The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(51)

While she had a flashlight on her phone, she needed something more. It was time to employ the tactical flashlights that the school issued to every student in case of power outage. She went to her room and got hers. These were no simple cylindrical flashlights that gave you a gentle beam—these were monsters with handles that blinded and confused the enemy and summoned passing planes. Stevie took hers into the hall and switched it on. Suddenly, the end of the hall was flooded in a white light that exposed detail.

“Hold it,” she said, shoving it into David’s hands.

Bathed in clinical illumination, the staircase began to offer up its secrets. While the surface appeared smooth, she could just make out the finest trace of a doorway. It had been expertly fitted to be virtually invisible. The 1930s had not anticipated this kind of luminosity.

“Hello,” she said.

“Holy shit,” David added.

There was no visible way of opening the door, and the opening was no wider than the edge of a piece of paper, possibly even more narrow. There had to be a catch somewhere, something that would pop it. Stevie felt all along the floor, the walls. Nothing.

“In movies you pull down a candlestick on the wall,” David said as he set the flashlight on the floor. He took off his two-thousand-dollar coat and bunched it up to make a wedge to prop the light toward the wall.

“This isn’t a movie. We don’t have a candlestick.”

David came over to help her feel the wall. He examined the steps, running his fingers under the lip of each one.

“Why are you fondling the wall?”

They had not heard Nate return and slink up to them in his wizard robes.

“Do you really want to know?” Stevie said.

“Oh God.”

“Then I’d turn around,” she said. “You won’t like it.”

“I don’t like anything. What are you doing?”

“Looking for a tunnel,” she said.

Nate looked at Stevie with an expression that said, Make this stop happening.

“It won’t be like last time,” Stevie said. “This is just for research.”

“So was the last time. You guys . . .”

“Wait,” David said. “Back up, back up.”

He motioned Stevie to clear, then took a step back and threw himself against the wood, hard. Nothing. He backed up a step and rubbed his arm.

“Good one,” Nate said. “Keep doing that.”

“I thought I felt something,” David said. “Let me . . .”

He threw himself up against the wood again, letting out a little groan as he made impact.

“Yeah,” Stevie said. “Maybe . . .”

One more time. And this time, there was a pop. Just a small pop.

The panel had shifted, just the tiniest bit, and now there was an opening about a quarter of an inch wide.

“Cool,” Nate said. “Just slip on through there.”

“Screwdriver,” Stevie said.

She did not have one, but Janelle certainly would, and Janelle usually left her door unlocked. It was wrong, of course, to go in, but this was an emergency. Janelle’s room was an expression of its inhabitant—perfectly organized, every bit of space cared for and optimized. The air smelled of perfume and honeysuckle from a scented oil diffuser. Her workstation was by the window. She had repurposed her desk and put all her tools there. After a moment of looking through clippers and more confusing devices, Stevie found a small hammer. That would do.

She returned to the back of the stairs and wedged the hammer in, first by the small claw end. The passage gave another inch or two, and she put in the end of the hammer handle and used it as a lever. The door did not want to open. Years of nonuse, or possibly a catch she could not see, made it resistant. It groaned in revolt.

“You’re going to break the stairs,” Nate said.

“Want me to try?” David asked.

“No.” Stevie shook out her hands from the pressure of holding the hammer. She went in one more time, putting all her weight on the handle of the hammer.

Then the back of the stairs swung open, revealing a small dark space.

“This is a good Halloween,” David said.

Stevie was able to nudge the doorway open a bit more, shine the light in, and reach around. At first she thought she was touching tar, but then she realized that it was about eight years of dust and dirt that had gone sticky and formed into a new and exciting substance. There was no difficulty finding the hatch. It was right there, in the floor, bolted closed. She tested the bolt, expecting to find that it was stuck in place, but it moved and slid open. She took the handle and pulled, revealing an opening about two feet around.

“This guy really liked crawl spaces,” David said, leaning over her shoulder into the space. “What is that?”

“It’s a hole,” Stevie said, trying to block the view.

“It’s got a ladder in it. Is that a tunnel?”

“Here we go,” Nate said.

Stevie pushed back and sat on her heels, taking in the view in front of her.

“How does this keep happening to you?” David said.

“Because I look,” Stevie replied. “A lot of things happen when you go out and do them on purpose.”

“Okay, Stevie.” Nate was squatting by her side. “I know this is a thing for you, but for real, Pix will be back and they’re kind of . . . Things are kind of sensitive around here, and you just got back. See what I’m saying?”