I don’t know what to do now. Kiyoko and I were supposed to wrap up the evening after exposing Blanck as a thief and meet everyone else later. Now that plan is wildly off-kilter.
We need to get out of here. I connect eyes with Clarice, who tilts her head toward the back hallway ever so slightly. Yes, Kiyoko. The blueprints we’ve studied appear in my mind’s eye. I’ll sneak into the back hallway and assess the situation. Somehow free Kiyoko. Escape into the kitchen, down the back stairs…
I edge toward the hallway. I’m almost there… I’m busy watching the others, my eyes sliding between Blanck and his guests, and I step on a shard of glass from the bar cabinet. It slices through my ballet slipper, and I can’t help it; I yelp.Dammit, Spirit! Where were you on that one?!
Evil broken glass. Haunting me always.Tauntingme always.
Blank whips his head in my direction. He marches to me and snags me by the arm. His grip is cold and hard and I imagine a set of ice tongs, the sharp metal claw used to spear and lift blocks of ice.
“Ohoho, no, missy,” Blanck growls, his breath a cloud of bourbon. “Accusing me of stowing that gem in my safe. You’re not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
You’re not going anywhere,” Blanck repeats. “That séance of yours started this chaos. And you accuseme? Say that gem is inmy safe? No. You’ll stay until the police come.”
Blanck grips my wrist with one beefy hand and yanks at the loosened bow tie around his neck with the other. He pushes me into a chair and ties my right wrist to the wooden arm with his bow tie. Tight, tight, tight.
I fight but can’t slip free.
Blanck slips a thick finger into the knotted silken cord holding back his curtains, untying it. My left wrist is bound as well, with that cord. I am fully tied, one wrist to each chair arm.
Trapped.
And very alone.
I again feel my lungs swimming in smoke, blistering and boiling. The Dark Legion’s shadow over my shoulder is immediate. The ties binding my wrists—they begin to slither, writhe, squeeze. They grow slick heads and beady eyes and darting tongues. They grow rattling tails. One rears its head and hisses, fangs bared, ready to sink its poison deep in the blue veins of my wrist.
I squeeze my eyes shut.It’s an illusion.
I am trapped by Blanck. Like Kiyoko in the far room, like the 146 souls he killed in his factory.
Hang in there, Stella-girl.
We got you.
We love ya, kiddo.
You’re back!I cry to Spirit. Tears sting my eyes and squeeze out of the corners. Spirit shows me an image of a crowd of people, smiling, laughing, hugging me. In my daze, a woozy smile lifts the edge of my face.
The guests look at me tied to this chair with pity, but no one tells Blanck to stop. Cowards, all. They’re not leaving. I don’t know if that’s due to Doyle’s declaration that no one should leave until the police come, or if it’s some sort of morbid fascination with finding out what’s happening with Evalyn Walsh McLean, with Kiyoko, with the Hope Diamond.
And Pax. If he’s stuck with what remains of our plan, he is gone, departing down the back stairwell. I don’t feel him nearby. It’s likely for the better. Pax barely survived that handshake. He would gut Blanck like a fish in front of all these people if he saw me tied to this chair.
Harry Houdini passes and swiftly drops something onto my lap. It takes me a moment to register: It’s a small, thin pocketknife. I curl my right hand over it, pick it up. I almost fumble it, but Spirit gives it a small tuck back into my clumsy fingers.
Thank you, I tell them.I missed you.
Aw, we know, love.
We missed you, too.
Doyle paces the fine, expensive rug, rolling his mustache between thumb and forefinger. “We need a timeline.”
I saw with the pocketknife at the bow tie strapping me tothis chair. The task is made all the more difficult thanks to the shaking of my hands.
Doyle snaps his fingers. “The tintypes!” The guests all turn as one to the photographer, who has quietly been packing his equipment.
“Mrs. McLean had her photograph taken several times this evening. Quickly, sir. Hand over those tintypes.”
