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A heavy door slid open, momentarily letting in a shaft of blue light. I saw that piles of crates lined the walls, stamped with the words ASTI MOVANTI over a drawing of some kind of quaint, rural village. Suddenly Kiki was thrown through the door, struggling and spitting and cursing loudly. A fresh red bruise rimmed her right eye, and blood dripped from a cut in her lip. Two robed figures had her by her arms, but they were barely holding on. The moment Kiki saw the rest of us, though, she stopped struggling. Her shoulders wilted in what looked like defeat.
“Run, Kiki,” I said through my teeth. “You can still get away.”
As far as I could see, she was our only hope. She was the only one of us who was semifree. But she just shot me a look I couldn’t read and let them tie her to the post next to mine. I groaned and leaned my head back. We were screwed. We were ever so very screwed.
Taking a breath, I looked around, desperate for anything that could tell me where we were, anything I could use to get us out. I heard Eliza’s words in my ear and clenched my teeth.
“You can warn them.” But who? It seemed like everyone worth warning was already here.
Still, I closed my eyes and thought as hard as I could of Noelle, of Ivy, of Josh. I conjured up a mental picture of the basement and tried to somehow make them see it. As if that were even possible. What really sucked was that it was the best—the only—plan I had.
“They’re all here,” a woman’s voice said in the darkness. “We can begin the sacrifice.”
My eyes popped open. Constance and Lorna whimpered.
“Sacrifice?” Astrid cried. “What sacrifice?”
“Anyone touches a hair on my head and you’re dead,” Missy spat, pulling against her ropes. “Do you have any idea who my father is?”
There was a chuckle in the dark. The sound was so out of place it sent a shiver down my spine. A hooded figure stepped from the shadows behind Constance and Missy and slipped sideways between them to enter the center of the circle. I sensed movement all around me, and soon we were completely surrounded by black hoods, outnumbered at least three to one. My eyes shot to Kiki and she looked back at me, her face grim, but somehow … determined.
Determined to do what? There was no way out of this. The only thing she should have been determining was whether she wanted to say any prayers before she died.
The figure in the center of the circle stood next to the table of daggers and ever so slowly turned, pausing as it faced each of us, as if it could see our faces through the dark fabric of her hood. It looked at Kiki, then Constance, then Missy, then Lorna, then Astrid, and then, as if moving through a thick fog, it turned to me.
It lifted its hands to its hood. I held my breath and forced myself not to look away. I thought of all my enemies. All the people who could possibly be insane enough to think up a horrible scheme like this. The figure looked slight, female. It was Paige Ryan. It had to be. Or Demetria Rosewell.
Just before the hood was nudged back, I had the panicked, wild thought that it was going to be Sabine. Or even Ariana. They had appeared in my dreams, after all. Could it possibly be one of them? Had they escaped?
And then the hood fell back and I gasped. I recognized the blond hair, the Botoxed brow, the perfect skin, the huge diamond earrings. It wasn’t one of the villains from my dreams, but it was close enough.
It was Cheyenne Martin’s mother.
“Mrs. Kane?” I blurted.
So this was why I’d dreamed about Cheyenne. Her mother was behind this.
Cheyenne’s mother smirked casually at me, as if I’d just told an inside joke. “Hello, Reed.” She laced her skinny fingers together in front of her. “I’ve been looking forward to this moment for a long … long time.”
I gaped back at her. Cheyenne’s mother had never been anything but polite to me. She’d seemed so strong after Cheyenne’s death. Emotional, sure, but strong. Not at all crazy. Certainly not a person who could mastermind the kidnappings of five of the wealthiest, most connected teenagers in the world—and me.
“Why?” I asked. “What did we ever do to you?”
Her smirk deepened. “Let’s forget about ‘we’ for the moment, shall we? Let’s talk about you.”
Missy let out a wry laugh.
“Fine,” I said, lifting my chin. “What did I ever do to you?”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Kiki’s shoulders moving back and forth in an almost rhythmic pattern. I hoped she had come to her senses and was trying to get free. I decided to make this conversation last as long as humanly possible so that she’d have some extra time.
“I’m sure by now you know about our four founding mothers,” Mrs. Kane said with a touch of sarcasm. “Of how Catherine White is related to Ariana Osgood, of how Noelle Lange is descended from Theresa Billings, of how you”—she paused here to sneer at me—“have both Billings and Williams blood corrupting your veins.”
I felt a flash of pride and lifted my chin even higher.
“Well, I, too, am descended from that ignominious little club,” she said, shaking a wisp of blond hair back from her face. “Cheyenne and I are direct descendants of Helen Jennings.”
“The maid?” Kiki blurted.
