Chapter 43
This is a terrible idea.
I stand at the top of the servants’ staircase, my hand gripping the knob of the attic door. Now that I’m here, all my previous certainty starts to crumble.
Fear-based questions rise up in my mind, scary and timid, like the faces of lost ghosts.
Should I go back to the study and lock the door?
Maybe, but I can’t stay in there for two days. I can’t creep around the apartment waiting for Ric or Vincent to leap from the shadows.
Can I go to the front gates and scream?
The storm is still raging, and odds are, one of the family will get to me before a neighbor happens to glance outside. Even if I’m noticed, they might not understand what I’m doing.
Is there a better way to get inside? To get to Luci?
No. The only other option is to knock on the connecting doors near her quarters and hope she’s the only one who hears me.
I picture Noah’s smile and remember how kind he was after the dance. When I basically broke down in his arms. My heart caves in a little, but I stomp on sentimentality and refocus on the goal. The big goal. The only goal that matters.
Surviving this night.
All of us. Luci, me, and Alice.
I imagine Alice being hurt, being drained of blood as I stand here, wavering.
And I picture the little girl Luci used to be. Young, innocent, trusting. Abused.
Like Mackenzie.
My conviction floods back in, and I turn the handle. I won’t be that person again. I won’t be selfish. Or a coward.
Luci’s room is on the second floor, and I feel better about sneaking down from the attic than up from the basement. But there will still be a short trip to Luci’s room. And I have no choice but to sneak through the house.
Hopefully, I won’t run into any family members. Or servants. I don’t know if I can trust them either. Money is a powerful motivator, and I remember the expression on the manservant’s face when he confronted Alice. No compassion. No mercy. Only blind loyalty to the Marteaus.
I have to risk it. This is my only path to Luci.
And maybe a way to reach the police.
The door opens with a plaintive groan, as if it knows what I’m about to do and is wailing for me to stop.
Even the rain seems to tap out a pattern. Drops hit the round windows and beat a refrain, a chorus of voices warning me to run. Go back. Go back. Go back.
The attic spreads out before me, only dim light on the stormy day, leaving the far end swallowed in darkness. The air smells stale and unused, a thin layer of dust on every surface.
As I peer at the wooden planks, I can make out a trail. The coating disturbed by someone else’s footprints.
A shiver of unease wracks my upper body. I already suspected someone had been entering the apartment, but the undeniable evidence shakes me to my core.
Panic makes a bid for return, so I take a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I’m swamped by the smell of dust and neglect, but I repeat the exercise two more times.
Taking light, easy steps, I follow the footprints, doing my best not to make any noise. When the floor creaks beneath me, I freeze. My heart swells against my ribs as if it wants to escape.
Tense and afraid, I wait and I listen. But I don’t hear any movement.
With my feet still in the same spots, I look back to see how far I’ve come. By my estimate, I’m still over my apartment.
I haven’t even reached the danger zone yet.
A door waits farther down, an entrance to the mansion. I’m so close.
Lightning streaks across the sky and lights up the attic. When thunder follows, I use the sound as cover and cross the remaining stretch.
At the door, I press my ear to the wood. Hearing no noise of any kind, I test the knob.
A chill grips me, crawls down my back, and no amount of deep breathing can calm my racing heart.
This is it. I’m crossing the threshold.
There’s a greater chance now that someone will find me.
Someone who might not be Luci.
I look back down the length of the attic, judging the distance. I try to picture what part of the mansion I’m about to enter. I’ve come farther than I expected, and I’m unfamiliar with the upper levels.
I have no idea what’s on the other side.
Giving myself no time to second-guess, I slowly turn the knob.
Unlocked, the door silently swings open.
Another servant’s staircase drops below me, though this one is in much better shape. Clean, cobweb-free, with a cut-glass globe covering the light.
I don’t dare turn it on. Instead, I use the phone’s flashlight to show me the way.
A board creaks beneath my foot. I go still and listen. Hoping no one heard me. A minute passes before I’m ready to try again.
Except I move to the side, placing my foot on the edge of the tread. No squeak, so I keep close to the wall, taking one heart-stopping step at a time until I come to the first exit.
The cut in the wall is familiar, one of the panels. It should push outward, the same as those in my apartment. But I don’t know what room I’m about to enter.
Or who might be waiting.
Steeling myself, I put my phone in my pocket and hold tight to the poker. Counting to three, I ready myself.
One. Two. Three.
With a small push, the panel opens, and I find myself in a salon. Green and brown tones fill the space, with velvet-covered sofas and a large TV. The room screams of masculinity. I’m afraid I’ve gone too far and overshot Luci’s quarters.
The panel I’ve opened is in the middle of the wall, leaving me exposed and in full view. If anyone comes inside or even passes by, they’ll spot me instantly.
Slipping inside, I shut the panel, then hurry to the windows overlooking the gardens. I haven’t traveled as far as I thought, so a slight backtrack should take me to Luci’s rooms. Right next door.
If she’s not there, I can hide and wait until she returns.
Maybe her room has a landline. I can call for help. Worst-case scenario, if things go very wrong, I’ll have to make a break for the attic and bar myself inside my apartment.
Skin prickling, I walk quickly but quietly to the wide doorway. I check the hall in one direction. Then the other. The hallway is empty.
To my left, the adjoining doors mark the end of the corridor.
I’m almost there. Just a little farther.
I step out, but a male voice rises from below. Jerking back, I press against the wall. The voice is distant, only a murmur really, so I can’t tell who is speaking. After a moment, the sound subsides.
I dart down the hallway to the next open door. A quick look inside reveals a more feminine chamber, white bookshelves and vases filled with fresh flowers. But Luci isn’t here.
I run to the next door. It’s closed, but I’m certain I’m in the right place. Pushing inside, I slip through the crack and quickly close the door behind me.
Luci is lying on her bed, a book in her hands. She sits up, and I expect surprise or a smile of greeting.
Instead, her mouth firms and her expression falls flat. Rising from the bed, she puts the book on a nightstand and levels me with an empty stare.
“You shouldn’t have come here.”