CHAPTERSEVEN
Our captor opened the back door in the death room, ushering me into a pitch-black hallway, the only light from the room behind us. My lips pinched as I walked in front of him on shaky legs and stopped at another door. He reached around me to the doorknob and opened it, still holding Megan over his shoulder, her butt hitting the back of my head.
He ordered, “Inside, Ms. Kramer.”
I walked into the new space and stared at the hundreds of black, frightening mannequins standing in the vast room. The area smelled like mud as if there were piles of dirt on the floor and rain had poured inside, but the space was immaculate with concrete flooring, and the roof was intact—in this area.
“Don’t touch them,” he hissed when I eyed one for too long. “You won’t like the result if you do.”
I nodded and swallowed, following orders.
Those figures spooked the soul.
No eyes. Obsidian leather ‘skin.’
Gaping mouths the length of my forearm.
Black claws that were as sharp as blades.
This place truly was a nightmare.
One I may not wake from, my mind added.
My mortality was slipping through my fingers with each passing minute. I needed to do something.
“My parents are filthy rich,” I blabbed, peering into his eyes. “You could ask for any amount of money, and they would give it to you for my safe return.”
He shoved me forward to the center of the room where a small glass enclosure stood. “This isn’t about money for me, Ms. Kramer, so save your pleas.”
I kept walking forward but glanced over my shoulder. I asked quickly, “What are you doing this for? Maybe I can help you. Or my parents. Aside from money, my family is influential in New City.”
“I know who your parents are. I’d done my reconnaissance before I high-jacked the train’s system.”
“You didn’t answer me,” I pleaded frantically, almost at the enclosure. “What can I do for you? I can do it better than your master can. I promise.”
He snorted. “Not likely.”
“Healthcare. Money. Social status. Homes. Vacation homes. Trains. A business. A new name.Anything you want,I can give it to you.”
My captor rolled his eyes. “Do you have a cure for growing old, Ms. Kramer? Because, if you don’t, then you are wasting your breath on pretty words for me.”
I blinked, and then sputtered, “I may have that.”
Mr. King.
His eyes narrowed, and his hand paused on the handle to the glass room. “What do you mean? I know all of the latest technology, and the fountain of youth doesn’t exist yet in the medical field.”
“I know someone,” I hedged. I had snared his attention, captured his interest. I couldn’t lose this advantage. “I think this someone is very old, older than any human who has ever lived. There has to be a way this person has survived that long—and still be perfectly young and healthy.”
He stared. “You know absolutely nothing, do you?”
“No, I swear I’m not lying!”
“I didn’t say you were,” he muttered as he opened the door to the enclosure. He tipped his head to the side, indicating I should enter without force. “I’m saying you know nothing about magic.”
“Magic?” I didn’t want to go inside.
“Get. In. There.”
