The Glass Arrow(50)

“Load hiding game!” Amir yells.

“Hiding game, unknown.”

He kicks the bow, and it slams into the glass wall with a clatter.

“You don’t do it in this room,” I say quickly. “One person waits while the other hides. Then after a while, the waiter goes to look for the hider.”

He looks unconvinced. “What does he get when he finds the hider?”

I reach for an answer, but come up blank. “He gets to hide next time.”

“He doesn’t get a prize? Sounds stupid.” There’s another pouting session coming on. His cheeks are already growing red. If Tam ever talked to me this way I would have taken a paddle to him.

“You pick the prize then,” I say.

He thinks about this. “The winner gets a new game. All these are easy. I beat them all on the first day.”

I try not to roll my eyes. “Sounds fine.” Doesn’t matter to me as long as I can ditch this kid and find a way out of here.

“And the loser gets marked,” he says.

I was heading for the door, but stop and turn as he says this. “What do you mean?”

“I mean marked like the Virulent!” He pretends to slash an X across his cheek, and I’m reminded of the last person who made that move at me: Kiran.

“Pretend marked, you mean,” I say, a chill falling over my skin because I’m pretty sure he isn’t joking.

His round face falls. “Fine. I guess.”

We walk to the door, back into the hallway with the changing pictures. There are flowers in a vase on a thin table, but as I get closer I see that they’re made of glass. I wouldn’t keep anything glass around this kid. He’d probably throw it into the wall.

“How’d your uncle get that mark?” I ask.

Amir stops. “We’re not supposed to talk about that.”

I continue on, making a mental map of the layout of the rooms, the curve in the hall. We come to a stairway, but there are still no windows for me to get my bearing. I start to descend, but he grabs my elbow and shoves me up to the next level.

“You can tell me,” I say. “It’s not like I have anyone to tell.”

“I’m going to hide first,” he says. He’s above me two steps, but has stopped and turned around.

“No,” I say. “I thought of the game, I’m hiding first.”

He glares at me. “You have to do what I say.”

“Make me.”

He winds back to slap me. I almost can’t believe he’s got the nerve. Before he connects, I block his arm and shove him back. He falls with a thunk on the step.

And then begins to cry.

“You’re kidding,” I say.

“You hurt me!”

I cringe: That’s a pitch I’ve only heard when Lily the songstress reaches the high notes. He’s faking though; no tears come from his eyes. Nina used to do the same for attention.

“I did not. Get up already,” I say, and pull him up. He crumbles, arms thrown overhead. The clattering of footsteps comes from down the hallway and as the boy wails louder, I start to get nervous.

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. You can hide first.”

“You. Hurt. Me!”

I’m close to punching him. Or dumping him over the wooden stair railing. His body clunking level to level would probably make less noise than this.

The house Pip I met the previous night appears from the floor below.

“Amir!” he calls. “Oh Amir, what happened?”

“He fell,” I say.

“She pushed me!” His face is turning purple. I wonder if he might explode. That might be all right, actually.

The Pip shoves by me. “Wait in the preparation room,” he says, pointing down the hall. “Go. Go.”

I don’t know what room he’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter. I scram the second he gives me permission. But right before I’m clear, he grabs my elbow. His features have been smoothed down so much in the Keeper treatments, his nose is barely a bump on his face.

“Nothing funny,” he says. His gaze lifts, and mine follows to the black camera embedded in the ceiling.

I’m being watched.

This hall is much the same as the previous level, though along the wall runs a tapestry, paint on silk. Men on horseback with pointed sticks driving monsters towards a ravine. Creatures falling into an abyss. And then men in long maroon cloaks, holding chains attached to the necks of women heavy with children.

A knot forms in my throat and I reach forward, the urge to rip it from the wall overwhelming. I grab the corner, and clench the smooth fabric in my fist. But before I can tear it, something catches my eye.

On the wall underneath the tapestry someone has drawn a link of chains—a crude sketch in black ink. The chain is broken in the middle.

The Governess’s voice—Azalea’s voice—is fresh in my ears. I was a little like you once. Always looking for a way to break the chain.

I don’t know if she was once the property of the men in this house—maybe the mayor’s father, or his father before him. I don’t know if she’s the one who’s drawn this. But it gives me hope all the same.

I straighten the tapestry, careful to keep my body between the secret message and the camera on the ceiling behind me.