And If Thou Wilt, Forget

“Come on, come on!” Diana Caxton’s voice rang out across the space in a marked departure from the soft, sweet voice she used to speak to anyone who didn’t work under her. “We need to get out of here before he changes his mind.”

“Diana, there’s an awl missing,” a voice called from somewhere else, pitched to a near panic. “I swear there were six here this morning and I can only find five—”

“Freddie, if the only thing out of place is an awl, I will consider that a win. Let’s go.”

“Maybe the rats are taking up leatherworking,” a voice said nearby, low enough that probably no one but the person next to them could have heard.

“Things didn’t work out in Thorn Valley, do you think?” The person they were talking to snickered.

The lighthearted debate over the supposed intricacies of rodent BDSM faded into the distance, and the lights shut off. Tim exhaled and slipped out from behind the filing cabinet where he’d concealed himself. That had been a close one.

Probably this would have been easier with more than two people, he thought as he darted from blind spot to blind spot—not that it mattered, nobody was watching the security cameras this time of day, but it behooved him to be careful—but at least there were two of them. He couldn’t imagine how Gertrude would have done this without assistance. It made him wonder what her plan had been.

He needed to hurry. The Institute was closing early—presumably because Jonah wanted to be sure he was undisturbed while watching whatever was happening at the House of Wax—but he still had a tight deadline, and he needed to keep to it. Luckily, he knew the Institute inside out and backwards, so he knew exactly what he was doing and where he was heading. His current destination was a spot between two ponderous shelves. Slipping into the niche, he knelt down and tested the floor briefly, then nodded. Yes, there was a huge joist under that spot, just where he’d thought it was, one end of a crossbeam the main stairs hung off of that spanned the width of the building. Bonus: directly behind it was a support beam that looked load-bearing to him.

Tim opened the small case and broke off a good size piece of putty. He quickly worked it to a pliable consistency, molded it around one of the charges, and affixed it to the proper spot. With a sigh, he closed the case again and got up.

“Right,” he said to himself. “Two more to go.”

He slipped out of the library, shutting the door carefully and quietly behind him, and slid along the wall. Most people were gone by now, he reckoned. The library was usually the last to close down in the evenings, save the Archives, because people always waited until the last minute to bring their books back and some poor sap had to stay and put it away. For a few years that had mostly been Martin, actually. Maybe things would be different today since it was—he glanced at his watch—at least half an hour before the usual closing time, but somehow, he doubted it. The likelihood was that he had the majority of the Institute more or less to himself.

Which meant he had a clear shot.

A couple stragglers from Accounting, or so he presumed from the way one was ranting about having to pay the hourly IT employees for the full day even though they were closing early and why Mr. Bouchard should have taken a firmer stance against that damned union, clattered past him. Tim stayed behind the column until they had made it to the lobby, then cautiously crept after them. As he got close to where he meant to be, he heard the one who’d been listening call out, “’Night, Rosie.”

Tim cursed under his breath. Of course Rosie was still there. It would take an act of God to get her to leave before Elias did.

As the thought crossed his mind, he heard a door slam open and Rosie give a small yelp. Tim flattened against the wall as she gasped out, “Oh—Elias, is everything all right?”

“Where are the damned keys, Rosie?” Elias growled. He sounded furious.

Tim smothered a grin. That boded extremely well.

“The—keys?” Rosie sounded confused. “To the Institute? Aren’t they in your desk?”

“They are not. I need to get into the Archives immediately, and the keys are nowhere to be found.”

“I…oh, wait, shouldn’t there be a backup set in the janitorial closet?” Rosie’s chair scraped backwards. “I’ll go look.”

“No need. I’ll look myself.” Elias’s footsteps stomped across the floor, the soles of his expensive shoes slapping loudly against the wood.

Tim, cautiously, peered around his corner. Rosie stood next to her desk, looking concerned and confused and…torn. Tim held his breath, silently prodding her. Go on…you know you want to…

He suppressed a grin as, evidently, her curiosity overcame her caution. She grabbed her purse and her jacket and hurried down the stairs towards the custodian’s closet.

Time was short. God only knew what Jonah would do in the Archives, or how long it would take him. But at least his way was clear.

Elias—Jonah—had left the door to his office open, and the lights on. Tim dashed into it as quickly and quietly as he could and got to work.

The first thing he did was check the drawers of the desk. Most of them were unlocked, probably from his search for the keys to the Archives, but a couple were still locked. Tim let his instincts drive him and selected three drawers that were likely to have what he wanted. It took him about six seconds to pick each one, not that he was bragging. Not that there was any need to brag; there was an antique desk that had belonged to Great-Grandfather Stoker when it was new that had the same locks and they could be bypassed with a paper clip. Tim sprung the drawers open, yanked them out, and withdrew a couple of tapes and a bundle of letters, then stuffed them into his laptop bag before shutting the drawers securely again.

That done, he quickly turned to his real purpose for being in the office. He ducked under the desk, located the appropriate spot behind the decorative carvings of the lip, and broke off another piece of putty, slightly bigger this time—he wanted to be sure. Molding it around a charge, he stuck it to the underside. There would be no reason for Elias to reach there and no reason to suspect. Jonah may have had certain degrees of clairvoyance, but he didn’t have the ability to just Know things that even Tim did, let alone Jon, so he probably wouldn’t find it.

For good measure, though, Tim placed a second charge behind a heavy filing cabinet.

That done, Tim grabbed the things he’d snatched from the drawers and darted out of the room. He managed to get to a hidden niche not a moment too soon, as he heard footsteps, then Elias’s voice, still irritated but slightly more in control. “No, thank you, Rosie, I’ll put them back myself. You enjoy the rest of your evening. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, Elias. Good night.” Rosie’s shoes, pointed patent leather kitten heels at least twenty years out of style, tick-tick-ticked across the floor, and then the front door opened and shut. Elias, for his part, stormed up the stairs and back to his office, shutting the door firmly but not slamming it.

Tim let out a breath he hadn’t fully realized he was holding and bolted for the stairs. Jonah likely hadn’t started watching the Unknowing yet, and the tape Jon had recorded with Leitner’s murder on it suggested that Gertrude’s methods of protection, the ones she’d taught Tim, would keep him from being perceived even if Jonah was watching them, so he almost certainly didn’t know Tim wasn’t in Great Yarmouth. But there was no point in tempting fate and no point in borrowing trouble.

He knew the others had arrived. He’d felt the exact moment the Archivist put himself within reach of the Stranger and its ilk, and had been trying to maneuver around the instinct to bolt after him ever since. Only the knowledge that Martin had promised to keep him in his sight kept him from giving in…well, that and the fact that he knew what he was doing here would do more to keep Jon safe than his presence at the Unknowing would. Jon would be fine.

Melanie he wasn’t so sure about. Tim took the steps two at a time and burst into the Archives, then from there into the Archivist’s office. There Melanie stood, gripping the back of Jon’s chair with both hands, her entire body shaking, her face brick red and soaked with tears.

“Melanie? Melanie, what is it, what’s wrong?” Tim’s instincts were on high alert. Someone had—no, no, not someone. Fucking Jonah had hurt her. “What did he do?”

“He—” Melanie drew in a sharp breath and turned an angry look on Tim, barely holding back more tears. “My dad—Ivy Meadows—the, it burned down, they told me he suffocated in his sleep, but that wasn’t what happened at all and he made me watch…”

“Oh, Melanie, no.” Horrified, Tim reached out and pulled her into a tight hug.

That was all it took. Melanie, who clearly wanted to actually stab someone and was probably willing for it to be Tim since he was handy, collapsed against him in furious, heartbroken sobs. Tim cradled her protectively and fought down the bile and rage. That was torture, plain and simple. He knew damned well what had happened at Ivy Meadows—he should have known Roger King was a resident there, although heaven knew why he felt that way—and he probably should have guessed that Jonah Magnus’s powers of clairvoyance could also give him access to someone’s mind, not just to read it but to dredge up or plant memories or pictures in it. He could have easily done the same to Tim about Danny, or about Gertrude. He could have done something dreadful to Martin, or…God, what he could have done to Jon!

But instead, he’d done it to Melanie. Melanie, who’d lost her mother to a painful, wasting illness and had always consoled herself with the certainty that at least her father had gone out peacefully. Melanie, who’d fought for everything she ever had only to have it snatched away from her in the worst ways possible. Melanie, who’d started burning every bridge she crossed before anyone else could burn them out from under her and had been left with nothing and no one except her matches. Melanie, who’d been the strong one for so long she hadn’t believed there was anything left that could actually break her.

Melanie, who hadn’t cried since a cousin had taunted her for it after her mother’s death, and who was now letting twenty years of pent-up grief and loss loose directly into Tim’s chest.

“I never would have put you through this if I’d known that was what he would do,” he murmured, rocking her back and forth and stroking her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“He needs to die,” Melanie choked out, the words more than half muffled by Tim’s shirt. “We can’t let him keep doing this.”

“He won’t,” Tim vowed. “He will never do this to another soul, ever again. I promise you that.”

Melanie took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled back just enough that she could scrub at her eyes with her sleeve. She looked up at Tim with reddened eyes blazing with furious determination and clenched her jaw. “Tell me what to do.”

Tim hesitated, studying Melanie’s face intently. “Do you trust me?” he finally asked.

There wasn’t even a flicker of indecision in Melanie’s face. “Yes.”

“Good.” Tim let go of Melanie, bent down, and retrieved the laptop bag, then put it into her hands. “Here. Take this. Your contact is Police Constable Pierce Hall. He’s a massive douchebag and you’ll hate him on sight, but he and his partner are waiting for this. They’ll be at Cleary’s Pub in about ten minutes, take it to him there. Tell him I sent you, give him the bag—he can keep it—and then go home. Take a long, hot bath and try to relax. If you don’t hear from me by…let’s say ten o’clock…check in with Martin, they should be done by then.”

Melanie took the bag and slung it over her shoulder. “You’re not coming?”

“I’m going to make sure he doesn’t follow you and stop you.” Tim gave her another hug. “Go on. Get. Go save the day, Miss King.”

Melanie actually hugged him back, very tightly. “We can exchange notes later. Thank you, Tim. For everything.”

Tim ruffled Melanie’s hair and sent her on her way with a light swat on the rear. He watched her cross the Archives until she was out of sight, then waited, straining his senses, until he heard the outer door slam.

“She’s gone, then?” Gerry’s voice said quietly from somewhere behind him.

“Yeah. I got rid of her.” Tim turned and picked out the shadow that contained his partner. “Are you done?”

“Couple more rooms on my list. I actually gave you a few too many of the charges, so I came to see if you wanted me to keep going or if we were good with what we’ve got.” Gerry came closer. “I did get the perimeter.”

“Artifact Storage?”

“Still occupied every time I went by. I finally had a clear shot, but that’s when I realized I was out of charges.” Gerry grimaced. “That and the kitchen are still to go.”

Tim pursed his lips as he fished out his case and divided up the remaining charges. “Forget the kitchen, but make sure you get Artifact Storage. I don’t want anything in there surviving…or escaping. Then come help me finish up down here.”

“How much do you really think we’ll need?”

“Everything we’ve got left. We’ve got to do this properly.”

Gerry hesitated. “Are you…going to be okay with that?”

Tim smiled. “It’s just paper, Ger. And most of it’s bullshit. We’ll be fine, Jon and me. If there’s anything important that gets lost, I’m sure we’ll find it.”

Gerry took a deep breath. “Okay. I trust you.” He claimed the stack of charges Tim handed him. “Back in a flash.”

Tim watched him slip away to the back stairs he’d never told Jon and the others about, then took a deep breath and turned back to the Archives. He wasn’t being observed yet. He was still safe. This was going to work. He just had to take care of the Archives.

There were a few key points he wanted to be sure he hit. He started by planting a charge behind Mister Megabytes, giving it a quick, affectionate pat before moving on. The second charge he placed in the center of the assistants’ desks. He didn’t bother putting one near the trap door—Gerry had planted a couple in the tunnels, just to be safe, or at least he was supposed to have—but he did step into Document Storage and plant one below the shelves with the more valuable and fragile documents. He made sure to put another one under the fire alarm, hoping to keep it from triggering, and set one in the storage closet for good measure. That done, he made his way to the Archivist’s office.

For just a second, he stood in the doorway, letting the memories come back, from the first moment he’d sat opposite Gertrude and given her his statement to the last moment when he’d lain that same statement in front of Jon and told him to eat up. In a lot of ways, this room had made him who he was, and it was a symbol of everything he stood for.

It was also just a room, and a key point at that, and he had one more job to do.

The wall where Jane Prentiss had emerged from had long ago been repaired, but Tim remembered where the studs behind it were. He located a promising place, knelt down, and went to work planting the charge. Then he rose and took one last look around before stepping out of the office.

“Tim,” Elias said from the doorway to the Archives.

Tim sighed as he remembered—or maybe realized—that the ring, which had suddenly tightened, only alerted him when someone was attempting to spy on him through paranormal means, not mundane ones. “Damn.”

The look on Elias’s face was one of disappointment, like a father who’d caught his son attempting to sneak into the house at two in the morning smelling of beer. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Tim didn’t know where Gerry was, or how many charges he had left to set, and he also wasn’t one hundred percent certain what Elias—no, Jonah, this was definitely Jonah Magnus he was talking to—had actually noticed. At the risk of giving everything away, there was really only one thing left to do. Stall.

“Kind of hoped you’d be too busy watching what was going on up at Great Yarmouth,” he said candidly. “Aren’t you interested in whether the Archivist can successfully turn back the Unknowing or not?”

Jonah let out an exaggerated sigh. “I think we both know the truth about that, don’t we? That’s why you’re here.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting he can’t?”

“Lies do not become you, Tim. I have given you quite a bit of leeway on that front, but in this place and at this time, I suggest we dispense with the pretense.” Jonah took a step closer, then another. Tim stood his ground. “Gertrude told you the truth about the rituals, did she not?”

“Nope.” Tim drew out the word with a sharp, feral smile. “Figured it out all on my own. I’m sure she was going to tell me, if she’d survived burning the Archives down, but she wasn’t anywhere near stupid enough to leave something like that written down where anyone could find it.” He snorted. “Well. If you hadn’t killed her before she could. Shame. She used to be able to torch a building before anyone knew she was there.”

“I suppose age catches us all,” Jonah said with another dramatic sigh.

“Not everyone.” Tim’s smile widened a bit, and he took a step closer to Jonah, maintaining eye contact. “Right…Elias?”

Jonah narrowed his eyes, just briefly. He wasn’t trying to read his mind—yet. Most likely he wasn’t bothering. He’d used a lot of energy in attacking Melanie, after all, and he was anticipating getting this over with and getting back to watching Jon and the others, so he would need his strength. Still, Tim kept the mental walls firmly in place. “And just what do you think you know?”

“Really, it should have been obvious when I first got back. No signs of damage, nothing in the papers about explosions or mysterious disappearances, no ripples from anyone like us. I should have known she didn’t actually do anything to stop it. Gertrude wasn’t exactly subtle, if she’d stopped the Extinguished Sun she’d have lit up half of London to do it.” Tim folded his arms over his chest. “Took me a bit, but I did eventually figure out that she didn’t do anything because she didn’t have to. It ended on its own.”

“Mm. And what else do you think you’ve figured out?”

“I don’t think I’ve figured out anything. But I know you’re Jonah Magnus.”

It pleased and delighted Tim that, after all this time, he could still get the bastard to express unguarded surprise, even if only for a second. He collected himself quickly, but the surprise had still been there. “I see. How long have you known?”

“That, Gertrude told me.” Tim chose not to mention that she hadn’t done so until after her death, and that it had been almost a year later that he’d actually received the information. “She encouraged me to make your life as difficult as possible, both for the Archivist and just for the sheer joy of seeing you chasing your own damned tail every once in a while.”

“And you believed her?” Jonah raised an eyebrow. “That that was her only motivation?”

“Oh, absolutely not. She was never shy about the fact that I was a means to an end. A tool in her arsenal. I was only good to her as long as I was useful.” Tim shrugged. “She was definitely using me as a distraction. But, hey, it worked, right? You didn’t know what she was up to for ages. I’m even prepared to bet you wouldn’t have known what she was up to at the end if she hadn’t let you.”

Jonah sneered. “I assure you, Gertrude did not let me do anything. Her own overconfidence in her plan meant that she accidentally let her guard down.”

Tim laughed, right in Jonah’s face. With a confidence he only just believed in himself, he said, “You really believe that? You must be even stupider than either of us thought. Of course she let you know what she was doing, that she wasn’t stopping the Dark’s ritual. She wanted to lure you down to the Archives. Either you didn’t know the rituals were bound to fail no matter what, in which case you’d have rushed down to find out why she wasn’t stopping it, or you did know, in which case you’d want to stop her plan. Whichever it was, you’d have been down here when she lit the petrol on fire and at the very least distracted while she went down into the tunnels. She knew what you had hidden in the Panopticon.”

Jonah’s eyes narrowed again. “Did she tell you that, too, or did you simply work it out on your own? Allegedly.”

Tim actually had no idea what Jonah had in the Panopticon. That had one hundred percent been a shot in the dark, but Jonah’s own reaction confirmed there was something important down there. “That’s for me to know and you to pry out of my brain against my will.”

“That can be arranged.” Jonah took another step towards Tim. “And don’t think it escaped my notice that you have said nothing to Jon and the others about the inherent futility of their actions. You know the rituals are doomed to failure. You know that even if they do nothing, the Unknowing will collapse. And yet you let them walk into danger, into a situation they may not survive…for what? To use them as a distraction so you could…fulfill your little scheme?”

Tim snorted. “What can I say? Gertrude taught me well. Play on the overconfidence of your enemies. Let them underestimate you. Use what resources you have. Don’t let emotion get in the way of what needs to be done. And when all else fails, go for the pyroclastic option.”

“Mm, yes.” Jonah pursed his lips. “I wonder, though, if you’re prepared for the consequences of destroying the Institute? Particularly the Archives. You are, after all, still tied to it.”

“And you still somehow think I’m an idiot.” Tim sneered. “What do you think is down here? Just a load of old papers and audio files. This is a storeroom. We both know where the actual Archives are, and they’re not. Here. I don’t give a damn what happens to this building.”

“And the people in it?”

“No one left but you and me, boss.”

Jonah tutted. “Would you care even if there were? The ends justify the means, of course. After all, you allowed Melanie to suffer unimaginable torture just for…what? A few moments’ peace? A momentary distraction? A simple misdirect, to make me believe your plans were heading in a different direction? And that’s someone you supposedly know and look after. I can’t imagine you’d see anyone on the upper floors as anything other than, ah, collateral damage.”

“Silflay hraka, u embleer rah,” Tim snarled.

“Oh, have I hit a nerve?” Jonah smiled, cold as Lake Baikal and twice as deadly. “You care, Tim, and that was always going to be your downfall. Gertrude, at least, understood that people were to be used, that it mattered not how many people suffered as long as her goals were met.”

“Yeah, and look where she ended up,” Tim retorted. “Oh, wait, that was at the very end, after she started to care. She lost Adelard Dekker and it made her sloppy and careless. Is that what you’re trying to tell me? Caring’s a weakness and I should just say fuck it and torch the place on my way out the door?”

Jonah shrugged, almost carelessly. “Well. It would have spared you this confrontation, anyway.” He turned his head, just slightly. “And don’t think I’m not aware you’re back there, Mr. Keay.”

“That’s Delano to you.” Gerry materialized out of the shadows. His hands were empty, his face was pale, but he held his chin up high and defiant as he drifted over to Tim’s side. “Look. I’m just here to pick Tim up for the day. You won, we lost. We’ll just go and let you get back to what you were doing.”

He placed a hand on Tim’s back, then slid down and tugged briefly at one of his back pockets before sliding back up. Tim, instantly, understood what he was getting at. He slid his own hand behind Gerry’s back and down to his rear pocket, then felt the small squat device, only slightly larger than a lighter. He prayed it was what he thought it was and not a tape recorder.

“It won’t be that simple, I’m afraid. Especially as I know destroying the Institute was your secondary motive, and probably not even the most likely outcome of your plan. Even if it had worked.” Jonah reached into an inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out something grey and solid. He gave Tim a disapproving look as he held it up. “I would have expected better of you, Tim. Choosing such a sloppy, inexpert method of attempting to kill me—even Melanie wouldn’t do so badly. Really, how good do you think the range on a detonator is? They aren’t connected by the internet, for heaven’s sake.”

Tim’s stomach twisted, just slightly, as he recognized the flecks of varnish stuck to one side of the grey putty. “How did you find that?” he demanded, hand falling to his side, fist tightly clenched. “What could you possibly have you been doing under your desk like that? What, did you drop your precious pen or something?”

“Hardly. It was the Web, actually.” Jonah smirked. There was no humor in it. “It seems we’re on the same side on this one. When Jon came to me with the Web’s mark on him, I was sure it was approval of my plan, and do you know, I think it actually was? And here a helpful little spider kindly led me directly to your pathetic attempt at assassination. Of course it never would have worked—and of course, I was meant to believe you intended to destroy the whole Institute, yes? Or perhaps you just meant to distract me while you went after my body in the Panopticon.”

“Aren’t you Mister Clever Dick,” Tim said levelly. Inside he was going in several different directions. Of course, that was the final piece he’d been missing. Jonah Magnus transferred his eyes into his new bodies, but his original body remained at the center of the Panopticon, where it served as an…anchor, perhaps. Something to tie him to the Ceaseless Watcher and give him his clairvoyant powers. A part of Tim exulted in the fact that the Beholding hadn’t liked Jonah enough to just give him anything, he’d had to make stupid sacrifices and play stupid games to get them.

Most of him, though, was running scenarios. Jonah had outsmarted himself, fortunately, he believed they were just trying to kill him. Which meant they had a chance to. It was just going to depend on how quickly they could get clear of the building, and what Jonah did in the meantime.

And in a deeply hidden, private recess of his mind, the tiny version of himself that had been hunched over a gaming table with bated breath had just thrown up his cards in the air with a shout of triumph. It had been a gamble, but it had paid off. He’d bet right.

Jonah placed the charge back in an inner pocket of his jacket. “I’m afraid I can’t let you give Jon any more information than he already has.”

Tim snorted. “And how exactly do you plan on stopping me?”

For an answer, Jonah withdrew his hand from his jacket pocket. It was not empty. Tim’s attention refocused, and he sucked in a sudden, sharp breath as he locked eyes on the last thing Gertrude Robinson had ever seen.

The barrel of Jonah Magnus’s gun.

“That might be a bit extreme,” Gerry said in a slightly strangled tone of voice, backing up several steps. Tim backed off with him. He knew the range on that gun, knew there was no way he could back away far enough that Jonah couldn’t hit him, not in the Archives, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be any closer to it than he had to.

Jonah didn’t follow; he obviously knew the range on the gun too. He cocked his head at Tim and shook it, almost sadly. “Think of this as…balancing the books.”

“Keeping the number of Archival assistants down, is that it?” Tim said acidly.

“Oh, I’m sure there would be plenty of work here to support four assistants, assuming any or all of them return from Great Yarmouth intact.” Jonah’s mouth twisted in a triumphant sneer. “No, this is a more…cosmic matter. We all know you should have died attempting to stop the Unknowing. Avenging your brother. Avenging Gertrude. You cannot change the story, Tim. You were never going to survive this.” He cocked the safety and leveled it at Tim. “And before you get any ideas, I have plenty of bullets to take care of you both. It won’t even be a challenge.”

Tim stared at the gun, then turned his head to look at Gerry. Gerry’s eyes met his. They were so wide he could see the whites of them all the way around, and his face was so ghastly pale he might have been dead already, but in them, he read a reflection of his own thoughts.

There was only one way this could go.

In one swift, desperate movement, Tim reached over, grabbed Gerry’s shirt, and pulled him closer, then kissed him, hard and passionate and desperate. Gerry wrapped his arms around him and tugged him close as he kissed back with everything he had. Tim brought his other hand up between them, the detonator clutched tightly in his fist.

Without breaking the kiss, he thumbed the trigger.

In the small, perfect hollow of stillness and peace between the rising rush of heat, the sharp and thunderous bang of a dozen charges setting off all at once, and the waiting black of oblivion, he heard the faint but unmistakably final click of a tape recorder.