With heroic effort, Martinelli forced air into his lungs and performed the spell on his first try, his magic sparking against the barrier.
The enchantment did not give way.
Martinelli started to shake.
“No!”Peter shouted at the spell trapping them, not thinking about the cameras below, considering nothing but the horror of getting within inches of escape and finding calamity instead.“No, Goddamnit!”
A sound brought him to his senses. He froze, hanging on to Martinelli. For a few beats of his frantically pounding heart, nothing happened.
Then came a voice that sounded almost as stunned as he was to hear it:“Peter!Hold on, I’ll drop the spell!”
A minute later—both men safely out of the chute—Peter wrapped his shaking arms around his invisible, astounding wife.
Every emotion seemedto be lodged in her throat, holding words back. Perhaps it was the same for him, because he said nothing for a while, holding her so tightly she could feel his heart racing just above hers. Then he whispered: “We must get out. I don’t know how much time we have before they’ll follow us here.”
“Oh,” she murmured, a spurt of fear breaking the logjam. “Just a moment …”
She dug into a pocket for leaves and cast an invisibility spell on the man whose life she’d been mortally afraid for and the man whose death she thought she’d caused. It felt miraculous, standing here with them both. She had to get them to safety—somehow.
“Where are we?” Peter whispered.
“Your old office.”
“What?How in the—never mind, let’s figure out somewhere to hide. Martinelli?”
“They must have had us in the lower basement,” Martinelli said, catching his breath, “so—not there.”
“I don’t think the upper basement is a good idea, either,” Beatrix whispered.
“Wait—what about the old lab?” Peter said.
Ten minutes later, they reached it without incident. The abandoned laboratory looked as if the last time it had been used was during the World War, a recommendation in itself. As a bonus, it had a bathroom—ancient but operational—and was located at the end of a hallway next to unoccupied offices. Martinelli cast a tripwire in the corridor as an early-warning system, Beatrix checked the lab for spellwork—clean—and soundproofed it, and Peter swiped a gallon of water from the mess hall to pair with the rest of the tinned meat.
As Martinelli sealed the room, Peter said, “I can’t believe I didn’t realize that was the chute to my office. I mean, Iknewit had one for disposing animals back in the 1920s, I even saw the handholds once…”
“Ican’t believe your wife got through the checkpoint,” Martinelli said. “It’s even more secure now than it was when you left, boss.”
Peter’s hand found her elbow and slid down her arm, his fingers twining with hers. “How did you do it? When I heard your voice, I thought for a second that I was dreaming.”
“It’s—it’s a very long story. Peter,” she added in an urgent undertone, the question she feared to ask pressing at her like a knife, “what happened to?—”
“Wait! Sorry, just in the interest of caution: Tell me what name you sometimes call me. What you called me when you said I’d hoisted myself with my own petard.”
“Hades,” she said without hesitation. Of course he needed to ask. She could be Ella, for all he knew.
“Ask me a question,” Peter said to her, but she had no doubt, none, so she picked one with an answer she didn’t know.
“When did you first realize you loved me? Not just thought—knew.”
He drew her to him, murmuring in her ear. “In the coma. After you told me the Vows were broken.” He pressed his forehead to hers, voice catching. “My God, I’m so sorry, Beatrix. It was Morse—I couldn’t stop him, he had me under a spell, and he killed your sister and?—”
“Lydia’s alive,” she said. “She’salive.”
Peter gasped. “You’re—you’re sure?”
“Yes,” she said, “but I haven’t been able to actually see her, because they arrested me when she was in surgery?—”
“What?”
