Page 22 of Only Hard Problems

Yes.

The wrongness vanished, replaced by a buoyant rightness, so I tightened my grip on my sword and hurried in that direction.

I followed the twists and turns of the corridor and went up some stairs, stopping every so often to look and listen, but I still didn’t hear anything that would tell me exactly where the Techwavers had gone—

Clank-clank.

Clank-clank.

The sounds echoed down the corridor. Definitely Black Scarab footsteps, coming from somewhere up ahead and over to my . . . right.

I moved from one corridor to the next, my strides becoming quicker and longer with each passing second. I reached another junction and slowed down. Despite my growing concern for Asterin, I forced myself to stop and peer around the corner.

Up ahead, the gray tile gave way to pink stone, indicating that I had moved from the industrial part of the castle back into the old-fashioned quarters where the Rojillo family resided. I frowned. Why would Silas bypass all the R&D labs with their proprietary projects, designs, and technology and come to this section of the castle? What was he after?

I eased down the corridor. I didn’t hear any more footsteps, but the Black Scarabs had definitely come this way. In the middle of the corridor, a door was creaking back and forth, barely clinging to its hinges. Deep grooves were visible in the door, as though a Black Scarab had punched its spiked fingers deep into the thick wood and forcibly ripped the barrier open.

I crept up to the broken door. No sounds drifted out of the room, so I lifted my sword a little higher, drew in a breath, and rushed forward straight into . . . a library.

My gaze darted left and right, but the area was empty. No Silas, no Black Scarabs, and no Asterin.

Frowning, I lowered my sword and took a closer look. Wooden cases bristling with books, statues, vases, and other knickknacks. Several comfortable, overstuffed chairs arranged in front of a small cold fireplace. Framed family portraits lining the stone mantel above. Gold, silver, and bronze-colored honeysuckles sitting in pots on a high, wide shelf, their tendrils draping all the way down to the floor like a glittering, metallic waterfall.

My frown deepened. If Silas was here to steal House Rojillo tech, then why hadn’t he gone into the main R&D lab that Asterin had breached earlier? The most valuable prototypes were stored there, along with terminals and servers that would contain scores of potential designs and other sensitive information. This library looked like all the other ones I’d seen in the castle. Why, it wasn’t even the largest one I’d passed, and I didn’t spot anything worth stealing—

A glimmer of gray caught my eye. Asterin’s cloak was lying in a crumpled heap in front of one of the bookcases. I hurried over and snatched up the cloak, but no blood stained the fine fabric. Silas and the Black Scarabs hadn’t hurt her—yet.

But the longer I looked at the cloak, the more it bothered me. Earlier, outside the R&D lab, I’d yanked hard on the garment, but it had remained securely wrapped around Asterin’s body. Now here it was, just lying in the library. Why? One of the Black Scarabs could have ripped it off . . . or perhaps Asterin had deliberately taken it off and left it behind as some sort of clue.

I dropped the cloak and looked at the bookcase. A small antique sundial was squatting on one of the shelves, although it was turned at a strange angle, with part of the silver casing hanging over the edge of the wood. Curious, I took hold of the sundial. It wouldn’t lift off the shelf, but it seemed like it would twist to the right . . .

Click.

Part of the bookcase popped forward, then rolled to the side, revealing a small alcove with a standing desk and a lone terminal tucked inside. My eyes narrowed. Smart of Jorge to hide a terminal in this library, although his cleverness had backfired. Silas must have decided it would be far easier to access this terminal instead of trying to breach the R&D lab, although Asterin had managed it—

Beep-beep-beep.

I glanced down. A small black grenade was lying below the terminal, a red light flashing on the side. Terrific. Just what I needed. A booby trap.

I cursed and shoved the sliding bookcase back into position as far as it would go, in hopes that it would partially contain the impending explosion. Then I whirled around. I was too deep in the library to escape before the grenade detonated, so I rushed toward the largest, sturdiest-looking piece of furniture, a wooden desk tucked in the far corner next to the fireplace.

I leaped up and slid across the top of the desk, sending plastipapers and gelpens flying in all directions. A small, potted silver honeysuckle also flew off the desktop, smacked against the fireplace, and broke apart, spewing dirt and pottery everywhere.

I landed on the opposite side and shoved the accompanying chair out of the way, sending it banging back into the wall. Then I ducked down and scrambled beneath the desk, plastering myself up against the side closest to the wall and the farthest away from the grenade, hoping, hoping, hoping that the thick wood would be strong enough to shield me from the coming blast—

BOOM!

CHAPTER SEVEN

ZANE

Theexplosionrippedthroughthe library.

Bright light. Intense heat. Incredible noise. All of it blasting through everything in its path, including me.

The light, heat, and noise went on and on and on in a continuous, flaming, furious roar, making me feel like I was hunkering down on the surface of a sun. All around me, the sides of the desk warmed, as though I was trapped inside a wooden oven that was going to roast me alive. Sweat dripped down my face, and acrid smoke clogged my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I hunkered down a little more, pressing myself into a tight ball and as flat against the floor as I could manage at the same time.

All the while, the light, heat, and noise just kept going on and on and on . . .

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