something in the fire—get it!”
Without thinking, the pale man thrust his hand into the flames, screaming as he dragged the smoldering hard drive onto the floor. The photograph was already ash.
“Discover who he has told,” the woman said coldly. “I should have known. The key was never here. Finish him. Drop his body in the streets. Leave no clues—”
Choking, Vogel flailed frantically. He knocked over a music stand, hoping to grip its shaft. Instead, all that came to his hand was a battered silver pitch pipe.
As life ebbed swiftly from the old man, Galina Krause stared at him from two different-hued eyes. One blue. One silvery gray.
“Go ahead, Vogel. Play for us. Play your swan song. . . .”
Chapter Three
Austin, Texas
March 9th
8:03 a.m.
W ade and Darrell took turns yanking on the door of the observatory at the University of Texas.
It wouldn’t budge.
“And that’s why Dad gave you the key,” Wade said.
“Which I gave to you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I’m pretty sure I did,” said Darrell.
“When?”
“Before.”
“Before when ?”
“Before you lost it.”
Wade grumbled. “ I didn’t lose the key. I couldn’t lose the key. I couldn’t lose it because I saw Dad give it to you. In his office. When he dropped us off to run Sara to the airport.”
“Sara. You mean the lady I call Mom?”
“Sara lets me call her Sara,” Wade said. “Which is beside the point. The key? Remember, Dad took it from his desk drawer? He handed it to you? Do any of these images ring a bell?”
Darrell patted his pockets. “No bells are currently ringing, and I still don’t have the key.”
“You must have left it on his desk.” Wade shoved Darrell aside and retraced his steps down the narrow iron staircase to a small office on the third floor of Painter Hall.
Wade’s father—Darrell’s stepfather—was Dr. Roald Kaplan, a professor of astrophysics at the University of Texas in Austin, and Painter Hall was the home of an eighty-year-old observatory housing one of the largest telescopes that still operated by an intricate system of cranks and pulleys.
Wade sighed. “Darrell, you haveto see this telescope. I can’t believe that after what, three years, we haven’t brought you in here. It’s total steampunk, all winches and gears and levers and weights.”
A flicker of interest flashed across Darrell’s face. In typical fashion, he responded off center. “I do enjoy the punk which is called steamy.”
It being spring break, both boys were looking ahead to a long week of no school. Which to Wade meant nine days of reading astronomy textbooks and nine nights of studying stars from the university’s observatory. He was pretty sure that to Darrell vacation meant some strange combination of hibernating and nonstop eating.
Or thrashing his Stratocaster at maximum volume.
Darrell had been trying to form a band for months with no luck. Wade felt there were two reasons for that. First, Darrell wanted to call his band the Simpletones, which was supposed to be ironic but maybe wasn’t. And second, he only wanted to play surf-punk, which Wade was pretty sure was not a thing.
They pulled up to their father’s office. Wade grabbed the knob, tried to turn it. That door was locked, too.
“Are you kidding me?” he said. “Dad won’t be back from the airport for another half hour. I have to show you this scope. I wonder where Campus Security’s office is. They’ll let us in—”
“Don’t move. I think I grabbed a campus map,” said Darrell, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “If Security is even up yet. It’s only . . . eight-ish. Which for some reason reminds me I’m hungry.”
“You ate a muffin an hour ago.”
“Exactly. One whole hour. You think Dad will let us go for an early lunch? How long do you think all this will . . . oh.”
“‘Oh,’ what ?”
Darrell slid a dull brass key out of his pocket. “Is this what we’re looking for?”
“I
Without thinking, the pale man thrust his hand into the flames, screaming as he dragged the smoldering hard drive onto the floor. The photograph was already ash.
“Discover who he has told,” the woman said coldly. “I should have known. The key was never here. Finish him. Drop his body in the streets. Leave no clues—”
Choking, Vogel flailed frantically. He knocked over a music stand, hoping to grip its shaft. Instead, all that came to his hand was a battered silver pitch pipe.
As life ebbed swiftly from the old man, Galina Krause stared at him from two different-hued eyes. One blue. One silvery gray.
“Go ahead, Vogel. Play for us. Play your swan song. . . .”
Chapter Three
Austin, Texas
March 9th
8:03 a.m.
W ade and Darrell took turns yanking on the door of the observatory at the University of Texas.
It wouldn’t budge.
“And that’s why Dad gave you the key,” Wade said.
“Which I gave to you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I’m pretty sure I did,” said Darrell.
“When?”
“Before.”
“Before when ?”
“Before you lost it.”
Wade grumbled. “ I didn’t lose the key. I couldn’t lose the key. I couldn’t lose it because I saw Dad give it to you. In his office. When he dropped us off to run Sara to the airport.”
“Sara. You mean the lady I call Mom?”
“Sara lets me call her Sara,” Wade said. “Which is beside the point. The key? Remember, Dad took it from his desk drawer? He handed it to you? Do any of these images ring a bell?”
Darrell patted his pockets. “No bells are currently ringing, and I still don’t have the key.”
“You must have left it on his desk.” Wade shoved Darrell aside and retraced his steps down the narrow iron staircase to a small office on the third floor of Painter Hall.
Wade’s father—Darrell’s stepfather—was Dr. Roald Kaplan, a professor of astrophysics at the University of Texas in Austin, and Painter Hall was the home of an eighty-year-old observatory housing one of the largest telescopes that still operated by an intricate system of cranks and pulleys.
Wade sighed. “Darrell, you haveto see this telescope. I can’t believe that after what, three years, we haven’t brought you in here. It’s total steampunk, all winches and gears and levers and weights.”
A flicker of interest flashed across Darrell’s face. In typical fashion, he responded off center. “I do enjoy the punk which is called steamy.”
It being spring break, both boys were looking ahead to a long week of no school. Which to Wade meant nine days of reading astronomy textbooks and nine nights of studying stars from the university’s observatory. He was pretty sure that to Darrell vacation meant some strange combination of hibernating and nonstop eating.
Or thrashing his Stratocaster at maximum volume.
Darrell had been trying to form a band for months with no luck. Wade felt there were two reasons for that. First, Darrell wanted to call his band the Simpletones, which was supposed to be ironic but maybe wasn’t. And second, he only wanted to play surf-punk, which Wade was pretty sure was not a thing.
They pulled up to their father’s office. Wade grabbed the knob, tried to turn it. That door was locked, too.
“Are you kidding me?” he said. “Dad won’t be back from the airport for another half hour. I have to show you this scope. I wonder where Campus Security’s office is. They’ll let us in—”
“Don’t move. I think I grabbed a campus map,” said Darrell, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “If Security is even up yet. It’s only . . . eight-ish. Which for some reason reminds me I’m hungry.”
“You ate a muffin an hour ago.”
“Exactly. One whole hour. You think Dad will let us go for an early lunch? How long do you think all this will . . . oh.”
“‘Oh,’ what ?”
Darrell slid a dull brass key out of his pocket. “Is this what we’re looking for?”
“I
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