I knew I shouldn’t think that, no matter how much I disliked her. My mother would highly disapprove, anyways. But sometimes, vulgar or not, people needed to say it like it was. Right? Beatrice was not a nice person and I didn’t like her because of it.
I did like that she was gone now, though. With her and Asher away, it gave me the perfect chance to sneak into the basement library, figure out the secret doorway that led into an underground passage connecting Asher’s guest home with the main house, and then find and enter Beatrice’s room to look for clues as to her wicked plans against Asher.
I could’ve asked Jeremy to help, and I think he would have. Except it was better this way, I decided. If I involved him, then who knew what kind of trouble he might get into? This wasn’t a fail-safe plan, really. If someone saw me in Beatrice’s room, that was it. Not only would it ruin my chances at realizing Beatrice and Solomon’s plans, but if Jeremy came with me he’d be pulled into this, too. Without evidence, without some idea of what they were up to, Asher had every right to be angry with me if someone caught me snooping around his mansion.
And I didn’t want to include Jeremy in that without good reason. I should do this on my own and take full responsibility for anything bad that came of it.
I took a deep breath, readying myself for what I was about to do. Probably something dumb and insane, but oh well. And I needed to change outfits.
I rushed to the closet and poked through the clothes Asher had given me. I highly doubted I’d find a femme fatale spy outfit in here, but maybe, who knew, right? And, no, I didn’t find one, but I found a cute pair of grey sweatpants and a white tanktop. Not quite spy material, or sneaking clothes for that matter, but I thought range of movement for this kind of thing was important.
I slipped out of my pajama pants and t-shirt and into the new clothes. The sweatpants clung tight to my legs and accentuated my butt, while the tanktop was looser. For future reference as to what a spy should look like(or probably not look like), I checked myself out in the mirror in the bathroom.
“Whoa, this is hot.” I spun around. I had some curves! I imagined going for a jog with Asher, teasing him as we ran on a path through the woods, then coming back here afterwards. Worked up and sweaty, ready for more, he’d toss me onto the bed and peel these very sweatpants down my legs, revealing my glistening sex. And…
Alright, no time for that. I pulled myself away from the mirror and trudged into the bedroom, acting the part of a woman determined. Putting on some sneakers(for sneaking), I bounced downstairs, then down another set of stairs, and ran to the middle of the library.
I knew which shelf moved out to reveal the hidden doorway, but I didn’t know how to move it. It wasn’t really a thing that Asher explained, or cared to talk about. He just kind of showed up one night, surprised me, pushed the bookshelf back into place, and then…
And then we’d done some things. Some things that I shouldn’t think about right now, because I needed to focus on the task at hand instead of riling myself up.
Maybe one of the books? I poked and prodded at every book in the bookcase, pulling them out and pushing them in, thinking maybe it was like in the movies. How did that even work, though? It looked cool on the big screen, but the logistics behind it made no sense to me. More likely there was a keypad or remote somewhere, and through my vast knowledge of spy movies I realized exactly where it should be.
I scanned the book spines, checking them carefully. Yes, that one was fine, and that, and that, and…
Yes! I pulled a hardbound edition of One Thousand and One Nights from the bookshelf and opened it up. It was hollowed out in the center, pages cut expertly from the book. In their place lay a remote console. I pushed the red power button at the top left and the electronics sparked to life.
“Password?” the remote asked me in black blinking letters.
I typed in my answer. “O-P-E-N-S-E-S-A-M-E.”
The remote buzzed at me and blinked “Wrong Password!” twice. A hint showed up at the top of the LCD: “Two words.”
I tried again, leaving a space in between “Open” and “Sesame.”
“Wrong Password!” blinked twice, then, “Another incorrect password will lock this console and send an email alert to the owner. Continue with caution.”
It asked me for the password again.
I should have shut it down. I should have turned it off and put the book back where it belonged. Obviously the password wouldn’t be something so simple! Granted, the remote was in the book with the story about Ali Baba and his forty thieves, but still. That part made sense and was clever in a cliche way, but making the password the same as the story was just asking for trouble.