Pandemonium

she was right—the smudge was always there. In the nighttime pictures it was a faint glow.

“We could call in our experts to help you,” Meg said. “We didn’t want to bring anyone in until you were comfortable, but perhaps—”

“No. No more people.”

Meg frowned slightly. Of course they wanted to call in their experts. The entire secret society would be in a lather to meet me.

“Promise me,” I said.

She touched my shoulder. “No one else. I promise.”

I moved away from her, my neck hot, and bent to pick up another picture. “About this smudge,” I said without looking at her. “What are the theories on that one?”

“It’s never distinct enough to be a signature,” Meg said, easing gracefully back into scholar mode. “But it’s always there. It could be a bird, but because it also shows up at night, most people think it’s a plane . . .”

“Holy shit,” I said.

I stared at her. “I know where I’ve seen this,” I said. I scooped up several of the plastic-coated pictures and started for the library door.

“What is it?” Meg asked.

“There’s something I need from my mom’s—from her basement.”

I had to wake O’Connell. If she wouldn’t go with me I’d just take the keys to her truck. “I’ve got to get to Chicago.”