“Yes, those awful things.” She whimpers. “Please, please.” She holds her hand out to Devon. But she’s not crossing the line created by the objects surrounding her.
His expression pained, Devon turns to me. “Jo, if she’s right about the timing, that was almost twenty-four hours ago. He could be back any second.” He’s seconds from pushing past me to take her hand and pull her free, if he can.
And this mysterious girl, she’s ready for it, leaning so far that the pointed white collars of her shirt fall forward, revealing a gold-banded choker with a butterfly charm and the letterNdangling at the center around her neck.
I narrow my eyes at her, the voice of warning in my head practically one loud screech at this point.
“I’m so scared,” she says, with a fresh batch of tears trickling forth. But now, her whole focus is on Devon, a lioness honing in on the slower zebra.
“No.” I step sideways to block Devon.
“Jo!” He sounds appalled.
“It’s my father’s magic that’s keeping her in here,” I say. “I think maybe we should consider that he might have had good reason to lock her up.”
The girl’s gaze flicks to me, and despite the fresh tears, I sense calculation in her stare. I’m a problem she’s trying to crack.
“She’s a kid, just like the others,” Devon protests. “He probably stashed her here until he could come back for her later.”
“My father doesn’t need to hoard food,” I say slowly, the pieces finally coming together. Those clothes. Her description of the husks. The rusty padlock on the doors. The idea that she was at classtodayonOld Campus. “And if he did, he wouldn’t have left it for this long.”
“What are you talking about? It’s only been a day or two,” Devon says.
I take one last look at the girl.Nope, definitely not. More likedecades.“We need to get out of here now, come on.” Because the warning sirens in my head have ceased, leaving only an eerie silence and the greasy, sickening sense of impending trouble.
I drag Devon, still protesting, back toward the entrance. The girl’s hysterical sobs and pleas follow us.
“Don’t leave me, oh, please don’t leave me. You have to take me with you, I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me.”
I grimace but keep my grip tight on Devon’s arm, keep us moving.
“You have to save me, you’re the only one who can! Please!”
Devon’s arm tenses beneath my hand, his breathing sharp.I hope I’m not screwing this up.But then, right as we reach the doors, the shrieks morph into unhinged laughter. It echoes around us, tinny and sharp.
Relief unravels something tight in me, before dread winds it right back up tight again.
“All right, fine, you got me,” the girl calls after us, loud enough that we can hear through the barrier. “What was it?” she asks, clapping her hands together. “How did you figure it out? I have to know, you clever little thing.”
Shoving Devon out ahead of me, I stop at the threshold and pivot in her direction. Because despite my big talk about leaving, I can’t. I can’t let her continue this. “No one goes to class anymore on Old Campus. All those buildings have been torn down.” I inch back toward her. “Also, it’s Sunday.”
“Well, shoot.” She snaps her fingers, and I flinch even at the muted crack of sound.
“But mostly, it’s because you’re dressed like you should be snorting cocaine at Studio 45 under a disco ball in the seventies.”
Her icy look undercuts through her affected friendliness. “Studio 54,” she corrects. “And I don’t think you’re one to criticize—you’re wearing tights without a skirt.”
Yeah, it probably would look like that to someone who’s been trapped in a crypt for fifty years.
“Whatever.” I shrug, stuffing my hands into my pockets so she can’t see them shaking. This woman, whoever she is, is responsible for that terrible void, that sucking hole of darkness, pulling me down into the ground when I tried to yank Izzy free. Which means she could do it again. I’m not sure why she isn’t doing it right now.
She must want something else.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“You don’t know?” Rage flickers behind her polished smile, and a shiver traces its way down my spine. There is something impossibly familiar about her. Impossible, being the key word.
“You’re one of the girls whose name is on the side of this thing.” I gesture toward the mausoleum around us. “Nova, probably, because you’re the only one whose body they never found.” Which, hey, I’m bettingthat’snot a coincidence. “But I don’t know why my father would give a shit about you.” Enough to lock her away, anyway.
