“How are we looking?” Kasey asks, watching as Aiden unhooks my car keys. “Did the laptop thing work?”

“Yep.” I turn it to face her, and she looks down at the screen. “I’ve got the feed from the camera in Coburn’s office pulled up and ready to go. You should be able to see and hear what’s happening in real-time.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Yeah, I leave the camera turned off when we don’t need it. I’m not crazy about the idea of having to sneak back in there and change the battery. I’ll turn it on with my phone when Aiden and I get there.”

“Cool.” Kasey nibbles her fingernail thoughtfully. “You know, I think it’s actually good that we couldn’t get the ghost projector. We would have had to get it out afterwards, and that’s a whole mess. This way we keep it clean. Strictly Aiden’s powers, no evidence.”

“Except the camera,” Aiden points out.

“Okay, well, if it’s within your powers to livestream today’s heist excursion, then we’ll get rid of the camera.”

“Absolutely not.” He settles his snapback onto his head. “The camera stays.”

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter. “I’m still not used to standing around my kitchen island discussing the heist that we’re working on. We’re about to go make a fake ghost, so that we can rescue a real ghost.” I point an accusatory finger at Aiden. “You. You made my life absurd. What’s next? Are we going to have to - fight a dragon?”

Aiden huffs out a laugh, busy pulling on his shoes. “There’s no such thing as a dragon, dude.”

“Says who? Up until this summer, I thought there was no such thing as a ghost. Lots of different cultures have dragon stories, just like lots of cultures have ghost stories. Right, Kasey?”

“Mmm… they do come up often in mythology, but that’s because they symbolize greed. That’s why they’re always depicted hoarding what they have no actual use for. Like human women, or gold. What’s a dragon gonna do with a bunch of gold? It’s not like it can buy anything.”

“Throw a party?” Aiden suggests. “Start a retirement account?”

“Melt it down and take a gold bath?” I put in. “Turn its scales gold?”

“Would look dope, but that sounds heavy, though,” Aiden muses. “Could affect its flight.”

“Hmm, true. Maybe if it just dipped in really fast, and only once-”

“It’s almost frightening how quickly you two get distracted,” Kasey groans.

“What if the dragon chucks the gold down the mountain at any knights approaching the lair?” I ask. “Use it for defense.”

“But-” Kasey frowns. “Wouldn’t that attract more knights, if the dragon is just throwing free gold down the-? Jesus Christ, now I'm doing it. Focus, team! We have a task to accomplish today!” She fixes us with her manager face, then points to the car keys in Aiden’s hand. “Get over there and get to work!”

~~~~

Based on Coburn’s reaction to his doorway suddenly going cold, he either decided that he imagined it before, or he thought that the maintenance team had solved the problem. He stumbles backward after trying to walk through, shocked all over again.

He doesn’t call for anyone, this time. He stands there, bewildered, then experiments with poking his fingers into the cold spot. It must be really cold, because he makes a pained face each time he tries it, and eventually, he shakes his entire hand out, cursing to himself.

Coburn does that for a long time, and I start to worry about how much of Aiden’s energy we’re burning through. His eyebrows are furrowed, his jaw is rigid, and I can feel that he’s actually starting to pull back some of the energy he shifted to me when we started.

“Nick?” someone calls. A female voice, through the doorway. Whoever it is can’t be seen by the camera, but I watch closely, just in case. If she decides to step in, I’ll have to tell Aiden to turn off the cold, and fast.

“What?” Coburn snaps.

“The tour group is waiting on you. Are you alright? You’re so pale!”

“I…” Coburn seems like he’s debating asking her to step into the doorway, like he did with Tom. Instead, he rushes out to join her in the hall. “I’m fine. How’s the size of the group?”

I let out a breath of relief. We really need to conserve some of Aiden’s energy for later.

Hey. You can stop. Coburn left. The tour is starting soon.

Aiden’s eyes blink open, the white-blue fire flickering out. “Tour’s starting?”

“Yeah, we should go.”

We double-check each other’s outfits before we leave the bench beneath Coburn’s window. There was a scary moment earlier when we set out from the car with me still in my Converse. Aiden caught it just before we got to the road. We need to be seen, yes, but not identified, and Kasey made it clear that the tiniest thing could make the difference.

We head up the steps of the Bratton Collection.

“Go slow, for the camera,” Aiden says quietly.

We both cut down to a meandering pace, wander into the museum. Are we too late for the showroom tour? No, Donna informs us, as we pay our entry fee in cash again. Mr. Coburn is running a few minutes behind, anyways.

We join the cluster of visitors waiting by the reception desk. They’re all relaxed, chit-chatting away, cameras at the ready. Aside from one exhausted mother and her fidgeting daughter - probably around Ellen’s age, if I had to guess - Aiden and I are the only ones who look so serious. But that’s fine, for our purposes.

Coburn descends the stairs in a hurry, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses and smoothing down the front of his suit. He’s a bit wobbly all through his greeting, but by the time he gets through the basics - hands to ourselves, no flash photography, questions encouraged - he seems to have found his rhythm again.

Aiden and I have only just gotten started for the day, so this is fine, too.

Coburn leads us to the showroom. Aiden and I didn’t go in last time, so this is our first look. It's a huge room, with a high ceiling and more of those white marble floors. Pedestals with glass coverings are spread throughout the space. Framed artwork on the walls, mostly austere portraits. There are windows in here, but with some kind of special screens that muffle the light.

Aiden and I stick to the back of the group as Coburn ushers us in. A few visitors who decided against the tour are drifting around the displays, but I can tell that one or two of them are listening in as Coburn launches into his spiel.

He gives some history of the Bratton Collection, then starts explaining the current exhibition. I’m not really listening to what he’s saying. I’m more focused on trying to prevent my anxiety from showing on my face.

We’re supposed to look calm, collected, and in control. I need to do my part, because Aiden is killing his. He’s wearing that flat, neutral expression he wore so often in high school. I haven’t seen much of it since he came back to Ketterbridge, but he can still pull it out like an expert.

A thought strikes me.

If he can fake that face so convincingly, was it ever actually real? Or was Aiden doing that on purpose, literally every time we ran into each other?

I can practically hear Kasey in my head begging me to focus, so I turn my attention back to Coburn, who is directing the group to a row of silver plates with accompanying cups, cutlery, and candlesticks.

“Why might a well-off family choose to have their dining set engraved with their crest?” he’s saying. “It’s elegant, of course, and tasteful. But it also deterred thieves. It was much harder to move stolen silver if it was marked with the name of the true owner. Of course, the thieves wisened up. Many stolen pieces of silver were melted down into blocks or ingots before they were sold on.”

Coburn has no idea that there are in fact two thieves in his tour group right now, and that he’s the mark.

“Was thievery a big problem at the time?” asks someone to my left.

“Oh, I would say not quite so bad as it was in England,” Coburn answers, pleased to get a question. “You could scarcely go to the theater in London without a pickpocket snagging something. Child pickpockets, mostly.” He looks down at the little girl in the group, who is sullenly chewing a strand of her own hair. Her mother quickly yanks it out of her mouth, embarrassed. “Let’s say,” Coburn tells the girl, “That you lived in this time. You might have what looked like a tear in your dress, but it would in fact be a hidden pocket. And then-”

“I don’t wear dresses,” she interrupts, and Coburn blinks.

“Well, you will eventually, I’m sure.” He looks up at her mother, and his tone turns sympathetic. “Going through a phase?”

“Be quiet, Allie,” her mother hisses. Allie pulls the strand of hair back into her mouth as her mom turns to Coburn. “I’m so sorry, please continue.”

“Right.” Coburn clears his throat. “Now, coins were different. Thieves might steal coins, but they could also use counterfeit ones. They would make sure that the fakes were dirty, covered with ash or tar so that no one could check the quality visually. You would have to bounce the coin and listen to the ringing sound that it made. Here at the Bratton Collection, we have some authentic coins, but also some forgeries, which are perhaps even more interesting.” He backs up towards a different case, one with five pristine coins set on velvet pillows. “Let’s have a look, shall we? These coins-”

“What do you mean, a phase?” Allie interrupts again, and Coburn stops, taken aback.

Aiden’s fingers brush against mine. He’s trying to take my hand, which means he sees an opportunity. Allie has unwittingly provided us with a brief window of distraction. No one is looking at us, because everyone is looking at her. Probably only for a few seconds, but that’s all we need, for this.

I slip my fingers into Aiden’s, and he quickly opens the connection. He looks down, pretending to study the museum guide so that no one will see the white-blue flash in his eyes.

Coburn, who was gearing up to say something to Allie, suddenly shivers so hard that it’s noticeable to everyone in the tour group. Some of the people around us exchange uneasy glances with each other, and Aiden releases my hand.

“Excuse me,” Coburn says, battling a confused expression. “Rather chilly in here, isn’t it?”

“No,” Allie answers, and her mother presses a hand over her mouth.

“I apologize, I…” Coburn pauses, then shakes his head and lets out a somewhat unconvincing laugh. “You’ll have to forgive this old man. I must have imagined it. With most animals, as with man, the alertness of the senses diminishes after years of work.” He clasps his hands together, all scholarly and composed again. “Anyone know who said that?”

I do know, actually, and it’s about time that Aiden and I got Coburn’s attention, anyways.

“Alexander von Humboldt."

Aiden glances down at me, surprised, but regains control of his face before everyone turns to look at us.

“Yes, that’s right.” It’s clear from Coburn’s voice that he didn’t expect anyone to know the answer. For some reason that kind of annoys me, or maybe it’s what he was saying to Allie, or both, but - I find it unexpectedly easy to keep my expression stiff and unfriendly the whole time he looks at me.

He glances away, turns back to the pedestal with the old coins. “So. Where were we?”

Aiden and I give Coburn three more invisible ice-baths over the course of his tour. He ends it twenty minutes before it was scheduled to wrap up, then rushes back upstairs, pulling his tie loose around his neck.

Aiden and I walk back to the car to wait for a few hours.

We won’t be making our next move until nightfall.

~~~~

“You should take a nap,” I tell Aiden, who looks exhausted. “Recharge as much as you can before we go back in.”

“Not sure I'll be able to fall asleep in this tiny car, in the middle of a heist groundwork mission,” he mumbles.

I smooth my fingertips over his forehead. “Please just try.”

Aiden nods, then puts his seat all the way back and stretches out as best he can.

“So. Alexander von Humboldt?”

“Yep.” I put my seat back, too, even with Aiden’s. We both roll onto our sides so that we can look at each other.

“Why the hell did you know that, man?”

“Because I’ve read some books that he wrote.”

“Sounds more like something Kasey would read, not you.”

“Oh, really? Because he was an eighteenth-century scientist who wrote a lot about plants.”

“Oh,” Aiden says. “Nevermind, that sounds exactly like something you would read.”

“Yeah. Humboldt was the first one to link the exploitation of nature to climate change.”

“Was he?”

“Mhm. He was always thinking on another level. He was one of the first to believe that the universe is actually one entity. The Humboldt Current in the Pacific Ocean is named after him, because he identified it. He located the magnetic equator. He was one of the first to acknowledge extinction, he’s responsible for popularizing the term cosmos... and that’s just what I can think of off the top of my head. The list is long. Darwin himself idolized Humboldt.”

“Hmm,” Aiden hums, closing his eyes. "Sounds like a badass."

“Yeah. I always thought it was cool that Humboldt was like, one of the most widely admired people of his lifetime, and he influenced so much science, shaped so much about the way we understand the world, and... he was gay.”

Aiden opens his eyes. I smile at him, then pin on: “My mom gave me one of his books a long time ago."

Aiden smiles back at me, catching my gaze with his, and my heart stumbles over itself.

I swear that no one has ever looked at me the way that Aiden does, like - like I’m something out of his fondest dreams. It makes me get all shivery and melty inside, every fucking time.

“Do you remember more?” he asks. “From that book?”

“Yeah, some.”

He closes his eyes again. “Tell me.”

I tell Aiden about Humboldt, his supposedly chaotic personality, the thirty-six books that he published, the letters he wrote to the men that he loved - until Aiden’s breathing slows down, and he stops answering. I spread his jacket out on top of him, then snuggle up, myself.

I intended to try and get some rest, too, but it’s impossible.

The sunlight spilling in through the windshield starts to fade away. I lay there, looking at Aiden. I could sit and watch his chest rise and fall with sleepy breathing for - just - forever.

The weird, blissful warmth spreads through me again. I reach over and tuck a strand of Aiden’s hair out of his face, suddenly a little overwhelmed.

“What are you doing to me, Companion Plant?” I whisper.

He’s deep in his dreams, and he doesn’t answer.

~~~~

Hours later, when night has not only fallen, but really settled in, we leave the car and head back to the Bratton Collection. This will be our first time breaking into the grounds at night, when the place is closed.

We stop when we come into view of the building, which has gone dark. It's a windy, cold night, perfect conditions for what we’re doing. I hope that’s a good sign.

“Ready?” Aiden murmurs.

I take a deep breath. “Ready.”

Here I am, about to sneak into a museum with my boyfriend, so that we can eventually steal an artifact and use it to push the boundaries of otherworldly science.

I can’t help but think that Humboldt would be proud of us.