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I leave my bag. I don’t bother stealing his shoes.
The door comes next.
There’s no obvious security system. The doorknob seems like it might connect to Wi-Fi, but there’s no button on it. No keypad. When I flip the lock, nothing happens. No voices call from the living room.
I open the door only as much as I need to slip out and tug it shut behind me, holding the knob away from the frame so it doesn’t click and wake up Snowball.
“I still thought you looked hot,” I whisper at the closed door, letting go of the knob as slowly as I can. “Bye.”
Then I turn my back on my kidnapper’s cottage and sprint into the slashing rain.
13
JAMESON
Abolt of lightning comes straight through the cabin and into my chest.
I jerk myself awake, hands to my chest, shoutingfuck, fuck, fuck.Was I electrocuted? That lightning stabbed through the house. The bolt was as big as a tree trunk and it hit the roof of the cabin and speared—
No. No hole in the roof.
What thefuck. I fell asleep?
I fell asleep.
I root around for my phone, a too-large panic wrapped all the way around my ribs. I’m in the cabin. It’s not back then. Everybody’s fine. It’s a thunderstorm, for God’s sake. There are three alerts on my screen.
THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE HAS ISSUED A SEVERE THUNDERSTORM WARNING. TAKE SHELTER.
Thunder booms over the cabin. It sounds like it’s two feet from the shingles. Shakes the building. I’m shaking, and it’s not out of fear. I can’t get myself oriented. I should be better at it by now. Another sizzle of lightning. Another earsplitting crack. No wonder I thought I got hit.
I finally get my eyes to focus on the timer app. Did I miss it in the storm?
There are sixty-two minutes left.
“Lily.”
The arm of the couch is empty. Did she pass out and slide off? I would hate if she fell. It would be worse if she fell because I shoutedfuckat the top of my lungs because I thought I got struck by lightning.
I slide to the side of the couch.
No naked demon girl on the floor.
“Lily.” I shout her name, and she doesn’t answer.
I’m on my feet before any coherent thought arrives. The window seat is empty. I pull up the cushion and crush it in my hands, then toss it toward the glass. I can’t see outside. It’s black rain. Nothing else.
She’s not in the living room.
Did she want a bed? I sprint to the bedroom, so determined to get there that my shoulder smacks into the doorframe.
“Fuck,” I shout again. That’s going to leave a bruise.
Bed’s empty. I tear the blankets off. The sheets. Drop to the floor and sweep my hand underneath. My throat closes up. I force air through my pinched-off airway. Closet—empty. Bathroom—empty. I rip the shower curtain off the rod and the whole thing comes down. She’s not in the tub.
I run through to the kitchen. My phone falls out of my pocket and hits the floor with a loudcrack.Anotherboomrattles the house. Snowball tweets like a fire alarm, over and over.Tweet-tweet-tweet-tweet-TWEET-tweet-tweet-tweet.He’s agitated, jumping around in his cage.
“It’s okay,” I shout at him from the door. The shouting probably makes it seem less okay. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’ll be right back.”
