Page 32 of Entity

“Ian, you fucking dick,” I repeat. But I’m already heading to his room. I don’t care how many terrors I just witnessed, I’m not about to waste an entire day of work just because Ian decided to get drunk and pass out.

I pause at his door, hand raised to knock.

Eros’s strangled warning echoes in my head, stopping me short.Don’t trust him. I hesitate. But there are only so manyrational choices here. Do I really think Ian’s own creation would turn against him like that? It’s not like Eros is… well, everything he does and says is a program. I saw that first-hand. He can’t be sentient. Itwasa malfunction.

I knock on Ian’s door.

There’s no answer.

I press my ear to the door, listening for signs of movement.

Nothing.

“Ian,” I announce, “I’m coming in. Don’t be naked.”

I’m surprised when the knob turns. I thought Ian would be the type to lock everything away, just like he does his Pleasurebots. But when I push open the door, I see why the room is unlocked. It’s empty. The bed is a mess, blankets and sheets strewn about. Ian’s clothes from yesterday are piled haphazardly on the floor. And Ian isn’t here.

Other than the bathroom, there’s one more room I haven’t checked. I passed it on my way down the hall, assuming from its half-open door and dark interior that no one was inside. With nowhere else left to search, I return to the dark room and peek in, speaking softly. “Ian?”

I push my way in, and the door catches on something soft. I look down and see piles of books all over the floor. Clutter covers almost every surface. There are bookshelves along the walls, a desk, and an ergonomic chair. Over all of this, papers and notebooks are stacked in comically large piles.

But of course, Ian isn’t there.

I’m about to pull the door closed when I pause. Ian isn’t here. And this looks like a study or an office. These are probably Ian’s personal notes, his notebooks. I might find something about Eros. My pulse speeds. I might find something aboutOrpheus.

Ian would never let me put stolen information in the book. But it doesn't have to beinthe book to influence the work. If Iwant this book to be a slam dunk, I need to know exactly what goes on in Ian’s head, even if he won’t tell me.

So I go inside.

13

A motion-sensing lamp fades on,illuminating the room in a warm glow. Still vibrating with adrenaline, I go straight to the desk, picking up papers and notebooks at random. But my eagerness quickly fades to frustration. None of this makes any goddamn sense. Ian’s notes are either scribbled in unintelligible handwriting that I’m not even sure is in English, or complex math equations that make my eyes cross.

“Come on, Ian,” I mutter, riffling through a stack of notebooks. “Show me something good.”

I flip through one of the thickest notebooks, but I’m disappointed to find yet another collection of unreadable nonsense in the form of Ian’s shit handwriting. I’m returning the notebook to the desk when a slip of paper falls out from between the pages, fluttering to the floor. I bend to pick up the paper. It’s thin and white, standard printer paper, folded over twice. I open it gingerly.

There, in the center of the paper, scribbled in a shaky hand, is what looks like a random shape. But I know this shape. I know the lines and dots inside it. I know those jagged edges.

It’s the fucking mirage.

I swallow hard, flipping over the page, hoping for an explanation. A label.Something. But there’s nothing else to see. Turning the page back over, I hold it closer to my face, searching it for meaning. And then I see another mark on the paper, way down at the bottom edge. A hurriedly scribbled note. And even Ian’s handwriting can’t obscure the two words that stare back at me:Katherine Fox.

A slow trickle of dread drips down my spine. Because that’s not all. Below my name, in even smaller print, there are four more words:

He insists on her.

I read the note again. And again. What thefuck?

Heart in my throat, I fold up the paper and slide it into my pocket. Whatever the hell it means, I’ll figure it out. I’ll confront Ian about it, if I ever find the asshole.

Then I remember the note Ian left when he had an emergency at the external lab. I didn’t even think to look for a note this time. Hurrying back to the living room, I check the bar, the kitchen island, every available surface. But I know in my gut I won’t find another note. I would have seen it already.

So either Ian left me alone here without any explanation, or he went back downstairs while I was in the shower. Down to the vault.

My stomach twists.

This goddamn vault. The cold hallway looms large in my mind, and Eros’s warning pulses like a neon sign. I don’t want to go back down there, not alone. Not if Ian is there, drunk and erratic. I pause. But maybe… if I woke Orpheus…

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