Questions, in general, were to be avoided in Eliot's line of work. He preferred to mete out information casually, feeding his marks the details they needed to act the way Eliot wanted them to. Questions were unpredictable and uncontrollable, and therefore dangerous. It was better to steer conversations away from them if possible.
But Cindi with an "i" did not make that possible. She wanted to know everything about Jacob Stone: his favorite artist, his preferred writing software, his process in choosing pen names. Eliot answered as vaguely as possible, directing the conversation back to her whenever he had a chance, but she was tenacious. For every question he reversed, she had two more. She was the hydra of personal queries, and he had no torch to burn off the vanquished heads.
"I'm sorry," she'd said abruptly as they had entered the ruins. "I know I tend to babble. I just never expected to meet you here—at all—and there's so much I want to know. You're brilliant. And not in the pompous way most experts are, you know? You just know so much about so many things. I could listen to you all day."
Eliot had chosen not to point out the fact that she'd done far more talking than he had. It didn't matter; she'd gone on before he had a chance. Why didn't he ever do guest lectures? Was he working on anything at the moment? Where did he do his work? How did he find his resources? Did he have a team doing research for him, or did he do it all himself?
That, at least, Eliot could answer. "No team. I prefer to do my own research."
"That's amazing!"
"Yeah, I—I mean, I just find the stuff interesting. Did you know I published my first paper when I was fourteen?"
"No!"
"It wasn't even the first one I wrote—just the first I sent in. And at that point, I was already fluent in three languages and learning two more."
Cindi had shaken her head. "That's incredible. Truly."
"Yeah," Eliot had said, a little too enthusiastically. "I mean, yeah, it's something I'm proud of. I don't get to talk about it often."
"You should be. It's a major accomplishment!"
It had gone on like that for a while, until Cindi finally sighed and looked around the ruins. "I suppose this kind of architecture isn't as exciting as the ones you're used to seeing. But think of all the history that happened here." She'd touched the walls, trailing her fingers along the rough surface and straying around a corner. It was Eliot's chance, he'd thought—the perfect excuse to put some distance between them and then suggest going back to the main building.
And then Cindi screamed.
Eliot was around the corner in seconds, just in time to pull Cindi away from a streak of black smoke that hurtled past them before rocketing upwards. He stared as it tumbled out over the ruins, a mushroom cloud without an explosion. Cindi gave another shriek as the lower mass twisted together, forming tendrils that whipped across the frozen earth toward them.
"Come on," Eliot said, dragging Cindi back the way they'd come. He forced himself to focus on the path ahead and not the looming dread behind, but he felt it watching him—the presence he'd sensed when he first wandered through the ruins, but magnified a dozen times over. His shoulders stiffened, anticipating a blow from behind, and beside him Cindi sobbed as she ran. His instincts urged him to go faster, to leave her behind, to pass through the parking lot and hit the road and run and run and run until his legs gave out.
He caught Cindi's hand and pulled her on.
"Eliot!"
The voice stilled some deep, enduring part of him that had held on during the panic. He turned his head and found Jake and Eve in the parking lot, standing beside a man with his face in his hands. Eliot dug for control and managed to slow long enough to drag in a ragged breath.
"Go," he rasped out, and Jake took one look at the cloud of smoke and pushed the others toward the building.
Seconds later they were inside, with Jake and the other man pressed against the doors as though that would stop the smoke from entering. Cindi collapsed against the wall and gulped in shuddering, broken breaths, her hand still trembling in Eliot's.
He let it go. "What did you do?" he demanded. His voice came out wild and hoarse, and he scrambled for the last shreds of control still under his possession.
"I didn't—" she sobbed. "I didn't—do anything—I swear!"
"It wasn't her," Jake said, his eyes still on the door. "David's flute summoned it."
Eve crouched beside Cindi, coaching her to calm her breathing in soothing tones. Eliot pushed away from the wall and tried not to notice how shaky his legs felt. "Summoned what?" he demanded.
"The Nalusa Falaya."
"English, Jake, or I swear—"
"It's a monster of shadow," Jake interrupted. "David was hired to buy a flute that summoned it. We don't know why, we don't know what it wants, we don't know how to get rid of it."
Eliot stared at him. "What do you know?"
"Uh... it's a problem."
"Can it get inside?" Eve asked behind him.
"I assume so," Jake answered. "I don't know a lot about this thing, okay?"
"What thing?" Eliot turned to find the other Librarians—minus Cassie and Alex—jogging towards them. Jones glanced from Eve to Jake and back, frowning. "What did we miss?"
Jake made a frustrated growl. "Nalusa Falaya, Choctaw shadow monster."
"Ooh, that's not good," Flynn muttered. "If I recall, it has to be summoned with a flute?"
Jake gestured to David. "Flynn, Jones, Eliot, Eve—David, my college buddy. He was hired to bring the flute to its buyer and said it's been playing on its own."
Flynn's eyebrows lifted. "A self playing flute! Been a while since we've had one of those. Usually they're not malicious."
"Do we know for sure that this one is?" Eve asked.
"Yes," said Flynn, Jake, and Eliot.
She frowned at them. "Alright. Then what do we do?"
"Let's start with figuring out why you're both still here," Jones said, pointing at Cindi and David.
Eliot faced him, his eyes darting back to Cindi. "What do you mean?"
"All the other people have disappeared," Jones said. "The other guests, the guards—everyone."
"Alex?" Eliot said.
"He's off with Cassandra," Flynn answered. "Totally safe. Probably. I mean, statistically, probably not, but—"
"They were going to try to get a meeting with the Curator," Eve interrupted.
"Then where are they now?" Eliot asked.
Silence. Outside, the wind howled against the windows—only the wind, he hoped. His eyes darted to Cindi, still struggling to regain her breath.
"You followed us outside," Eve said, beating him to the question. "Why?"
Cindi wiped her eyes. "I told you. I saw Dr. Stone and—" She blinked at Eliot, then at Jake, and rubbed her eyes again.
"Secret triplets," Eve said. "Go on. Did you summon the... the thing?"
"No! I swear I didn't, I was just following Dr. Stone." She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking, and drew in a wheezing breath. It was good acting, if acting it was—on par with Sophie's, and Eliot couldn't believe anyone else was that good. But something about it didn't sit right with him, and he couldn't tell what felt off.
Something buzzed, and Eliot looked up to find Jake fumbling with his phone. "Jenkins," he said, tapping at the screen and holding it out to the rest of the Librarians.
"Mr. Stone," said the voice through the phone speaker. "I've dug into your problem a bit more. Are the others with you?"
"Cassie and Alex are trying to get a meeting with the Curator," Jake answered.
"It would be best for them to return as quickly as possible," Jenkins said. "And then you should all return to the Library until I can complete my research. The Nalusa Falaya is incredibly dangerous."
Jake looked at Cindi. "What does it do?"
"Well, essentially, it makes you afraid," Jenkins said. "So afraid that you can't think of anything else. Prolonged exposure can have serious and long-lasting consequences."
"Are you saying it drives people mad?" Jones asked.
Jenkins hesitated. "It's possible. There isn't much information on the Nalusa Falaya's surviving victims."
"That's encouraging," Eve muttered. She stood and called, "I don't suppose you know how to kill it?"
"Ah, well, you can't. There's some lore about the antidote to fear being able to banish it, but I'm afraid that's it."
Eve looked at Jake. "What does that mean?"
He shrugged. "I'm still looking," Jenkins went on.
"Alright," Eve sighed. "Thanks, Jenkins. If you find anything on how to get rid of it, call us back."
"Be careful, Colonel," Jenkins said. Jake ended the call and frowned down at his phone, following a train of thought that Eliot couldn't guess. Beside him, David fidgeted and stared out the window, straining to see something of the smoke.
Jones broke the silence. "So what's our plan? I'm telling you, I've seen every horror movie ever made—I think I can handle some scary smoke."
"It's not that simple," Flynn said. "Fear isn't just psychological, it's physical. It causes your body to release adrenaline and cortisol, and if you don't get time to decompress afterwards, it can cause endocrine system disorders, nervous system disorders, immune system disorders, sleeping and eating disorders, chronic muscle pain leading to fibromyalgia… now imagine being flooded with the worst fear you've ever felt, with no relief, and your body goes through all of that at once."
All eyes turned to Cindi, still weeping quietly against the wall.
"Hang on." Jones crossed his arms and turned to Eliot. "If a few minutes with that thing did this to her, why didn't it do anything to you?"
"I wouldn't say it didn't do anything," Eliot muttered.
"But you're still functional," Eve said.
He hitched one shoulder. "I was in the military. I'm used to a certain level of fear. You should understand that, Colonel." That, and years of wet work—not to mention life with Moreau—had fortified him against the effects of fear. Normal fear, anyway. This was different. His heart still pounded even though he'd long since caught his breath, and he could feel the wild desire to just keep running bubbling beneath his composure.
And that was only after a few moments near the smoke. What would twenty minutes do? An hour?
They had to find Alex and Cassie and leave as soon as possible. Forget the Curator, forget everything, just—
"El," Jake said quietly. Eliot looked at him, feeling a little like a drowning man searching for a rope, and took in his brother's serious expression. Jake was worried. And not about the Nalusa Falaya—about him. The realization shocked his system, dragging out the rational part of him that normally took over in stressful situations. He needed to stay calm. They would find Alex and Cassie, but then they would do what they'd come here to do. It had been Eliot's choice to come in the first place, and it was his choice to remain and see things through. No smoke monster was going to force him away before he was ready.
He nodded, and the tightness around Jake's eyes relaxed. Crisis averted, temporarily, but Eliot was too practical to think it would last. He stood, giving Cindi with an "i" one last reassuring pat on the shoulder, and turned down the hall. "I'm going after Alex."
"Hang on," Eve said, shooting to her feet beside him. "You don't get to just decide things on your own."
Eliot gestured at the door. "I'm not trying to cause problems. I just want to warn them about that thing out there. If you don't trust me to go alone, come with. Or send someone else, if you think that's better. But we can't just sit here and wait."
He kept himself still while Eve searched his face, willing her to understand his intentions. Did she see Jake when she looked at him? It hadn't taken him long to stop seeing his brothers in his reflection—after his first kill, he had a hard time seeing anything but his own destruction.
But whatever Eve saw, she kept to herself. She stared a moment longer and then glanced at the others before gesturing to Flynn. "Go into the auction room, away from the windows, and wait for us there. We'll be back soon."
