The Butterfly Garden (The Collector #1)(85)

She twists her hand in his grip until her other hand can reach underneath the bandages to touch the scabs. He gently pushes it away.




The flames were spreading so fast. Panes of glass shattered overhead, raining down on us in chunks and shards. Willa dodged one but stepped directly into another that cut her head almost in half. We could see the flames beyond the glass, eating into the outer greenhouse.

The Gardener shook his head, leaning on Hailee for support. “If it reaches the room with the fertilizers, there will be a second explosion,” he said, coughing.

By now, most of the girls were crying.

I tried to think of any possible way we weren’t trapped and fucked. “The cliff,” I said. “If we break some of the glass on the wall, we could go out onto the roof of the halls.”

“And what, slide down the breaking or broken panes of glass for the outer greenhouse?” muttered Bliss. “And still probably break ankles, legs, spines when we land?”

“Fine. Your turn.”

“No fucking clue. Your turn.”

Desmond chuckled, then groaned.

Pia screamed and we spun around to see Avery behind her, his burned and blistered forearm across her throat. A chunk of glass quivered in his shoulder, soot and gashes streaking down his cheeks. He laughed and bit her neck as she struggled against him.

“Avery, let her go,” the Gardener moaned.

Despite the roar of the flames, we heard her neck snap.

He threw her body to the side and then jerked back from a sharp crack. I turned to see Bliss with the gun up, her feet planted, and she shot him again. He bellowed with pain and threw himself forward, and she squeezed off two more shots until he finally fell face-first in the flowers.

One of the larger trees, all its branches aflame, snapped near its roots and crashed into the wall with a terrific groan. Glass shattered, metal panes snapping under its weight, and the black roof that ran between the two sections of greenhouse collapsed beneath it. We could see the outer greenhouse through the dancing flames.

“I still have nothing,” Bliss said, and choked on the smoke. “Really, it’s still your turn to think of something.”

“Fuck off,” I muttered, and she gave me a weak grin.

I hooked my ankle around Ravenna’s knee and pulled her to take my place pressing against Desmond’s chest. With how much we were moving him I didn’t think it would do any good, but I couldn’t bear not to at least try. He’d tried, even if he hadn’t succeeded. We could try.

And I didn’t want him to die. Not when he’d finally given us a chance to live.

I ran to the fallen tree, tugging away the larger chunks of glass and the more jagged branches. Pain seared through my hands, but if there was even the chance of this being the way out, I had to try. Then Glenys and Marenka were helping me, and then Isra joined us, and we tried to dig a way around the trunk. We were able to clear one side of it, and with all four of us pushing and straining from the other side, we managed to push the trunk just far enough into the outer greenhouse.

Marenka tugged a piece of glass from my arm and flicked it away. “I think I know a way to carry him through.”

“Let’s try it.”

She lifted Desmond by the shoulders, hooking her hands under his armpits. I stood between his legs and hooked my hands under his knees. It wasn’t graceful, and it certainly wasn’t easy, but we were more or less single file.

Bliss led the way through, Danelle and Keely close behind her. Isra stayed back, pushing aside more debris as it fell, the Gardener beside her. Not helping, because he couldn’t, really, but getting the more frightened—or frozen—girls to follow us. The smoke was getting worse, getting thicker, and we were all choking on it. Figures moved beyond the outer greenhouse and suddenly a great crack ran along one of the six-foot panes that butted the floor. Someone was swinging an ax at it. We held back, waiting to see if they would get through, and after a few more hits, the center of the pane shattered. Using the ax head, a fireman knocked the rest of the glass out of the pane and threw down a heavy folded tarp over the chunks.

“Come on,” he—she?—yelled through the mask.

Other firemen followed, and two of them took Desmond from us. It wasn’t particularly fresh, but we got the first free air we’d had in forever, and the few girls who weren’t crying already started as they stepped onto crisp autumn grass and felt the cold air wrap around us. Some of them fell to their knees in shock and had to be dragged away.

I was trying to count heads after they took Desmond, and I could see Isra doing the same thing in the outer greenhouse, both of us trying to figure out how many we’d lost before we reached this point. Then there was this . . . this . . . whump and another explosion billowed out from one of the rooms and the last I saw of Isra, she was flying sideways in a ball of fire, three of the others still clinging to her, the Gardener on the ground with flames dancing over him. I tried to run to the girls, but one of the firemen grabbed my wrist and yanked me away.




“And then the ambulances, and the hospital, and the room where I met you,” she sighs. “And that’s it. The whole story.”

“Not quite.”

She closes her eyes, bringing the hand with the little blue dragon to her cheek. “My name.”

“The Gardener has his name now. Is yours really so terrible?”