He reached out, and we exchanged an awkward hug. “You don’t call. You don’t write.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Not that we did any better.” He paused. “We felt . . . awkward about it.”
I nodded. “Me, too.”
“But we’ve kept up with you—watched the news. You’ve come quite a long way. From books to swords.”
“It wasn’t a transition I figured I’d ever have to make,” I said, and let a smile touch my lips. “But it kind of worked out.”
He smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“How’s your family?”
“Good!” he said with a bright smile. “Mom and Howard finally tied the knot.”
“Oh my God! When?”
“In June,” he said with a grin. “He kept asking, and she finally said yes.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Said she went to Dad’s grave, talked to him about it, finally got his approval, so she felt okay about it again. And Amanda finished her first year of medical school.”
“That’s great, Pax.”
“Thanks, Merit.” Then he waved it away. “I know you’re in a rush, so let’s get going.” He fished keys from his pocket. “Hell of a lot easier to get into a library when you’re the only person left in Chicago.”
He unlocked the door, and I slipped inside behind him. The library smelled, as it always had, of paper. Books, maps, notebooks, manuscripts. Including the one I needed to see.
“You want to tell me why we’re doing this?” he asked, when he’d pressed buttons on the alarm and we’d moved into the elevator.
“I want to look at the Danzig Manuscript foldouts.”
His dark eyebrows lifted. “The Danzig Manuscript? Why? That’s just mumbo jumbo.”
“It’s not mumbo jumbo. It’s real, and it’s encrypted. Magic rearranges the letters.”
He blinked. “You’re serious?”
I nodded. “I absolutely am. Long story short, we think Sorcha’s using the Danzig Manuscript as a kind of magical guidebook. And if you can help me get it, I can introduce you to the woman who figured it out.” I grinned at him. “And you two can write up her groundbreaking discovery.”
The light in his eyes was very familiar—the excitement of academic discovery.
“Merit, you have a deal,” he said, and swept out a regal hand when the elevator door opened again.
Unfortunately, the deal had limits. He didn’t allow me into the space where the documents were kept. So I waited impatiently, pacing the center’s hallway while he found the pages.
Finally, he came back with a large box of cream paperboard, which he carried to a table. He pulled cotton gloves from his pocket, slid them on, and lifted the box’s lid.
Inside, nestled in undoubtedly archival tissue paper, were several folded sheaths of cream paper. “The Danzig Manuscript foldouts,” he said. “As you requested.”
I smiled. He’d said those words—or words like them—many times during my tenure here, and probably many times since.
“I don’t suppose you’ll let me copy these.”
“Hell no,” he said. “Don’t want to expose them to that kind of light.” But he smiled and pointed to a small room. “But we can digitize and print them. They’re in line anyway, so I’m really doing the university a favor.”
That was good enough for me.
• • •