I jerk back inside, my heart hammering, but also aching. Did she use me? Was the dance, her being with me, just a distraction? My office.
It takes but seconds for me to plop down in the chair and stare at the screen again, the email fully finished rendering.
My name is Thea. I have information about a secret society here in Chicago. Meet @ 7 a.m. Riverside Garage.
I freeze, and it takes me a minute to understand. Sent to who? My mind snags on the email, and then the name within it. Piper Reeves.
My pulse detonates. No, Thea. No.
I dart up, running to the stairs. “Edmond get the car!”
I take each tread two at a time, willing myself to move faster. Piper Reeves is among the most watched reporters. EV has had her on their radar for a while, but she knows nothing. Everything she has is speculation and, for most people, a fictional story. But if Thea speaks to her … if Thea confirms Piper’s suspicions and allegations. Not only is Thea in trouble, but Piper is as good as dead.
Thea. Why, Thea?
That’s stupid, I tell myself.You know why. She wants to help the other girls. She can’t take the guilt, and while I don’t want that for her, she’s put a target on her back.
I roll my shoulders once I enter my closet, and picking out a suit, I work to dress as fast as I can. They’ll come for her. They’ve seen the email; there’s no question in my mind. This organization tracks for this, eliminates it. Before I dart out my door, I glance at my clock. 6:30 a.m. The Riverside Garage is too far, but I can only hope to make it. To make it to her in time. To save her, but moreover, save me. Because I’m all in with Thea, and if I lose her, there’s no hope for this damn city.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THEA
The concrete ramp curls and twists like a corkscrew, its surface slick from the drizzling rain that seems to follow me. It wasn’t raining when I left, managing my way down from the window. Black gym shorts stick to my thighs, wet and sloppy. My hair clings to my cheeks and neck, the ends dripping water down my spine where it seeps into the black tank underneath my zip-up.
I lick the raindrops from my lips as I creep around the nearly empty parking garage, my upper lip gritty with dirt. When I landed in the front yard, any semblance of grace or poise flew out the window in the opposite direction. I practically face-planted the ground when I landed, and since then I’ve wiped my face, the hedge leaves from my hair, and the sweat from my neck. I haven’t seen a mirror, but I bet I’m the picture of dirty.
It was dark when I left, but it didn’t dampen the fact that my eyes were greedy for sights other than Slade’s lake house. I had to walk for over an hour, but anytime a neon sign blinked in the dark, or a car drove past, a thrill slithered through my veins.
Each of my steps echoes along the low ceiling, and I cringe. The air smells stagnant, a mix of rain, oil, and a sharp metallic smell that churns my already queasy stomach. I keep to the shadows, grateful for the cloudy skies and the blown securitylights. This garage isn’t kept up, only used by desperate drivers when parking for the newly constructed garage is full. It was the only place I could think of on such short notice, the only place I figured I had a shot of meeting someone before …
I hold my breath. Let’s not finish that. Be brave.Bloom where you’re not meant to grow.I really hope this mantra isn’t going to get me killed, but there’s something empowering about being here. Many of the girls’ faces rapid-fire through my mind, the ache on my side reminding me of all they have to lose. I don’t want to die, but I don’t want to live a life where I gave up on the girls, either.
I squeeze between two older sedans and scan for movement. I didn’t specify where to meet Piper, if she’ll even show up at all. Somewhere nearby, a car door slams, and it sends my pulse skittering. I slow down, crouching low enough to wait out any passing vehicles, but there’s nothing. I chew at my cheeks, so much so a metallic taste floods my mouth as I break through the skin.
The rain picks up, pooling into puddles within the sloped potholes of the worn asphalt. The morning rain isn’t particularly cold, but I pull up the zipper of my sweatshirt to fight a shiver.
A shadow moves to my right, catching my attention, but the person behind it is hidden. Suddenly, they sneeze. It’s sharp, bouncing off the concrete support pillars, but the faint, delicate sniff that comes right after makes me pause.
Blonde hair, piled into a bun, pokes out from behind a pillar, and when Piper’s face finally follows, I glance around and make a move toward her. When I reveal myself from between the cars, her eyes widen. My attention goes to the black, handheld device in her hand that my mind recognizes as a recorder, but as I get closer, twin metal prongs gleam at the tip.
Her thumb rests above a switch, and she removes it after seeing me and tucks it away. I’m sure I’ll never be theintimidating type, not like Juliette, but the idea of my being viewed as such anon-threatis agitating.
Piper steps forward, dressed in a black pencil skirt and a blue pinstriped button-down, as if this were an actual interview. Press pass credentials are clipped to her hip, and a pair of glasses hangs in the V of her shirt. She sneezes again, and the nest of a bun on her head jerks with a flip.
“Sorry, I swear I’m allergic to the rain. Thea?” She offers me a smile, but I don’t return it.
Instead, I move straight in front of her and grab her arm. “Shh. We can’t be too loud.”
She recoils and narrows her eyes at me. “Okay …” she drags out. “YouareThea, right? I mean, I wasnotexpecting to get an email at the ass-crack of dawn from someone corroborating my theories on a secret society here in Chicago. Do you mind if I record this?” She digs around in her skirt, popping a hip to the side, and pulls out her phone. Where she hauled that out from is anyone’s guess.
“Shh,” I say again.
Her eyes ping-pong back and forth between mine. “Oh, boy …” she says. “Are you a patient somewhere? Did you get ahold of my stories, and now you think?—”
“I’m not a patient,” I snap, but this journalist is making me feel like perhaps I am. Did I live through this? Escape? Fall in love? Or have I lost it altogether and reallydobelong in a mental institution? Will she believe me? Will anyone?
Stop, Thea. Focus. Help them.
