The Writing Retreat(92)

And I had been that girl before, filled with so much fear and frustration that I’d physically harmed my best friend. But that was because I’d felt helpless. Like all I needed was a powerful, protective being to take care of me. Which was probably why I’d felt drawn to Wren and Roza in the first place.

In the basement, I took a deep breath. The sadness faded and a delicate sense of peace settled on me, instead. It told me that the only way to get through this was to listen to myself. Rather, my body.

She would know what to do.





PART FOUR The Attic





Chapter 35




I hurried back into the dungeon. The cell was empty; Wren must still be upstairs. Maybe I could find her in the commotion, hide, and make a plan.

But something kept me still. There was something I had to do first.

The cameras.

I ran into the control room, which they hadn’t locked since we’d all been imprisoned. Scanning the monitors, I picked out Taylor, a tiny dark figure against the snow walking around the outside of the house. Roza, Chitra, and Yana were grouped in the front hall. Where was Wren? There—standing at the window in Roza’s room. Her hands were still cuffed behind her back, making her look like she was a casual observer gazing outside.

How did one take down a surveillance system? I thought of smashing the monitors, but the equipment looked top-of-the-line. Roza probably had access on her phone.

I pulled the computer case from underneath the desk and unplugged it. The monitors went black. I quickly unscrewed the bolts and pulled off the plastic sides. Then I yanked out every wire I could. For good measure, I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut them in half.

I surveyed my handiwork. The blank screens made me suddenly afraid: What if Roza or Taylor was on her way here now? I dashed back to the basement and started up the stairs. The heavy coat was making me sweat. But at the thought of taking it off, something in me recoiled.

I was a wolf now. A wolf couldn’t peel off her fur.

In the kitchen, the overhead lights blazed. Angry shouts came from outside. I slinked to the counter and pulled a knife from the butcher block, then crept through the hall. I peered in at the library; a fire roared in the fireplace, but the room was empty. I continued towards the front of the house.

“How could you let them go?”

A glimpse of Taylor in the front hall: she was training the gun on the grand staircase. Her short hair was mussed, her feet bare. I inched closer, then crouched behind a statue.

Roza and Chitra stood a few steps behind Taylor, gazing in the same direction. Chitra’s hands were at her mouth. She was shaking.

“Are you going to answer me?” Taylor shouted.

I could imagine Yana on the stairs, her impassive, unimpressed look.

“And now they’re getting the police.” Taylor’s voice rose to a scream.

A sharp click made my chest seize.

“Taylor,” Roza said sharply. “Stop. You’re not going to shoot her.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I said so.” Roza’s voice was cold but not particularly fearful. I wondered what could possibly be going through her mind. Two of her prisoners had escaped. What were her options?

“Lock her in her room,” Roza demanded. “Then take Wren back downstairs. Chitra? Could you please make me some tea?”

Chitra muttered an inaudible reply. I slipped back through the hall and into the library. I went to the furthest bookshelf and sat behind it. They thought I was gone. Unless they found me, I was safe.

After the confined cell, the mansion felt luxuriously huge. It was a veritable playground to hide in.

Someone scurried down the hallway: Chitra, heading to the kitchen to make tea for her overlord. Soon Wren would be locked up in the cell. And unless I got the keycode, I wouldn’t be able to get her out.

So I needed the keycode. The only person who would give it to me—hopefully, since I still didn’t understand her motivations—was Yana. I’d have to break into her locked room.

There were too many people bustling around right now, too many variables. I would have to wait until night, when Taylor and Roza might be passed out from the stress of the day.

It’s what Zoe had done too. Waited until we were all asleep in order to slip downstairs. And even then she pretended to be sleepwalking in case anyone saw her.

An image arose: the pale hank of hair on the garage floor…

I crumpled it up like a piece of paper. I couldn’t think about that now. Keira was getting help. If I could break Wren out, we’d just have to hide until the police arrived.

A wave of exhaustion hit me. I needed to rest. I curled up and fell asleep.



* * *



I woke hours later, shockingly refreshed.

I folded my coat and snow pants and set them neatly behind the end of the bookcase. I needed to be more nimble for this next bit: breaking out Yana, then Wren. Gripping the knife, I crept out of the library, moonlight guiding my way. I entered the great hall, aware of Daphne’s and Horace’s painted eyes on me.

I slithered up the stairs, sensing the creaking and settling of the house. On the landing I went not to the left, to my former wing, nor right towards Roza’s chambers. Instead I crept straight back, down a short hall with four closed doors.

There I paused. If I went into the wrong room—Chitra’s, or maybe even Taylor’s, if she had a long-term room in addition to the room she’d been staying in for the retreat—they might wake up. At the first door I turned the cold knob and took a few slow steps inside. The curtains were open and moonlight painted everything with a silver tinge.