“I think we need to leave,” Pansy whispered.
The air around them was congealing. A hint of seductive lavender filtered through the air. The grimy hardwood beneath his feet felt slicker, recently polished. Yes, if they didn’t, they’d end up right back where they started, and returning at sunrise was not an option, assuming they could make this journey a second time.
“I’ll check the way out.” He moved toward the front windows, peering cautiously from behind the drapes. The way appeared clear. No task force, at least not yet. That didn’t rule out a sentry tucked away in the shadows. “Can you see if our umbrellas are still here?”
“They’re not.” She said it with such certainty that worry pinged in the back of Henry’s mind. “At least, mine isn’t.”
“The Sight?” he asked. She had that look, a disconcerting dreaminess in her eyes, but a hint of a smile curved her lips.
“I don’t need the Sight for that. She isn’t here. I can tell.”
His wasn’t either, although it could certainly drop into stealth mode when the mood struck. But this wasn’t one of those times. No, neither of their umbrellas was capricious like that. But without them? Here they were. No money, no clothes, no way to even walk down the street without calling attention to themselves.
Henry surveyed the great room. Both the windows and the front door were too exposed. The egress window in the basement was too risky. So was the kitchen door, for that matter, but that way provided more cover. “We should head out the back. After that, I’m not sure?—”
“Guy and Milo. They’ll help, and so will Adele. If we’re not in the fissure, then we just need to be gone, right?”
“Botten still has our blood.”
“But he doesn’t have us.”
The tiniest bit of hope kindled in his chest. “He doesn’t have the sacrifice.” All the blood samples in the world wouldn’t change that. The gateway would still be hungry, true. But that was all it would be.
“Not even Mort will think to check Guy’s place for a while, I’m certain. By then, we can be somewhere else. It’s not like the Enclave is going to alert the police and put out an APB on us.”
Wouldn’t they, though? Henry could think of several scenarios where they might. The most likely ruse would be an abduction, with him as the culprit and Pansy as his victim. Yes, the Enclave could get local law enforcement to play along with that. And if the image of Pansy’s bruise ended up on closed-circuit television? Most definitely.
“Is there a back way out of the development?”
“Not unless we cut a hole in the fence, or maybe climb it.” She wiggled her bare toes and frowned. “But if we can make it out of the gate, we can take the long way around, past the silo and the fields. It’s rough going.” She stared down at her bare feet again and sighed. “But it might be our best option.”
Someone knew they’d been here. That same someone might have eyes on the gate and the main road. Mortimer Connolly would, as would any member of the advance party. What Max had observed was true. Botten really had amassed his own little army, and now he and Pansy were up against it. Henry didn’t like those odds. But with the air shifting around them, hints of that fantasy teasing the back of his mind, they didn’t have a choice.
They paused briefly in the kitchen, but no one had left behind boots or shoes or even a pair of socks. Certainly nothing as useful as wire cutters. Before opening the door, Henry scanned the area. As far as he could tell, no one was in place, but that meant little.
Before they stepped outside, Henry did cup Pansy’s face, brought her gaze to his, and let his thumb travel her uninjured cheekbone.
“If we’re caught, I want you to run like hell.”
“But—”
“I’ll do what I can to fight, to create a distraction, but you need to do everything you can to escape.”
“But he’ll still have you, and he still has my blood.”
“I know, but it’s the difference between sacrificing King’s End and sacrificing the entire world.”
“And sacrificing you.” Her voice was so quiet that Henry wasn’t certain he’d heard her correctly.
“Promise me, Pansy. Promise me this one thing.”
Her eyes, again, uncanny and dreamlike. If the Sight was this close, they really needed to find shelter. For a foolish moment, Henry didn’t care. He wanted to remain here, let the kitchen reform around them, bar the door from Max Monroe, and step into the fantasy again. Step in and never return.
Step in and end the world.
“All right.” Her soft words broke the spell thickening around them. “I promise.”
The determination in her eyes spoke volumes. Briefly, he wondered if she saw something, if the Sight—for once—was helping rather than hindering.
