Tim’s going to wear a hole in the floor of Rosie’s office if he’s not careful, Sasha thinks, pacing back and forth like this. Rosie watches him with undisguised interest. Martin watches too, his face pinched with concern and arms folded tightly over his chest, although Sasha doesn’t know if he’s more worried about Tim or Jon or both. She probably could Know, with a little effort, but she decides it doesn’t matter right then. She also doesn’t want to pry into her friends’ heads like that.
God, she wants a shower. She feels like she’s covered in some sort of thin, viscous oil, soaking into her skin and making her itch all over. Like just being in proximity to Elias Bouchard makes her dirty.
The worst of it is, he’s not wrong, exactly. Not about her, anyway.
She wonders if he regrets choosing Jon now. He’ll never admit it out loud, of course, but if it’s true that the only reason he chose Jon was because Jon was already marked by the Web, he must be looking at the four of them and wondering if she would have collected more marks faster had she been in charge.
You’re like Gertrude, she thinks idly, staring at the closed door between Rosie’s office and Elias’. She never hesitated to use the people around her, even the ones she cared about, if it served her purpose…
She blinks. Where did that come from?
She turns her attention from the door to Tim, his shoes squeaking on the floor as he turns at the end of his nineteenth cross of the office. Resolutely shutting the Eye out—which is a lot harder than it is anywhere else, and she wonders if that’s because the Head’s office is the locus of its power or just because she’s a little frayed right now—she studies his face and tries to decide if he’s angry or upset or some combination of the two. He definitely looks like he’s close to tears, but she can’t tell if it’s from frustration or from rage…or maybe guilt.
There’s guilt mingled with the worry in Martin’s eyes, too, and Sasha doesn’t need the Beholder to know why. I thought I heard you telling Jon you…smote it. Probably what Martin actually said was Jon Prime smote it and Elias, thankfully, didn’t hear properly or wasn’t paying enough attention. Or he can’t actually hear, per se, he just reads the lips of those around him and pieces it together from there. After all, he has Jonah Magnus’ eyes, not his ears or his tongue.
Still. They’ve got to be more careful.
Tim is passing the door for the twentieth time when it opens and Jon steps out, shutting it behind him with a tad unnecessary force. He looks tired and upset and slightly cranky—in fact, he looks exactly like he did the first few weeks in the Archives, when he was trying to be professional and irritated, or pretending to be irritated, at everything Martin did. Martin and Tim both start towards him, then stop, probably out of deference to Rosie’s presence.
“Let’s go,” he says shortly. “We have work to do.”
The other three fall into step behind him, like something of an honor guard. Fortunately, the only person they encounter on the way down to the Archives is Manal, who offers them a tentative smile as they pass and seems relieved when Martin, at least, automatically returns it. They reach the Archives without a word being spoken and cluster around the assistants’ desks, all of them seemingly at a loss for words.
Tim finally breaks the silence. “Now what?”
Jon looks down at his feet. Sasha thinks he’s embarrassed or ashamed or something until he says softly, “I hate to ask, but could one of you run home and get me some shoes?”
Sasha glances down, startled. She’s not sure how it didn’t occur to her that Jon is barefoot, but he doesn’t even have a pair of socks shielding his feet from the ground. Walking around the Institute is probably only possible because of the diligence of the cleaning crew, but no way will he be able to make it home if Tim didn’t drive today, unless the other two carry him. And his feet must be cold.
Martin and Tim exchange looks. Sasha doesn’t have to be able to read minds to know that neither of them really wants to be away from Jon right now. Rather than force either of them into martyrdom, she says, “If one of you will lend me your keys, I’ll do it.”
The surprise on Tim and Martin’s faces is only equaled by the sheer gratitude on Jon’s, which makes Sasha realize that I hate to ask didn’t mean I hate to impose but rather I don’t want either one of you out of my sight right now. Instead of commenting on it, she just holds out her hand.
Martin recovers first, reaches under his shirt, and pulls out a well-worn lanyard that was probably once a vibrant neon rainbow with a key on the end. He lays it in her hand. “Thanks, Sash.”
“Sure.” Sasha loops the lanyard around her hand and smiles. “Be right back.”
The sun is making a pathetic attempt to come out, but for the most part, it’s the same as it’s been all day. There aren’t many people about, which is probably a good thing, because Sasha uses the opportunity to test the range of her Knowing ability—seeing how far away from someone she can be and still pluck a secret from their minds. It’s extremely invasive, which Martin will probably ream her out for when he finds out, and it’s feeding into the Eye, which Tim will probably ream her out for, and honestly both of them should. But she does it anyway. Partly because she’s hoping that if she does it, she won’t have so much of an urge to read her friends’ minds—it seems ruder to steal from them than from strangers, and she knows that’s not a good sign—but mostly because it keeps her mind off of thinking too hard about Jon’s current state, or what Elias might have said to him when they weren’t there, or the implications of Martin still wearing a single key around his neck the way he probably did when he was a small child left to fend for himself by a father who cared too much and a mother who didn’t care at all.
Despite the fact that she’s still wearing kitten heels and a pencil skirt, she manages to get to the house, retrieve a pair of shoes from Jon’s room, and get back to the Archives in about forty-five minutes. She enters to find Jon sitting on the edge of Martin’s desk, cradling a steaming mug of tea; Tim sits backwards in his chair, arms folded and chin resting on them, while Martin sits more or less normally. They’re talking quietly, but break off and look up when Sasha comes in.
“Hope these are actually yours,” Sasha says, handing Jon the pair of trainers she brought and a pair of socks. “Everything in the closet looked too small for them. And here’s your key back, Martin.”
“Thanks.” Martin slips the lanyard around his neck and tucks it under his sweater again.
“Martin and Tim have just been catching me up on your research for the last two weeks,” Jon tells her, setting down his mug and contorting to put on the socks. “I—I am sorry I wasn’t here.”
“Not like you asked to get kidnapped,” Sasha points out. “And it’s not like you haven’t made sure we know our jobs.”
Jon snorts. “Tell that to Elias. He seems to think you need…guidance.”
Tim’s eyes spark. “He said that, did he?”
Sasha purses her lips in thought for a moment. There’s a lot they need to discuss, but they’ll never be able to be sure, now, that they aren’t being watched. She knows it takes effort for Elias to actually see what’s going on in the Archives, and she’s pretty sure that up until now he’s mostly focused on Jon and ignored the other three, but she doubts that’s the case any longer. Unless they can time their talks with his schedule, to be sure he doesn’t have the attention to spare them…
Curiosity, a desire to experiment, overcomes caution for a minute, and she casts her mind up into the Institute, reaching for that buzzing feeling she gets when there’s a secret to be known. And she aims it at Elias’ office. She doesn’t expect it to work, not really, but—
Ah.
Sasha gasps. Her knees buckle with the sudden rush of energy leaving her, and she catches herself on the edge of the desk. Tim and Martin both jump to their feet, but she waves them off. “Fine. I’m fine.”
She had it. Just for a second, a momentary brush, a quick surface skim, withdrawn hastily before his attention can be caught and focused, but she actually did it. She’s amazed at her own audacity and astonished at her good luck…and aware that, while she still has to be wary of the information she just obtained, there’s a good chance it’s accurate.
“Tunnels?” she suggests, pointing at the trapdoor. They may not have time for a longer discussion.
Thankfully, the boys don’t object or question her. Jon finishes tying his shoes and slides off the desk, and the four of them hasten down the steps to the tunnels. Sasha gets the usual queer, dizzy feeling of being cut off from the Eye—worse than usual, but then, she is pushing the boundaries of her abilities—but it’s a relief for once, because it does at least mean Elias isn’t watching them.
At the foot of the steps, she stops and turns to look back at the others. “Sorry for being so abrupt, but we didn’t have much time. I figured you could get their statement down here without Elias overhearing, and…we can talk.”
“Probably wise,” Jon admits. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. Bit tired.” Sasha isn’t about to admit that she needs Tim and Martin’s statement, probably as much as Jon does. Not yet. “Come on, let’s see if the Primes are awake.”
She leads them to the room the Primes usually stay in and knocks on the door. “It’s us. Are you decent?”
“Come in,” Jon Prime’s voice calls back.
Sasha pushes the door open. They’ve obviously been having breakfast, which Sasha almost feels guilty for interrupting, but it does appear they’re almost done. Jon Prime looks wary. “Is everything all right?”
“Yep. Look what the cat dragged in.” Unable to hold back a grin, Sasha steps into the room and out of the way, exposing Jon.
Jon Prime makes a noise somewhere between surprise and relief. In an instant, he’s up and wrapping Jon in a hug. Jon looks momentarily startled, then hugs him back.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t—I couldn’t See you.” Jon Prime takes a half-step back and studies Jon anxiously. “Are you—never mind, I know how you’ll answer that. How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” Jon answers. “On edge. Scared to hell and gone. You know, the usual.” He pauses. “But glad to be back.”
At the sound of Jon’s voice, Martin Prime smiles, looking relieved, and gets to his feet. Jon’s a little more hesitant to accept his hug, to Sasha’s eyes, but he does anyway. “When did you get back?”
“Oh—an hour ago? Hour and a half?” Jon shrugs. “Two at most. Michael—well, not Michael anymore. Michael tried to kill me but couldn’t…I’m sure you know that story.”
“Intimately,” Jon Prime confirms. “So Helen took over, did she?”
“Yes. Brought me back to the Archives.” Jon sighs heavily. “I had maybe five minutes of peace to enjoy being home and—and safe before Elias called us up to his office.”
Martin Prime’s smile melts immediately. “What did he want?”
“To be a smug bastard,” Tim says.
Jon Prime looks from one to the other. “Why don’t you explain?”
“No need.” Sasha leans over and reaches into Jon’s pocket. Before he can do more than flinch, she pulls out her tape recorder and waves it at them with a smirk. “Say hello to my little friend.”
“What—how did you—” Jon stares at it.
“I still had it on hand from lunch. Didn’t end up using it, the guy didn’t have anything helpful, he just wanted an excuse to flirt, so I knew there was nothing on it. I figured if Elias talked to anyone alone, it would be you, so I slipped it in your pocket just before we went in. Just, you know, in case we needed evidence later. Figured if it was important, whatever’s behind these things would switch it on.” Sasha peers through the window at the tape. “Looks like I was right.”
“You, Sasha James, are positively devious.” Tim’s slight frown indicates he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Sasha starts the tape rewinding. “While we wait for this to spool back, Jon, do you want to try and get their statement about Friday? You know, so Elias doesn’t find out about these two?”
Martin Prime tilts his head to one side, then turns and hesitantly reaches out with a foot, kicking something hard and plastic on the floor. “I think that’s a yes.”
Sure enough, a battered tape recorder sits and waits. Jon sighs and nods. “Can’t hurt, I suppose.”
They settle down in a lopsided circle, and Jon Prime slides the tape recorder over so it sits between Jon, Tim, and Martin. Jon takes a deep breath. “Statement of Martin Blackwood and Tim Stoker, Archival assistants at the Magnus Institute, regarding the thing that was not Diana Caxton. Recorded direct from subjects—” He hesitates.
Sasha realizes Jon has probably lost track of time. Softly, Martin says, “Sixth of March, 2017.”
“Statement begins.” Jon takes Martin’s hand on one side and Tim’s on the other. “Whenever you think you’re ready.”
It’s so much more than the bare-bones description they gave her first thing that morning, and Sasha listens intently, her own recorder forgotten. Martin’s remembered fear—for himself, for Tim, for the two students—is an almost tangible thing, like hot liquid running down her throat, filling her. When Tim describes Jon Prime overpowering the Not-Diana, it suddenly gets so much more intense. Her whole body thrums with energy.
It’s intoxicating.
“Statement ends,” Jon says, once Tim falls silent. He squeezes their hands tightly, seemingly without being aware he’s doing it. “God.”
“Yeah,” Martin agrees. “It was—it was a lot.”
“I’m impressed you managed to not tell Elias about any of that when he asked,” Jon mutters.
“Well, I mean, I didn’t lie. Not really. I did have my eyes closed the whole time, so it’s not like I saw any of that.” Martin cocks his head at Tim. “And we didn’t really talk about it over the weekend or anything.”
“I spent most of it passed out,” Tim tells Jon. “All that…it took a lot out of me. We ended up listening to one of the tapes—uh, it was Mr. Skinner’s statement, about the forest in Wales, actually.”
“I suppose it was inevitable,” Jon Prime murmurs. “I am sorry, Tim. I didn’t—I’ve never been around anyone else with Beholding powers, not really, so I had no idea how me using them would affect any of you.”
“It didn’t affect Martin,” Tim points out. “It’s just because mine relies on being able to see the marks and the—I guess it’s the power of the fears, too. There was just so much energy being drawn on, and I was so strung out I couldn’t stop it. Honestly, I don’t normally—we’re cut off from the Eye down here, I didn’t think my abilities would work.”
“I should have warned you that they do. Just…not always as well. They’re a bit easier to control, I suppose.” Jon Prime runs a hand through his hair. “Are you all right now?”
“Yeah,” Tim says softly, but he’s looking at Jon, not at Jon Prime, and Sasha knows with a surety that has nothing to do with the Beholder that he can only say that because Jon’s back. The expression on Martin’s face says the same. He clears his throat and adds, “Like I said, I spent most of the weekend sleeping. We took it easy on Sunday.”
Martin nods. “We were mostly okay today. Little bit of a headache when Helen brought Jon back, but that wasn’t so bad, really. Not…you know, not like actually being in those corridors.”
Jon shudders. “God, that was…”
Martin Prime hums in agreement. “Trust me, not being able to see it doesn’t make it that much better.”
Jon Prime wraps his arm around Martin Prime’s shoulder; Martin Prime responds in kind, and the two lean into each other, as if they know they’re going to need the strength from one another in a moment. “Sasha, has that tape rewound all the way yet?”
Sasha starts. She’s honestly forgotten about it, but glancing down, she sees that all the buttons are popped out. “Oh! Yes, it’s—it’s ready. Are you?”
“As we’ll ever be, I suppose.”
Sasha pushes the PLAY button and slides the recorder to the middle of the circle, and their boss’s smooth, oily voice oozes into the room. As the conversation continues, she watches the Primes’ faces. Jon Prime goes steadily more ashen, while Martin Prime’s goes from red to purple to nearly black. Tim and Martin are largely silent, but when they get to the part none of them were in the office for, all the color drains out of Martin’s face and Tim covers his mouth with his free hand and turns away.
The tape clicks off. There’s a moment of silence before Martin Prime chokes out, “That bastard.”
“God,” Jon Prime whispers. “I never—I didn’t—” He closes his eyes and turns his head, half-burying his face in Martin Prime’s chest. The simple movement seems to drain a lot of the rage out of Martin Prime; the color recedes in a blotchy fashion from his cheeks, and he wraps both arms around Jon Prime, cradling him protectively. It almost makes Sasha smile—Jon Prime is objectively one of the most powerful beings in the world, and Martin Prime still feels like he needs to protect him, or even like he can. Then again, from the way Jon Prime curls into him, it’s pretty clear that Jon Prime feels that way, too. “He never directly threatened any of you. Not to me. I-I don’t think he—when he told me to consider people things to be used, it wasn’t to my face. It never occurred to me that he might have hurt you to get me to comply.”
“Jon, why do you think he dangled me as bait in front of Peter Lukas?” Martin Prime sounds bitter and angry, but he softens when Jon Prime flinches against him. “Of course he knew you cared. It’s why he told you not to bring Tim to the Unknowing, because he knew that would spur both of you into letting Tim go, and he could play on your guilt over whatever happened after. Everything he did, at every turn, was directly targeted at getting you to step up and get marked, because he knew you would do anything to save us.” He sighs heavily. “I just—never expected to hear him say it.”
Tim snorted. “I should have just shot him when I had the chance.”
“No,” Sasha and Jon Prime say in unison, Jon Prime’s head jerking off Martin Prime’s shoulder, eyes wide with fear.
“You believe him, then?” Jon says quietly. “He really is—killing him will kill all of us, too?”
“I still can’t Know that,” Jon Prime admits. “But—it’s not a risk I would want to take. Not until—I mean, we have a plan. It just…needs work. I think. But I’m still not sure if killing him would actually trigger some sort of supernatural dead-man switch.”
Sasha shifts a bit. The urge to keep her secrets is still strong—but Elias’ taunt rings in her ears, and she knows she has to push past that. She can’t be what he expects her to be. What he groomed her to be, in a sense.
“Actually,” she says, “according to my research, it won’t.”
Five heads snap around to look at her in surprise. Martin Prime is the one to finally speak. “What do you mean?”
Sasha smiles mischievously. Now that she’s said the first part, the idea of sharing the rest of it seems…positively gleeful. Because in a way, it’s spilling a secret Jonah Magnus thought could never be known. “I’ve been looking in to the heads of the Institute, you know that. Trying to figure out how he picked his successors, what the criteria were for it, that sort of thing. And the one that bothered me most was Thomas Fitzwalter, the fourth Head. He was only in charge for a few months—he became head of the Institute in September of 1940, then was killed in a bomb attack in March of 1941. It always struck me as odd that the Eye didn’t warn him about the bomb.”
“It can’t really see the future,” Jon Prime says, but he sounds a bit uncertain.
“No, I know that, but then I learned something else interesting. The previous head of the Institute, Virgil Warrington, was found dead in his office, by Fitzwalter, who just sort of assumed the position of Head because nobody else really wanted it at that time.” Sasha runs a finger over the edge of her tape recorder. “It took me a while to find the details. I mean, it was the middle of the Blitz, there was a lot going on, and obviously it was a lot easier to bury details and destroy records back then than it is now. But—well, I actually got Basira and Daisy involved. I didn’t tell them why, obviously, but I’d mentioned to Basira what I was looking into, and it turns out she really likes that sort of stuff. And since she’s not police anymore, I reckon she needed a project, something to focus on to keep from going mad. Anyway, point is, they were able to find a police report that escaped destruction, deliberate or otherwise, and it turns out Warrington didn’t die of heart failure or a stroke or anything. I mean, it was probably what they told people, he was quite elderly, but…”
“But?” Jon prompts.
Sasha’s grin broadens. “He was murdered. Shot, actually. According to the report, it was a Luger P308, which was a primarily German model, so the official unofficial report is that he was probably killed by a fifth column agent. But there was never any evidence, any proof. Even the type of gun used—they didn’t exactly do ballistics reports at the time, they would have just said he was shot with some kind of pistol. The information on the exact model came from Thomas Fitzwalter.”
“So you think—” Tim begins.
“I think he killed Virgil Warrington. Who knows, maybe he was a German spy. Maybe he killed Warrington because the Germans had decided that the knowledge in the Institute was too dangerous to be allowed, or because Fitzwalter figured out that Warrington could read minds, or maybe Warrington tried to blackmail him knowing Fitzwalter was a spy and Fitzwalter killed him to keep him from talking.” Sasha’s mind is racing, and she’s getting more and more excited as she talks. “Or Fitzwalter was exactly who he seemed to be and just got frustrated and angry with Warrington, or the whole situation. It’s probably telling that Thomas Fitzwalter, before he became the Head, was actually an Archival assistant.”
“Which means he was trapped, too,” Martin says, realization dawning in his eyes.
“Mm-hmm. But anyway, my theory is that Fitzwalter killed Warrington, and since he was the only one around, Jonah Magnus’ eyes…somehow got transferred into Fitzwalter’s head. I don’t know how that works.” Sasha looks quizzically at Jon Prime.
“I don’t know, either, and I have no desire to,” Jon Prime says, running a hand over his eyes. “But—that’s actually not a bad theory. And you think that’s why he didn’t last long?”
Sasha nods. “Yes. I think Fitzwalter wasn’t his choice for a successor, Richard Mendelson was, but Fitzwalter was there when he died, so the transfer was automatic. And for whatever reason, he couldn’t just do the transfer from there to Mendelson. Maybe he just wanted it to look natural. Which means he probably did know the bomb was about to hit, and he deliberately held back from going into a shelter.”
Tim looks like he’s about to be sick. “So if I had shot him…”
“He’d have claimed one of us as his new body. Don’t know which. I don’t know if he can direct it with that few people in the room or if it’s just whoever is nearest or what.” Sasha digs her fingernails into her palms to keep herself grounded. Trying to pluck that from their boss’s brain probably won’t work, and it will be far too risky anyway. It might overload her own brain to the point of killing her, and the surge of power might hurt the others, too. But oh, she almost hurts with the desire to try.
“But nobody else would have died.”
“I doubt that,” Martin Prime says. There’s still residual anger in his voice. “If you’re right, then no, he’s not a literal dead-man switch. I’ve kind of had my doubts about that anyway, ever since Jon mentioned that Archival assistants can leave if the Archivist dies. Especially since staff outside the Archives can quit. Nobody is actually bound to the Institute. Most of the staff can come and go as they please, and the Archival assistants are bound to the Archivist, or maybe to the Archives. Doesn’t quite matter, they’re technically the same thing. But killing Elias probably wouldn’t cause a—a mass extinction event or anything. Especially if Fitzwalter murdering Warrington didn’t wipe out the whole Institute staff in one go.” He takes a deep breath. “But you really think Jonah Magnus would have let the rest of you live? Especially if he gets the memories of whichever body he inhabits? You’d all know too much. Plans or no plans, you’d have to die.”
Jon Prime inhales sharply and covers his mouth with one hand. “Oh, God.”
Jon shakes his head firmly. “No. Absolutely not. Not happening. I won’t let it.”
“It won’t,” Martin assures him. His face is paper-white, every freckle and scar in stark relief, but his voice is firm. “Because we’re not going to test this theory, right, Sasha?”
Sasha flinches, but honestly, she’s glad Martin knows her well enough to call her out on it. “I…might need some redirection if I start getting antsy, but no. No testing it. Maybe once he’s dead we can find out for sure.”
“Can you kill him, though?” Tim asks. “Without…you know, getting possessed?”
“I—I think so. It’s—we have to kill Jonah Magnus as well as Elias Bouchard. Or at least Elias Bouchard’s body,” Jon Prime adds, his voice soft and a little ragged. He leans more into Martin Prime, who gathers him somehow even closer and rests his chin on the top of his head. “I don’t know how much of the original Elias is left, if anything. I think destroying his eyes ought to do it.”
“So, what, stab him with a couple screwdrivers through the eyeballs, Jonah Magnus dies and Elias Bouchard is free?” Tim swallows. “I can try that.”
“He won’t let you get close enough to do that,” Jon Prime says. “Even if you all master the ability to hide things from him completely, he’ll never let you within arm’s length. The gun would have been your best bet, but you’d have had to shoot both eyes out instantly.”
Tim shakes his head. “I’m not nearly that good of a shot.”
Jon worries at his lower lip. “I think we need help with that. W-with learning to hide things from him, I mean. We’re trying, and I think we put him off a bit, but…the more we learn, the more I’m worried we’re going to let something slip and the whole thing will be up. I-if he finds out about the two of you…”
“The whole thing goes awry,” Jon Prime completes.
“I’m more worried about what he might do to the two of you. I know you can handle yourself,” Jon adds quickly, “but if he catches you off-guard, you might not have a chance. O-or if he…I don’t know, floods the tunnels with gas or something. I just—I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
He says this last bit so softly that it probably wouldn’t be audible at all if the tunnels didn’t echo. From the look he gives Tim and Martin, Sasha is willing to bet that he’s thinking about how he would feel if either of them got hurt because of him, and how much worse it would be for one of the Primes to lose the other now.
For just a moment, Sasha wonders what it’s like to feel that way about someone else. She knows what it’s like to care, of course, she’s fond of Jon and Martin and Tim, and the Primes. She’s beginning to rather like Basira as well. And there’s her Uncle Wade, who was the one constant in her life for years and for whom she’d do just about anything. But the kind of bond the Primes have, or that it’s becoming increasingly clear her boys have, is beyond her. She’s long over the oh my God do people really feel like this attitude she took towards sappy love stories in her secondary-school days, she understands the concept of romance, but she’s also long ago realized that it’s not something she’s ever going to experience herself. And, honestly, she doesn’t feel like she’s missing anything. Usually.
But right now…right now she almost wishes she could experience that. She’s not sure how much of it is clinical curiosity and how much of it is an actual desire for herself. It doesn’t change the fact that she almost wants, just once, to look at someone the way Martin is looking at Jon right now and know what that feels like.
“I’ll do my best,” Jon Prime says, and it actually takes Sasha a second to remember what they’re talking about. “It’s mostly instinct, though, so I can’t make any promises. But I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I can ask. Anything to—” Jon breaks off and tightens his hands around Tim and Martin’s. “Anything we can do.”
“Not right now,” Sasha says, looking around the room. “I don’t think any of you are up for it right now. You all look knackered, especially you, Jon.”
“Yes, but I don’t know if we can risk coming down here again any time soon. He’s going to be watching us for a while, I’m sure.” Jon sighs. “He probably knows we’re down here now.”
“No, we’re safe. He had to take a phone call from Peter Lukas and that had his attention,” Sasha tells him. “If we knew his schedule, we could work around it. I bet it’s all in the computer.”
Martin Prime frowns in Sasha’s direction. “The phone call wouldn’t have been. How did you—Sasha. You didn’t.”
“I just wanted to see if I could,” Sasha says, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “I didn’t think it would actually work. I mean, I was sort of practicing on the walk when I went to get Jon’s shoes, to see how far away from someone I had to be in order to get their secrets, and Elias’ office is kind of at the edge of my range, plus there are so many walls in the way—”
“Sasha.” Jon sounds upset, almost scared.
“I know. I shouldn’t have done any of that, but—” Sasha sighs. “It’s like I told Tim and Martin earlier. It’s happening more and more without me trying, and it’s harder and harder for me to stop it.”
“God, was that only today?” Martin murmurs. “Feels like forever ago.”
Martin Prime’s mouth flattens into a thin line, but it’s Jon Prime who speaks. “Trust me when I say that at this point, you can stop it. You just have to want to. It’s an addiction, Sasha, just like any other kind, but that’s only for now. The more you lean into it, the more it will progress beyond that and into an actual, literal need. And when you get to that point, you won’t be able to stop. And it won’t be easy to subsist on what’s…acceptable. I-I have a hard time living on nothing but old statements.”
Sasha squirms a bit guiltily. Jon takes a deep, careful breath. “Sasha, if you promise you’re just going to look in the system—”
“I promise.” Sasha means it, with every fiber of her being.
“Then…okay. I think you’re right. I don’t know that I’m up to much right now.” Jon looks down at his lap. “I got a statement off of Michael before—well, before—and then this on top of it…I’m a bit overwhelmed. And I could use a good night’s sleep.” He sighs heavily. “Besides, we’ve got to try and dig up Gertrude’s notes. Anything she had going about the Unknowing. I-it’s not that…I know we know what you’ve told us, but we have to—”
“No, I understand,” Jon Prime assures him. “You might start with her laptop. It’s hidden in your office. You’ll know where to look, I think.”
Jon looks up, then slowly smiles. “I think I have an idea.” The smile droops slightly, and he adds, “But that can wait for tomorrow. Today, I think we—we call it a day early. Go get a drink or something. After all, what’s Elias going to do—fire us?”
“That sounds good,” Martin says. “Will you two be all right?”
“We’ll be fine. We’ll see what we can unearth that might be helpful for you tonight,” Jon Prime says. “Go. Get some rest. You deserve it.”
“Be careful,” Martin Prime says.
He’s still looking in Sasha’s direction, more than at any of the others. And as she pushes herself up from the floor, Sasha finds that she can’t meet his eyes, even if he can’t see the look in hers. She knows his caution is meant more for her than the others. They’re going to keep each other from falling too far, and they’ll try to help her, but in the end, they’re weaving a safety net and she has a knife up her sleeve. It wouldn’t take much effort for her to surreptitiously cut the fibers and fall through.
About the only thing stopping her right now is the knowledge that, if she does that, they’ll assume they just didn’t weave the net tightly enough and it’s their fault. The trouble is that, deep down, she’s pretty sure that eventually she’ll get to the point where the lure of the pit is stronger than the need to make sure her friends don’t blame themselves. She needs something a little bit stronger than a net to keep her grounded to humanity.
She wonders what Basira is up to right now.