Page 145 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

“Not really, but they’d rather die than ever seem like they don’t know something, so the info is correct,” Gurlien replies idly. “They’re expecting something, but no prisoner transfers in the last week and a half.”

“And now they know we’re in town,” Maison says, exasperated.

“No, he knows that one person is asking about protections and he doesn’t know why so he’s not going to say anything until he knows.” Gurlien rolls out the scroll on the table, using the saltshaker to hold it down. “I told him I’d say more in a few days, he’ll wait until after that has passed to say something. I ‘suggested,’” Gurlien uses air quotes, “that it’s for something interesting next month, I’m not an idiot.”

Delina coughs out a laugh, and both of them glance to her. “No, don’t look at me like that, it’s hilarious.”

“They’re expecting us to be unaware of notation alarms here, here, and an underground demon trap here,” Gurlien says, jabbing at a well-drawn map of a few blocks in what appears to be a suburb of Toronto. “Anyone unknowingly cross them that’s even the slightest bit magic, camera in this building and this building snaps a picture.”

Maison nods, already absorbed in the map.

“So the main thoroughfares, on the sidewalks and street,” Delina says, then hesitates. “I hate to ask the stupid question, but does it extend through the buildings there?”

Maison gives her a sideways glance, the hint of a dimple appearing on his cheek.

“Through this one,” Gurlien points, “but not this one. Congrats, you have easily identified one of the problems with small notation alarms. They’re small and if you know where they are, you can avoid them.”

“I’m more concerned about the demon trap,” Maison says, tracing a fingertip where the now familiar circle is sketched on with pencil. “If we can’t access the paint, we can’t change it.”

“Two options,” Gurlien says, and Chloe slips in the door, clutching her backpack to her chest. “We send in someone ahead to take it down, or we find a different way in.”

“That’s past the lobby, that’s past the first key lock, once we get that deep they’re gonna lock down and they won’t let anyonein,” Chloe says, peering over Gurlien’s shoulder. “Unless we plan on walking Delina in and offering her as a way to get access—”

“No,” Maison interrupts.

“—then that won’t work,” Chloe finishes, rolling her eyes. “Obviously, we’re not going to do that. That’d be the worst option.”

“If we can do this entire thing without anyone knowing it’s Dr. Frisse’s daughter, that’d be ideal,” Maison says, and it’s only the conversation they had earlier that prevents Delina from reacting. “I’d much rather they think it’s just me coming in to see my mom, rather than anything…else.”

“Hate to break it to you, but when a carbon copy of Frisse walks through the door, even the receptionists are gonna pay attention,” Gurlien says.

“Then we should go in another way,” Maison says, spinning the map around, pointing to an otherwise unremarkable alleyway. “Windows, here, here, and here.”

“Or the exhaust vent,” Chloe says, twisting the map back her way. “I checked, they haven’t blocked it yet, they don’t know it’s one of the ways out.”

Delina watches her as she swallows. “Would all of us fit through there?”

“No, but one of us can,” Chloe replies, grim. “And I can cause some trouble.”

41

Another day, where both Gurlien and Chloe gather information and bribe people for copies of access badges; another day, where Delina practices breaking runes and grabbing onto magic with dead bugs and goes almost stir crazy, and another day, where Maison paints the last remaining sheet in his sketchbook and immediately starts on printer paper pilfered from the dusty photocopier that Delina’s bio-mother had tucked in one room.

And another day, and then it’s Sunday.

There’s a pool of dread inside Delina, as she lays in bed, listening to Maison’s deep breathing as he sleeps next to her. Their go time is late into the evening, and everyone else elected to sleep as long as they were able to.

Which means a halfway normal time for Delina, based just on the amount of nerves inside of her.

Pushing out a breath, she wiggles out from underneath Maison’s arm, creaking the door to the bedroom open and stepping into the cold light of the main room.

In the middle stands the wight, the one with wiry gray hair and a severe expression on her face.

Delina blinks at her, long, before pointing at the coffee machine. “Do you drink caffeine?”

The wight shakes her head, her eyes narrowed.

At least this time, Delina’s wearing pants in the main room. “Mind if I do?”

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