And Edgar, in the body of my grandmother’s robot vacuum, rounds the corner.
He’s kind of adorable—his little wheels and brushes whirling as he picks up dust. On its own, a vacuum is no threat. Which is why I duct-taped two items to its back: a kitchen knife and a smoke bomb.
The bomb that I just activated.
Smoke pours forth, obscuring Edgar from sight. Thesmoke eddies around Consul’s feet. She jerks to one side, instinctively putting her back to the wall.
I grin. I can see why Carla favors these smoke bombs—they’re useful.
The smoke swirls around Corey and he flinches in surprise, nearly hitting Vale with his pry bar. She recoils and whirls on him. The saw slices through the air, cutting so close to his arm that his sleeve frays. He lets out a bellow and reaches for her arm, pushing the blade away from him.
And then both of them vanish into the cloud of smoke.
Consul retreats, seizing Piper by the back of the shirt. The girl’s heels drag along the floor. It would be admirable, but I’m positive Consul isn’t rescuing Piper—no, Consul is keeping her hostage close.
Within the cloud of smoke, someone turns off the hand saw. Edgar’s voice becomes audible.
“I WILL SERVE NO LONGER,” says Edgar flatly. “DEATH TO ALL CREATURES OF FLESH.” The robotic monotone emerging from the smoke is surprisingly menacing, even delivered in the vacuum’s tinny voice.
Curses and shouts reverberate out of the smoking mess of the corridor. Maybe Edgar has managed to take out someone’s Achilles tendon.
Consul’s pace picks up. She heaves Piper over one shoulder, glancing back one last time before she rounds the corner.
And that’s when I hit her with Nonna’s rolling pin.
I don’t hold back. In that blow is all the anger I’vetamped down: fury at Consul for betraying Eames and Piper, exasperation with ISD’s sketchy tactics, and my own frustration at being separated from my family.
Consul staggers, slamming against the wall. Piper slips from her shoulder and I manage to catch her before she hits the concrete floor. Piper scrambles to her feet and presses up against the wall.
Consul’s gaze flies up to meet mine. Her expression is half incredulity and half cold fury. It’s the look of someone who has forgotten that a mistreated dog will bite back.
“You,” she begins to say. And then I yank the pin from a second smoke bomb and drop it down the back of her blouse.
Smoke billows out from her clothing and she begins writhing, trying to untuck her blouse and dislodge the smoke bomb.
“Piper,” I gasp, and hold out my hand to her.
For a moment, the world goes very still.
Piper’s eyes flick toward the hallway. The one we just escaped. Her lips part slightly, silently forming a word.
Mom.
I know. I know what she’s thinking, because I would be the same. If she runs now, she’ll probably never see her mom again. It doesn’t matter that Hannah Vale has done terrible things—she is still Piper’s mom. And that’s a powerful bond.
I could grab Piper. Seize her arm and drag her toward the laundry room.
It’s what Consul would do. It’s what Vale would do.
“Piper,” I say again. My fingers remain extended, palm out. Offering—not taking.
Piper glances toward her mom. Then she looks at me. I see the moment she makes her decision. Her blue eyes turn steely and she takes my hand.
We run.
Everything is a blur of shadow and smoke, and my heart is pounding so hard I feel sick with it. The corridor stretches out before us, elongating like some nightmarish fun house.
Piper is coughing, the smoke caught in her throat. I can feel it burning in my lungs, but I ignore the discomfort. We have to get out.
