Page 15 of Games of Death and Desire

Julita lets out a soft laugh of approval as she must recognize my plan, but she doesn’t speak. Maybe wanting to avoid distracting me from this precarious maneuver.

Thankfully, no tremors are shaking the campus like they were this afternoon. The daimon the scourge sorcerers riled up around the college have gone quiet just like they did in the temple’s tower.

I peer farther across the outer courtyard. A few distant figures shift in their guard posts atop the college wall. Lanterns cast a muted glow on the grass of the courtyard, but none close enough to highlight my perch.

I tug my dark brown cloak closer around me and knot the loose corners at the base in front of my ankles to ensure it covers my pale green dress. If all goes well, I’ll blend into the shadows.

After one last scan of the courtyard, I clamber out the window. My toes jar against the ridge, which barely holds them and the balls of my feet inside my boots.

It’s fine. I’ve made more difficult scrambles before.

I don’t want to be visible on the wall for any longer than necessary. Sliding my hands along the gritty blocks, I glide my feet after them.

One sideways step, two, three. I lean so close to the building, the rough stone bumps my cheek.

I don’t let myself think about what would happen if I tipped just a tiny bit backward and lost my balance.

My extended fingers bump the window frame. With a flash of gratitude, I feel along the glass for the movable pane and pop it open.

With one more furtive scramble, I’m swinging over the window ledge into the dark room.

All at once, I find myself missing the cloying perfume I left behind. The entomology club’s headquarters holds a mossy scent that isn’t entirely off-putting, but woven into it are hints of acrid smoke and an unpleasant tang I can’t place at all.

Ugh, Julita says in apparent agreement.

At a rustle from my right, I freeze in place. But as my eyes adjust to the room, I realize I have nothing to fear from its current inhabitants.

Which are, naturally, bugs.

The entomology club can justify its dedicated room with the rows of tanks and jars that seem to cover every piece of furniture in the space. Beetles clamber over bits of bark and twigs; winged creatures flit along glass walls; jointed worms wriggle through murky water.

“Ugh,” I mutter, echoing Julita’s reaction.

I can think of few places it’d be creepier to sneak around in the darkness. Fortunately, I have no need to lurk in any of those places.

I do, however, have a job to do here.

Aiming to be methodical, I pick a direction and begin a careful circuit of the room. As I weave between the stands and shelving units, I scan every available surface for anything that might hint at intentions beyond the buggy.

I duck low to check under the containers I can lift, which was how I found the vague evidence Wendos left behind in his dorm bedroom. I even sweep my fingers under any furniture with a raised bottom, bracing in case I touch something unnerving.

All I find are labels with the names of bugs and instructions for things like feeding. A few scraps that look like pages from school reports that were tossed aside as unsuitable. Nothing that so much as hints at a conspiracy.

At the far end of the room, I determine that not quite every surface is covered in insect enclosures. A calendar hangs on the wall, with a couple of days marked off that I commit to memory.

Beneath the calendar stands a broad desk that’s stacked with books, writing supplies, and a few loose papers, but no bugs.

The drawers on the desk hold tons more papers. I sink into the leather chair by the wall and go through them one by one.

Squinting in the dimness, I can’t make out every word. But all the words I can make out seem to have to do with bugs: supplies and environments and behavioral studies.

If there’s any hidden meaning to the records, I can’t make it out. And I don’t want to risk bringing any of these papers with me when I’m not sure they’ll help our investigation.

It wouldn’t do to tip Torstem off that we’re on to him and his club.

I’ve stared at enough pages that my head is starting to ache when something taps against the door.

My pulse stutters. I nudge the drawer closed and dive under the desk just as the lock rasps over.

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