“Okay,” Sydney concedes. “I’ll call Marcella and Brynn. But… But you’re sure you burned the academy down, right, Annalise?”
“Promise,” she says.
Like me, Sydney has the fear of being dragged back to our old school, being put under their spell to become their prisoners once again. Annalise made sure that wouldn’t happen. At least, not in the way it happened before.
“I’ll figure out more details of where we can stay and text them to you,” I say. “For now, plan to fly into Denver.”
“Sounds good,” Sydney says. “I’ll get the flights booked and we’ll see you later today. Love you.”
“Love you too,” Annalise and I both say. I hang up and then walk over to give Jackson back his phone. I blow out an unsteady breath.
“Where do we go?” I ask the others. “Any ideas?”
“Well, we can’t afford this hotel much longer,” Quentin says. “Plus it’s not very subtle, lots of cameras. Lots of witnesses. And we shouldn’t go back to town.”
“I don’t think whoever did this is still there,” Jackson says. “I’m pretty sure they found who they were looking for.” There’s an awkward silence at the reminder of his father’s death.
“Sure,” Quentin says delicately. “But once we report this, they will have questions. An investigation—the place could be crawling with officers or media.” He pauses. “But I do have an idea.”
“Let’s hear it,” Annalise says.
“We go rural. What about my pop’s cabin?” Quentin suggests. Jackson tilts his head like that’s an interesting idea.
“Your pop?” Annalise asks.
“My grandfather,” Quentin clarifies. “He has an old cabinnear the lake, about an hour away. It’s remote. We used to go out there as kids. But since he died, my family hasn’t been back. No one else really even knows about it.”
“An isolated cabin in the woods,” Annalise repeats, smiling. “What could possibly go wrong?”
13
Quentin gives us the address of his grandfather’s cabin, and we send it to Sydney. Marcella plans to call us after she gets back to her hotel to grab her things so she can get phones. Sydney texted Jackson’s phone shortly after we hung up to let us know she booked flights for everyone to land around nine p.m. tonight.
“Once we’ve got you settled somewhere safe,” Jackson says, “Q and I will figure out what to do about my father and the town. Any luck?” he asks, looking sideways at his friend.
“There’s a female police chief out in Denver,” Quentin says. “She’s young, Black, and outspoken about corporations. She might be the one to trust.”
Jackson agrees. He looks over at me and Annalise and waits for our approval, which we give enthusiastically. “We’ll go tonight,” Jackson says. “After everything is settled at the cabin.”
“Oh,” I say. “We need to get new phones.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Good. And just a bit of warning, there’s not much of a signal at the cabin.”
“Wow,” Annalise says. “Are you writing a horror movie? If I were a human, I’d be terrified right now.”
Quentin chuckles. “Okay, all right. You’re so cool,” he says. “Not scared of anything, huh?”
“Not too much,” she says, although it lands heavier than I think she intends. Our fear actually runs quite deep. We’re just not scared of undead men running around in Halloween costumes. Quentin’s smile fades slightly.
“We’ll get the phones,” he says, “and while we’re out, we’ll gather supplies—groceries, flashlights, batteries, all that shit. I’m heading back to the room now to pack, and then I’ll check us out. Meet you by the car,” Quentin says, opening the door.
“Wait up,” Annalise says, jogging after him. They both leave, and I put my hands on my hips to survey the room, taking stock of our belongings. I glance over at Jackson and find him staring down at his cup of coffee, somewhere else.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Jackson winces, and looks up at me. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m being so fucking obvious, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” I agree.
