52. A Midnight Snack
A MIDNIGHT SNACK
Ilay in bed and stare at the ceiling as the clock turns to midnight and the television drones downstairs—a rerun of a news broadcast from earlier. Chief Perry’s statement filters into my room.
“As of this evening, we have been unable to establish contact with either Griffin Tate or Lainey Sikes. Based on the totality of the circumstances, both teenagers are now also considered missing persons. With severe winter weather expected overnight, time is a significant concern…”
A faucet turns on downstairs.
A gust of wind pushes against my bedroom window.
The snow is accumulating fast outside.
And I’m thankful for it. Because of this blizzard, active ground search operations have been suspended overnight.
The investigation has temporarily transitioned from search and rescue to containment.
Which means the police are patrolling the perimeter of the property, not the property itself.
Once Jude gets Twig, Naomi, and Harper inside the estate, they shouldn’t run into any problems on their way to the rift.
Of course, we need to get out of our houses first.
I strain my ears, hoping for the television to turn off, for the lights to go out, for Dad to succumb to the exhaustion I know he must feel so I can begin phase one of our plan. But the television stays on and my stomach twists into a knot.
What if Dad stays up all night? What if his concern out-muscles his exhaustion and he doesn’t go to bed? Our carefully laid plans will fall apart before they can even launch. He spent the entire day outside in the cold helping the police. Surely, exhaustion will win.
The dots on my arm tingle, as if begging to be pressed. They’ve been prickling all evening.
The droning of the television stops.
Silence settles.
And then—footsteps on the stairs.
Quickly, I turn on my side to face the wall, my heart pounding so hard, it feels like a bruise against my sternum. My bedroom door creaks. Dad stands in the doorway, his shadow spilling across my room. I squeeze my eyes tight and beg my heart to shush, convinced Dad will hear it.
Finally, he leaves and I allow myself to breathe again.
There are sounds in the bathroom—running water, a flushing toilet, a clearing throat. And then, the lights turn off.
All goes dark and quiet.
I remove my phone from beneath my pillow and check the messages in our group chat.
Jude: Estate security system is off.
Naomi: My parents are asleep.
Twig: I’m still waiting on mine.
I tap out a message with trembling fingers.
My dad finally went to bed.
But still, I don’t move.
I don’t dare.
For fifteen more minutes, I stay where I am, taking deep, calming breaths hoping they might get my heart to settle.
When I can’t stand it for one second longer, I sit up slowly and slide the covers away.
I remove a pair of winter gloves and a beanie from the front pocket of my hoodie, slide a backpack out from under my bed, slip the onyx into my pocket, and tiptoe into the hallway.
After Jude and I finished gathering weapons, I took it upon myself to learn which floorboards and stairs creaked and which ones didn’t.
I step along the quiet ones now like a silent, one-person game of The Floor is Lava, making my way downstairs, where floodlights shine into our windows and the snow swirls outside.
I stop in front of our kitchen table, wondering if I should leave a note.
But what would I say? How could I even begin to explain?
And anyway, wouldn’t a note be conceding defeat?
Or at the very least, giving it a foothold?
For one blip of a second, I imagine it. Dad and the Calloways waking up in the morning.
My bed empty. Twig’s bed empty. I give my head an aggressive shake, as if thrusting the image away.
A note won’t be necessary. If the plan works—and it will work—I’ll be home before Dad wakes up.
So, too, will my missing classmates, including Ivy Winslow.
I have no idea how we’ll explain any of it, but at the moment, that is the least of my worries.
Right now, I must take one step at a time.
Step one, get to the estate.
I lace up my boots, put on my coat, and send a message to the group.
On my way.
As quietly as possible, I open the door, thankful for the wind and snow.
Visibility is awful, which is exactly what I need.
The mobile command trailer sits along the drive, lit from within like a lantern in the storm.
Empty folding tables shudder in the wind while the tarp snaps overhead.
After the nonstop activity of the day, the nearly deserted grounds feel ominous.
I stick to the shadows, ducking beneath trees and hedgerows, slinking around the manor until the command trailer is no longer visible. Then I run, high-stepping through the snow until I reach the back terrace, where Jude is waiting.
He quickly ushers me inside the antechamber.
Snow clings to my hair and eyelashes as he shuts the doors, sealing out the roar of wind. I brush powder from my coat while Jude peers through the glass panes to make sure nobody followed me.
A pair of red gas cans and a large duffel bag sit on the floor near the towering Christmas tree.
The bag is unzipped, revealing an arsenal of makeshift weapons inside.
A machete, a pruning saw, the rusted sickle, a collection of wooden stakes.
Homemade explosives. Lighters. Four blowtorches.
And Jude’s bow, along with a quiver of iron-tipped arrows coated in salt and ash, just in case it’s helpful.
“The last K-9 unit left hours ago,” Jude says.
“That’s good,” I reply, wiping away the last of the snow.
All of this would be a lot trickier with dogs present.
I slip off my backpack.
Jude transfers some of the weapons from the duffel, along with several explosives, and begins running through the plan. “Once I’m inside, I’ll send a message,” he says. From his phone, which should work just fine, as he won’t be combusting into flame. “As soon as Vorat leaves, I’ll send another.”
Which will be Twig, Naomi, and Harper’s cue.
They’ll step through the rift and reappear inside the Water Garden, where Jude will be waiting to distribute the blowtorches.
They will free the prisoners while Rafe and I do our best to take Vorat out.
At the very least, we will distract him for as long as possible.
If I must surrender, Vorat will bring me to the Water Garden, where Jude will be hiding with his bow.
By then, the prisoners will be gone and we should have the upper hand.
Jude zips my backpack, his attention flicking toward the foyer before settling on me, the storm outside reflected in his eyes. “I don’t trust him, Selah.”
He’s talking about Rafe.
Of course he is.
Jude despises this part of the plan.
I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off before I can get any words out.
“I know he’s saved your life.” He shakes his head, like he can’t make sense of it. “I just need you to be on your guard.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t forget who he is, or what he’s done.”
“I won’t.” I look up at him with all the sincerity in the world, as if enough of it might ease his mind. “I haven’t.”
My phone vibrates with a message.
It’s from Twig.
Parents finally asleep. Leaving now.
I expel a shaky breath.
This is it. Jude’s signal to leave. To meet at their rendezvous point—a crumbled stone wall behind the stables. But I don’t want him to go. Because what if I never see him again? What if I should have left a note for my dad after all?
I grab his arm. “Jude?”
He looks at me expectantly, hopefully.
I want to tell him I love him. I want to tell him to be on his guard, too. I want to remind him to aim first at the ruby. Instead, I bring up something else that’s been lurking in the back of my mind. “I think my mom’s dead, but if somehow she’s not, if there’s a way to save her—”
“I will.” Then he pulls me into a hug and for a moment, I sink into his arms, savoring the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
When I draw back, he’s right there, his lips inches from my own, his golden eyes ablaze.
I should step back, turn away. I shouldn’t let this happen. But I am stuck. Trapped in place.
“Selah,” he says, his voice low and husky.
And suddenly, we are kissing like the world is ending and this might be our last chance. His hands slide up my ribcage. Mine tangle in his hair. I wrap my arms around him and he wraps his arms around me. Both of us hold on for dear life, our bodies pressed together like they will never come undone.
Until a vision slashes through my mind like a whip.
Black veins curling around his neck.
With a sharp intake of breath, I pull away—my lips swollen, my pulse racing—horrified by what I have done.
He stares back at me with eyes that burn and I know he regrets nothing. He gives me one final fierce look, grabs hold of the duffel bag, and steps out into the storm.
Behind me, a throat clears.
I spin around, breathless and dizzy.
Rafe steps out of the shadow with an inscrutable expression painted across his face. “Feeding Vorat a snack before our big battle?” He clucks his tongue. “I thought you were smarter than that, Selah.”