I gaped in horror and awe as he then began forcing the elevator doors open.
They fought him despite his determination, screeching like dueling dragons as he pulled.
Stunned, I could only marvel as his strength prevailed and, by inches, the groaning elevator’s doors started to open.
My attention shifted—caught by his reflection in the gold-tinted mirrors.
His arms.
Though the forearms of a skeleton worked to pry those doors apart, the mirror showed those of a man. Astrongman, his skin covered with small black tattoos, each a different shape—none of which I could discern in the sputtering light.
The car jarred once more, though this time it—we—didn’t go anywhere.
From above, that ominous creaking grew loud again before devolving into a low whine: something trying—and failing—to hold on.
I clamped down harder on the box of cupcakes, my mouth falling open when that black mist wafting around him gathered to shove its way between the doors, too—working with those arms now to wrench them apart.
The mist lent enough extra oomph and the doors gave. They slid open, revealing how we were caught between floors. The top half of the doorway framed only the smooth concrete wall of the elevator shaft, while the bottom half opened to the ground floor, which waited below at a four-foot drop.
Those bony arms pinning the doors apart, the dark figure turned that hooded head my way, the blackness within concealing, as it had at the Halloween party, any hint of a face.
“Get out,” he commanded in a deep and caustic voice—one that was anything but human. Like that of an avenging angel mixed with one of those arcade “Game Over” guys, its soul-shaking tenor rattled my own bones and froze the blood in my veins.
I gulped, my face draining. My hammering heart stopped right then and there, too, stalled by that stare I couldn’t see, by that terrifying voice of literal doom.
At least until he jump-started the muscle again by speaking a second time.
“Now!”
I jolted forward. Because that voice. It wasn’t one that was meant to be argued with.
Hugging the bakery box like I still had hope of avoiding cupcake casualties, I made a run for that opening, streaming past him and straight through those wisps of smoke.
With as big a jump as I could muster, I leaped from the elevator.
Like the last time we’d been that close together, me and my otherworldly savior, I went sprawling onto another hard surface, my fall not at all cushioned by the cupcakes that I flattened with my impact—box and all.
Still better than my sharing in their fate.
Swiveling my head back and craning my neck, I only caught sight of the top of the elevator as it rushed out of sight, frayed cables singing as they snapped and wriggled in its wake.
Two seconds later, the elevator crashed into the basement with an earsplitting, floor-shaking cacophony of screeching metal, shattering glass, whipping cables, and crumbling mortar.
6HELENA
Oh God.Can death die?
Screams echoed around me in the main lobby, panicked voices reverberating through the cavernous space, bouncing off the cold marble floor that I struggled to rise from.
Smoke and dust plumed out of the gaping mouth of the elevator shaft while the fire alarm blared, its brash bleat pulsing at top volume while emergency lights sparked a blinding white.
Patrons rushed past me, mothers shepherding wailing kids toward the main entrance while Ben, one of our security guards, waved them out.
I shook from head to foot, my mind a scattered mess, my sense of reality numbed. But while I could forsake the flattened cupcakes, I couldn’t bring myself to join the flow of bodies now bottlenecking between the tall columns flanking the front doors.
Instead, I whirled and hurried for the stairwell. Grabbing the iron railing, I plunged downward, hurrying to the basement, barreling past the steady stream of those rushing up to get out, noses and mouths shielded by sleeves and shirt collars.
I coughed against the bitter taste of smoke and ducked towardthe haze. Then, turning the corner, I sprinted in the direction of the Hideout, which the elevator opened to.
