Because I Could Not Stop For Death | Lockwood & Co.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐈𝐗

Eden grabbed his arm and continued leading him toward their destination, which was down by the elevators. She had never been inside the Black Library, but had heard Penelope speak about it on a few occasions. She had never questioned what was inside—she just figured it was high security storage, except now, she knew that answers to several of their questions lay behind closed, locked doors.

There were two steel doors—the one on the left was a normal lift, but the one of the right had a special keypad. Eden had always been told to tell people it was for the maintenance workers in the building, but she knew what was behind it. "Did George give us a code?" she asked Anthony as they walked up to the door. "Even if I did know it at one point, it would likely change all the time."

Anthony scanned the paper, then pointed with a slim finger. "Yeah, it's one-eight-eight-eight."

Eden punched the code in and waited. The door was silent for a moment, then beeped, the steel doors sliding open. She glanced at Anthony and raised her eyebrows, a clever smirk on her face. They stepped inside the lift as Anthony muttered a, "Nice one, George," as the doors closed behind them.

When the doors opened again, they opened into an ornate, but simple room. It was large, with leather couches in the corners around tables, silver-glass display cases holding what appeared to be relics, and a few shelves of books.

"Pick a place to start," Anthony said from behind her as the doors to the lift closed behind them. "I'll check the index."

He went off in search of the index and Eden moved slowly toward the display case in front of her. It seemed to be holding some sort of antique comb set, but what was most suspicious to her was the insignia on the box at the center of it all. "That harp . . . " she trailed off, remembering the same symbol had been on the goggles that George had stolen from Fairfax after Combe Carey Hall and on the boxes that DEPRAC had removed from the scene.

Never before had Eden seen it. Her stomach suddenly rolled with a dreadful twist. She feared that maybe there was something she hadn't been told while she was working at Fittes and living under Penelope's roof.

Something . . . sinister.

"I've got it," Anthony spoke, pulling her out of her thoughts. He was already heading toward the bookshelves. "C-four-fifty-two. Check the numbers on the spines." Eden glanced at the display case once more before moving over to the bookshelves. She ran her fingers across the spines, searching for the right book. The titles were in alphabetically order instead of the author's name. She moved down the row, her eyes scanning, when Anthony spoke behind her. "Gotcha." She turned, finding that he was holding a thin, hardcover book in his hands. "Let's see what she's got to confess to."

A sharp, loud clicking sound penetrated the air. Both looked over their shoulders and Eden released a surprised gasp as the lift started to hum to life. Anthony's hand flew to Eden's waist as hers reached for his arm, but there were no spots that they could hide in together. They jumped apart and stood with their backs to the sides of the two bookshelves as the lift opened.

"It'll be quieter in here," came Penelope's voice from somewhere in the room. "So, what have they been saying?"

"Some of the members are getting restless," a man's voice spoke in response. Eden held her breath and inched along the bookshelf, turning her head to glimpse who Penelope might have been talking to. "They feel you're not helping sufficiently with their work."

"Exactly. Their work," Penelope replied as Eden caught a quick glance of the man—he appeared young, dressed far too casual for a party, with long hair tied back into a bun. "If they're not up to the challenge, I fail to see how that's my problem. I'm not their nursemaid."