I’m no longer touching it. I turn my head and look at the wall. There’s a dark smudge where the grease on my cheek has rubbed off. I shiver. ‘Bloody chunk of…’
O’Shea stops me. ‘Semi-sentient, remember? Perhaps you don’t want to piss it off.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Bloody thing. Come on. Let’s find the door.’
Rather than pick up the Trace again, I kick it gently along the ground, mindful of O’Shea’s warning. Every time my foot connects, I feel another burst of static ripple through me. It doesn’t help when we reach the door and discover it’s tightly locked, with a keypad for entry.
‘We could try a window,’ O’Shea suggests.
I crane my neck. There are small panes of glass in the second storey of the building. I’m spry enough to reach them but I bet they’re alarmed. ‘I have a better idea.’
I turn round and jog to the nearest patch of grass, digging my fingernails in it to grab some soil. It has not rained for a week or two so the earth is dry enough to suit my purpose. I crumble the clumps into fine particles, return to the door and blow them gently onto the keypad. As I’d hoped, several stick to the buttons where traces of oil from human skin linger.
‘One, two, three, seven, eight,’ O’Shea reads, flicking me a look. ‘Not necessarily in that order though. There are only 55,049 possible permutations. That won’t take us long.’ When I stare at him, he shrugs. ‘Maths and magic go hand in hand. At least for mixing potions like I do.’
‘I don’t suppose you have a potion for this?’
‘Give me six months and I’ll come up with something.’
‘Helpful,’ I murmur, staring at the numbers. ‘Maybe it doesn’t matter which order you press them in.’
He snorts. ‘Yeah, right.’
I shrug. ‘There’s no harm in trying.’
‘Of course, you can try. We’ll only maybe set off an alarm that’ll wake up the entire base if we get it wrong.’
‘I’m sure it’ll give us a few attempts,’ I say, not feeling sure at all. A troubling thought nags at the back of my mind but I push it away.
O’Shea grins. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’ He pulls his sleeve over his finger to avoid leaving his prints and presses the numbers in quick succession. There’s a whirr followed by an immediate click. Then the door opens.
‘Huh,’ he says, ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
He starts to move forward but I grab his arm and shake my head. ‘No.’
‘What?’
I keep my voice low. ‘It’s too easy. All this is too easy. They know we’re here.’
He scratches his nose. ‘Explain.’
‘Getting through the main gate like that was a stretch. But those soldiers veering off at the last minute because they got an order in the middle of the night? And now this? It’s too pat.’
O’Shea’s eyes dart from side to side as if he’s expecting platoons to appear from every corner. ‘We need to get out of here.’
‘If I’m right, leaving now won’t make any difference. They’re not going to let us stroll off the base.’
‘We’ve not done anything illegal yet.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Other than venture onto a military installation, you mean.’
He looks uncomfortable. ‘Other than that.’
‘They probably don’t know who we are. Our little ploy with the grease might be working – they might still think we’re witches.’
‘All they need is to catch a glimpse of your face in the light and…’
I hold up my palms. ‘I know, I know.’
‘So what do we do?’
I outline my plan. O’Shea looks at me as if I’m crazy – which may well be the case.
‘That’ll never work,’ he says flatly. I don’t say anything. He puts his hands in his pockets and sighs. ‘Alright then.’
‘Turn round.’
‘You know, as lovely as your legs are, they don’t actually do anything for me.’
‘O’Shea…’
‘Fine, fine,’ he grumbles, facing away from me.
I bend down and pick up the Trace again, making sure I’m away from the open door when I
O’Shea stops me. ‘Semi-sentient, remember? Perhaps you don’t want to piss it off.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Bloody thing. Come on. Let’s find the door.’
Rather than pick up the Trace again, I kick it gently along the ground, mindful of O’Shea’s warning. Every time my foot connects, I feel another burst of static ripple through me. It doesn’t help when we reach the door and discover it’s tightly locked, with a keypad for entry.
‘We could try a window,’ O’Shea suggests.
I crane my neck. There are small panes of glass in the second storey of the building. I’m spry enough to reach them but I bet they’re alarmed. ‘I have a better idea.’
I turn round and jog to the nearest patch of grass, digging my fingernails in it to grab some soil. It has not rained for a week or two so the earth is dry enough to suit my purpose. I crumble the clumps into fine particles, return to the door and blow them gently onto the keypad. As I’d hoped, several stick to the buttons where traces of oil from human skin linger.
‘One, two, three, seven, eight,’ O’Shea reads, flicking me a look. ‘Not necessarily in that order though. There are only 55,049 possible permutations. That won’t take us long.’ When I stare at him, he shrugs. ‘Maths and magic go hand in hand. At least for mixing potions like I do.’
‘I don’t suppose you have a potion for this?’
‘Give me six months and I’ll come up with something.’
‘Helpful,’ I murmur, staring at the numbers. ‘Maybe it doesn’t matter which order you press them in.’
He snorts. ‘Yeah, right.’
I shrug. ‘There’s no harm in trying.’
‘Of course, you can try. We’ll only maybe set off an alarm that’ll wake up the entire base if we get it wrong.’
‘I’m sure it’ll give us a few attempts,’ I say, not feeling sure at all. A troubling thought nags at the back of my mind but I push it away.
O’Shea grins. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’ He pulls his sleeve over his finger to avoid leaving his prints and presses the numbers in quick succession. There’s a whirr followed by an immediate click. Then the door opens.
‘Huh,’ he says, ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
He starts to move forward but I grab his arm and shake my head. ‘No.’
‘What?’
I keep my voice low. ‘It’s too easy. All this is too easy. They know we’re here.’
He scratches his nose. ‘Explain.’
‘Getting through the main gate like that was a stretch. But those soldiers veering off at the last minute because they got an order in the middle of the night? And now this? It’s too pat.’
O’Shea’s eyes dart from side to side as if he’s expecting platoons to appear from every corner. ‘We need to get out of here.’
‘If I’m right, leaving now won’t make any difference. They’re not going to let us stroll off the base.’
‘We’ve not done anything illegal yet.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Other than venture onto a military installation, you mean.’
He looks uncomfortable. ‘Other than that.’
‘They probably don’t know who we are. Our little ploy with the grease might be working – they might still think we’re witches.’
‘All they need is to catch a glimpse of your face in the light and…’
I hold up my palms. ‘I know, I know.’
‘So what do we do?’
I outline my plan. O’Shea looks at me as if I’m crazy – which may well be the case.
‘That’ll never work,’ he says flatly. I don’t say anything. He puts his hands in his pockets and sighs. ‘Alright then.’
‘Turn round.’
‘You know, as lovely as your legs are, they don’t actually do anything for me.’
‘O’Shea…’
‘Fine, fine,’ he grumbles, facing away from me.
I bend down and pick up the Trace again, making sure I’m away from the open door when I
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