Gone were the shiny tile floors, chrome-footed chairs, and light streaming in through floor-to-ceiling windows. Gone were any hints of lime green. This room, which was so dark it took Persey a few moments for her eyes to adjust, was the polar opposite of the lobby, with brocade curtains obscuring the windows, wood paneling, and muted, artificial light filtered through vintage stained-glass lampshades.
At first, Persey thought her initial assumption—that the competition had already started somehow—seemed to bear out: this room looked so eerily similar to the Hidden Library that Persey did a double take. From the dark inlaid wood flooring, which stretched from wall to wall, to the bookcases that ringed the room, towering ten feet above her and requiring a ladder to access the upper shelves, this space could have been the model for the famously unbeatable escape room. Heavily polished mahogany furniture was scattered throughout the expansive space—desks and coffee tables, clusters of leather-backed chairs neatly arranged, and a long claw-foot sofa positioned in front of a brick fireplace.
The room felt simultaneously comfortable and staged, as if every element within was meant to evoke a certain mood or memory, and as Persey glanced around at the people who inhabited the space, she felt very much like she’d just seen the curtain go up on the opening scene of a play.
The “actors” were sprinkled around the lounge in little groupings: some clumped together like bits of dust under the sofa, attached by proximity but ignoring one another as much as was humanly possible, while others had intentionally self-segregated in lonely corners. Everyone was very busy with something or other. Their phones mostly. Just like Neela in the car ride over. One guy sporting a Mohawk with dyed-red tips perused the book shelves slowly, as if intently searching for a specific volume, and an Asian guy dozed on the tufted claw-foot sofa before the empty fireplace, long hair obscuring his face, while his Teva-clad feet were propped up on a coffee table.
Persey mentally catalogued all the details she could, convinced that she would need them later, and though each contestant took great pains to pretend like they weren’t paying attention, Persey noticed that everyone glanced up at Neela and her within seconds of their entrance. Even Sir-Sleeps-a-Lot, who wasn’t quite as out of it as he appeared.
The competition was sizing them up.
“Welcome!” Leah cried, crossing the room. Other than Greg, she was the only Escape-Capades employee Persey had seen since their arrival. “I hope your flights and transportation were adequate?”
Not pleasant, not comfortable, but adequate. Persey kind of liked her no-bullshit approach. “Yep.”
“I found the flight time passed quite pleasantly,” Neela said, readjusting her huge glasses. “Despite the lack of decent entertainment options. I don’t understand why the American air-travel industry can’t come up with a uniform means of—”
“Excellent,” Leah said, cutting her off. “May I take your bags?” Without waiting for an answer, she deftly caught the handle of Persey’s carry-on, then firmly slipped Neela’s backpack from her shoulders, sweeping both across the room to a closet. “You won’t be needing these for a bit.”
“Why not?” someone asked. Persey’s eyes shot toward a burgundy leather easy chair where a Black guy wearing a pin-striped short-sleeve shirt sat stiff and tight, knees pinned together, while he frantically thumb typed on his iPhone. He didn’t even look up as he asked the question.
“Patience!” Leah cooed. “All will be explained soon.”
Persey was relatively (positively) sure she’d watched this scene in an old movie: a group of strangers gathered for some reason, but none of them 100 percent sure what was going on. In the movies, this would end with a bunch of dead bodies….
A girl about Persey’s and Neela’s age stepped forward, meeting Leah’s bright, practiced smile with one of her own. She had flawless pale skin, deep brown eyes, and impossibly long lashes. “I’d really like to check into my hotel room first. To freshen up, change my clothes.” She leaned forward as if conspiring with their hostess. “I want to look my best for the press, you know?”
Persey didn’t know, but the girl’s outfit—skinny jeans tucked into buttery tan suede knee boots, a cream-colored one-shoulder tee, and an enormous turquoise cuff bracelet on her upper arm—hinted that this was a girl who didn’t leave the house without being camera-ready.
“There won’t be any press, Mackenzie,” Leah said with a shake of her head.
Mackenzie’s face fell. “No press? For the biggest All-Star competition ever? With a ten-million-dollar prize?”
“None.”
“Are you seriously telling me that no one’s going to interview me for the nightly news?” It was Sheryl Rohnor all over again.
“I’m afraid not.”
“You’re missing a built-in marketing opportunity,” the Black guy said, leaning back in his chair but still not looking up.
“Thank you, Shaun,” Leah began. “But our media team is more than capable of—”
“What he said,” Mackenzie interrupted. She arched a filled-in brow. “Especially considering what happened to your company last year, I’d think you could use all the positive media coverage you can get.”
Leah pursed her lips. The invocation of “last year” clearly irritated her. “I’m sure there will be plenty of media interest for whoever wins today’s competition.”
“Today?” An Asian girl in a T-shirt that read IT’S NOT A PARTY TILL I SLYTHERIN looked up from her phone. “So this is happening now? The competition has already started?”
Just for a moment, Slytherin’s eyes drifted to Persey, covering her from head to toe, sizing her up. She pursed her lips, looking wholly disappointed, then, without even waiting for Leah to answer, she dropped her head back to her phone.
What the hell was that all about?
Leah’s smile was fixed and bright. “I’ll explain everything in detail as soon as—”
“Wussup, bitches!”
Persey recognized the voice before she saw the head of mussed-up blond hair enter the room. Kevin looked almost exactly the same as the last time she’d seen him, down to the cargo shorts, having only exchanged his flip-flops for an old-school pair of checked Vans. He certainly hadn’t changed his wardrobe much for the competition.
“That’s incredibly offensive,” Slytherin said, staring daggers at him. “Misogynistic and antiquated.”
“Cool.” Kevin grinned, winking at Persey in a way that made her want to simultaneously laugh out loud and smack him across the face. “Offensive is what I do best.”
Meanwhile, Mackenzie didn’t miss a beat. “You two know each other?” she asked, looking back and forth between Persey and Kevin. “That sounds like collusion to me.”
“Do you even know what ‘collusion’ means?” Slytherin asked. She was taking nobody’s side.
“Do you know what ‘mind your own business’ means?” Mackenzie snapped.
Slytherin rolled her eyes. “Um, yeah. Cuz that’s literally a definition. Like you literally just defined the concept you were asking me about.”
“Whatever,” Mackenzie said. The last defense of someone who knows they’ve been bested.
“Okay, everyone,” Leah said, with a clap of her hands. She seemed ready to get down to business. “Now that we’re all here, I’d like to welcome you to the first annual Escape-Capades All-Star Competition!”
AS SOON AS LEAH MADE THE OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT, the lights in the library dimmed and a flat screen descended from the ceiling above the fireplace. When it clicked into place, a video began to play, the audio piped into the room from unseen speakers.
Persey recognized the Escape-Capades façade immediately. Not that it was difficult. There wasn’t exactly an overabundance of bright green five-story campuses in the middle of the high desert.
“Welcome to Escape-Capades World Headquarters.” The female voice-over was warm and friendly, and sounded a lot like Leah. “We are honored to host you for the first annual All-Star Competition.”
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The image faded into a slide show of laughing, cheerful Escape-Capades employees going about their daily tasks, both at the headquarters building and at escape room installations across the world.
“Since coming under new management,” the voice-over continued, “after the unfortunate events of last year, Escape-Capades has grown to become the single largest purveyor of elaborate, intricate, and downright diabolical escape room experiences in the world. And with its initial public offering last month, Escape-Capades is now valued at well over five hundred million dollars.”
Holy shit, really? Persey had never paid much (any) attention to business matters. She knew Escape-Capades had been the hot new thing at one time, but she had no idea that the corporation was such a big deal. Such a big money deal.
“Now, in memory of our founders, Derrick and Melinda Browne, we have initiated a yearly All-Star Competition, featuring the best and brightest escape room fans from around the world.”
Persey cast a furtive look at the group. The best and brightest. The faces reflected a mix of confidence and smugness. And, in Neela’s case, abject wonder. She watched the video with wide eyes behind her thick lenses, lips parted in an unconscious smile, like a kid going to Disneyland for the first time, staring up at Sleeping Beauty’s castle as if a fairy tale had really and truly come to life.
“And so, as you embark on this adventure,” the voice concluded, sounding very much like she was giving some kind of farewell speech, “we wish you all good luck. You’re going to need it.”
The music swelled as the establishing shot of the HQ exterior faded into and out of view before the video ended.
“Well, that wasn’t helpful,” Slytherin said as the lights resumed their normal brightness. Her skeptical face wrinkled into a frown. “You explained exactly nothing.”
“Maybe that’s part of the game,” Mohawk suggested, leaning back against a bookcase.
“Maybe we all are,” Mackenzie added.
Leah stepped in front of the fireplace and spread her arms wide. Like the voice on the video, she seemed a little stiff, an android following her programming or a bad actor reading from a script. “How about I start by introducing you to each other.”
“Why bother?” Kevin said. “We’re going to smoke you all. Names will just get in our way.”
“‘We’?” Mackenzie sauntered forward. “‘Us’?” She threw a withering glance at Persey. “You sure you want to throw in with that? There are better options here.”
“There is no ‘we,’” Persey replied. For the second time that afternoon, she wanted to smack Kevin upside the head for drawing everyone’s attention to her.
Kevin winked. “You sure about that?”
Yes.
“You’ll all be working together,” Leah said by way of an explanation, “and also be in competition with one another, so it might be nice if you at least knew each other’s names.”
Kevin shrugged, then hoisted himself up on a heavy table. “Fine. I’m Kevin.” He turned back to Mackenzie as if he knew he was facing a friendly audience. “But you can call me Kevin.”
Mackenzie giggled.
“That isn’t actually a joke, Kevin,” Shaun said, turning his head stiffly. “So I’m not sure why it would cause anyone to laugh.” His flat, even tone of voice reminded Persey of a computer-generated telemarketing call.
Leah laughed impulsively, then seemed to catch herself, suppressing the instinct and resuming her poised, professional demeanor. “Shaun”—she gestured to him—“is a computer science and history double major at Notre Dame, where he serves as captain of the university’s History Masters chapter. He won their annual escape room competition.”
“Notre Dame?” Slytherin said, head tilted to the side. “My little brother goes there. Small world.”
“There are approximately eight thousand, five hundred undergraduates at Notre Dame,” Shaun replied coldly. “It could only be considered a ‘small world’ if your brother was my roommate or something to that effect.”
Slytherin squared her hips, combative. “I don’t know. He’s also a computer science major, about your age. Kind of a prig. I bet a hundred bucks you know Atticus.”
Shaun’s right eyebrow raised a centimeter, displaying more motion than he’d shown since Persey walked in the room. “Atticus?” He cleared his throat. “Never heard of him.”
Persey was pretty sure he was lying.
Before Slytherin could follow up, Sir Sleeps-a-Lot yawned from his sofa. “ND is cool. I mean, it’s no Yale. But cool.”
Kevin turned to him. “Guessing you went to Yale, huh?”
He shrugged. “I don’t like to brag.”
“So what you’re saying,” Kevin said coolly, “is that you’re a douchebag.”
“Right?” Mackenzie said. She batted her heavy lashes at Kevin, and Persey wondered what she was up to. “Why is it that people who go to Harvard or Yale always seem to let you know it in the first few moments of meeting them?”
Mohawk raised his hand. “Just for the record, I went to Harvard and I don’t usually tell people that I went to Harvard.”
Mackenzie rolled her eyes. “Except, like, right now.”
“And Mackenzie,” Leah said, quickly stepping between them, “is currently studying abroad.”
“At the Royal College of Music in London,” Mackenzie added. She shot Mr. Yale a withering glance. “That’s in England.”
“As opposed to the one in the Bronx?” Slytherin quipped.
Mackenzie tilted her head. “There’s a London in the Bronx?”
“Um, no. I just meant, like, where the fuck else would the Royal College of Music in London be?”
“Are you making fun of me?” Mackenzie whirled on her, nostrils flared. Slytherin had hit Mackenzie’s insecure spot. “Because I’m not the kind of person who ever gets made fun of, okay? I’m hot as fuck, charming, and fun. I’m a classically trained opera singer, so I’m, like, totally cultured, and I speak four languages, plus Latin.”
Latin isn’t a language?
“Plus, I’ve solved escape rooms in France, Spain, Latvia, Sweden, and Germany,” Mackenzie continued. “Where have you solved them?”
Slytherin’s face never flinched, her eyes never faltered. It was like watching two alpha wolves stalk each other for dominance. “I won’t wait for our hostess to out me. I’m Arlo Wu. I live in Brooklyn, where I run a pop-culture lifestyle website, and I’m really into Harry Potter.”
“Arlo was invited due to her renowned encyclopedic knowledge of pop culture, focusing on the latter half of the twentieth century,” Leah added. “You might have seen her appearances on the Today show?”
“Third hour.”
Everyone turned to the back of the room where Harvard Mohawk still perused the shelves. The comment had clearly come from him, despite the fact that he appeared not to be paying attention.
“Excuse me?” Arlo said.
“You made five guest spots on the third hour of the Today show,” he said. “That’s the one they reserve for C-level guests.”
“Sounds about right,” Mackenzie said with a laugh.
“C-level or not,” Arlo said with a shrug, “my website gets over two million unique hits a month, and I have paid advertisers from twelve different countries. And you have…?”
“Meet Riot Ramirez,” Leah said. Her grin was beginning to look strained.
“Riot?” Shaun asked. “Your parents named you Riot?”
“‘My name engrav’d herein,’” Riot said, his tone elevated. “‘Doth contribute my firmnesse to this glasse.’” He reminded Persey of Professor Rohner, who quoted Chaucer lovingly, reverently, as if he’d written it himself.
“Philip Sidney?” Neela asked. “Spenser? Not Jonson, he’s more lyrical, I think.”
Riot glanced over his shoulder. He’d shown a decided lack of interest in the conversation taking place behind him, but his eyes found Neela immediately, as if he knew exactly who had spoken.
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��Close,” he said, seeming to appreciate her knowledge. “John Donne.”
Leah crossed the room to the bookcase he was examining and pulled out a leather-bound volume from the shelf above his head. “Riot’s getting his master’s degree now, but as an undergrad, he was known as something of a savant when it came to English literature, the Elizabethan period especially.” She glanced at the cover. “I believe this will interest you?”
When Riot’s eyes met the cover, they grew wide. “Is this the Voynich manuscript?”
“A rare copy,” Leah said, handing the book to him.
“Holy shit.” Riot stroked the cover lovingly. “I’ve never even seen one in person.”
Leah grinned. “Once a librarian, always a librarian.”
Neela cleared her throat while Riot gaped at the book in his hands. “I’m also not going to wait for an introduction, because anticipation makes me nervous and besides even though I’m an INTP heavy on the introvert, also known as the ‘thinkers’ of the personality portrait world, I’m not exactly shy and I’m perfectly capable of introducing myself and my accomplishments, which mainly involve math, math puzzles, math theory, and tactile puzzle solving, as well as a few published articles on the human brain’s innate problem-solving ability in regard to patterns and yes, I know you’re thinking, Oh my God, she’s way too young to do all of that! Well, yes and no…”
She paused and took a deep breath, replenishing her lungs. Persey half expected someone to jump in with a question, but silence hung heavy in the room as everyone stared at Neela in dumbfounded awe. Not that Neela noticed (cared). As soon as her breath was noisily inhaled, she started again.
“…because age is merely an arbitrary delineation of the physical being and has nothing whatsoever to do with the human mind’s ability to learn and develop and grow, beyond the obvious neonatal period, so even though I’ve just finished my freshman year at Vanderbilt—and yes, I know, it’s not Yale or Harvard or the freaking Royal Music whatever but it’s in-fi-nite-ly superior to any of them in my not-so-humble opinion—I feel I’m already significantly more accomplished than your average nineteen-year-old.”
#NoEscape (Volume 3) (#MurderTrending) Page 4