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I glared at the desk. I hadn’t come all this way only for—
Then my eye was caught by a stack of papers on the desk itself. Or rather, a name on one of the papers.
Lucinda Wright. Hadn’t Walker called the belle before me Cindy?
I snatched the paper up and scanned it quickly. What the hell? It was her birth certificate. I picked up the rest of the papers on the desk—a manila file folder was open, the scattered papers obviously the contents someone had been looking through. I leafed through them quickly.
There were college transcripts—she’d completed a year and a half before dropping out. There were copies of her financial aid requests, bank records, medical records—
The papers felt like they were burning in my hands. They knew everything about this woman. They had stalked her. I mean, yeah, I guess it aligned with the rumors I’d heard about this place. They could pluck a woman from obscurity and offer her the world, right? Here in front of me was the proof they did their research.
But what no one except us knew?
The chance at winning everything you ever dreamed of came at the risk of losing your own life! Did they put that in the fine print?! I slammed paper after paper down on the desk. Because none of it was evidence of their worst crime. It just showed their surveillance ahead of inviting the lamb into the wolves’ den.
“Step away, lassie.”
I yelped as I looked up to find Mrs. Hawthorne in the doorway. She was dressed simply in the gray dress that seemed to be her self-imposed uniform, and unlike earlier, she was no longer sobbing. In fact, if not for the redness of her puffy eyes, I might have thought I imagined the scene at the graveside earlier.
She seemed so composed as she stood there in the doorway holding up an old-timey oil lamp to light her way. Hadn’t anyone invited her into the twenty-first century?
“Mrs. H,” I said, using the nickname I’d heard Walker call her. I needed her help and I’d pull on every sentimental heartstring I could. “Please help. We need evidence against them.” I dropped the last of the papers and walked towards her. “Do you have a key to the desk?”
But she held up her gas lamp sharply and I stopped my advance. I blinked and realized in a sudden flash as the flame flickered behind the glass of her lantern light that it was just the two of us down here in the dark. No one really knew where we were.
Then, before I could actually decide if I was afraid of the woman or not and my fight or flight instincts could kick in, Mrs. Hawthorne suddenly rushed me. Her arms closed around me, and I gasped as she embraced me tightly. She said, “Don’t let them take your power. Stop the cycle.”
Then she pulled back from me, her beautiful, sturdy features resolute as she looked me in the eye. “It ends with you.”
Before I knew quite what was happening next, she’d moved around me, hefted the oil lamp over her head, and hurled it towards the gleaming wood floor.
I could only scream as flames exploded upwards, almost immediately licking towards the ceiling in a dramatic whoosh.
24
WALKER
It didn’t take me long to find the source of the smoke. It was my greatest fear that the fire originated exactly where I had sent Jasmine for safekeeping. I rushed through the empty passageway, and down the ladder, and finally to the basement. As I opened up the door to the basement office, terrified what I might find on the other side, I had never been so happy to see Jasmine still alive, waiting and unharmed.
Mrs. H was standing near her, flames flicking the walls around them. The fire had already made its way into the vents and was spreading through the manor at rapid speed.
“We need to get out of here,” I shouted, clearly stating the obvious, not knowing why neither woman had made a move to flee.
Mrs. H approached Jasmine, placed something in her hand, gave her a nod and a smile, and then turned her head toward me. “Get her out of here,” she shouted. “You’re running out of time.”
I took Jasmine by the arm and tugged her to me, then looked over my shoulder at Mrs. H. “Come on!”
Mrs. H shook her head. “I’m staying.”
Jasmine spun to face her. “What? Of course you aren’t.” Her eyes darted to the growing fire. “We need to get out of here. You’ll die if you stay here. We’re running out of time.”
Mrs. H simply shook her head. “I belong to the Oleander. Always.”
The smoke burned my eyes and lungs, and I knew we didn’t have another minute to spare until smoke inhalation would be our demise before the flames even touched our bodies. I reached out and took hold of Mrs. H’s arm, only for her to violently rip it back from me.
