“Well? Are you coming or not?”
Donovan’s impatient voice penetrates the haze of panic that’s descended over me. I force myself to focus on him, using the skills that the stupid court-mandated therapist gave me way back when I entered juvie:Use all your senses, Rune. What do you feel? Taste? Smell, hear, see?
Easy enough. I feel scared as shit and ice fucking cold. I’m dressed for early fall in Sapphire Springs, not winter in Narnia. I can’t taste a damn thing, because my mouth’s gone so dry with terror, my tongue’s sticking to the roof of it. Aside from Donovan’s irritated jab, I hear the small creaks of the maze’s icy walls settling, like the foundation of an old house. I smell the clean nothingness of a world made of snow and frozen water, a scent that reminds me of open spaces and freedom, not the hot, sticky confines of the closet. And in front of the entrance, I see my nemesis himself, his jeans damp from the not-snow, thesharp line of his jaw set in annoyance as he turns toward me, the sleeves of his Henley pushed up so far I see a glimpse of…is that ink? Does Mr.-Taking-Chances-Is-For-Suckers have atattoo?
It's a tiny thing, but the sight of that black curlicue somehow peels back a layer of the dread that’s threatening to consume me. Amusement takes its place, with curiosity nipping at its heels. When, notif,we get out of here, I’m going to find out what Donovan values so much, he’d inscribe it on his body.Focus on that little discovery instead of the frozen hellscape that awaits, and maybe I’ll make it through this without having a total meltdown.
“What are you grinning at?” he says suspiciously, dark brows lowering.
“Nothing,” I lie, striding forward with a bravado I don’t feel. If there’s one thing a lifetime of covering for my premonitions has taught me, it’s how to bluff like a champ.
In front of me, the maze looms, its translucent walls shimmering in the eerie blue light that reflects from within. I draw one more breath of the frosty air, then square my shoulders.
“Come on,” I tell Donovan. “Let’s do this.”
And then I step inside.
Chapter
Forty-One
The first thingI notice when I enter the glittering labyrinth is how beautiful it is.
It’s dim in here, deep wells of shadows pooling in the spaces between the towering walls. The blue-tinged slabs of ice and the dark path that winds between them fit together perfectly, like one of M.C. Escher’s tessellations. But up close, the ice isn’t a single, solid surface. The light shining from far above reflects off it, creating a mesmerizing display of fractured colors and patterns. Pale blues and greens compete with deep purples and pinks, all etched in lines, swirls, and geometric shapes so intricate, the artist in me itches to get my hands on a paintbrush. If Rosa hadn’t insisted we leave our phones behind when we entered the escape room—so you have an authentic experience!—I would try to capture the image in a photograph, so I could recreate it later. But honestly, I don’t think my cell phone’s crappy camera could do it justice.
The second thing I notice is that the further in I go, the more the walls close in.
Initially, I think it’s my imagination. My good friend claustrophobia, rearing her oh-so-persistent head. I try to ignoreit, taking another step, then one more. But with the third step comes an ominous creaking sound, the noise that a layer of ice atop a frozen lake makes before it gives way. And when I take an involuntary step backward, I bump into the uneven surface of the wall behind me.
Iknowit wasn’t that close before.
Like a virgin in a horror movie who’s realized the call is coming from inside the house, I turn my head, a feeling of doom penetrating every inch of my body. Sure enough, the corridor between the icy walls is even narrower than it was when I stepped into it. I don’t even have enough room to extend my arms fully on either side. What happens if the walls just keep closing in? What’s to stop them from crushing us?
The red haze starts to descend, but I can’t tell if it’s a signal that I’m about to have a premonition or the side effect of my blood pounding in every vein, artery, and capillary. I struggle to drag air into my lungs, but it’s a losing battle. Dimly, I’m aware of Donovan saying my name, asking if I’m okay, but I don’t have it in me to answer. The hell with bluffing: I can’t even try to pretend that I’m all right.
Ihatelooking weak. And now here I am, having a total system shut-down in front of Donovan, of all people. The guy who already thinks I’m a liability. God, please don’t let me have a vision here. Please, don’t let anything make this worse.
My breath rasps, getting shallower with each passing moment. My head swims.
Oh, no. What if I faint?
I sway, and Donovan’s hands descend on my shoulders, steadying me. He turns me to look at him, tilting his head down so he can see my face. “Rune,” he says, enunciating each word, “are you claustrophobic?”
I want to make a smartass comment, likeno, it’s been my lifelong dream to reenact the Star Wars trash compactor scene.If only I had Leia’s bikini, everything would be perfect—minus the frostbite.But I can’t manage to form a word. All I can do is nod.
“Shit.” He peers down at me, then over my head, at the maze beyond. Whatever he sees makes him stiffen. “Shut your eyes. Don’t look at the walls. Don’t look at anything, okay? I’ll get us out of here.”
Now Ireallycan’t breathe, but for a whole other reason. Five minutes ago, he leapt off a snowbank to get away from me. Now, he’s made himself into a human shield to protect me. A sexy, sexy human shield. I ought to step back, to tell him I can take care of myself, but with him holding onto me like this, I feel…safe. Like nothing can get to me.
Donovan presses my face against his chest, one hand cradling the back of my head. His other hand twines in mine, squeezing tight. And the moment it does, the ice creaks again.
Terror whips through me, and my teeth start to chatter. But Donovan stills. “Hold on,” he says. “I wonder if…”
His hand still gripping mine, he presses our palms to the closest block of ice. I can’t see anything but the waffle-knit of his shirt, but I can feel the jagged texture of the frigid wall under my fingers, not to mention the pins-and-needles sensation of cold that shoots through me. The creaking sound comes again, louder than before, followed by a sinisterdrip-drip-drip.
I jump, trying to recoil, but Donovan won’t let me. “Look, Rune,” he says.
I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I want to see other than a way out of here. But he sounds so convinced, I lift my head. And then I gape.
