Page 65 of The Devouring Time

“I didn’t notice anyone either,” she says. “Damn it. It’s possible magical means are involved—I can knit us a quick ward when we get back to my apartment.”

“That sounds very useful.” The cult who’ve been trying to kill me somehow found us at the pharmacy, then at Cleo’s. Magic seems as likely as more mundane means at this point.

Helen smooths her skirt and hooks her purse back onto her shoulder. “Were you serious when you said the book wasn’t on the shelf, Adrian?”

Disappointingly, he nods. “I didn’t see it. Perhaps it’s been checked out?”

“I hope so—if it’s been shelved in the wrong place, we could spend months in here before finding it.” She strides back toward the stairs, leaving us to follow.

We return to the front room where Helen makes for the circulation desk near the doors. Putting on a bright smile, she says, “We’re looking for a book, but it doesn’t seem to be on the shelves. Can you tell us if it’s been checked out?”

The old woman behind the desk peers at us through her glasses. “I suppose so. What book is it?”

I write down the title again, and she turns to an enormous ledger. Her wrinkled lips purse as she runs a finger down the pages, flips back in the book, and repeats the action. At last, she nods. “It was checked out in August by Dr. Jessica Dane of the Metaphysics Department.”

I fail to keep the surprise from my face, judging by the suspicious look the librarian gives me. “Thanks,” Helen says breezily, “we’ll just talk to her, then.”

With that, she’s off. We catch up with her just outside the doors, atop the high steps leading down.

“So Dr. Dane has the Lettere Segrete,” Adrian says thoughtfully. “But she isn’t attached to the art department, so why would she be interested in the private letters of a bunch of Renaissance artists?”

“Or was she just interested in the ones from Bianca Giuliani?” It’s too much of a coincidence to believe anything else. “Could this be why Swarm-Me wrote to her? Was he asking her to steal it, since he couldn’t get the copy from Miss Lovejoy?”

“Whatever she wants it for, at least we know she isn’t working with the Timekeepers and the Swarm,” Helen points out. “I think we should just go ask her.”

Adrian arches a brow. “If you recall, that didn’t go so well the first time.”

“I’ll get us past the secretary.” Helen waves off his concern.

“And if she’s part of the cult who are trying to kill me?” I ask. “I don’t want to walk into her hands if that’s the case.”

“If she was, I think she would have tried to lure you here, not ordered the receptionist to send you away.” Helen frowns slightly. “Unless she wasn’t ready to confront you then, and decided to spy on you with magic…”

The devil? “Is she a sorceress, too? Is there anyone in this town who doesn’t cast spells?” I can’t believe what I’m asking.

“I assume someone with a degree in metaphysics would know some arcane secrets, don’t you?” Helen asks. “I really don’t think she’s the type to join a cult, though. Too independent.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“We’ll see if we can even get in to talk to her,” Adrian says. “But if she has the Lettere Segrete…can we trust her? Even if she isn’t working with the Timekeepers or trying to kill us.”

Helen hesitates. “I’d say we can trust her…but I don’t know her that well. I had some classes with her—she’s very no-nonsense and always seemed more interested in her studies than power or fame. But people have done terrible things in the pursuit of knowledge.”

“I suppose we’ll decide when we get there.” This feels dangerous, but I don’t have any better ideas. And if she was the one watching us in the library, better to confront her now.

We head away from the library, retracing yesterday’s steps to the building with the astronomy tower protruding incongruously from the top. As we approach the receptionist’s desk a second time, I slow down and try to duck behind Helen. It doesn’t work, because she’s shorter than I am.

“Hello!” Helen says brightly. “We’re here to see Dr. Dane.”

The receptionist’s gaze goes past her and fixes on Adrian and me. “I’m calling security,” she says, and reaches for the telephone.

“No, wait!” Helen holds up her hands. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I’m Helen Rath, I was a student of Dr. Dane’s. If she’ll just talk to us for five minutes, everything will be cleared up.” She bats her lashes. “Please?”

The receptionist looks at us again, then back to Helen—then sighs. “I’ll ask Dr. Dane, but if she says no, I will have you all escorted out and barred from returning.”

Helen beams at her. “Swell!”

Looking displeased with us, the receptionist departs. She’s gone longer this time; when she returns, her mouth is an unhappy slash. “Dr. Dane will see you in her office. Room 430.”