by RJ Blain
“My morning has also sucked. Want coffee? I’m about to take half a day because my morning has sucked that badly. I will bring you coffee.”
Beatrice wanted to bring me coffee? I checked my apartment for any signs of hell freezing over, suspicious over the general normality of my home. “Didn’t you just get to work? I won’t say no to coffee. I tried to make some, but it seems I have angered my foot. Just get me whatever you’re having and make it the largest size they’ll sell you. Tell me how much I owe you when you get here.”
“It’s on me, and yeah. It’s going that well. I’m packing my things, but I’ll give you the brief version. There’s a cop infestation here. Apparently, they want to do an investigation of the computer systems. So, I was called in at three this morning to babysit the cops. Do you know what they found? Absolutely nothing. They wanted to review the video of the computer rooms, but they saw nothing beyond normal behavior. So, it turns out we were hacked. Whoever did the hacking pissed off the cops, too.”
Just like that, my morning got even worse. “The library was hacked?”
“Apparently. I was told someone hacked into one of the computers from the outside, and then they hacked other computers once on our network, and then they hacked somewhere else. But the buck ended at our computers, because they can’t figure out where they hacked in or how.”
Well, that made me happy I’d adjusted the computer’s logs. It also helped the library used antiquated software full of holes I’d been able to use. It also helped I’d spent years learning the ins and outs of the network, how to manipulate the logs, and otherwise cover my tracks should it be needed.
Of course, I’d done it out of boredom and curiosity, maintaining old skills on the off-chance I’d need them. That I had needed them bothered me—as did how the police had isolated the main branch as the source of their data breach in the span of several hours.
I suspected they’d identified the login I’d used as compromised, triggering an alert. It’d taken me a few minutes to get what I’d needed from their databases, thus dodging an active counter-hack.
It took time for someone to be notified of an alert and to retaliate unless they anticipated someone hacking into their systems.
When I got some time, I would have to evaluate the situation with a little more care.
“Someone hacked into our computers from the outside?” I asked, careful to keep my tone incredulous. “But what can our hunk of junk computers do?”
“Yeah. That’s what we asked. The computers we let the patrons use were outdated five years ago, and we have them because they’re cheap and will run basic programs. Our patrons don’t need anything fancy, and the techs the police brought in said about the only thing they’re useful for is a dumpster.”
Oh, ouch. “Did the techs say that where your boss could hear them?”
“They did.”
No wonder Beatrice’s morning was going poorly. By the time her boss had finished with her, she might have some skin left from his verbal flaying. “Do you want my help with him?”
While Beatrice usually caved when I came to her about something, I usually emerged from arguments with her boss with a stung pride and limited success. However, if a luddite like me could present a few arguments on why the library system could use better computers with enhanced security, I might get through to him without being flayed alive.
Then again, dealing with my ex-boss might be safer.
“It’s all right, but I appreciate it. The techs got the point across. I just got screamed at because I let the situation get that severe. And then I got screamed at some more when I pointed out the budget he had given me didn’t account for nicer computers. We’re going to change how we operate the systems. It’ll work out. Something funny came out of that mess, though.”
“Oh?” As I couldn’t imagine anything humorous about the situation, I asked, “What could possibly be funny about this situation?”
“The techs have a crush on the hacker.”
A laugh burst out before I could stop it. “What?”
“Apparently, it takes real skill for a hacker to navigate our antiquated system, access the system they’re investigating, and be done within five or ten minutes without leaving anything more than a single trace of their activities—and the only reason they left a trace, according to the tech who was ranting and raving about this hacker, is because the log file in question is locked down tighter than Fort Knox.”
I raised a brow at that. I could buy into the idea that it would take someone with specific knowledge to navigate through the library’s ancient operating system, but the police’s system hadn’t been difficult to navigate. Much like the reference section, everything went into a set place, which made grabbing what was needed a simple enough task.
Then again, if the cops wanted to act like my hacking job was special, I’d appreciate the stroking of my ego at the same time I made certain to do a better job should I need to infiltrate their system again—and make certain to acquire a new login.
That would be the real challenge.
“I see I have rendered you speechless for once in your life.”
“I’m having a hard time trying to imagine this drama unfolding at the library.”
“You should know that the library is where all the drama comes to happen. Romance in the stacks, whispers of teenage treachery, and don’t get me started on the researchers.”
Librarians had a love-hate relationship with most researchers, especially the ones in the history field. The main branch library had a lot of old volumes, volumes the historians wanted to get their dirty hands on. The good ones agreed to wear gloves and avoid breathing on the old pages. The snoots went out of their way to create problems for everyone.
Once, an idiot wearing the guise of a researcher spilled soda on a journal written in 1792, which had required magic to repair—a very rare form of magic that had cost the idiot a substantial amount of money, as the library took care to record the handling of all old books in addition to the disclosures about how patrons were to behave.
“How is that poor book from the soda incident?” I asked, honoring the new tradition of inquiring on the abused book’s health.
“It’s good, although there’s been a request for it, so we’re putting it through therapy before allowing the requesting patron to have a look at it.”
“That poor book.”
“Seriously. Who knew that title could be so popular? I mean, it’s a journal with excellent insights on life during that era, but you’d think it held the damned secrets of the universe in it!”
“Well, it was written during the initial rise of magic usage,” I reminded her. “It’s some of the earliest known instances of magic becoming a part of everyday life in the United States.”
“Magic has always been a part of everyday life everywhere, people just didn’t realize what it was,” Beatrice countered.
I sighed, aware we could lose hours on the argument without either one of us making any ground. “In any case, while that specific journal is useful for historians, we’re way off subject.”
“Well, almost off subject.”
“Almost? Wait. How are we almost off subject?”
“Senator Godrin was on the list of patrons interested in seeing the journal. The police requested a list of all books he was interested in, checked out, or used. Your branch is being hit with the requests next, and don’t be surprised if someone comes knocking at your door. Tawnlen said you often handled his submitted requests because of your general knowledge of the library’s stock. Mickey then commented that you’d also run around looking for things when the senator or his companions made requests because it kept you out of sight from them. Because of your rating.”
Uh-oh. I recognized Beatrice’s tone. On a good day, we had trouble getting along, but she hated when I faced undeserved prejudices because of my foot or my rating. In that regard, I couldn’t ask for a better friend.
Hell, it’d be nice if we got to th
e point we could be friends rather than prickly colleagues forced to work with each other. Then again, why couldn’t we?
I could change—or at least try a little harder to have relationships with people.
Smiling, I replied, “I had a cop, an adept, and my boss in my apartment before my alarm went off this morning because of my rating. They wanted to see my documentation.”
“That doesn’t sound promising, Janette.”
“It was fine. The adept reviewed my paperwork, seemed satisfied with it, and asked a few questions before leaving. It seemed pretty routine to me.”
“Routine for what?”
“An investigation? They asked me about my relationship with the senator.”
“Non-existent relationship, as his hatred of the lower ratings is rather established,” Beatrice muttered.
“The police must be having a devil of a time with the investigation because of that. Everyone who isn’t a perfect 90% has likely been targeted by him.”
“Everyone knows his tolerance range is more like 85-95%, but 90% was his optimal. You know, to be just like him. He has to allow for some variance, or he’d have to disown his entire family. But conveniently, that’s the range of all members of his family.”
“Surprise, surprise,” I muttered. “Anything else I should know?”
“Actually, yes. It’s about your renovation project.”
Yet again, my day could get worse, and I braced for the inevitable. “What about it?”
“They’re bringing in a sensor, which means no one can go into the building for at least a week. You’ll have to adjust your timetable based on that. You should give it two weeks to be safe. In the meantime, here’s some other relevant news. The donor heard about the murder and offered to pay all salaries of displaced staff until the investigation is complete. That call came in early this morning.”
They already had a sensor in the form of Bradley Hampton, and the last thing I needed was him poking his nose into my business. I found Bradley’s participation in the investigation to be a breach of protocol at the very minimum, as invested investigators were biased investigators. On the motivation front, however, he scored full points. “It’s not even eight yet. How early have people been calling in?”
“I got here at four. I already told you someone had called me at three about this.”
“You haven’t had coffee since three?” I blurted, wondering how she could function at all.
“Why do you think I haven’t had coffee, Janette?”
Right. Assumptions, of which I’d made many in the past ten minutes. I sighed. “Because I haven’t had coffee yet, mostly.”
“That’s fair. I can’t blame you. I haven’t had nearly enough coffee, but I’ve had some coffee. You still living a few blocks down the street from the Met?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“I still do not know how you worked a miracle to get an affordable apartment right there.”
“My rating really helped,” I confessed. “It’s the one time I don’t mind being pretty low on the totem pole, that’s for sure. I think I got a discount because of my foot, too.”
“You check off so many residency boxes. And employment boxes. You’re just one walking miracle, Janette.”
“Who are you, what have you done with Beatrice, and if you’ve hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
Beatrice laughed. “Nothing. I’ve just decided I like you more than I hate you this week. I’ll be over as soon as I can. Unlock your door, stay off your feet, and I’ll bring you something for breakfast, too. Just convince your cat not to kill me.”
“When has my cat ever killed anyone?”
“She hasn’t yet, but she might start with me.”
“Unless you’re a mouse, squirrel, or bird, I think you’ll be fine. She partakes of the rare bat, too. Really, the library should pay my cat.”
“We really should. She’s an excellent defender of the books, and she’s only scratched the furniture how many times?”
“Don’t blame me for that. I wasn’t the one who sprayed it with catnip. It’s lucky it was ancient and in dire need of replacement anyway.”
Beatrice laughed. “I’ll be over as soon as I escape this hellhole. Try not to get into any trouble until I get there.”
“I think we’ve had enough trouble for one week.”
Beatrice brought coffee and company, and if Bradley Hampton could quit finding reasons to pay me a visit, I’d appreciate it. As I’d left the door unlocked, the pair came in, and while Beatrice took over the other half of my couch and offered a large coffee to me, my uninvited guest lingered at the door.
“Was there something you forgot to ask earlier this morning?” I asked before taking a sip of my coffee and sighing at its warmth and bitter bite. “I don’t know where you got this, Beatrice, but I need to know. This is my new favorite coffee.”
“Three blocks beyond the Met,” she replied. “It’s a dingy hole in the wall, but the brew is worth far more than they charge for it. Just trust me when I say it’s far better than their building implies.”
I couldn’t imagine many coffee shops capable of having a better building than the coffee I sipped. “I’m going to regret this, but I now have a new morning stop on the way to work, and it’s in the opposite direction.”
“They even sell their beans, so you can get something close albeit not quite as good.”
With more patience than I expected from the adept, Bradley waited for Beatrice to fall quiet before saying, “As a matter of fact, there are a few questions I have for you. What were you smoking to get through that rating examination, did you seriously paint your nails during it, and why haven’t you called?”
Crap. Only an idiot would hold real hope in long hair and a pair of glasses functioning as a viable disguise. I widened my eyes and replied, “I wasn’t smoking anything, of course I painted my nails, and why would I have called you?”
There. That would confuse him for a while, as before I’d gotten the sense knocked back into me through the crash, I wouldn’t have painted my nails during anything important. Or at all.
Times had changed, and I had changed with them.
“You signed a contract.”
Beatrice sucked in a breath. “Janette? What contract? What contract with an adept? Why would you of all people have a contract with an adept?”
“The contract says she’s mine for life,” Bradley explained.
“You’re married to him?” Beatrice blurted.
For fuck’s sake. How the hell had she come to that conclusion? “No, I am not married to him or anyone at all. Why would you think that?” I lifted my hand and rubbed my temple, my gesture to ward away my incoming headache doing zero good. As I couldn’t see any way of handling the situation delicately, I’d abandon my efforts at being polite to make certain there were no misunderstandings. “As for you, you need to return to school for remedial reading lessons. That contract has numerous limitations, and you yourself stated you have no use for me unless I was in prime condition. Prime condition is never happening again, so kindly get the hell out of my house and go choke on a fish.”
Bradley snorted. “Choke on a fish? That’s new for you, and I have to say, I think I like it. I’ll pass, however. I’ve no interest in getting the hell out of your house right now or choking on a fish. If your current condition is your prime, then that is what it is, and I’m willing to discuss the situation. I’ll admit that was poorly phrased on my part, and I apologize for that. Obviously, I should have stated I expected you back where you belong the instant you were capable. But no, I made several errors in judgment. I’m even willing to have this discussion in argument format if you’d like, as it’s been awhile since I’ve had a half-decent argument with someone. It turns out the person I argue best with decided to leave the hospital and vanish from the face of the Earth, tricking everyone into believing she was dead. If it weren’t for my abilities, I never would have presumed you were alive. I about had a heart attack when I used my m
agic and discovered your very fresh imprint at the library. You tricked me.”
Yes, I had, and I took pride in that. Rather than answer him, I shrugged.
“Janette?” Beatrice regarded me as though I’d become a fire-breathing dragon ready and willing to eat her. “What is he talking about?”
Why couldn’t I just go back to bed? With how much my foot hurt, how much my damned past hurt, and all the other problems I faced, hiding under the covers for the rest of eternity seemed wise. “He’s talking about how I left a rather dangerous job for a much nicer one, one that doesn’t involve flirting with death every couple of hours,” I replied, allowing my tone to turn sour. “I like being a librarian, Bradley. And on second thought, don’t choke on a fish, because I’d rather feed it to my cat.”
Ajani, as though sensing life was about to take a rather unpleasant turn, hissed and ran for the safety of the bedroom.
Bradley raised a brow, leaning over for a better view into my bedroom. “I see I’ve made even more errors in judgment than I thought. You like cats. I had no idea you liked cats.”
“I like my cat. Her name is Ajani, and if you even think about doing anything to her, the world will get a demonstration of how a man can be brutally murdered without the benefit of magic.”
He dared to laugh at me. “Your cat is fine, Janette. I wouldn’t hurt your pet. I just hadn’t known you liked them. Had I known, I would have handled a few things better.”
As I suspected the devil would offer ice water in hell along with air conditioning long before Bradley put anyone other than himself first, I settled with raising a brow and waiting.
The trick had worked years ago, and while Bradley shot a glare my way, he said, “As it seems you’re going to do your best to invalidate your contract, it happens that I have use for a librarian. Two of them, in fact—and your friend is in the position I need for the job I have in mind. If you won’t cooperate with me that way, I’m happy to stoop to coercion for a good cause.”
For fuck’s sake. While I’d recognized my day was getting worse by the minute while on the phone with Beatrice, my day had gone from worse to living nightmare territory. “Can you repeat that in a way that doesn’t make me want to throw up? Better yet, could you just go away?”