Page 31 of Gave Proof Through the Night

“Yes, I’ve seen Star Wars, thank you.” Then back to the cosplayer, “So… you came here straight from a science fiction convention.”

“A really good one,” she says. “I would have changed after but why cut the fun short?”

Zoe lowers the mop.

“Are you twelve?” she says.

“Nineteen.” Suri looks at the security panel. “That’s a Sentry 9200 you’ve got there,” she says. “Twelve-point algorithm, but there’s a calibration lag in the fingerprint reader between four and six seconds if you know the firmware version. Which I do.” She takes a bite of Cinnabon. “You should really update it.” She chews. “Can I get a napkin? They never give you enough napkins.”

Zoe and I look at each other.

I find a paper towel. Hand it to her.

“Thank you.” She wipes her fingers. Sets it down. “Your primary lock is a Medeco triple-cylinder M3. Good choice. Most people don’t bother with the triple.” She glances at the locks, still sitting open. “Now, what I’m sure you really want to know is what they use on the display cases at the B-Mah.” She looks at me to see if that lands, and it does. The Bellenden Museum of American History, or to shorten it, the BMAH, is the current home of an important piece my family is particularly interested in. But this girl doesn’t have the full picture. Yet.

“They run a Digilock-7. Biometric override,” she plows on as if my silence is encouragement enough. “There’s also a secondary electromagnetic seal on the cases themselves that trips if the case opens faster than point-six seconds. So you need the override codes and you need the timing right. And before you ask…” She licks her orange lips. “I have an idea for that but I’m no hacker.”

The room is very quiet.

She wipes her fingers on the napkin again. “I understand you need me for something more hands-on. Something in the vicinity of sapphires and diamonds. Edwardian, hand-wrought platinum settings. The simulant has to match the oxidation pattern in the prongs or any appraiser with UV catches it in thirty seconds.” Another bite. “Most forgers rush the aging. I don’t rush the aging.” She pauses to chew. “I built one three years ago for a jewelry insurance case. It passed appraisal for eleven months. They only caught it because the owner had a personal vendetta against the insurance company and hired a second appraiser out of spite.” She considers this. “The first one was fine.”

Zoe says, mostly to herself, “She’s not twelve.”

I look at Suri. She looks at me. She has Cinnabon icing at the corner of her mouth.

“One condition,” she says. “And this is non-negotiable.”

“Name it.”

"I need to be in San Diego by July 23." She meets my eyes. “The job has to be done before then.”

I blink at her.

“San Diego Comic Con?” She gives me a look like I should know these things.

Zoe smacks me with the broom handle. “Duh, Erica. San Diego Comic Con.”

Right. How could I forget? I look at the security panel she bypassed.

“Deal,” I say.

Zoe stares at Suri for a long moment, taking in the whole Ahsoka cosplay and says, “Do you have other clothes?”

8

JEREMIAH

Chapter playlist:

National Treasure — Barns Courtney

Somebody has weaponized Taco Bell against me, and honestly? Respect.

Admittedly, my whole brain has been elsewhere all morning. Specifically, orbiting a woman I have mentally filed under Sticky Fingers. She continues to be such an enigma to me ever since she almost stole my watch. And instead of moving on with my life like a reasonable adult, I have apparently spent the ensuing weeks thinking about those bright, brown eyes. The faint constellation of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her left eyebrow with the scar through it, and how she probably has an excellent unrepeatable story for how she got it.

And this is how I fall victim to the latest locker room prank.

I’m distracted by thoughts of Sticky Fingers. I shove my foot into my skate too forcefully, my skate goes squelch, and I freeze.