Down the hall, a door clicked shut. A lock bolted.
Margaret’s heart lurched.Rusted cogs! Jane and Iva Leene!
Lit torch in one hand and steering lever in the other, Margaret zoomed toward the hall, and her chair collided with a pair of trousers. Bone-rattling pain stunned Margaret, and the torch fell from her grasp. Clattering to the floor, the torch whirled, disorienting her with flashes of light.
A hand seized Margaret’s shoulder, fingers tightening like a vise. Snatching her hatpin, she drove it into her assailant’s forearm. The man screamed and shoved her away, propelling her backward into the room she’d been searching. Her chair crashed into something solid. The light of a torch arced through the air, and a body slammed into a cabinet with a sickening thwunk.
“Charles!” Retrieving the pistol concealed in her chair, Margaret aimed at the open doorway just as the elevator’s ding pierced the silence.
She was too slow. Too late.
The shadowy figure had escaped.
Chapter
28
Flat on his back, Charles tried to recover the breath knocked from his lungs, fighting against the pressure cinching his rib cage. Against the panic that swelled with every frantic heartbeat. Against the darkness flashing across his vision. But his body wouldn’t obey his mental commands. Instead, it warred against him as he wheezed, desperate for air.
Desperate to help.
Someone had attacked Reverie. She’d screamed his name, but he’d been struck down before he could reach her. Margaret’s cry echoed in his mind over and over. Where was she? What if she was hurt? He needed to find her. He needed to get up, but ... which way was up?
Light splashed over Charles, and he squinted at the overwhelming brightness.
“Mr. Noble, are you all right?”
The familiar voice wrenched a gasp from his chest. She was okay. Thank God, she was okay. Soft hands gatheredCharles’ shuddering fists and nestled them between warm palms. Lady Margaret’s face appeared in his line of sight. Holding his hands. Holding his gaze.
“Mr. Noble ... what can you feel?”
Nothing. Everything. Too much.
“Tell me one thing you can feel.”
Charles shut his eyes, blocking out the too-muchness. “Hands.” His eyes opened, gaze fixing on the thumb stroking his knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “I f-feel y-your hands.”
“Good, Mr. Noble. Now what can you see?”
“L-light.” Reflecting off the golden flecks in her green eyes.
“And what can you hear?”
Charles felt his breathing adjust to match the tempo of Margaret’s thumb as it glided steadily across his skin. He swallowed. “Your voice.” Tender and reassuring.
“That’s right. Now, inhale to a count of four, hold the breath for a four count, and then exhale slowly, to a count of six. Then tell me what you smell.”
Like a musician following the directions of a conductor, Charles did as he was bid. “Machine oil ... lily of the valley.” The two scents he’d come to associate with Reverie.
Charles heaved a sigh unbroken by tremors. The suffocating weight in his chest had abated, and his heartbeat, though still rapid, was starting to normalize.
“Can you hand me the keys, Mr. Noble?”
Retrieving the keys from his trouser pocket with an unsteady hand, he surrendered them to Lady Margaret, and she smiled at him. “I’ll be right back. Just lie still and keep breathing.”
Charles nodded, triggering a throb in the back of his skull. He groaned. He must’ve hit his head on something when he fell. Keys jangled in the hallway, and then a trio of voices talked over one another in rapid succession:Attacker fled ...not long ... hurry.Pounding footsteps drifted off and away, and then Lady Margaret was with him once more.
“Let’s see if we can get you upright. Careful now.”
