by Stella Hart
I steeled my jaw. “Like I said, I know what my father did. He almost sold me into this place. I was lucky to escape that life; you and the others weren’t so lucky. I feel like I owe it to you to help in any way I can,” I said. “And I owe it to those kids who died because of this place. Like Lina.”
“I see.” Emily’s eyes misted over, and she swallowed hard. Then she snapped into action. “Okay. The other maids will be back from serving the food any minute now. We can talk to them first and get them on board,” she said hurriedly, looking at Alex. “And Celeste,” she went on, turning back to me. She gestured toward the service cart. “The Old Fashioned cocktails on top are for anyone who wants them. Don’t ask—just walk around slowly with the cart and wait for people to take them. There’s also a bottle of Lagavulin on the second tier, and that’s for William. There’s other spirits and liqueurs on the same tier too, for anyone else who asks. Clean glasses are on the third tier.”
I nodded. “What else do I need to know?”
“If you see someone with an empty glass, take it and put it on the very bottom tier,” she said, motioning to the bottom of the cart. “Don’t ask; they get mad when you speak to them. If they want something from you, don’t worry, they’ll ask you.” She tilted her head to the side. “Well, demand, more like it. We’re their slaves, essentially. But don’t give them any attitude. That will give you away more than anything else. Just keep a totally blank face, and don’t meet anyone’s eyes.”
“Okay. What if one of them wants to….” I averted my eyes and hoped she caught my drift.
She gave me a tight smile. “Don’t worry. Maids are too ‘old’ for them, for the most part. Only the guards are interested in us, and they won’t try to feel you up or force you to do anything at a party. They’ll just stand around leering.”
“Good,” Alex said with a grim twist to his lips. “If anyone does try to touch you, I’ll—”
I put a finger on his lips. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
He took me aside for a second. “Are you sure you can handle going into the ballroom?” he asked, one hand tenderly stroking my face.
I took a deep breath. “Never been surer of anything in my life.”
The adrenaline was still flying through me like wildfire, and I could practically feel those ornate ballroom doors beckoning me, drawing me to them like a magnet.
I was so ready.
15
Celeste
From the second I pushed the silver service cart through the ballroom doors, I felt as if I were in a dream. Not a good one or a bad one; it was just the strange, ethereal vibe I got from being right back here in this room, the place that had simultaneously haunted and eluded me for so many years. My head was spinning and I felt distant and dizzy, as if none of this were actually happening, but another part of my brain was cool and focused, acutely aware that I was here in the lion’s den.
Hardly anything had changed. The same classic art adorned the walls and shelves along the edge, and I swore the jazz music drifting throughout the room right now was the exact same song that was playing fifteen years ago when I first stepped into this place with my father.
Looking out on the sea of faces bathed in the soft, warm light of the chandeliers, baroque lamps and flickering firelight, it was hard to believe that everyone in this room was pure evil to the core. They looked friendly, amiable, and it was only when I focused hard on the shadows on their faces that I detected an undercurrent of darkness.
No wonder I was so confused by being here all those times when I was a very young child. Some deep part of me knew that something was amiss, but the majority of my mind was focused on the seemingly nice people and the opulent surroundings, too enthralled and awestruck to believe it was anything more than what it seemed on the very surface—a rich man’s party.
I slowly moved through the room as if I were in a trance, breathing in the air scented with cologne and cigar smoke. Empty champagne glasses and canapé plates littered the dark wood accent tables that sat along the walls, and I quietly gathered them up and put them on the fourth tier of the cart as I surreptitiously checked out the guests.
Many of them were familiar to me, now that I was seeing them all again. They’d aged somewhat, with grayer hair and a few extra wrinkles here and there, but the faces were still mostly the same. There were a few newer members around as well, some well-dressed, pretentious-looking men who looked to be in their late thirties or early forties. There was no way they’d been here fifteen years ago, so the Circle was obviously (or at least once had been) open to recruiting.
Now that I was older and wiser, I recognized several of the members for who they were on the outside. I spotted a respected banker, a few City Council members, a couple of well-known CEOs, and even a few popular politicians. In his public life, one of these men often advocated for more serious punishments for child abusers… and yet he spent his private time committing heinous acts against children. The sheer hypocrisy was incredible.
I pushed the cart farther into the ballroom, pausing to let guests take cocktails or demand other drinks. If I craned my neck, I could see Bill Francis—or William, as nearly everyone here called him—on the far side, smoking a cigar as he leaned on a walking stick by the roaring fire. He was with the two guards on duty in here. All three of them were frowning and staring coldly at the other guests, occasionally ducking their heads and talking in what were probably low, secretive mutters.
From that, I realized Bill had confided in them about what tonight’s true purpose was. They must’ve been his most trusted security guards, and he was allowing them to help him analyze every Circle member in order to try and figure out who their problem guest was. There seemed to be one member in particular they kept returning their cool gazes to, so it seemed like he was their prime suspect.
Too bad they’d never figure out the real problem in this room. At least not until it was far too late.
I glanced at the clock. I’d only been in here ten minutes. Nowhere near enough time for Alex and Emily to get all the innocents out of the house. They were probably still explaining what was happening to everyone.
“How’s it going?” I whispered into the mic, leaning down to put some more dirty glasses on the bottom of the cart. I wasn’t sure if Alex would even pick up my faint words, but he replied a moment later.
“We’ve just started getting the kids from the second floor. It’s gonna take a while. They’re scared and they don’t entirely trust me, even though Emily is explaining it all. The other maids are mostly okay, though. Are you doing okay in there?”
“Yes,” I murmured, covering my mouth with my hand and hoping the music would drown my voice out to anyone standing nearby.
“Good. We’ll try and get this done as quickly as possible. You’re doing great, angel. Remember to breathe.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bill look across the room and stare in my direction for a moment. Lazy curls of white smoke drifted from his cigar as he watched me, winding upwards toward the high ceiling.
Anxious twinges snapped at my guts, and a pit of fear formed deep inside me as I took deep breaths, willing my pulse to steady. What if he’d figured out who I was, despite the blonde wig, hazel contacts and heavy makeup? What would he do?
It was incredible how a man I’d once seen as a friendly old neighbor could inspire such cold terror in me now. Luckily, there was still enough adrenaline pumping through my system from my earlier bravery to keep me outwardly stable as I pretended I didn’t notice his gaze and slowly walked around, letting people take drinks from the top tray of the cart.
I realized seconds later that Bill hadn’t recognized me. In fact, he wasn’t even looking at me. He’d actually been staring at a bald man near me, who was now heading over to him for a chat. I was just being paranoid.
With a quick sigh of relief, I kept working the party.
None of the other guests recognized me either, so my disguise was obviously working well. No one e
ven asked me if I was new or seemed to register that I didn’t belong. A few men glared at me when I didn’t fill their scotch or wine glasses quickly enough, but those disdainful sneers were as far as it went. They didn’t suspect a thing.
I kept the maid act up for what felt like an eternity, slowly circulating around the room with the cart and pouring drinks. My voice never went above a deferential murmur, and I didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. The Circle members seemed pleased with that, and I knew exactly why. They didn’t like to think of the maids and kids at the mansion as real human beings, so acting like we were simply soulless automatons was typical behavior. If I met their eyes for even a second, it would remind them that I was actually a person, and that would make them angry.
My rapid heartbeat sped me on like loud, pulsing war drums. The longer I spent walking around and playing this role, the better I felt, and soon, my earlier courage had returned in full force.
Facing this room and confronting all my fears was the right choice, because now I knew for sure that I could do it. It made me feel infallible, stronger than ever, like I could handle absolutely anything on my own.
Alex was right about me the other day—I had more inner strength than I ever knew.
“Celeste.” His voice came through my earpiece just before nine o’clock. “We got everyone out to the driveway, and I’ve set up the stuff out here. You can leave now.”
The plan was for me to make my exit from the ballroom as soon as the kids and maids were safely out of the house. Some of the Circle would notice after a couple of minutes that their maid had vanished, but by then, it would be too late for them. A couple of minutes was all I needed.
Obviously, I couldn’t leave in a way that drew attention, because then someone might suspect something and come after me, and we didn’t want anyone leaving the house or figuring out what we were up to before we carried out the final phase of our plan. We needed them to stay inside, as ignorant and oblivious as sheep.
It wouldn’t be that hard for me to slip out relatively unnoticed. The top tray of Old Fashioned cocktails was empty now, so all I had to do was steer the cart toward the doors and leave with it. If anyone happened to ask where I was going, I would politely say I was heading to the kitchen to get another tray of drinks, seeing as they’d been so well-received. Most of them would probably just glance at me and assume that’s what I was doing anyway, as soon as they spotted the empty tray.
“Okay. Leaving now,” I murmured into my mic as I leaned down, pretending to rearrange some glasses on the third tier.
I stood up straight and headed toward the other side of the room, making sure I wasn’t pushing the cart too speedily, seeing as that might attract some strange looks. As I expected, a couple of people glanced at me with vague interest as I passed them, but then they saw the empty tray on top of the cart and looked away, their suspicions appeased.
The carved wooden doors were coming up fast. Just a few more feet and I’d be out, safe and sound.
When I was only a foot away from the doors, I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder, and Bill’s voice boomed in my ears.
“Stop.”
16
Celeste
My heart dropped as jagged black terror ripped through me.
I slowly turned to look at Bill, praying it was nothing and that he’d take his wrinkled hand off my shoulder any second now; praying he wouldn’t notice the stark horror in my eyes.
He pulled his hand back and stared at me, leaning on his polished wooden walking stick with his other arm. He’d never needed one in the past, but I’d noticed earlier that his left leg seemed quite stiff now. I guess his age was finally starting to catch up with him, and he couldn’t walk or run like he used to. Unfortunately, that little fact wasn’t going to help me one bit if he’d figured out who I really was. He didn’t need to chase me down; he was already standing right here, only inches away.
“More whisky,” he demanded curtly, gesturing toward the service cart.
Thank god….
My pulse still racing like mad, I leaned down to retrieve the Lagavulin from the cart’s second tier. I filled a clean glass for Bill, my hand trembling the entire time.
His cold blue eyes didn’t waver from my face for a second. “So where do you think you’re going?” he asked after I’d handed the drink to him.
In that moment, I sensed pure danger, cold and clear as ice. He knew my voice, so I shouldn’t speak to him, but at the same time, I could hardly ignore him and walk away without responding.
I tried to make my voice lighter and airier than usual so he wouldn’t recognize it. “To get another tray of drinks,” I said. “And to see if I can get some more help in here. One serving maid doesn’t seem like enough for all these people.”
My trick to try and change my voice didn’t work. Something immediately flickered over Bill’s face, a wary twitch tightening his lips and nose. He stared at me intently, looking past the makeup and the hair and the lenses, finally seeing the real me for the first time. “You,” he said, his tone quiet but deadly. He moved around the cart, blocking the door. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
My luck had finally run dry.
“Fuck. You have to leave!” Alex shouted through my earpiece. “Try and lock them in there any way you can. You can’t let them out!”
He was right. Now that I’d been made, Bill and the others would obviously come after me. I had to get myself out and block the doors before they could do that, or else they’d escape the house and therefore the fate we’d decided upon for them. I couldn’t let that happen. Not when we’d already come so far.
Blood pounded in my ears, and my body went into some sort of strange autopilot mode, doing things before I even realized I was moving. I kicked one leg out at Bill’s cane, sending him flying to the ground, and then I grabbed the stick and held it tightly.
The guards by the fireplace sprang into action, sprinting toward us. The other Circle members had also noticed that something was happening by now, and they were staring over at us with dark, uneasy looks, presumably wondering why the hell a maid had just dared to attack their dear leader.
I stared down at Bill. I knew I could use the cane to smash his face in if I wanted to, even though it wasn’t the reason I’d picked it up. A red mist seemed to descend over my vision at the thought, and I pictured myself jabbing it into his eyes, watching and smiling grimly as the blood spurted out. Then I saw Evangeline’s young face flashing in the forefront of my mind, shuttered and tormented, and I wanted to hurt Bill even more. I wanted to feel his bones splinter under the cane, wanted to feel his flesh explode into pulp.
Alex’s voice drew me out of my haze a split second later, yanking me back to reality. “Celeste, get out!” he shouted into my earpiece, his tone fraught with fear for my life. “Now!”
Bill was still lying prone on the polished parquet floor, yelling orders at the fast-approaching guards. I leapt over him and pushed my way through the doors before closing them as fast as I could. Then I used the cane for the purpose I initially intended, shoving it horizontally through both ornate door handles. Now, no one on the other side would be able to push the doors open. Eventually, they’d be able to smash their way through with sheer brute force, but it would take a while.
I stared at the beautiful, terrifying doors for a few more seconds. With them sealed like this in real life, they were slowly sealing in my mind as well. Somehow, from this moment on, I knew I’d stop having those dark dreams and flashbacks about them opening. My mind would never again wander into that opulent ballroom beyond, with all its lavish wonders and chilling horrors.
Gulping down a deep breath, I turned away and ran like hell.
As I dashed through the long halls and headed toward the front entrance, it occurred to me that this was the first time I’d been able to run with zero back and shoulder pain in over a year. The aching, burning nerve pain had vanished, and all I felt was the adrenaline flying through me in great white-hot bursts, jus
t like it did when I used to run for exercise in Frick Park.
I finally flew out the main entrance, and I ran right into Alex’s waiting arms. But there was no time for relieved hugs or sweet words. He pulled back, took my hand and drew me toward the marble fountain that lay twenty yards from the door in the middle of the driveway.
He handed me a lighter and gestured toward a long roll of cotton wool that lay on the ground. It was soaked through with diesel fuel and drawn out to its full length, wrapping around the top of an enormous newspaper pouch which sat up by the front entrance, where I’d just run away from. I couldn’t see inside it, but I knew the pouch was filled with ammonium nitrate fertilizer; more than enough to raze several thousand square feet.
I flicked the lighter on, watching the tiny orange flame dance in the darkness. Alex nodded and put one hand on my shoulder. “Do it.”
17
Celeste
Crouching down with the lighter, I touched it to the end of the roll of soaked cotton. Flames rapidly licked along it, and Alex hauled me up and muttered urgently in my ear. “Run.”
I did. I ran like hell.
When we were about a hundred yards away, a boom reverberated like a thunderclap behind us. An intense flash of heat warmed my back only seconds later. I dashed several more yards, then turned to watch our handiwork with wide eyes.
The fertilizer bomb had just ignited the mansion in a fiery ball of flame, billowing outwards and blasting it to fragments with radiant heat. Windows and walls shattered. Millions of pieces of glass and brick showered down in a calamitous rainfall. Thick smoke and scorching fire rushed out, and a series of flashes broke out, igniting new blasts. It looked as though a vengeful god had descended from the heavens and kicked a hole in the house with an enormous blazing orange foot.
