Pack of Strays (The Fangborn Series Book 2) (25 page)

“Were you able to track him from there? You don’t have any idea where he is now?”

“No. And now, I am done.” He stretched. “If I must be wedged into this cattle car, I will sleep. Perhaps when I have the moment, I will find the name of the town in my records.”

“I know you will, Dmitri Alexandrovich,” I said softly.

A long flight later, I stared at the exterior of another of the Order’s repositories: The Museum of Salem. I was shocked when Dmitri told me, but it made a kind of strange sense.

The museum had been, for a brief interlude in my life, a place where I’d learned a lot. I was only familiar with my little corner behind the scenes, and the galleries that were open to the
public
, of course. So there was a lot of it that I didn’t know at all. It was possible, of course, that it was the Order’s. Just so terribly
improbable
.

All of a sudden, a lot of questions were being answered. More were being raised.

As we waited for Danny’s luggage, Dmitri said, “How else would I have known you had that first figurine? It should have been removed long before the box reached you in the accessions office. It was a small matter for my informant to figure out where it had gone missing and to connect it to you.”

“So, the Order at the Museum—they didn’t know I was
Fangborn
?”

“Not then. That was pure bad luck, or good luck, or fate.” He tilted his head. “They do now, of course.”

“Great.” My shoulders sagged. “Is everyone there a member of the Order?”

“No, no, only a select few. Senior curators, a few board
members
.” He named a few names I recognized, one I didn’t.
I had
actually
met a couple of them once or twice, when they were
speaking
to my supervisor.

“Okay. How do I get in?”

“It’s difficult.”

I tried to stifle my frustration. “Do I have to be there during gallery hours?”

“No, there is another entrance. By the loading docks, so there is no suspicion if a truck is there at odd hours. I do not know, however, if my ID card will still work.”

“Okay, we’ll chance that. Tell me about the layout. What will I find where?”

He ran down the description of the secret part of the installation with me. Two Family cars arrived for us. After a lot of debate, we had decided that Dmitri would stay with Danny and Toshi, who would rendezvous with Adam, Will, and the Steubens in Boston. Vee and I would go to Salem.

An hour later, we were there. It was odd, seeing some place so familiar, after so much travel. The air tasted cold and salty as an autumn fog settled down over the buildings.

As I jogged around to the side of the museum, I wondered if I’d unknowingly been looking for the Fangborn origins all my life. Maybe they were stalking me. Maybe I’d been chasing my own tail. Maybe I’d been driven.

I had to wonder about the oracles and their scrambled
messages
. Was it possible this was preordained? If I was meant to find these artifacts, if I’d been made to find them, maybe the rest of what I’d do was already written out for me.

It was a hateful idea. It scared the hell out of me and depressed and angered me all at once. But it would certainly make things easier.

It made me question everything. If I looked harder, to find
answers
, was I doing what I was meant to? If I ran away, as I’d tried, I’d be driven back.

Well, fuck that.

I put off philosophy for later. I had to focus on getting in, getting Dmitri’s object, and getting out again, alive.

One thing I knew: There were caches of artifacts scattered around the world. If they were there to be disguised, lost among Normal artifacts, they were also scattered for two other reasons.

They were stockpiled, should they ever be needed. Artifacts of this potential dangerousness couldn’t be casually discarded. They had to be studied safely, by the Order higher-ups. I had to hope the last person to ever see these things was the guy who ran the forklift, leaving the crates stacked up and untouched.

The artifacts were stockpiled, but they were also scattered to keep them from the Fangborn, lest we ever revolt.

Had I only studied archaeology because I was drawn to seek out these objects in a less obvious way than I was doing now? Had this calling colored my whole life? I thought my mother and I had visited museums because they were warm, safe, and occasionally free. I thought my interest in the past was a way of separating myself from my troubles, but in fact it had brought me more trouble than I’d ever thought possible.

Realization upon realization washed over me.

I’d picked up that dirty little figurine the day my mother died because it was Fangborn and because I was, and someone put something in the wrong box or didn’t recognize it.

Maybe I’d been at the museum in the first place because something in me was drawn to the Call of the Fangborn artifacts.

And that’s how Dmitri Parshin had found out I had the
figurine
. The figurine was intended for the secret Fangborn collection the whole time, and mistakenly got into the Normal accessions. The frantic donor who’d camouflaged it in the TRS 80 box discovered the loss, and connected it with my leaving the museum. Someone called in a favor, and Parshin had kidnapped Danny to force me to get that artifact to him.

Shoving aside this barrage of ideas, I lurked in the shadows, trying to get up the guts to go into the building. There were a few lights on still, which was unusual at this time of night, especially on a Saturday. I didn’t see any activity that indicated a function, but still I hesitated. An anonymous pickup truck was backed up to the loading bay. It wasn’t marked with the museum logo.

It didn’t feel like heightened Fangborn senses warning me off, but just as if I were putting off going somewhere I didn’t belong. So I shook myself and aimed for the door off the loading dock. Interestingly, it was outside the range of the security camera by the loading bay. Maybe if I looped around to the side, I could get there without showing up at all. I started across the street.

The back door opened. A man emerged.

Instantly, I knew who it was. One of the curators, Dr. Basile, had been very kind about fostering my interest in classical archaeology. Even though I hadn’t worked in his department, he’d saved me articles and suggested books to read.

My heart sank. His wasn’t one of the names that Dmitri had given me, but I had to wonder. Was he one of the Order?

He had an acid-free box in his hand. He was taking something from the museum.

My gut knotted up. If it held the artifact that Dmitri had described, I had to take it from him.

I liked Dr. Basile. I didn’t want to attack him. But I also couldn’t let Vee and the others down.

My reluctance was my undoing: he saw me. He cocked his head. “Zoe? Zoe Miller?”

Okay, maybe violence wasn’t the only way to get what I
needed
.
“Uh, hi, Dr. Joe. You’re working late.”

I approached, waiting with dread for the bracelet to respond to whatever was in the cardboard box. Still nothing. A few steps closer …

“Well, not anymore. Today was my last day, I’m the last one out.” He put the box into the back of the pickup with three others. “Packed up, heading over to the Pig for a good-bye beer with some of the curators. Hey, you should come with us.”

I still needed to get closer to the boxes. “I can’t, I’m, uh, meeting some friends at the Rathskeller. Thanks anyways.” A thought struck me. “Where will you be working next?”

“Moving to Baltimore, a teaching position. You still doing
archaeology
?”

“Trying,” seemed the simplest way to tell the truth. “Still haven’t given up on it, but I’m still sorting out some stuff after my mother’s death. Family stuff.”

“Oh, well. Here, why don’t you—” He took the top off the box he’d held; there was nothing but books in it. “Nope, not that one.”

He opened the next box, which was full of office supplies, several dictionaries, top-of-the-desk things. “One more. This time for sure.” From the last box, he pulled out a book on Greek pottery forms.

No tingle, no call, no vision. There were no Fangborn artifacts in the boxes. I was filled with relief, but hating myself a little for suspecting him.

Suspecting was still better than attacking first and asking later.

He held it out to me. “This is a duplicate; they’re all going to the library sale—unless you want it?”

I didn’t really want to tell him how light I was traveling these days—it would raise too many questions. “Oh, wow, thank you. I don’t know this one.” An unlooked-for act of kindness in the middle of the maelstrom; I had to look away before I teared up. “
I shou
ld get going. Gonna be late. Thanks again—it was good to see you.”

“You, too, Zoe. Take care.” He got in the truck and took off.

I nodded, hurried around to the far side of the building, and then looped around again.

I cut through the alley and found myself just outside the back door and bay. I slid Dmitri’s card through the reader.

A pause, a click, a green light. I was in.

I slipped in and closed the door behind me. I texted Vee.

Door @ alley off Crown St. Knock 4x.

I tried to count to calm myself down while I waited, but I kept losing track after seven. Finally, after an eternity, I heard the four knocks.

I pushed the door open. Vee entered. “I am
not
one of those middle-class girls who like to go to bad neighborhoods for cheap thrills, FYI.”

“What bad neighborhood?” I was puzzled.

She shuddered. “Dark alley, B&E?
So
not my scene.”

Vee really had no idea about bad neighborhoods if she thought this was one. “You said you wanted to help. We’re in the middle of town, lots of nice houses.”

“Well, it was dark out there. And there was something in the dumpster.” She shivered. “Something alive. I don’t like rats.”

“There won’t be any in here.”
Wimp,
I thought.

“Good. Promise?”

I shrugged. “Probably not, not if it’s storage. But I’ve never been in this part of the museum. It might be where they keep
all
the rats.”

“Asshole.”

“Shut the door.” I grinned in the dark. Vee was smart and had a lot of guts; it never would have occurred to me that rats bothered her.

A click behind me, and Vee’s flashlight beam flooded the floor. “I’m assuming you can see in the dark. And that you’d prefer we don’t switch on the overheads.”

“You’re pretty good at this, for a girl who doesn’t do bad
neighborhoods
.”

“I went to Fangborn Academy,” she sniffed. “And I don’t
forget
what I’ve learned.”

“Okay, okay.” The hallway abruptly stopped at a door. It was unlocked.

It was unlocked because it was a storage closet. Cleaning supplies, rolls of toilet paper, stacks of paper towels lined the walls.

“Oh, bingo. These look pretty occult to me,” Vee said.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I knew what I was looking for as soon as my eyes lit on it. “That mop bucket with the broken wheel? Why would they keep that when they have two perfectly good ones over there? More importantly—”

“Why a card reader for a broom closet?”

“Right.” I reached over and pulled on the handle. It fell off in my hand.

“Very smooth.”

“Shut up.”

I saw smudges in the dust on the floor and nudged the broken bucket along them. It squeaked, fingernails on slate, as it dragged its broken wheel along the floor. Vee put her hands over her ears and grimaced.

I pointed to the noticeably clean trap door hidden beneath the bucket.

Vee took her hands away. “Very smooth,” she conceded.

I pushed it, tried to pry it up, but no luck. It wasn’t until I leaned on it and shoved it to the side at the same time that I felt rather than heard a “click,” and the door revealed itself, standing proud from the floor by a few centimeters. I felt a groove in one edge and was able to lift it easily; once the catch had been released, it was hydraulically assisted. I opened the trap door and found a switch and a ladder.

“I think we can risk the interior light now,” I said, clicking
it on.

“No way I’m going down there without it,” she agreed.

A very modern steel ladder, like something from submarine movies, was set into a reinforced steel wall just beneath the rim. Soon, I was climbing very cautiously down what had been an o
ld wel
l.

I tried not to get claustrophobic as I descended, but I was sweating by the time I made it to the bottom, grateful that
opening
the door had caused a series of lights to flicker on. It revealed walls of the well, opening to a wider tunnel, and finally a series of small rooms. I hated to think about the guys who did the renovation work in this small space. Dmitri had said there was another, bigger entrance somewhere in back. Although he didn’t know where it was, it probably connected with a second tunnel entrance. I wouldn’t build a place like this with only one way out.