“That would be best,” he said coolly.
The Ghost hurried me out silently, knowing better than to talk to me. I heard the Baroness snicker before the door slammed shut behind us.
“Silly little mouse,” she said. “I do hope she didn’t bleed on the carpet.”
§
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and seething. Hours had passed, but my rage hadn’t subsided at all. It had simply soaked in, like the blood from my hand that had saturated layers and layers of bandages, faster than the Ghost could wrap them. I could feel my gashed fingers stinging and aching now, but that was nothing compared to the pain of the deeper injury, and both kept reopening every time I reflexively made a fist, thinking of what Alger had said.
And then there was the salt in my wound. By eleven, I’d heard everyone else come home—I recognized the heavy footsteps of the twins, listened to Screwdriver telling Shifty and the Driver about the impressive security system at the castle, and heard the Doc asking the Ghost if he’d managed to get me patched up. But not Alger. An hour later, I finally accepted that he wasn’t coming back. Which meant he was spending the night with her. And when I thought about that, I just couldn’t stand it any longer.
I had to get out of there.
Before I could think better of it, I stood up, slipped into my shoes, and crept out of my room. This was for the best. It was only going to get worse after tonight. If Alger really just thought of me as rat he was watching over out of pity, he’d be relieved to be rid of me. And then I realized, I didn’t want him to be relieved. I didn’t want him to feel better in any way.
I wanted to hurt him.
It didn’t take me long to think of the most effective way to do that. I knew what was important to him, and I knew how to take it away. Maybe I could even make him feel something like the loss and rage I’d endured. So on my way out, I tiptoed into his room and unlocked his desk drawer. It was hard to pick the lock with my shredded hand, and I left smears of blood on the wood, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to know it was me. Just you wait and see the places this little mouse can get into. I spent a minute rifling around, sifting through stacks of paper, a couple of journals, and other odds and ends. And then I found it: the key to the missing puzzle box.
Pulling it out, I took a good look at it for the first time. As I remembered, it was just a small round piece of notched metal. Such a little thing, for so much trouble. And then, as I dusted it off, I noticed something. I was surprised I’d missed it before: there was writing engraved around the edge. It read:
To my dear Joseph—for your secrets. All my love, Elizabeth.
That was odd. Why would a key to a box that held something priceless and dangerous have a sweet little message like that written on it? And who were Joseph and Elizabeth?
Well, it was all very interesting, but I wasn’t going to stick around to ask. All that really mattered, I reminded myself, was that I’d taken something precious, and Alger could never replace it. So, with that thought, I shoved the coin into my pocket, locked the drawer, and left. I stepped out the door and stood on the front steps, trying to decide where to go next.
But I didn’t get that far.
Seconds after I closed the door behind me, a pair of arms reached out and seized me, dragging me off my feet and pressing a toxic-smelling wet cloth over my nose and mouth. I couldn’t even scream. I struggled violently as three more figures melted out of the darkness to close on me. One of my flailing arms smacked an assailant in the face, and he clapped his hands over his bleeding nose with a yelp. But by then, it was getting dark too quickly to fight back. My vision blurred, and the street lamps turned into streaks. My enemies got a firmer grasp on me as I started to lose consciousness.
The last thing I noticed before I went under was that all of them were wearing identical dark suits.
Chapter 24—All Apologies
I woke up.
Instantly, I wished I hadn’t. It was like the worst hangover ever: pain hammering my head, surges of nausea, weakness in my limbs, and overwhelming exhaustion. When I remembered what had happened, I wondered whether I was suffering the aftereffects of the chloroform, the flood of adrenaline and rage that had now worn off, or the blood loss from my hand. But I quickly realized that I had more important questions to ask than why I felt so terrible.
Such as, where the hell was I?
Pushing past the waves of intense discomfort, I took stock of my situation. They’d put me in a cell: a dark, cramped room with tightly spaced bars on one side, and a nice hefty padlock. But when I finally willed myself to move, I discovered that they didn’t seem to have restrained me in any other way. Not that it was much help—I had nothing on me that would help me pick the lock, and…oh, hell. My stomach twisted into an even tighter knot when it dawned on me what else I didn’t have. My pocket was empty.
The key was gone.
I backed into the corner and curled up into a ball, wishing I could just shrink myself out of existence. Now that my head was clear, I had no idea how I could have managed to do something this stupid. Then again, I couldn’t have expected the men in dark suits to catch me, could I? Hadn’t we lost them back in the States? And what exactly were they after? Before, they’d always seemed ready to just kill us, so why had they abducted me now?
But before I had a chance to think much about any of those questions, I discovered I had company. As the footsteps got louder, I scrambled to my feet, hoping they were sending in a guard. At least that way, I figured I’dhave a shot. I was good with guards.
But the man who approached me wasn’t a guard. He was one of them: an average-sized fella in a dark suit, who walked with the even confidence of a man who could handle himself in a fight—or any other situation that might come up. He stopped a few feet away, still obscured in the shadows.
“Hello, Victoria,” he said pleasantly.
I wondered how he knew my name, but somehow, I wasn’t afraid. He had a disarmingly friendly voice, a smooth British accent with a warm undertone. And what’s more, it sounded decidedly familiar…but something wasn’t quite right. I chose not to say anything for the moment.
“Not feeling any better?” he asked, still amiable. “I must apologize for that. I suppose we did give you quite an impolite welcome. But don’t worry. I imagine you’ll have a fairly short stay, even if I can’t guarantee it’ll be a pleasant one. Just don’t make it any more unpleasant than it has to be, and you’ll be out of here before you know it. Sound fair?”
None of it made any sense, but I nodded, assuming he could see me even though I couldn’t see him.
“Good girl,” he said encouragingly. “Give us a yell if you need anything.”
And then he walked away. I kept thinking that I definitely knew this fella from somewhere. But how was that possible? And what gave me the feeling something was out of place? Most of all, what did he mean, my stay would be short?
I focused on listening to his footsteps, trying to figure out more about where I was. I followed them down the hall, around a corner, and through a door, where they stopped. A few seconds later, I heard a few more sets of footsteps ending in the same place. Closing my eyes and concentrating, I strained to pick up what they were saying. The walls were thick, but after a minute, I started to make it out.
“I don’t think she’ll be any trouble,” said the voice I recognized. “She was quite docile. I think she’s still a bit under the weather.”
“Did you find out why she had the key?” a second voice joined in—also British, I noted. So it really was a key, and they knew about it too. I was starting to think that maybe this thing really was as important as all that.
“I didn’t ask,” Kidnapper One answered. “Does it matter? Why not just accept good fortune?”
“Don’t be naïve,” Number Two snapped, clearly on edge. “You’re a fool if you think we’re the only ones who know how to set a trap. You ought to kill her and have done with it rather than take the risk that this is actually hi
s device, not yours. You know how good he is.”
The nausea surged again. I could only think of one “he” they were likely to be talking about with that description.
“I’m well aware,” Number One responded with no trace of irritation. “And I’m also aware that for that very reason, we have no idea what his plan is. He could have given the key to her in case someone caught him. Or perhaps she always has it for safekeeping. Or she was taking it somewhere on his behalf when we found her. The point is, we don’t know what he’s thinking. What we do know is that he’s very likely to come after her and it, and that’s all we need.”
My heart sank. No question about it; I was bait. But—
“And why are you so sure about that?” a third British man countered, sounding more than a little nervous. “He’s completely unpredictable. Last time he drove off a cliff, for God’s sake.”
“True,” agreed Number One. “It’s very difficult to tell. But if you think about what we can be certain of, there are two things he’s done consistently: chase the box and protect the girl. To continue doing either, he’s going to have to come to us.”
“Which is precisely the trouble,” said Number Two. “You really ought not to underestimate the danger of inviting him to our doorstep. He was one of ours once, and that means he knows all of our tricks. We’re likely signing our own death warrants with this stunt.”
One of ours? Curiosity finally beat back the waves of sickness. Whose, exactly?
“Yeah,” Number Three pitched in. “He’s killed over that damned box before. Those two—”
“We aren’t helpless like they were,” Number One cut him off, while I clenched my teeth to keep from gasping out loud. Killed? Alger? “When he comes for the girl, we’ll be prepared, and it will be on our terms. We’ll never have a better opportunity than that. And in any event, this isn’t a discussion, it’s an order. Is that satisfactory to all of you, or would you prefer to follow in Slade’s footsteps and forge your own paths?”
A pause followed that spoke volumes, while my head started spinning for reasons having nothing to do with chloroform.
“Excellent,” Number One said cheerfully. “Now, everything should be set up, so there’s really nothing more to be done until our quarry arrives. Go ahead and take up your positions. Good hunting, gentlemen.”
Without further conversation, the footsteps dispersed. I sat down and leaned against the wall, hugging my knees and trying to collect my thoughts. He’s killed over that damned box before, I heard Number Three say. Two helpless people—was it possible? I wondered, alone in the dark. He had told me in no uncertain terms how important that box was to him—and I’d seen him fight. He could certainly kill someone if he wanted to.
But, I thought after what felt like hours longer, that wasn’t the only thing they said about him. The only things he’d ever reliably done, they’d said, was chase the box—and protect me.
And they were right, weren’t they? From the very beginning, Alger had gone to every length to keep me safe. I remembered him sending me out of the room when these men first appeared at his door, making sure I kept my head down when they were chasing us after the auction in New York, protecting me during the Red Death’s shootout at Tony’s, insisting I’d recover when I was poisoned, despite all odds. And more than that: he’d taught me to survive in the first place, made me into someone who was supposed to be able to fend for myself, when he could’ve walked away instead.
No, I decided, whatever else he might be, he couldn’t be a killer. Not the man I loved.
The man I loved.
I sighed and hit my head against the stone wall with a solid thump that could’ve cracked my thick skull. I might’ve been trying like hell to avoid thinking about it lately, but of course I loved Alger. I’d loved him since that first frozen December afternoon when I’d met him, with his half-smile and his maddening charm. I loved the talent he’d shared with me, with his quick fingers and his quicker mind. I loved his voice, with its warring currents of compassion and dry humor, and I loved the way he talked circles around everyone. I’d loved him even while he’d said the things that had cut me to the bone—and it had driven me to hate him, if only for a night.
And because I loved Alger, after everything he’d done for me, I’d threatened what he cared about most and helped his enemy set a trap for him. He’d warned me from the very beginning that I could put us both in grave danger if I wasn’t careful, but he’d taken the risk of letting me stay with him anyway because I’d insisted on it. He’d tried to keep me out of the Gang, but I hadn’t been satisfied until he’d given me my own job, trusting me with the responsibility I’d demanded. And now, because I’d finally asked something of him that he hadn’t been willing to give me, I’d repaid him with spite and betrayal.
So that was when I made a decision. Whatever it took, I was going to fix what I’d broken. I was going to make sure he didn’t get caught, help him get the key back—and, above all, I was going to make sure we found his box. But, to do that, I was going to have to escape.
Now, if only I had any idea how to do that.
I shook out my head and tried to pull myself together. Okay, Vic. Start from the beginning. What do you know? In my head, I listed off the few bits of information I had: I was locked in a cell and I couldn’t get out by myself. There were at least three kidnappers that I knew about, and I should assume there were probably more. Kidnapper One was sharp, but the others were pretty nervous; they didn’t necessarily expect the plan to work. And they thought I was harmless.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough: I had an idea. Kidnapper One had told me to yell if I needed anything, right? So I walked up to the bars, took a deep breath, and screamed at the top of my lungs.
Sure enough, within seconds, a dark suit fella came practically running in. And—yes! It wasn’t One, it was the man whose nose I’d broken when they’d kidnapped me.
“What’s going on?” Broken Nose demanded.
I cradled my right hand in my left and put on my best distressed expression.
“It’s my hand,” I whimpered, holding it out.
“What about it?” He looked suspicious, but he was still walking towards me.
“I moved it wrong, and it’s bleeding again. It hurts,” I whined. That was it. Just a few more steps.
“Let me see,” he said dubiously as he approached me and reached out to take a look.
Well, that would have to be close enough. I slid my bandaged hand between the bars and grabbed his tie, yanking him in and slamming him against the bars so we were face to face. With my other hand, I reached into his pocket.
“I hope you’re ready to die,” I hissed, as I transferred the contents of his pocket into mine. “I saw Alger tear someone’s heart out with his bare hands once.” He didn’t need to know I saw it in a dream.
For a second, Broken Nose froze. Then he collected his wits and shoved me forcefully away from him.
“You shut your bloody mouth,” he spat, backing away. I grinned venomously at him and blew him a kiss, and he shook his head. “You really are the devil’s right hand, aren’t you?” he breathed, his eyes still wide with terror as he wheeled around and hurried off.
As soon as he was gone, I sat back down, disappointed. Not that it wasn’t satisfying to scare the living daylights out of one of them, of course, but it wasn’t the important part of what I was trying to do. I fished the object I’d stolen from him out of my pocket—which, unfortunately, wasn’t a key at all.
But I took a look at it anyway, and I realized it was actually pretty interesting. It seemed to be some kind of badge—like a police badge, but with less information. A British flag was printed on it, along with a date and a long number at the bottom. And it said “Secret Intelligence Service” in bold type right in the center. That was it. Secret Intelligence Service? So Alger was…what, a former spy? Well that would certainly explain a lot of what he was able to do, I figured, trying to picture him in one of their suits.
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But that train of thought wasn’t going to get me out of there. So I slid the badge back into my pocket along with the information and buried my head in my arms while I tried to come up with a Plan B.
And then I heard something. It was barely audible, but definitely there: a sound I knew well. It was the click of a lock opening. In that extended instant, my heart seized and my mind raced. Could he really be here? I hadn’t even heard anything! I had to tell him it was a trap! I leapt to my feet, ready to warn him that they knew he was coming-
But it wasn’t Alger. Standing in front of me, holding a key, was the Ghost.
“Come, Persephone,” he said calmly. “It is time for you to leave this darkness.”
I stared at him in shock, struggling to believe my senses as he took my hand and started to lead me out of the cell.
“Wait!” Recovering my senses, I tried to stop him. “I don’t know how you got in, but it’s a trap!”
Unconcerned, he guided me around the corner and through another room.
“The trap can no longer be sprung,” he told me, gesturing at the floor.
Confused, I looked down to see what he was talking about—and gasped. In the shadows along the walls were the unmoving bodies of my captors, and I couldn’t hear any of them breathing. There were many more than six of them.
“You—but—I didn’t even…?”
“We each have our talents,” he said simply.
He led the way through a labyrinth of halls and rooms, each strewn with motionless forms. I thought about checking to find Kidnapper One, to find out who he was, but it seemed to make more sense just to get out of there. Eventually, I saw light filtering in, and I knew we were almost free. That’s when I remembered.
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