Page 32 of Alchemy of Secrets
H olland gave herself one minute to think about the kiss. To wonder why Gabe had kissed her and why he had looked regretful and why she was feeling nervous about a kiss when her life literally depended on what would happen inside the Bank.
A kiss didn’t matter. Except that kissing always mattered.
And that had been a very good kiss.
Holland let herself think about the kiss once more. She admitted to herself that she wanted it to happen again. Maybe she wanted more than a kiss.
Then she stepped inside.
The Bank looked like the sort of place where you weren’t supposed to touch anything.
Do not touch the pristine glass doors.
Do not touch the antique knobs.
Do not touch the marble desks where bankers sat behind ivory typewriters with shiny brass keys.
Click-clack-click.
Click-clack-click.
Click—
For a second everyone stopped their typing. It was only for one instant, just long enough for the quiet to reach the geometric sunset covering the arched ceiling. Then the typing started again.
But Holland swore that underneath the clean clack of the typing were quiet little whispers. She couldn’t make out any words, but the hair on her arms was standing up and her heart was racing in the way a heart races when it knows its person is being talked about.
“Good morning, Miss St. James,” said a pretty banker wearing a cowboy hat, cowboy boots, a belt with two fake plastic pistols, and a shiny silver star that read, Just call me Sheriff .
The whispering stopped as soon as she spoke.
Now people were pretending not to watch as Holland attempted to puzzle out why this banker was dressed up like the female version of Wyatt Earp.
Then she remembered it was Halloween. She had forgotten for a second.
She supposed the kiss had muddled her brain.
But she was still surprised to see this banker dressed in costume.
All the shininess and the do-not-touch-this-ness fit with what she had expected of an evil bank.
The costumes did not. As she looked around at the bankers who were all trying not to stare, she noticed an abnormal number of cowboy hats and cowboy boots and leather vests with fringe.
“It’s Wild West Friday,” the banker explained.
“We always pick a theme for Halloween.” The banker started walking toward the back, steps so light her heels didn’t make a sound against the intricate gold-and-emerald chevron tiles.
“I’m Padme, by the way. I’ll be your escort to the Manager’s office, as I believe this is your first visit. ”
“It is—but wait,” Holland said. “Why am I going to see the Manager? I’m here to open a safety deposit box.”
“I know. But the Manager wishes to see you first,” Padme said pleasantly, the way a banker who worked for a normal bank might signal to a not-so-normal customer that they’ve been given a special audience. But this didn’t feel special. All Holland could think about was Gabe’s warning.
Unless the Manager was Manuel Vargas. That was who she’d asked for the appointment with. Maybe there was something else he wanted to tell her. “Is the Manager Mr. Vargas?” Holland asked.
Padme looked puzzled. “I don’t know Mr. Vargas. But if he’s part of the Bank, I’m sure the Manager knows him.”
“If it’s all right,” Holland said, “I would prefer to see the Manager after I’ve opened my box.”
Padme continued to smile warmly. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.
” She stopped in front of an old-fashioned brass elevator, the sort with an elaborate metal gate and a fancy dial above, which currently indicated it was still three floors up.
Then she looked down at her watch. “Technically, your appointment doesn’t begin for another two minutes.
I don’t have to take you anywhere just yet.
And trust me, Miss St. James, you will want to talk to the Manager before you open that box. ”
The elevator dinged. Padme slid back the gate.
Holland imagined she could stand there for another two minutes and then demand to be taken to the box, but Padme was looking at her as if that would be a grave mistake. And Holland wasn’t sure waiting would actually do anything except waste two minutes.
She stepped inside the elevator.
“Wise choice.” Padme closed the gate and pressed a round brass button with the number twenty-three. The elevator replied with a chime. The doors closed, and Holland’s heart leaped into her throat as they began to rise.
A cover of “Season of the Witch” played from the elevator speakers. Padme gently clicked the heels of her boots to the music. Working for an evil bank was just another day to her.
The elevator rose a few more floors before Padme slowly turned to Holland.
“I was trying to contain my excitement earlier, but I’m a big fan of your sister’s.
” She said it in a way that Holland had never heard anyone speak of January before, as if she was a minor celebrity or a hometown superhero. And Holland was suddenly very confused.
“How do you know my sister?”
“Well, I don’t actually know her well,” Padme said. “She doesn’t technically work at this branch, so I’ve only met her a couple of times. But she’s so good at her job, everyone knows who January St. James is.” Padme smiled brightly, as if Holland should be extremely proud.
But all Holland felt was something churning in her stomach. There was no way January could work here. The Bank was evil.
Padme continued blithely. “I also wanted to say how terribly sorry I am about your sister’s partner, Adam.
” She clutched her heart. “I felt so awful when I heard about the shooting.” Padme said something else about how everyone at the Bank was manifesting a full recovery for Adam and hoping the shooter would get caught, then it sounded as if she started talking about January again.
But Holland could barely process any of it.
Because all she could hear were the words Adam had said yesterday: I swear I’m telling you the truth.
I work with your sister, January. She is my partner. She sent me here to watch out for you .
Holland hadn’t believed him. She’d believed Gabe. But what if she’d been wrong?
No. Adam was lying. Not Gabe. Gabe had given Holland his phone to call January yesterday.
And he’d given her January’s number this morning.
But had he really? Holland didn’t know what number she’d called yesterday, only that she’d reached her sister’s voicemail, which was an easy enough thing to fake.
Even the number he’d given Holland today could have been the wrong number, and Holland wouldn’t have known.
Holland quickly checked her phone. There was still no reply from January.
Maybe Gabe was right, and January would never reply to an unknown number. Or maybe he’d only said that so it wouldn’t seem suspicious when she didn’t respond.
“Are you all right?” Padme asked. “Do you need some water?”
Holland shook her head. What she needed was more time to process all this.
The elevator stopped with another chime. Padme pulled the metal gate open, and then she took hold of Holland’s hand. Her brown fingers were warm and soft. “Don’t worry.” She squeezed. “I’m sure that Adam is already better.” With that, Padme said goodbye and took the elevator back down to the lobby.
Holland checked her watch again—she had exactly fifteen minutes left in her appointment, which meant she had fifteen minutes to figure out who she trusted. And just then she didn’t feel like she could trust anyone.
She wanted to believe there was a world where Adam could be January’s partner and Gabe could be a good guy. But she couldn’t see a way that worked. One man had been sent to protect her, and the other man was lying to her.
Holland’s head was pounding as she walked toward the lone door at the end of the hall. She should probably knock, but she couldn’t waste any more time. With a nervous “Hello,” she turned the knob.
The first thing she noticed was all the glass.
An entire wall of green stained glass cast the office in glittering emerald light.
It looked like The Wizard of Oz and The Great Gatsby had both dropped from a bookshelf and spilled out words that had then turned into art deco shimmer.
The drapes were velvet, the lights were suspended gold-and-glass globes, the carpet was a lush pattern of diamonds and stylized florals, and standing in the center of it, leaning against a great ebony desk, was the Professor.