“Three,” I correct. “There have been three disappearances in the last week, and I believe voids were created in every instance. And I’m not convinced the Crew responsible is doing it for themselves. I think it’s possible that someone in the Archive has given them the order.”
“And why on earth would someone do that?”
“I think”—god, I sound mad; I can barely will the words out—“someone’s trying to frame me.” Agatha’s eyebrows go up as I add, “I crossed paths with each victim before they vanished.”
“And who would want to frame you?” she asks, her voice dripping with condescension.
“There are members of the Archive,” I say, “who disapprove of your initial ruling. Those who are opposed to my continued service.”
Agatha sighs. “I’m well aware of Patrick’s feelings toward you, but you honestly believe he would break Archival law to see you terminated?”
I hesitate. I’m not sure I do. It was easy to believe he would send Eric to find evidence, but I have a harder time believing he would plant it.
“I don’t know,” I say, trying hard not to waver. “I’m only telling you what I found.”
“You must be mistaken.”
“I know what I saw.”
“How can you?” she counters. “Voids are not truly visible, to anyone. You got a bad feeling, you thought your eyes slid off a bit of air, and you assumed—”
“I read the wall. The memories surrounding the creation of the void were all ruined. Whited out.”
She shakes her head. “Even if there was a void, how do I know you aren’t to blame? Do you have any idea how rare a void door is? You’ve already been tied to one—”
“I was doing my job.”
“—and now this. You yourself said three disappearances, and you crossed paths with each.”
“I don’t have a Crew key.”
“There was another one, was there not? On the roof? The one belonging to that traitorous History? What happened to it?”
My mind spins. “It got sucked into the void,” I say, “along with Owen.”
“How convenient.”
“I could have lied, Agatha,” I say, trying to stay calm, “and I did not. I told you the truth. Someone is defying you. Defying the Archive.”
“Do you think I would allow such crimes and conspiracies to happen under my nose?”
I stiffen. “With all due respect, less than a month ago a Librarian plotted to unleash a restricted History into the Outer and tear down an entire branch from the inside, and she nearly succeeded. All of it under the Archive’s nose.”
In a flash, Agatha is upon me, pinning me to the chair, her fingers digging into my wounded forearm. Tears burn my eyes and I squeeze them shut, fighting back the dizzying dark of a tunnel moment.
“Which is more likely?” she says, her voice a low growl. “That a member of the Archive is conspiring against you—out of personal distaste or retribution, fashioning some elaborate scheme to have you found unfit, constituting treason—or that you’re simply delusional?”
I take a few shaky breaths as the pain sears across my skin. “I know…you don’t want…to believe—”
Agatha’s nails dig into my arm. “My position is not built on what I want to believe, Miss Bishop. It is based on truth and logic. It is a very complicated machine I help to run. And when I find a broken piece, it is my job to fix or replace it before it can damage any other parts.”
She lets go and turns away.
“I’m not broken,” I say under my breath.
“So you claim. And yet the things that come out of your mouth are madness. Am I correct,” she says, turning back to me, “in assuming that you still refuse to grant me access to your mind? That you make this claim against the Archive, against Crew, against me, and yet you deny me the ability to find you innocent or guilty of the charges you put on those around you?”
I feel sick. If my theory is wrong, then I’ve also signed my execution, and we both know it. I force myself to nod. Agatha looks past me to the sentinel.
“Go get Sako,” she says.
A moment later, I hear the door close. Agatha and I are alone.
“I will start with the Crew then,” she says, “because none of them would be foolish enough to deny me permission. And when I’ve scoured their minds and found each and every one of them loyal and innocent, I will tear your life apart, moment by moment, to uncover your guilt. Because you have proven one thing tonight, Miss Bishop: you are guilty of something.” She takes my chin in one gloved hand. “Maybe it’s the voids, or maybe it’s madness, but whatever it is, I will find out.” Her hand drifts down my jaw to my collar. “In the meantime,” she says, guiding the key out from under my shirt, “I suggest you keep your list clear.”
The threat is clear and cold as ice. If you wish to remain a Keeper.
The door opens, and Sako stands there waiting.
“Take Miss Bishop home,” says Agatha smoothly, her hand abandoning my collar. “And then come back. We need to talk.”
Something flits across Sako’s face—curiosity, confusion, a shade of fear?—and then it’s gone and she nods. She slides her key straight into the door behind her, takes my elbow, and pushes me through.
An instant later, we are standing in my bedroom again, Wesley asleep with his head on the bed and Sako’s noise rattling through my body. Her metal and stone clanging become coiled annoyance waste of space what did she do guarded what does Agatha want now could have a night with Eric his arms wrapped around warm golden and strong and safe, and when she lets go of my arm, I’m surprised by how strong Sako’s feelings are for him.
“Get out of my head, little Keeper,” she growls.
I slide my ring back on, wondering how much of my mind she saw. She turns on her heel and vanishes the way she came, and I’m left standing there in the dark.
My arm aches, but I can’t bring myself to inspect the damage, so I sink onto the bed and rest my head in my good hand. I wish that Da were here to tell me what to do. I’ve run out of his prepackaged wisdom, his lessons on hunting and fighting and lying. I need him.
As the quiet settles around me, the panic creeps in. What have I done? Bought myself a few days, but at what cost? I’ve made an enemy of Agatha, and even if my theory’s sound and the Crew behind the voids is found, she will not forget my refusal. And if my theory’s wrong? I squeeze my eyes shut. I know what I saw. I know what I saw. I know what I saw.
Music fills my head, strong and steady, and I look down to see Wesley’s hand wrapped around mine, his eyes bleary but open. He must misread the shock and fear in my eyes for the echoes of a nightmare—how I wish this were still a bad dream—because he doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Instead he climbs onto the bed beside me and rolls me in against him, his arms wrapped around my waist.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he whispers sleepily into my hair. And all I can think as his music plays in my head is that this is how Sako saw Eric in her mind: like a shield, strong and safe. This is how Crew partners feel about each other. But we are not Crew. We may never be now. But tonight, I let myself pretend. I hold on to his rock sound and his touch. I let it surround me.