Into the Rain

by Fleur Smith

  The shadow!

  My first thought was that maybe he hadn’t wanted to kill me after all.

  A whimper of agony slipped from me as I pictured Zarita’s death again, only now it was Clay who was slumped on the floor with cold, unseeing eyes. He was the one with bloodstained clothes, lying on the ground down the hall, lifeless and still.

  “No,” I whispered, unable to infuse my voice with any volume or force myself to move. Fear stole my breath from my lungs, replacing it with a useless panting that provided less than half of the oxygen I needed. “This isn’t happening.”

  Even though I couldn’t see what was happening, I knew that I had to find a way to help him. I needed to know what was wrong; I needed to see the extent of his wounds. Despite how desperate I was to race to him, my legs refused to move. It was as though they’d been cemented to the floor by some unknown force. I wondered whether the shadow was pinning me in place to listen to Clay’s death while being unable to help.

  My stomach roiled.

  I need to get to him!

  Along the corridor in front of me, a handful of doors swung open. My stomach sank to my feet when I heard a door behind me open as well. It was enough of a shock to get my legs to move. Resigning myself to the fact that it was too late to hide even if I wanted to—whatever happened next, someone was certain to spot me—I raced to Clay’s assistance. I had no idea what could be causing him so much distress, but if I was going down anyway, I wanted to make sure that he was okay first.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “WHAT’S WRONG?” ETHAN asked Clay.

  “What is it?” Louise’s nasally tone drowned out the end of Ethan’s question.

  Almost as if it was in response to Ethan and Louise’s questions, Clay’s cries stopped, but he fell to his knees and clutched at his head.

  He was alive.

  Aside from his clenched teeth and pained expression, he was apparently unharmed. There was no gaping knife wound at least, no sign of his blood escaping his body and flowing onto the burgundy tiles. Despite the fact that he was still in agony, I breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t dying. The shadow hadn’t reached him.

  Once that registered, I couldn’t understand Clay’s pain. That morning, Clay had been as healthy as ever. He'd even sent Ethan out of the room so that we could have a moment together before risking our lives. Short of someone standing near him, deliberately inflicting pain, there was no reason for Clay to be hurt at all. If the shadow could do that, he would have done it to me. He’d had ample opportunity in the forest when we were alone. Instead, he’d used his pained howling to send me to my knees.

  If it’s not the shadow, what else can it be?

  While everyone else’s attention was drawn to Clay, I went against my every instinct and moved to assess the scene around him for the cause of his infliction. After a few moments of searching, I noticed an anti-fae charm etched into the wall right beside the spot where he’d fallen. With the absence of the shadow, the symbol was the only possible cause for his pain that I could see, but I didn’t understand why it would cause him such distress. Unless he was still under the effect of the enchantments.

  That didn’t make sense though. I’d never heard about anyone still affected after over twenty-four hours without a fae meal. Even the few human visitors to the court I’d encountered during my stay were back to their unassuming lives well within a day—complete with alien conspiracy theories. I wondered if maybe Clay’s body hadn’t metabolized the enchantment well enough, or if something else had gone wrong.

  Is it possible it's linked to the pain he felt when he first tried fae food?

  A sharp sob echoed through the halls once more, and I instinctively took another step toward Clay. Thankfully, despite my concerns, I was able to blend in among the jostling of the small crowd gathered—at least well enough that no one asked any immediate questions.

  Most people milling around were more concerned with finding out what the commotion was about rather than worrying who might be standing right beside them. The murmurs of gossip and the confused throng provided me cover more adequate than I could have hoped for, and I was able to move around the outside of the crowd fairly easily.

  While I moved, I tried desperately to get Ethan’s attention, but his focus was on Clay. Giving up on Ethan, I slipped through the densest part of the crowd unnoticed. I backed up against the wall and struck a deep line through the plaster symbol with the pen. Almost instantly, Clay seemed to breathe a little easier. For good measure, I dropped an amethyst crystal in front of the protection before backing away from the group.

  Once Clay’s distress had stopped, Ethan finally glanced around, and his eyes widened when he saw me. I indicated the wall where I’d just broken the protections, and he seemed to understand what might have happened. Louise looked up as well, and I turned away quickly, ducking my head slightly for cover.

  “Isn’t that the girl from the restaurant?” I heard Louise ask as I tried to blend into a group of five other people.

  The crowd was beginning to disperse, all chattering animatedly about the commotion. I only had a few precious moments before people would notice that I didn’t actually belong on this level. I walked away with purpose, hoping that Ethan would take the initiative to keep Clay away from any other anti-fae protections.

  “What are you talking about?” Ethan asked, trying to cover for my mistake. “Why would that hottie even be on this floor? Besides, I’m meeting her in her room later, remember?”

  Clay cried out again, but the sound wasn’t quite as desperate or as pained. He was pretending, of that much I was certain. I guessed he must have seen me or at least understood the implications of Louise’s question and was buying me a few moments of freedom.

  I turned the corner quickly and strode toward the door at the end of the corridor, each stride faster than the last. I guessed that based on the shape of the building, it must lead to a stairwell—at least eventually. I hadn’t needed to find one before, but after the narrow escape I’d had, I wanted off the sixth floor, and unfortunately, the elevator was no longer an option. At least, not for a while.

  Walking along the corridor, I tried to pretend that I wasn’t an interloper but rather someone with a specific destination in mind.

  Pushing open the door—hoping like hell I didn’t set off a fire alarm—I discovered it did lead to a fire escape of some kind. Darkened and unfriendly, the stairwell was lined with deep marks gouged into the walls, almost like scratches caused by long claws. Ruddy brown stains dotted along the drab concrete floor, disturbingly like bloodstains in appearance. It didn’t seem as though it had been used frequently, and obviously never by actual hotel guests. I wondered whether the Rain forced others into holding cells via this stairwell. If they did, there must have been some way of entering directly from the street without passing through the lobby first.

  With the stained, bare concrete floor beneath my feet, every step I made in my heels echoed loudly through the enclosed space. Worried that the incessant click-click of my shoes would alert anyone entering the stairwell to my presence, I paused for a moment to take them off before walking again. When I did, I went against every instinct I had and ran up the stairs, racing past the seventh floor door and then continuing straight up beyond the eighth. I only stopped running when I reached the door to the rooftop—which I figured must open into the restaurant. Only, I had no way of knowing exactly where. I’d only seen a small portion of the space from my spot near the elevator.

  Standing completely still, I pressed myself against the wall beside the door and listened for any indication that people had followed me or any general sounds of alarm. I guessed anyone in pursuit would have assumed I’d ran downstairs, so I waited for a moment more before I weighed my options. I could head into the restaurant—hoping that I didn’t end up in the kitchen or somewhere else where I’d be equally out of place—attempt to break the protections of level seven, head straight back to my room, or try to find an escape
route and leave the hotel completely.

  Once again, I questioned myself over why I’d been so eager to rush headlong into the enemy’s headquarters. I hadn’t helped matters with the small number of counter-protections I’d been able to reverse. If anything, I might have aroused Louise’s suspicions and made it harder for her brothers to get away from her side.

  The instant I pictured Clay and Ethan the certainty grew that I couldn’t leave the hotel. After what had occurred, I wouldn’t abandon them. A bad situation had gotten so much worse with the discovery that Clay was susceptible to the anti-fae protections.

  Five minutes passed with no sound of anyone coming through the doors below, so I slowly crept back down the stairs. I paused briefly at the door to the seventh floor as I debated between my remaining choices. Checking my watch, I saw it was getting closer to the time when the fae were going to be expecting a call to give them the go-ahead to enter the hotel. Even if they didn’t get it, there was every chance that they’d make a desperate charge on the place anyway.

  I decided we’d have to risk clearing the symbols as we went. It had worked for whatever had caused Clay’s issues, and I could only hope that it would work just as well for the fae. Taking each step carefully, watching around the corner every time the staircase twisted back on itself, I reversed direction and inched back toward level six. There was no sign that anyone had followed me out, but I still expected the door to swing open and for either the knife-wielding shadow or a gun-toting Louise to be behind it, waiting for me.

  When I hit the last few stairs that led to the sixth floor landing, I sped up. I was no longer as concerned with stealth as I was about being away from any possibility of running into Louise or Troy. I jogged quickly down the next few flights until I reached the fourth floor landing. I hoped to get back onto that floor and head to my room, but when I reached the door, I found it locked. There weren’t any access panels or card readers, so there was no way of getting through the door without attempting to pick the lock—only there was no lock.

  The face of the knob was smooth and no screws were visible on the backing plate keeping it mounted in place. They must have meant to make it impossible to escape from the staircase onto any levels that might have paying guests, whether for the guests’ protection or the Rain’s was anyone's guess. I tried to remember whether the knob on level six had a lock, but I couldn’t recall. I risked a glance up and then back down the center of the stairwell, but in the dim light, it was impossible to see anything in either direction.

  I didn’t have enough information about where the staircase came out on the fourth floor to determine whether it was worth attempting to knock for attention. To end up in the middle of a staff only area or have someone in security open the door could mean the end of the rescue effort and the addition of my name to the captured list.

  For a minute, the decision between going up and going down stalled me. I’d accessed the stairs from the sixth floor, so it was logical that I could get back in through that door—unless every door only opened one way. If only I could remember whether it had a lock or not. My imagination kicked into overdrive and I wondered whether the whole stairwell was a trap designed to lure anyone trying to escape the Rain toward the illusion of safety, only to capture them in this concrete cell filled with maddeningly locked doors.

  Surely the Rain is too arrogant to think that any others would actually escape them?

  I decided to risk going down another few flights of stairs in the hopes that an escape would open up, either into the lobby or onto the street. Even if it was a trap, there had to be some other way of getting out. Based on the markings embedded into the walls, something else had traversed these stairs at some point, so there had to be another way in, which meant there was a way out.

  With each flight of stairs I descended, my heart sank. I discreetly checked the door at the landing of each new floor. Without fail, every one that I came across refused me access. Each one had a knob that was smooth, solid metal. Without a keyhole or any locking device, I had no way to get through. My fear increased with each sphere that didn’t budge. When I reached the ground floor and found that its door wouldn’t open either, my hope disappeared completely.

  My choices were limited, and I worried I’d have to rush back to level six and pray that it would give me access. The longer I waited, the greater the risk was that I would be stuck in the stairwell forever. Just when I was about to give up and walk back into the possible danger still lingering on level six, I noticed that the stairs continued further down. I wondered whether there was a basement, and if so what could be down there.

  Maybe it would lead to a door to the outside or, better yet, to an elevator to get back to the floors above.

  I took my chances and crept down the last flight, listening intently for any sounds from below and above. It could be that I was heading for the electrical room, but it also might have given me an escape route to consider.

  There was another locked door at the bottom of the stairs, but miraculously it was fitted with a standard lock. I prayed no one was inside the space. If it was simply a maintenance room, it was unlikely to have a constant staff presence, but it might have a service elevator with access back up to the lobby or the hotel room floors. The way my luck had been going, it was likely to be the staff quarters for the Assessors.

  Pulling out two of the bobby pins that held my wig in place, I set about stripping off the plastic ends and then worked the lock. My fingers twisted the metal around to manipulate the tumblers, and as they did, I kept a keen ear out for any suspicious sounds around me. The watch strapped to my wrist impeded my movements, so I unfastened it and threw it into the corner of the stairwell.

  The room beyond the locked door was even darker than the stairwell had been. Worried that the door might lock behind me, catching me in another situation where I couldn’t easily escape, I jammed one of my heels under it as a temporary doorstop.

  I stood in the doorway for a moment, waiting for my eyes to adjust from the dim light of the stairwell to the near complete darkness of the room beyond—I didn’t want to risk trying to find any light switches in case it alerted someone to my presence.

  Once I was able to see murky shapes lurking in the gloom, I crept forward into the darkness. Every movement I made was cautious as I watched for any indication of exactly what purpose the room served. The pipework and mechanical structures I could vaguely make out in the sea of black indicated that I was right when I’d thought it might have been the electrical room.

  Peering farther into the darkness, I hunted for an elevator or another exit. With my next step, I bumped into the corner of a desk or bench. Some tool inside the metal drawer rattled when I knocked it, and as soon as the noise registered with me, I hit the deck and waited to see whether it had warned anyone of my presence. Whatever it was that I had disturbed continued to make noise for a few more seconds until it mercifully settled back in its place.

  “Hello?” a soft, feminine voice called out. The voice held an edge, which almost seemed like fear. “Hello? Is someone there?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  STAYING LOW TO the ground, I crept toward the voice I’d heard. It didn’t seem threatening, but that could have been a ploy to get me to reveal myself.

  “Please,” the voice called again. “If there’s someone there will you please let me know?”

  The fear I believed I’d detected in the voice before was definitely there now. Forgetting my hunt for an exit, I crept closer still. There were no answering calls, or shouts of concern after she’d spoken, so I figured whoever it was, she was alone.

  “You . . . you’re not human, are you?”

  My mind raced, and I froze in place. How could she possibly know that?

  “I can see you. Your aura. It’s like flames.”

  None of the Rain would be able to see my aura, at least I didn’t think they’d be able to. As far as I knew, that ability was exclusive to the fae. Even if that assumption was wron
g, I was certain no human would be able to without some sort of additional, magical, assistance.

  “I have only ever seen something like that once before, back when I was a fledgling.”

  The word fledgling gave me a little more hope that I wasn’t dealing with an enemy—and perhaps that I’d even stumbled onto the reason for our mad rescue party. “Mackenzie?” I whispered around a lump in my throat. Ethan had said she’d be on level six or seven. Could it really be possible that she was in the electrical room? The bigger question was probably why.

  She didn’t confirm who she was, but instead answered with a question of her own. “You’re the phoenix that lived in my court, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I whispered. “What are you doing down here?”

  “I—I don’t know.” Her voice quivered as she spoke. “No one will tell me what’s going on.”

  “What do you know about where you are?”

  “I know the Rain captured me and brought me here, but I don’t know why. I thought they usually tortured and then killed, but they put me in here and left me. I haven’t seen anyone in days. It’s like they’re waiting for something, but I don’t know what.”

  With Mackenzie’s words in my head, my stomach twisted with dread. The rescue effort was a mistake. Not because she didn’t deserve to be rescued, but because the whole set-up was likely a trap. It didn’t make sense that the Rain would have gone to the effort of capturing her to leave her alone in the basement unless she wasn’t their intended target.

  If it was a trap though, who was it designed to lure? A handful of answers sprung immediately to mind, but I didn’t like any of them.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked, stepping closer to her location and trying to see whether there were bars or chains or anything else holding her in place.

  “No,” she whispered back. “But I can’t move more than a few feet without feeling like my body will explode if I refuse to back away.”