I coughed again, more forceful. “Passenger,” I said.
Caliban’s eyebrows shot up. “Passenger. What kind of passenger?”
I turned the phone slightlytoward Artie.
She smiled and waved awkwardly. “Hello.”
Caliban nearly fell out of frame. “Arthur. Arthur, you did not mention a woman in the vehicle. You cannot spring these things on me.”
“She’s assisting me,” I said. “Don't mind him, Artemis. He’s getting senile in old age.”
Caliban sputtered. “I am not senile. I am barely past midlife. I can still map a rune field in my sleep. You, on the other hand, cannot even?—”
I ended the call.
Silence filled the car.
Artemis covered her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “He seems… charming.”
“He’s old,” I said. “And loud.”
She laughed harder.
The sound hit me like a warm rush through my ribs.
I was in trouble. I knew I was.
But for the first time in a long time, trouble did not feel like something I wanted to avoid.
It felt like something I wanted to walk toward.
The drive into Pittsburgh had settled me a bit, even though my chest still felt tight from the hours before. The skyline rose ahead of us in sharp angles and glass, the rivers cutting clean lines through the city. Bridges arched everywhere, bright steel against the late afternoon light. Artemispressed her hand to the window as we crossed the Fort Pitt Bridge, her excitement radiating through the car with a warmth that dug deeper under my ribs than I wanted to admit.
She leaned forward in the seat when the building finally came into view. “We’re here,” she said a little breathlessly.
The main branch of the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh stood ahead of us with its stone columns and tall windows, a structure older than many cities in the United States. The bronze lettering above the steps gleamed. I parked the Gullwing in a quiet corner of the lot. Before I could reach her door, she’d already hopped out, cardigan flapping at her sides as she walked purposefully toward the entrance.
She looked around as she went, taking in the green stretch of Schenley Plaza, the kids running across the grass, the food carts waiting for the dinner rush. Her eager, determined expression made my heart beat a little faster.
I had no trouble keeping up with her, but I let her lead. Watching her was strangely grounding.
The lobby was too quiet for a building so large. Busts of industrialists lined the walls. A student slept on a couch with a chemistry book open on his chest while a librarian stamped returns with the dull acceptance of someone who had long surrendered to monotony.
Artemis walked purposefully through the space, heading straight toward the archival wing as if she knew the entire building’s layout. I stayed close behind her.
The man we were looking for was moving a cart in the stacks of the rare books room. His name tag read Percy. No last name. Strange. He was sorting materials withno interest in proper weight distribution. If he shifted the cart wrong, everything would topple.
Artemis lifted a hand. “Excuse me, are you?—?”
Percy looked up. Saw us.
Froze.
Then he turned very slowly and began speed walking away.
Speed walking. It was such a weak attempt that for a moment I wondered if this was a joke or performance art.
But he continued at that same unimpressive pace, gaining almost no distance as he went.
