CHAPTER 66
“Wow—how long since these were used?” I asked, as we walked into what were clearly dilapidated stables. They were old and cold, and the walls were made of a cobble stone—the kind you never see anymore.
“I don’t think they’ve been used since my grandmother rode. No one rides horses anymore.”
“Where should we look?” I asked.
Mike pointed at a small copper sign on one of the stable doors. “Darcy,” he read out. “That seems like a good place to look.”
He pushed the sticky door open. It scraped across the old stone, fingernails tearing down an old blackboard, and my skin shivered.
We walked in. The air was cold and damp and smelled of dust and old straw. “God, it’s a bit creepy in here,” I said, wrapping my arms around my body.
Mike pulled a torch out and turned it on.
“And now?” I asked.
“And now, we look.” He started moving along the wall again. I copied him, running my hands over the large cobblestones, like he was—although, I wasn’t sure I would recognize anything, if I actually found it.
What were we looking for?
“Gross! Gross! Aaaahh!” I pulled my hand away and shook it wildly, trying to get the sticky spider web off it. I wiped it on my pants and cringed. “Gggrraaaggghh.” I shook my body, feeling nauseous. “Bleg! Bleg!” I scrunched my face up and flapped my arms some more.
Mike looked at me. “That was . . .a lot,” he teased.
“Hate spiders,” I said.
“Hate bats, too. And rare nesting birds?”
“Oh, by the way, on that note, I bloody googled that bird, and they totally made it up. There is no black-crested night budgie!”
He chuckled again, like smooth liquid gold. “They have applied to have it officially recognized as a separate species.”
At that, I jumped up. “HA! I knew they made that shit up.”
He laughed some more. “They seem to think they have a legitimate claim.”
“They are soooo wrong,” I said, putting my hands back on the wall and tracing over the stones.
“They’re convinced. They even called in a bird expert.”
“Well, I’m no bird expert, but those were bloody pigeons, if I’ve ever seen a flipping pi—” I stopped dead when a stone moved. “What the . . . ?” I gave it a little push and the whole thing moved.
“Wait.” Mike rushed over and placed his hands over mine. I wasn’t so engrossed in the moment that I missed how good that felt. “Careful,” he said, wiggling our hands gently, pulling and sliding the stone out, until . . .
“Shit!” The whole thing came out and revealed, straight away, what I knew we had been looking for.
