Chapter 26
There’s a terrible groan and the dumbwaiter shudders to a halt. We wait in complete darkness, suspended in space.
We don’t fall. We don’t rise, either.
I relax a degree. Death doesn’t seem imminent. I say, “This one is your fault. You jinxed us.”
“That’s fair,” says Piper. “Or maybe this thing’s just really old.”
“Pretty sure the weight limit was meant for suitcases, not two people.” I shift on my knees.
“Are we stuck, then?”
I reach up, feeling around for a seam or a hinge. My fingers catch on something that feels like a lever. I twist counterclockwise, hoping that it’s some kind of emergency release. There’s a creak of metal on metal, a squeal of protest, and then that something swings free.
“Okay,” I say. “There’s a hatch at the top of this thing. We can get out.”
“What if everything gives way?” she asks nervously.
“Then at least you won’t have to worry about your custody issues.”
I angle one arm through, then the other. The air smells of stale dust and drywall. Finally, I’m crouched atop the small elevator, my visor’s night vision affording me some sight.
There are grooves in the side of the shaft. They’re probably not meant to be handholds—but they’ll serve well enough.
“Okay,” I say. “Do you trust me?”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Hey,” I say. “Feeling slightly offended here.”
“Sorry,” says Piper. “I nodded. I do. Trust you, I mean.”
I reach into the elevator. “Find my hand. I’ll get you out.”
Her fingers fumble against mine. I take hold of her wrist and pull. It takes a moment, but I manage to lift her up and out. We perch atop the dumbwaiter. I take Piper’s hand and place it on one of the grooves. “You feel that?”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to climb up and out,” I say. “Judging by how long we were in there, I’m guessing we’re between the first and second floors. Our way out is on the third. We only need to climb that far. You do much climbing?”
“Trees,” she says. “Around where we used to live.”
“Okay, then this will be easy,” I say, forcing lightness into my voice. “You’ll go first, so I can grab you if anything goes wrong. Not that I think it’ll go wrong,” I add hastily.
The truth is, I’m far less enthused about this plan than I’m letting on. Heights are one of those fears that can slice through my composure, rendering me dry-mouthed and panicky.
I watch as she finds her handholds by touch alone.
The line of her shoulders is tense but not terrified.
She begins to climb, reaching up to find the next groove before setting down her feet.
In this case, bare feet help her; her toes scrabble for purchase with far more ease than my sneakers.
She didn’t lie—she is a good climber. She has that wiry strength of childhood.
I wait for her to get up a few handholds, then I take a breath. Beneath me, the elevator shivers.
Together, we scale the narrow shaft. We don’t hurry; we can’t. As much as I want up and out of this place, I know the real danger is in slipping.
I hate this. I hate every moment of it. The animal part of my body is reacting with clammy palms and the bitter taste of fear.
“You okay down there?” whispers Piper. She’s paused, and my fingers almost collide with her ankle as I reach upward. I hesitate.
“Yes, why?”
“Your breathing is getting kind of loud,” she says.
I swallow. There are a thousand lies I could tell her. But she deserves better.
“I died trapped in a car,” I say quietly. “An SUV crashed into us—there was an issue with our autopilot, so the other car didn’t know we were there. Our car was pushed off a bridge. So I don’t like heights.”
“Oh,” she says. “I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t tell you.” I press my forehead to the metal of the elevator shaft. “Normally, I don’t tell anyone.”
There is a moment of pause. “What happened to the other person?”
I flinch. “What?”
“You said ‘we.’” Piper looks down in my direction, even if she can’t see me in the dark. “You weren’t alone in the car, were you?”
Damn, this kid really is too smart for her own good. “He—he didn’t make it.”
“Is that why you’re so determined to save everyone?”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, maybe. But it’s not why I came for you.
You’re worth saving, regardless of my guilt issues.
Never forget that. You and your brother—you don’t deserve what happened to you.
We don’t choose our families. Except for when we do.
” My sweaty fingers flex on the handhold. “Now, we keep moving. All right?”
“All right,” Piper says, but then a shudder goes through the elevator shaft.
At first, I think that the dumbwaiter has given out and fallen.
I feel it through my fingers and my shoes: a thrum of sound. And then I realize that it’s not the dumbwaiter. The sound isn’t even in the elevator shaft.
The fire alarm. It shrieks for perhaps ten seconds before it cuts off.
“What’s going on?” Piper whispers.
“No idea,” I reply.
And then Vale’s voice booms through the walls.
She must be using her ringware’s control over the mainframe to speak through every VA and speaker in the building. “Augusta Pine,” she says. “You have exactly ten minutes to bring me Persephone.”
“I’ll get right on that,” I mutter. She can’t hear me, of course. But my mouth has a mind of its own.
Vale continues, “If you don’t comply, I start killing people.”
I bite back a curse.
“I’ll suffocate one apartment for every minute that you fail to appear. I’ll be broadcasting the deaths live. Just so the world can know how badly you failed. Here, just a taste. Apartment 103—you will be first. I suggest you start begging.”
There’s a moment of quiet. And then over the speakers comes a man’s voice.
“Please, please,” he says frantically. He stumbles over his words in a panic. “Don’t—don’t do this. I have kids in here. Three of them. I don’t know who you are, but don’t do this—”
I try to block out the pleading. The raw, unvarnished terror is hard to hear.
“Augusta.” Piper sounds as horrified as I feel.
Damn it. Damn it. I should have realized. Vale has been pushed into a corner.
If I keep Piper hidden, people will die. People who have nothing to do with Vale or ISD or the shadow wars being fought for people’s identities. Just people in the wrong apartment building at the wrong time.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Augusta,” says Piper again. “I can’t—I can’t let her hurt anyone. Please.”
She doesn’t have to ask the full question.
Fix this.
Find a way.
In my pocket is the radio.
Carefully, I release the handhold with my left hand and pull out the radio. I press down the SEND button.
“Vale,” I say. “I know you’re listening.” I take a moment to consider my words. “I’ll bring her to the lobby, by the pool, in fifteen minutes. But you kill a single person, and you’ll never see your daughter again. Understand?”
I release the button, waiting for a reply. There is nothing. Moments drag like hours, like days, like eternities.
A crackle. “Fifteen minutes,” Vale agrees, and the line goes dead.