I hoisted the book up, but before I could return it to its proper place, another odd detail caught my eye. In the wall behind the shelf, a space which the book so cleverly camouflaged, a small indentation marred the red brick. I aimed the flashlight between the two volumes on either side of the empty slot. The depression in the brick, though miniscule, was incontestably intentional. It was octagonal in shape and looked as though something was meant to fit neatly into it.
I removed the puzzle box from where it was tucked beneath my armpit, popped the lid open once again, and drew the silver ring from its velvet pillow. The ring’s black stone was roughly the same size as the notch in the wall. The odd cut of the onyx suddenly made sense. With a deep breath, I reached between the books and fit the stone into the brick. It clicked into place, and with a low groan, the entire shelf began to shift forward. I stumbled out of the way as the shelf swung open, as if on a hinge, to reveal a dark passageway and a series of weathered, red brick steps leading steeply downward. The reach of the flashlight only illuminated so far, and the bottom of the passageway was nowhere in sight.
I chewed on my bottom lip, lingering on the top step. If Wes had been with me, armed with his officially issued sidearm and shiny police badge, I wouldn’t have hesitated to march down those stairs. Alone and without my partner in crime—however ironic that was—the dark corridor unnerved me, but instinct told me that it wouldn’t be as easy to access the secret portal during the daytime, so I gathered the scattered bits of my bravery and headed down.
The air grew cold and damp as I descended. I kept an eye on my boots. The brick steps were cracked and slippery, and one misstep would send me tumbling down to an uncertain landing. I trailed one hand along the dewy wall for guidance, glad that my thick gloves kept the stone from relieving my fingers of their warmth. After what felt like ten minutes, I lost count of how many steps I’d taken, and when I looked back to the top of the stairs, the doorway to the library was more of an abstraction than a concrete reality. I kept going.
Ages later, the flashlight revealed a level floor again. I reached it gratefully, noting that the brick had given way to marble once more. The air had warmed again too, as if this section of the library sported some kind of heating unit. I ran my hand along the wall, and to my surprise, my fingers connected with a light switch. I flipped it on.
I stood in a small stone entryway. A series of ornate sconces set into the wall cast a golden glow throughout the room. To the right side of the staircase, a lofty corridor branched out, but before I could be bothered to explore it, the grand mantle set into the stone directly across from the stairway demanded my attention. Emblazoned on the wall was the bird crest, but this one was intricately detailed. The meticulous feathers of the raptor had been painted by hand, its beak seemed to turn derisively toward those who entered the room, and the eyes, two glowing rubies set into the stone, gave off the impression that the two-dimensional bird was sentient. If that wasn’t enough, the motto nec plus ultra had been painted in swirling, elegant script beneath the bird, and above it, in a golden banner, lay the name of the group whose clubhouse I’d infiltrated: the Black Raptor Society.
“BRS,” I muttered, remembering the label on the files in Catherine Flynn’s office. So far, I hadn’t found a record of any members of the Flynn family that had worked at The Daily Bird, and from the looks of O’Connor’s research, he hadn’t either. That certainly didn’t mean she wasn’t a key player for this so-called Black Raptor Society. For all I knew, she’d simply married and changed her last name.
I ventured into the hallway to my right, shining the flashlight through a few doorways. The first significant room I came across appeared to be where the Black Raptor Society held whatever meetings they might conduct. A regal dining table stretched from one end of the room to the other. There were enough plush, straight-backed chairs to seat at least twenty, though I knew BRS must have several more members than that. There was no dust on any of the surfaces, and the polished wood of the tables glinted in the light of an overhead chandelier. The room was clean and maintained, which confirmed more of my theory. The Black Raptor Society was still active.
Farther down the hallway, I discovered a decently sized library. From the looks of it, BRS had borrowed their furniture from Waverly University, as the shelves were of the same design as those in the Rapere Wing, and the few desks bore a remarkable resemblance to the ones in the main library. In the middle of the library was a long, low table upon which lay a leather bound volume the size of an encyclopedia. Gingerly, I opened the front
