As if in response to Lauren’s question, the phone beeped again.
Only way out through passage in RH. Blocked from other side.
“It’s my work phone.” Olivia plucked the cell out of Lauren’s hands and typed a quick response. “Those texts were from my boss. I pulled the fire alarm because I was following orders to do so.”
“Following orders?”
“Yes. I’m a federal agent. I’ve been working undercover to expose the Raptors.”
“Seriously? But the Dashwoods—”
“The Dashwoods don’t actually have a daughter,” explained Olivia. Her steps fell into the same pattern as Lauren’s. For several yards, their boots thumped a unified beat into the ground. “The Dashwoods don’t even live in America anymore. We chose a family that had pull with the Raptors but were no longer active with the society. With the Dashwood name, I was guaranteed an invitation to BRS, but since the real Dashwoods hadn’t been in contact with the Raptors in so long, the agency could create a full cover for me with little risk of the society finding out about it.”
“How old are you?” asked Lauren. She glanced over at Olivia, viewing her friend in a whole new light. “Is Olivia even your real name?”
“I’m twenty-seven,” she replied, vaulting over a protruding tree root. “I started working with the FBI when I was twenty-three and enrolled at Waverly as a freshman the same year Nicole Costello began her master's degree. And no, Olivia is not my real name.”
“What is it really?”
“It’s Hope.”
32
In the quad, the emergency teams had finally arrived in an array of flashing red lights and shrill sirens. Firefighters doused the library while paramedics tended to those who had been hurt in the fray. Students lined the edges of the scene, naturally forming a loose circle around the library. Some held hands, others talked rapidly on their cell phones, and still others simply watched in awe. It was a mystifying vigil, one that Lauren had a difficult time passing by.
“What am I supposed to call you then if Olivia isn’t really your name?” asked Lauren, attempting to distract herself from the dismal gathering in the quad.
“Olivia’s fine,” she replied. They sprinted through the quad, dodging one or two rogue students, as Olivia drew in a long, steadying breath. “It’s been three years, remember? I’ve gotten used to responding to it.”
“And your boss—”
“Henry.”
“Henry. Why did he order you to pull the fire alarm?”
“He needed a diversion to get the Raptors away from the clubhouse.”
“How come?” asked Lauren.
“Because Nicole Costello had to sneak in to the record room to get the BRS charter.”
Olivia’s answer knocked the wind out of Lauren. Her abdomen cramped up, and she crashed into Olivia. The pair stumbled, but Olivia yanked Lauren upright before she could go tumbling to the ground.
“Nicole’s in the clubhouse?” gasped Lauren, getting her feet back under her.
Olivia nodded grimly. As they ran past a gaggle of students sitting on a curb and waiting to be seen by the paramedics, both girls looked up at the torched library.
“They could be dead by now,” mused Lauren. She was beginning to feel like an angel of death. O’Connor, her father, and now Nicole?
“Unless my boss is texting me as a ghost, they’re not dead yet,” replied Olivia. She clapped a hand on Lauren’s shoulder. “Focus, Lauren. We’re the only ones who know they’re down there so, it’s up to us to get them to safety.”
They sprinted flat out across the last two hundred yards between the library and Research Hall, but when they reached the brick building, Olivia ignored the stone steps up to the entryway and turned the corner. There, she kicked in a basement window, lowered herself inside, and peeked up at Lauren.
“Any day now,” she said impatiently.
Lauren sat on the cold ground, breathing hard, and maneuvered her legs through the window. She slipped into the basement, landing with a grunt. The drop to the floor was steeper than she had anticipated, but the relative silence between the concrete walls was a warm welcome compared to the pandemonium outside. Together, she and Olivia pushed aside the fake water heater that concealed the society’s secret entrance. Out of the four, this one was the most cramped. It was a tunnel the size of a large air conditioning vent, just wide enough to clamber through, covered by an ornate metal grate. Once, when she was still playing the role of a double agent, Lauren had helped a gang of Raptors drag an unconscious Nicole into the clubhouse through this very passage.
Olivia shed her jacket, and Lauren followed suit. The layers would only make it harder to wriggle through the passage. Olivia lifted the metal grate, the muscles in her biceps bulging against the taut material of her long-sleeved shirt, and set it aside. As soon as the passage opened, Lauren caught a whiff of burning debris.
Olivia crouched down, preparing to crawl in, but Lauren held her back. “Are you sure about this?” she asked.
“It’s the only way in.”
Without further ado, Olivia disappeared into the wall. Lauren stooped down, peering into the passage. It looked hazier than usual, as if the smoke from the library had escaped this way as well. Ahead, Olivia coughed lightly. Lauren closed her eyes, hoping that the whole tunnel wouldn’t collapse in on them once they were closer to the clubhouse, then followed Olivia inside.
“God, I forgot how much I hate this passage,” huffed Olivia as she flattened out and flipped over to pull herself past a particularly tight part of the tunnel. “It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic.”
The moist stone scraped against the skin on Lauren’s hands as she levered herself closer to the narrowing. “Speak for yourself.”
Another double beep emanated from Olivia’s burner phone. She wiggled it free from the front pocket of her jeans and checked the new message, the blue light of the screen illuminating the damp walls of the tapered tunnel.
“Bad news?” asked Lauren, reading Olivia’s worried frown even at
