It may not be the best idea, Jo admitted. But doing nothing wasn’t working either. With one final breath to steel herself, Jo grabbed the box and left before Snow could come back and find his wards broken, and her doing the one thing she promised him she wouldn’t do.
The box was positively searing against her fingers, rattling with her every step. Jo couldn’t tell if it was her hands shaking with the grip she had on it, or her magic within trying to force itself out. A dry spot formed on her still-dripping clothes where she held it against herself.
Jo knew she wasn’t ready to open it. More like, she wouldn’t evendareto open it. The box radiated with an energy she’d never quite felt before and as terrifying as it was, it was also thrilling, intoxicating.
“ . . . I just don’t get it.” Wayne’s voice echoed down the hall to her. There was a long silence before he continued. “It’s never done anything like that before. Never less than perfect. I’m lucky I made it back at all.”
Jo dropped to a crouch, leaned against the wall, and hoped she was far enough from the stairwell to remain unseen. Why were there so few places to hide in the Society?
“It is strange. . .” Takako replied grimly. “But at least the killings seem to have made progress on the Severity of Exchange.”
“Do you think Samson will be able to do his part?” Wayne’s voice was already shrinking. Jo listened carefully, more for their footsteps than their words. She had every faith that the team could figure out the wish. Even if they couldn’t. . . she was beyond being able to help them now. The best thing Jo could do was take herself, and her magic, as far from the Society and Pan as possible.
“He will, if nothing else is amiss. You don’t think it could be. . .” Takako’s voice faded down the hall. To the best of Jo’s abilities, she’d guess they were heading toward the common area.
Two people down, four unaccounted for.
If Takako was talking about Samson doing his part, then she’d venture a guess that the woman had returned with bones. Knowing Samson, he’d likely wandered off to his room, and Eslar had followed. Pan—just the thought caused the muscles in her chest to seize, stealing her breath for a moment—Pan was likely still in her room, as she always was.
Yes, Pan is still in her room, Jo quietly assured herself as she eased out of her crouch. Pausing, she looked down the hall toward the black door. It remained as still as it ever was, but not nearly as ominous. But Pan had eyes around the Society, she would know soon what was happening—if she didn’t already.
She had to move quickly.
Jo gripped the box tighter, as if trying to pull it closer to her, to embed it into her skin and keep Pan from ever laying a grubby little candy-colored finger on it. It didn’t matter where Pan was, where any of them were; it wasn’t going to stop her from leaving. Jo echoed the sentiment in different ways over and over as she descended the stairs, waiting for it to take root and become believable.
There was no one in the halls leading toward the common or briefing rooms. With a word of whispered thanks to no one in particular, Jo made a sharp left. Her feet landed on the plush carpet, and she took to a run. Her heart was in her throat, beating much faster than it should for how few steps she’d taken.
It was like she could taste freedom, sweet and clear, swirling on her tongue, dancing across the roof of her mouth. Every breath left her aching, needy. She had to escape—she could, she would. Just long enough to sort through some things, figure something out, learn her magic. At the very least, long enough to allow the threads unraveling around her to tighten once more.
Jo burst through the doors to the briefing room, not letting them slow her momentum in the slightest.
Samson nearly jumped out of his seat. Eslar’s back straightened into a painful looking line, surprise nearly bulging the eyes from his head. Snow was on his feet.
It was Snow that finally slowed her to a stop.
He didn’t move for her, didn’t even try to speak. He stared at her in utter confusion until she could see the moment it dawned on him. His eyes dropped to her hands. She could handle the anger that flashed across his face, knitting lines between his eyebrows. But the look of utter heartbreak that had him sinking backwards into a slump was something she was unprepared for.
“Josephina, is there something—” Eslar began.
“Don’t mind me, just passing through.” Jo continued for the Door.
“Don’t you want to know the state of the wish?” the elf continued. “And heading where in that particular state?”
She’d rather eat her shoe than know about the wish. “I’m fine,” Jo said, knowing she looked the opposite, uncomfortably soaked to the bone in her undies and tank.
“You may not be when you try the Door,” he said ominously, halting all her movement. Jo’s gaze swung over to the elf, then backtracked to Snow.
“What’re you talking about?”And what have you been talking about?
“Wayne ran into a snag on the wish.” As Eslar spoke, Jo’s attention drifted to the items on the table. She stared at them with dark, morbid fascination.
A severed hand and a leg from the knee down were laid out neatly right before Samson—as if they weren’t still oozing blood onto the table. She remembered what Takako had said, what they’d all decided must be done during their last meeting. But to see the severed flesh and torn tendons. . . Jo knew she should feel sick. But the prevailing thought in her brain was nothing more than,how do they not smell?
“The Door seems to be acting strangely.”
It felt as if invisible gremlins were tugging on her from every direction. The wish, the Door, the box, Samson and his severed limbs—there were a million things she needed to focus on and all at once it seemed too much. Her fingers tightened around the vessel.
It seemed like too much, but really, her next steps were very simple. The Society had existed from the beginning as a spring-loaded trap that was ready to fire the second Pan found her. It was Jo’s presence that was resulting in the degrading quality of wishes, either because her Destruction was unraveling the very magic that held them together, or Pan herself was picking more and more extreme wishes to push the Society into a corner. It didn’t matter which. Jo was certainly behind the Door’s malfunctions, of that she had no doubt.
