The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)(13)

It had been another twenty minutes of gear gathering, planning, and searching since I’d last checked. Not good—who knew what Desmond was up to? Maybe she’d already found another way into the basement. I’d have no way of knowing in this black hole. My heart beat faster, and I felt the sickness rising in my stomach again, but pushed it down. I tried to calm myself, if only a little. Maybe she’d decided we were dead and left.

I shook my head at myself. As appealing as it sounded, that idea was the dream of the hopelessly na?ve.

Just then, the green light, which had been blinking slowly as the cage rose, became steady again. Then it went out, and the cage shuddered to a halt. This was it, then. A new type of fear gripped my shoulders as I realized it was time to see if I would even be able to implement my plan.

Licking my dry lips, I turned my focus onto the gate in front of me, sliding it open. A panel sat in front of me, cool to the touch. I felt my way around the edges, and detected a small bump under my fingers. It was about the size of the tip of my pinky, and spherical. Even in the shadowed light cast by my flashlight, which I’d lain on the floor of the elevator cage, it was hard to see.

I grasped it between my fingers and then twisted, freezing when I heard a small click. The panel gave a little, and slowly, very slowly, I opened it a crack, peering through it for any sign of life. Heartbeats passed as I strained for any indication that I wasn’t alone. Silence greeted my caution with open arms, beckoning me forth. So far, so good.

I gently pushed the panel with my fingertip, watching the gap grow wider as it swung out into a dim room. When I heard it bounce off the wall with a little thunk, I froze, my heart skipping a beat, my eyes searching the darkness for signs of Desmond or her entourage. Nothing stirred.

I grabbed the flashlight and swung it around, illuminating the room. The beam of light cut across a door on my right, a shelf with several books and picture frames, a wardrobe, a nightstand, a bed… Gauging from the narrow stature of that particular piece of furniture, I was in the servants’ quarters on the second floor. Carefully, I unfolded my legs and slid out from the elevator, letting my feet land softly on the hard wooden floor. I crouched, and immediately let out a gasp as my legs almost gave out on me. My muscles were deadened from the position I’d been sitting in, pins and needles already jabbing around my feet and shins.

I held on to the frame of the elevator, using my left hand and my right shoulder as a brace to keep from falling, and waited for the numbness to recede. As soon as my legs felt relatively normal again, I straightened my knees and grabbed my bag and the rifle from inside the elevator.

Leaving the grate open, I closed the panel, and then studied it. On one side it was stone, but the side facing the room was covered with wood, with nobs fastened to it—a garment or tie rack, clearly, judging by the row of long strips of fabric in simple navy blues, browns, and blacks that hung from the knobs. Actually, though… The tie on this particular knob had a flashy design with bold geometric patterns and colors shooting through it. Clever.

Secure in the knowledge that I could find my way back to the elevator, I turned and tossed my bag onto the bed, glad to be rid of its heaviness for a moment. I moved toward the door, getting ready to turn my flashlight off, when a picture caught my eye. It was a picture of Jeff—Ashabee’s former manservant. He had his arm thrown around an elderly woman with thick round glasses. They were pressed cheek to cheek, her hand on his other cheek, his arm draped lovingly around her.

The scene was nice. It seemed strange that Jeff had left it in the move. Maybe he’d forgotten it?

Something made me shove the picture into my pocket, and then I put the thread of curiosity aside. I needed to know what was going on. I stuffed the smallest handgun into my waistband, leaving the rest of the backpack on the bed. Then I clicked off the flashlight and moved toward the dim light shining under the door. I opened it gently, trying to mute the click as much as possible. I pulled it open a fraction of an inch, then a bit wider, until I could stick my head out into the corridor beyond. I was alone.

I pressed my head against the door and exhaled in relief. Then I moved, creeping as silently as I could back toward the servants’ stairs at the rear of the house—the ones Ashabee’s secret doorway sat above.

Jeff’s room was very close to the stairs—probably since he was the most called-upon member of Ashabee’s staff—so it took me only a few moments to reach them. I circled the still intact landing carefully, pausing when I heard the distinct sound of Desmond’s voice wafting up from below.

“—again, requesting update on a heloship evacuation route at my position.”

There was a burst of static, and then a nasally voice piped through. “With regrets, ma’am, the queen has ordered all heloships on standby. There is a crisis in the city, and we’re still assessing the risk.”

Desmond spat out a curse. I crept closer to the stairs, testing my weight on each floorboard before I moved onto it. With all the rubble below, I had expected this thing to be a mess. But somehow, it continued to be structurally sound. Ashabee must have brought in a brilliant architect when he had the mansion built. At this point, it wouldn’t have surprised me.

“Thanks for the update, Control,” said another female voice. I bit back a smile—clearly Desmond was tired of talking. I was glad that she was frustrated. It wasn’t much to make up for the horrors she had put us through, but it was a start. I slid farther behind the landing, trying to find the place where I could peer down and see how many guards there were. So far, I’d heard one.