And If Thou Wilt, Forget

The realization unsettled both of them.

Actually, that was an understatement. The realization terrified and upset both of them more than anything had in years, and led to their first major fight, which Gerry did point out once they both calmed down was kind of impressive considering they’d been friends for three years and together for two. Tim was the first to apologize, because he needed to be, because he was the one who was in the wrong and the one who’d been pretending everything was fine, and Gerry forgave him immediately because he was better than Tim deserved; Gerry apologized immediately afterwards because he’d been letting a lot of things that bothered him slide for a long time, and Tim forgave him because yeah, actually, it might have helped if someone had called him out on it sooner, so maybe there was something to forgive there.

They were okay on that front now, but it definitely didn’t make the knowledge that Tim was sinking rapidly towards some form of avatarhood any better.

Tim attended the annual Institute Christmas gala, which normally he would have rather army crawl naked over heated rusty nails than subject himself to, for the express purpose of making sure nobody poisoned Jon’s sherry or knifed him by the canapés. Sasha begged off to spend time with her boyfriend instead, but Martin came, looking uncomfortable in probably his one good suit. Jon actually unbent slightly when Tim rescued him from a clearly unpleasant conversation with Rosie and an extremely drunk Sonia from Artifact Storage, ushered him over to a quiet corner, relieved Martin of the champagne flute he’d been awkwardly holding for an hour, and managed to coax the waiter into bringing out an unopened bottle of tonic water for the three of them to share while they—well, while Tim and Martin—made fun of the stodgier guests. He even stifled a laugh when one of the wealthier, stuffier Institute donors approached them, apparently mistaking Tim for someone important, and Tim managed to convince them that he was there on behalf of his quite busy fiancé, Mr. Bouchard’s favorite nephew, especially when Martin had, with his act of wide eyes and stammering innocence, egged him on.

Elias closed the Institute again for the last week of December, with some excuse about the wonderful effect it had had on morale the previous year and mumbling something about improvements needing to be made. Tim didn’t need the Eye to know it was bullshit. He was either testing Jon’s ability to be away from the Institute for extended periods of time—which probably wouldn’t affect him if it was because the Institute was closed or he was on official business, but who knew—or testing to see what he would do with unfettered access to the Archives. Or it might have been a direct challenge to Tim, some sort of sideways punishment for having to scramble to come up with a response to Nathaniel Lukas’ purred congratulations on his nephew’s engagement. Whatever the case, Tim had suspected—no, he’d known—that Jon would use the opportunity to explore the tunnels, at least once. And with whatever was down there, Tim was loath to let him explore it alone. He’d found himself at the Archives after dark on more than one occasion, crouching still as lichen in a place where he could see the trap door, then silently following Jon down into the tunnels.

He didn’t know if Jon sensed him following or just got spooked by the tunnels themselves, but after the third time, he stopped coming back, and Tim was able to relax and breathe for the rest of the break.

Things progressed more or less as normal when they came back, although Tim had a watchful eye out for police officers that might be lurking about. He had taken to arriving at the Institute early, wanting to let Jon be alone as little as possible. If the Hunt was marking Jon out for some reason, he needed to be there in order to protect him. More importantly, he needed to be there to protect the others. The Hunt wasn’t the Slaughter, it didn’t kill indiscriminately, but it also didn’t care much about collateral damage and it was not without the realm of possibility that Detective Tonner might hurt or even kill Martin or Sasha to attempt to lure Jon out. She might try to kill Tim, too, but she’d have a hell of a fight on her hands. He would happily be the cane di mannara to her Big Bad Wolf, and it was anybody’s guess who would win.

So it was that he found himself heading to the Institute the second Monday in January before the sun was even properly up. Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he didn’t even really notice the walk from the Tube stop to the Institute until he was heading across the courtyard, already feeling for his keys. The likelihood that Jon was even there yet was low—though never zero—and even if he was, he probably wouldn’t unlock the side door until closer to the time the rest of them usually arrived. Two steps away from the door, however, he stopped, frowned, withdrew his hand from his pocket without the keys, and looked at the door.

The lock was new.

To all appearances, it was identical to the old one—a sturdy wrought iron knob, a matching lock plate set flush against the solid oak door—and there was no obvious signs of work having been done, but Tim could tell. He wasn’t sure if it was just that he’d memorized the pattern of the grain above the lock plate and this one was just a hair too low or if it was the subtle lack of the patina that came from years of hands gripping the handle…no, he was being stupid, again. It was related to…whatever had been happening to him. He still wasn’t sure the extent of it, but he knew his keys wouldn’t do any good. And it didn’t take more than a quick test to know that he’d been right, and the door was locked.

With a sigh, Tim backed away from the door and went around to the front.

“Good morning, Tim,” Rosie called from her desk, voice falsely cheerful.

Tim flashed her a bright, insincere smile. “Oh, hello there, Rosie. Seen Jon yet this morning?”

Rosie blinked at him innocently. “Oh—so early? He doesn’t normally come this way, you know. He just must not be in yet.”

Elias’s door opened behind her. “Ah—Tim. I’m glad you’re here. A word, please?”

Tim suppressed another sigh and stepped into Elias’s office. He closed the door behind him without being asked. “I assume you’re about to ask me for my keys back.”

Elias lifted an eyebrow at him. “I’m surprised you admit you have a spare set.”

“Please,” Tim huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “If Jon didn’t tell you I had a spare set after Jane Prentiss attacked Martin, you’re definitely not so blind and stupid you’ve missed me coming in when he isn’t here. Particularly over the Christmas holidays. Of course you know I have a spare set. Not that they’ll do me any good, since I saw the door to the outside had a new lock and I assume the interior one does too.”

“Yes. Jon put in a request to have the locks changed some weeks ago, and I’ve just been able to find a source for locks that match the rest of the Institute’s metalwork.”

Give the bastard credit, he had an amazingly good poker face; Tim knew better and he still almost believed him. “Whatever helps him feel safer works for me.” He fished out the key ring and began working the loop with the iron and brass keys attached free.

“You’re not concerned about being able to access the Archives?” Elias said mildly.

“Why would I be?” Tim looked Elias dead in the eyes as he dangled the keys off his finger. “Jon’s not going anywhere any time soon, is he?”

Elias didn’t blink. “Of course not, but you know how paranoid he’s been lately, even after I provided him with the CCTV footage. I wouldn’t put it past him to…ah…’forget’ to unlock the doors, just to test whether or not you or anyone else has a spare set of keys to the new doors.”

Tim shrugged. “In which case I can knock, or text him to find out if he’s in. Or, you know, come ask you, since I’m sure you have spare keys for everything.”

“Indeed.” Elias reclaimed the keys from Tim. “Oh, that reminds me. We only changed the locks on the entrances to the Archive itself. For Jon’s peace of mind, I will need to take back your keys to the Archivist’s office as well.”

Tim gave Elias a blank look. “Why would I have keys to the Archivist’s office?”

“I assumed Gertrude gave you a set.”

“She left me her keys when she went away the first time,” Tim reminded him. “Which were the ones you handed to me to get the Archives ready for Jon and the others, and which I gave back to you. I had spares to the entrances because we both worked erratic hours and she liked keeping the place locked up if she could help it, but the only key she actually gave me besides those was the one to my desk. You know Gertrude, she liked her secrets, and she wasn’t about to give me easy access to them.”

Elias looked almost disappointed at that, but his voice betrayed nothing. “I’m sure Jon will be relieved to know that. Thank you, Tim. You can get on to work now.”

“Your generosity is overwhelming, sir.” Tim gave Elias a sarcastic salute and stepped out of the office. As he passed Rosie’s desk, he tossed over his shoulder at her, “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. I know you think he locked me out.”

Leaving Rosie sputtering behind him, Tim headed down to the Archives to start the day.

Martin was twisting and tugging at the door when he made it to the foot of the steps, Sasha standing a few feet away with her coffee in one hand and her other fist propped on her hip, tapping a toe impatiently. They both looked up at Tim when he approached, seeming relieved. “Tim, hey.”

“Morning, Marto, Sash.” Tim nodded at the door as he pulled off his gloves. “Locked, I take it?”

“Yeah. Side door was, too, but I guess you know that.” Martin stepped back and wiped his hands nervously on the sides of his trousers. “Do you mind…?”

“No problem.” Tim reached into his pocket, pulled out his mobile phone, and dialed. He met Martin’s confused expression with a bright grin and waited until the other end picked up. “Hey, boss, it’s Tim. We’re all outside the door between the Institute and the Archives. Mind letting us in?”

“It’s unlocked,” Jon said irritably.

Tim touched the knob and instantly knew what the problem was. For the form of things, he twisted the knob a couple times, then shoved on the door. “No dice, Jon. It must be one of those ones that you have to give an extra twist to in order to unlock all the way instead of just long enough to give you access, you know? Sorry to interrupt your recording—or whatever you’re working on,” he added quickly. Okay, that was going to be an issue. “But we really can’t get in.”

There was a short pause, and then Jon said, “I’ll be right there.”

He ended the call without further pleasantries, not that Tim expected them. He pocketed his phone and shrugged at the others. “He’ll be right here.”

“You don’t have keys anymore?” Sasha asked.

Tim stared at her for just a second. Was it his imagination, or did she sound…eager to know that? He shook off the momentary pang of suspicion, though. “No, Elias called me up to his office and asked me to hand them back in. New locks, so the old keys don’t work anymore.”

Before either Sasha or Martin could say anything about that, the door opened slowly inward and Jon stood there, looking somehow both annoyed and sheepish. “I suppose it was locked,” he said grudgingly. “Come on in. We have work to do.”

To her credit, Sasha waited until both Jon and Martin were out of the way—Jon back to his office, Martin to make tea—before she leaned in to him conspiratorially. “How did you figure out the locks were new? Was it just because your keys didn’t work?”

There was a split second, no more, where Tim considered confiding in Sasha. Something told him she’d believe him without question, and he could use another ally, maybe. But something held him back, something he couldn’t quite explain. “Well, no, I realized my key wasn’t working and came in to see if I could get in the front, and Elias called me into his office. That’s when I knew for sure.”

Sasha blinked up at him, her honey gold eyes full of innocence. “It’s a shame Elias didn’t give you a new set. You being the senior assistant and all.”

When had he ever referred to himself that way around her? Had she been listening to the tapes? Tim opened his mouth to ask, but what came out surprised even him. “Did you get colored contacts?”

Sasha actually drew back, looking startled. “What?”

“Random question, I know.” Tim gave her a grin and hoped it came across as casual, while inwardly he raged at the Ceaseless Watcher. All right, you nosy bastard, if you’re going to take up residence in my head full time, you’re damn well going to pay rent and tell me why you’re dredging up this shit. “I just thought I remembered you having green eyes, for some reason.”

“Oh.” Sasha laughed. “God, I can’t believe…I did wear colored contacts for a couple weeks or so last year. No reason in particular. I just found a set left over from an old Halloween costume and wanted to see if any of you would notice. Nobody said anything, but then, it was when all that stuff with the worms was going on.” She paused thoughtfully. “Maybe I was wearing them the day I met…Michael, and that stuck in your head. Bit strange that it’s coming to mind now.”

“That’s one word for it.” It also didn’t seem like the right explanation, but since the Beholding had gone silent over the matter, Tim figured it probably wasn’t important. He dropped the conversation and went about setting up his laptop for the day’s work.

A mug of tea suddenly appeared at his elbow, and he looked up, startled, to see Martin settling in at his desk. “Oh—uh, thanks, Martin. You didn’t have to…”

“Yeah, well, as easy for three as two, I guess. Sasha has her coffee, so I thought, you know, it’d be rude to just ignore you.” Martin shrugged and slid the top file over towards himself. “Is this one mine?”

“It’s all of ours, I think,” Tim said, a little ruefully. He didn’t even need to look at the folder to know it was one of the real ones. “Mikaele Salesa’s involved, so it’s probably going to take all three of us to come up with anything useful.”

Martin flipped the cover back. “What makes you say that? Wait—Salesa. Isn’t that the guy who sold the, um, the homophobic vase?”

Tim stifled a laugh. “Yeah, that’s the one. A bunch of the stuff up in Artifact Storage passed through his hands at some point or another, too. He’s sort of the Jurgen Leitner of artifacts.”

“Oh, great. That’s all we need,” Martin grumbled. “What is it this time?”

The Buried almost escaped Tim’s lips, but he bit them back just in the nick of time. Telling Martin about the Fourteen had most of the same concerns as telling Sasha about them, with the added bonus that Martin would probably insist on laying the whole thing out for Jon right away, and that, Tim felt, would be…a problem. He twisted at the ring, which was uncomfortably tight this morning. He still wasn’t sure how much Jon knew and how much he didn’t, but as paranoid as he was right now, the last thing he needed was to find out the full details of the Fourteen. Especially if he knew how close he’d come to a couple of them. And God alone knew what he’d do if he found out about being bound to the Beholding.

“Just…an empty box,” he said instead. “Or it was empty, until our victim—excuse me, statement giver—woke up trapped inside it. More time shenanigans, that kind of thing. You know. The usual.”

He kept his voice as light and casual as he could, hoping to minimize the seriousness of the situation. Unfortunately for him, Martin was more on the stick than he’d let on at the beginning. “We’re not going to have any luck tracking Salesa himself down, are we? I know we’ve been trying since the statement about the vase—no, before that, he came up in that statement with the guy who kept falling to bits, right? And Rosie told me Jon asked her to look into finding him after that statement a couple months back with the…mosquitoes.” He made a face at the word.

Tim shook his head. “Nobody’s heard from Salesa in at least three years. More than that. First time Gertrude told me about him, I asked her if she wanted me to track him down and she said I’d find it unusually difficult.” The ring was really stuck; he gave up worrying at it and tried to consciously relax his hand. On second thought, he wrapped it around the mug of tea, wondering if the heat seeping through the ceramic might help ease the swelling. “I don’t think he’s dead, but I think he’s somewhere even we can’t get to him.”

“And if the Magnus Institute can’t find you,” Sasha commented, “you are well and truly lost.”

Martin looked up at her with a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A chill ran up Tim’s spine. Gertrude was interested in her, he remembered Gerry saying. How much did Sasha actually know? Had she been keeping her mouth shut all this time? Did—she would have to have known what Michael was, if she knew that much. Was that why she’d trusted him, or did she really not have a clue? How much did she think Tim knew? And for the love of God, why was she baiting Martin like that?

“I’m just being silly,” Sasha said, and Tim’s heart cautiously agreed to start beating again. “What are the particulars on that statement, Tim? Maybe I can break into some records.”

Tim’s ring slid a little along his finger as he pulled it away from the mug. The heat seemed to have done the trick. “Not if I flirt them out of someone first.”

The morning passed more or less as normal. Tim could feel Martin’s eyes on him every so often, though. He did his best to ignore it and pretend everything was fine, but he felt increasingly more guilty about it. He didn’t deserve to be lied to—none of them did, but especially not Martin—and something told Tim that he’d be the best ally Tim could have. If nothing else, if he could swear him to secrecy first, he would probably be able to protect Jon more effectively. Right now Tim could count on him to protect Jon from more…mundane concerns, like overwork and starvation and dehydration, but having an assistant to help keep things like the Hunt and the Web away from him might be useful. Sooner or later Tim was going to wear himself too thin and something was going to slip by.

He saw his chance, or thought he did, early in the afternoon. He’d taken his lunch break to take a walk as usual, but in the opposite direction on a whim, and was pretty sure he’d located another, closer entrance to the tunnels, so he was in a fairly good mood as he came back. Martin was alone at the cluster of desks, tapping listlessly at his keyboard, and the door to the Archivist’s office was firmly shut. Tim hung up his coat and came over to the desks. “Hey. You going to lunch?”

“Not really hungry,” Martin mumbled. He glanced anxiously at the closed office door. Tim didn’t need any kind of special powers to know he was worried about Jon, who hadn’t emerged since letting them in that morning.

“You should eat something anyway. Not good to starve yourself.” Tim glanced at the door, too, worrying at the ring again. Damn it, wasn’t cold supposed to make things shrink? “Maybe you can convince him to go with you. I’ll hold down the fort.”

Martin worried at his lower lip. “You think he’d go for that? I-I mean, sometimes he’ll go to the canteen with me or whatever, but…”

“If he’ll go for anyone, Martin, it’ll be you. He likes you.” Tim smiled at the disbelieving scoff Martin let out at that. “He does. Or at least he doesn’t hate you as much as the rest of us.”

“Isn’t there a Finnish word to that effect?”

“I think that was a joke someone made up on the internet to con gullible monolinguals,” Tim said, sitting down in his seat and unpacking his laptop. “Seriously, though, you both need food, and if he’s likely to eat for anyone, he’ll eat if you try to make him.”

Martin frowned at Tim. “Why do you always take your laptop with you every time you leave, by the way? You know he’s going to think you’ve got something to hide.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to hide it on my laptop,” Tim said, which was true. Some of his personal research he did through his laptop, but he didn’t keep the results there. “I don’t trust Sasha not to look, though. And I’m not skilled enough to rig a coding trap she couldn’t get around.” He hesitated and glanced at the office door again, then turned back to Martin and took a deep breath. Now or never, Stoker. “There is—”

The phone on his desk rang, cutting him off. Martin and Tim gave identical sighs of exasperation, and Tim picked up the phone. “Archives, Stoker speaking.”

“Mr. Bouchard would like to see you upstairs, please,” Rosie trilled down the line.

Tim bit off the why that instinctively rose up. Rosie wasn’t going to tell him and it didn’t matter. “Right.” He didn’t bother telling her he was coming, just hung up the phone. To Martin, he explained succinctly, “Elias.”

Martin said something undoubtedly rude under his breath, but offered nothing further. Tim hesitated for no more than a split second before leaving his laptop where it was and heading upstairs. If Martin was going to look…well, he probably wouldn’t, but if he did, he wouldn’t find anything worth telling tales about.

It probably shouldn’t have surprised him that he didn’t have to go all the way up to Elias’s office; the smug bastard was crossing the main floor towards him when he got to the top of the steps from the Archives. He was bundled up in an expensive wool frock coat that looked like it belonged in a museum and held a pair of immaculate silk gloves that probably wouldn’t do much against the weather in one hand; his other slid into the pocket of his coat as he saw Tim. “Ah, Tim, thank you for coming up. I have a very important luncheon to attend, and my driver is waiting for me outside, but this just came in the day’s delivery. Would you bring this to Jon, please? I think he disconnected his desk phone.”

He extracted a heavy iron key and handed it to Tim.

Tim blinked at Elias. “You’re giving Jon a key to the trap door?” he blurted.

“He requested it. Something about his peace of mind and needing to know what’s under there.” Elias gave quite an elegant shrug. “As you said earlier, anything to make him feel safer, yes? He threatened to quit otherwise, and he would be rather difficult to replace.”

Tim decided not to rise to that bait. He curled his fingers around the key’s shaft. “Sure, I’ll take it to him. Enjoy your lunch.”

He turned his back on Elias—as stupid as that was—and went back down to the Archives.

Martin was closing down his laptop. He looked up in surprise when Tim came back in. “That was fast.”

“Are you going to lunch?” Tim asked.

“Only if I can get Jon out of his office.”

“Give him this, will you?” Tim handed Martin the key. “It’s the key to the trap door, courtesy of Elias. If you give it to him instead of me, maybe he won’t try to go down there until after he eats.”

“O-oh, um, okay.” Martin hesitantly palmed the key and went over to the office door.

Tim busied himself with getting back to work, but he kept one eye on the office. He breathed a sigh of relief when Martin, looking visibly relieved and faintly flushed, came out of the office a moment later with Jon trailing after him, clutching the key tightly to his chest.

The rest of the day went a lot better, but Tim was still glad to get home. He convinced Jon to wait until the next day to explore the tunnels on the not unreasonable basis that his phone was dying and he should have it on a full charge before he went down, and the four of them walked to the Tube station together; Jon’s train came first, luckily, so even if he got off at the next stop and walked or rode back they could at least assume he got out of the Institute for a bit. Martin chattered much more easily to Tim until he got off at his own stop with a promise to meet him early the next day, and Tim rode the rest of the way home on his own.

“I already took Rowlf out for a run,” Gerry called from the kitchen when Tim stepped into the door and the spaniel came barreling over to meet him. “Picked up dinner while I was at it.”

“Thanks,” Tim called back. He fussed over the dog for a moment, then headed into the kitchen and kissed Gerry on the cheek. “I found another entrance to the tunnels, so if we decide we want to explore, we have a way in. Might have to wait a while, though.”

Gerry kissed Tim in reply and resumed setting out the takeaway. “Why? Is it flooded or something?”

“No, but Jon’s going to be exploring the tunnels again. Elias had a copy of the key to the trap door in the Archives made for him.” Tim fetched the glasses from the cupboard. “And he’s going to be suspicious if he sees me in the Archives before he gets in, since I don’t have the key to the front door anymore. The locks got changed over the weekend. Not sure if that was actually because Jon asked for it or because Elias is trying to figure out a way to test me…or him…but either way, I had to hand in my keys today.”

Gerry hummed, then suddenly froze. He stared vacantly at the wall opposite him for a moment. “Keys,” he repeated, sounding almost dazed. “Keys! That’s it!”

“What’s it?” Tim asked, bewildered and a little alarmed. He didn’t think it was dangerous, necessarily, but…

“I’ve been trying to remember something for ages—something important about the Unknowing, but I couldn’t for the life of me come up with what it was. It’s only after you said that word three times in five sentences that it finally hit me. Keys.” Gerry grabbed Tim’s shoulders and stared intently into his eyes, a spark of something that might have been pride and might have been hope and might have been manic glee in his own. “Or rather, key.”

“Wait, what?” Tim brightened. “You know what the key to the Unknowing is?”

“No, but I know where it is. Or at least the key to stopping it.” Gerry took a deep breath. “Gertrude told me once, just before I got sick, that if something—if something got her first, that she had something to stop the Unknowing. It’s in a storage unit, in Hainaut. She rented it under the name Jan Kelly, God alone knows why.”

“It’s because—never mind, not important.” Tim mentally brushed aside the Ceaseless Watcher and gripped Gerry’s shoulders in reply. “What storage unit? How do we get to it?”

“Not sure. That might be your department, babe. But we’ll need the key.” The excitement faded from Gerry’s eyes as he said that. “Which was…somewhere in her office. Which you no longer have access to.”

“I found the tunnel entrance,” Tim reminded Gerry.

“Unless it leads to her office, how’s that going to help us?”

Tim smirked. “Because I told Elias she never gave me a copy of the key to her office, and he bought it. I think it ruined some plans of his, actually, which I’m fine with. But the point is I have a way into the Archivist’s office that neither Elias nor Jon knows I have. If it’s in there, babe, we can find it. We just need to find the right time to break in.”