.”
“Shit,” I said, angry with myself more than anything. If I couldn’t keep the count at the back of my mind without indicating it externally, I still wasn’t doing it right.
“Can you at least tell us why you need to be counting all the time?” Marshall asked. “Does it have a higher purpose than just bothering us?”
“It’s just this thing I’ve been working on with Caleb,” I said, noticing the annoyed look on both their faces at my mentioning the alchemist’s name.
“Counting,” Rory said. “You and blondie are working on counting. Like in music?”
“Yes.” I sighed.
“Are you starting a band?” Rory asked.
I considered just answering yes to that as well. It would be easier than explaining the whole of the events from the other night in the art studio.
“No,” I said.
“Oh!” Marshall exclaimed in full-blown mockery. “Does it involve trying to destroy the rest of my store . . . ?”
“I paid for your damaged table,” I reminded him. “And your little teeny town dungeon. Besides, Caleb and I both apologized for that. You should give the guy a chance. He’s trying to help me.”
The gap between us across the table couldn’t have felt wider or more awkward than it did just then. I couldn’t help but think it might be in part because they were sensing that I was leaving some things out of my story.
But why was I doing it? To protect them?
No. The truth was I wasn’t sure how I felt about what was happening between Caleb and me. I didn’t want to put my trust issues out there when I needed to get everyone on board with the idea of his working with us. Despite the potential embarrassment, I decided to woman up and put on my big-girl panties.
“You should give him a chance,” I repeated, my voice lowering as I met their eyes, “because I’m giving him a chance. I kind of like the guy.”
Rory laughed, then cocked her head at me when she saw I was serious. “Does he buy you flowers?” she asked, only half mocking now. “Or does he bippity boppity boo some mice and turn them into flowers for you?”
“We’re not dating,” I said, not liking the attitude I was getting after laying part of my feelings out there. “I don’t know what to call it, so give it a rest.”
“Fine,” Rory said, leaning back in her chair, defeated.
Small victory though it was, I felt mighty triumphant about it. Still, why miss out on the opportunity to kick our conversation up a notch?
“Although,” I said, drawing the word out, “we might have snogged for a bit over at the Belarus Building the other night.”
Rory shot forward again, grabbing me across the table. “Shut up!”
Marshall sighed, leaning his head down into his hands. “Could you two maybe make all this a little less Twilight?”
“Jealous?” I asked.
Marshall hesitated, then looked up, cradling his face in his hands. “Maybe . . . ?” he said.
Rory and I fell back into our chairs, genuine laughter rising from both of us, refreshing after months and months of tension and failed experiments.
Marshall shook his head at the two of us. “How is it you get to make out with someone—a bit of a dick, by the way—and I can’t even get a woman to hand me her real phone number?”
Rory shrugged. “Probably because you’re busy throwing Magic: The Gathering tournaments . . . ?”
“Not now, Ror,” he said, eyeing her with daggers. He turned to me. “I’m going to take this as a sign that you’re definitely spending too much time with this alchemist.”
“Take what as a sign?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “The tongue bathing you probably gave each other . . . ?”
“That’s a pretty picture,” I said.