QUINN’S SANITY WAS HELD TOGETHER with cobwebs. For the first time, she was certain she was losing her mind—if she hadn’t already lost it.
The girl searched the inside of the elevator and frowned. “You’ve come alone.”
“Where are we?” asked Kara.
The girl lowered her candle and stared at their wrists. “Is that comfortable? It doesn’t look it.”
“What kind of place is this?” said Quinn. “Who are you?”
The girl’s eyes met Quinn’s and a sliver of a grin snaked across her lips. She turned and walked silently back into the shadows.
“Hey, wait!” shouted Quinn. “Don’t leave!” She lunged for the gate and slid it open. She chased after the girl, dragging Kara with her.
No sooner had they stepped outside the elevator than the gate sealed shut behind them. And in a flash so quick they didn’t have time to turn, with a hideous grinding rush the elevator was gone.
Kara dove to catch it, but Quinn yanked her back. There was no door to this elevator; most likely it left behind an empty shaft. Something told Quinn if you fell into that, you’d fall forever.
The little girl glanced over her shoulder. “Come.”
With the elevator gone, the glow of her candle seemed to grow stronger. It rippled outward, lighting the gloom, and Quinn was amazed at what she saw.
They were in a large room with a high, coffered ceiling, very much like the lobby of the hotel and yet completely different.
The floor was a glittering dark marble and the walls covered in pale yellow paper. The trim around the doors and archways was ornate, like the woodwork she’d seen with faces of people and animals carved into it. Only these looked like gargoyles—half human, half animal. Their colorless eyes appeared to follow her every move.
There was a counter, like the one Persephone stood behind. Only no one stood here and there were no keys and no dusty guest book.
Since they were deep below the ground, in place of windows there were tall framed mirrors. There were French doors on either end, immense leather armchairs, and heavy side tables with clawed feet. On several walls hung glassy-eyed animal heads—stags and bears and moose.
Kara squeezed Quinn’s hand. She squeezed back. Quinn didn’t want to follow the girl, but there was little choice. The girl had a candle and if there was a way out she would know it.
“Come,” she repeated, her voice so thin. So sweet.
Quinn pulled Kara in close. “Do you think Emma could be down here?” she whispered.
Kara swallowed. “Or Josh?”
The thought had already occurred to Quinn. Josh was desperate to ride the elevator. It was possible he’d come to this place by accident like they had and couldn’t get back up.
Quinn nodded grimly. Hugging each other, they caught up with the candle. It cast a lean shadow on the opposite wall that seemed to disentangle from them and dance about.
“Why is there no light down here? Electricity out?” Quinn asked.
“Yes,” said the girl. “That’s right.”
“Where are you taking us?” said Kara. “Where are we going?”
Keeping her eyes fixed ahead, the girl giggled softly. “Why, the party, of course.” There was something odd about her voice. Like unspoken things lingered just below the surface.
“Party?” said Quinn. “But we don’t want to go to any party. We want to leave.”
“Did you see a boy?” asked Kara. She held her hand above her head. “This high. Brown hair. His name is Josh?”
The girl shrugged. “Lots of boys come here. Lots of girls, too. I’m not sure.”
Girls like Emma, thought Quinn. Perhaps this was the crazy dungeon where they kept all the abducted children. Now, more than ever, she was sure they had stumbled upon some kind of cult.
“If we go to your party,” said Quinn, “will you show us the way out?”
The girl didn’t respond. She kept walking. They had little choice but to follow. They crossed the great lobby, and then the girl held the candle toward the mouth of a dark hall.
“This way. Follow me.”
She led them through a maze of intertwining halls. They twisted around a few times, descended steep steps, then continued. On either side were massive mahogany doors with no numbers.
“What’s your name?” asked Kara suddenly.
The girl smiled. “It’s difficult to pronounce. Most people don’t get it right.” She kept walking.
Quinn frowned at Kara. The sooner they got out of this weird place the better.
They continued along a narrow corridor. Quinn felt certain they were descending. Ahead, in the distance, a murmur echoed. It grew louder as they drew nearer. The little girl led the way through a series of archways and the noise became less fuzzy, the sounds more distinct. There was music and laughter and other party sounds.
“Here we are,” she said, showing them through a final doorway.
They entered a vast room lit with dozens of flickering candles set upon tables surrounding a dance floor. The walls were dark wood paneling and the ceiling a giant mirror reflecting the people and the light.
A crowd danced in the center of the room to strange music. They shook and jittered and twisted and hopped, laughing and smiling and singing along like they knew each and every song by heart. They were having the time of their lives.
Quinn and Kara made their way around the tables to the opposite wall, where a huge buffet stretched the length of the room. Quinn’s greedy eyes took it all in. There was every type of meat imaginable—lamb, ribs, turkey, chicken, and a whole pig roasting on a spit. Salads, rice, pasta, and potatoes filled bushel-size silver bowls. There were trays of pickles, dips, and hors d’oeuvres; apples sautéing in butter-brandy, fresh fruit, and mountains of desserts dripping with chocolate and cream. People piled their plates with all sorts of goodies.
“You see,” said the little girl. “It’s a grand party. We’re so glad you could join us.”
Quinn stood for a moment, searching the crowd for Emma and Josh. No one looked even vaguely familiar. Some of the dancers had wild grins on their faces, others were laughing uncontrollably. They wore strange clothes, from different time periods, as though this were some kind of costume ball.
Kara was searching, too. It was possible Josh and her parents were here, hidden somewhere in the crowd.
“Emma,” muttered Quinn, searching each and every face.
She felt a cold hand touch her cheek. She looked down at the little girl, who—although a lot younger—suddenly reminded her of her sister.
“You can stay here,” said the girl. “Stay with me. You can call me Emma, if you like. We can sing and dance and play forever.”
Ice prickled Quinn’s heart. Yes, she thought. I could stay here. Why not? It was a great place and everyone was having so much fun. And she and Kara would be together. Forever. Quinn would never have to return home to the neighbors who stared at her in silent pity, to the school where everyone talked around her in hushed whispers, where no matter what she did or said the teachers didn’t give her bad grades anymore. Or to her parents—the people who seemed to forget she was hurting as much as they were.
“Shrimp?” said Kara, picking up a particularly fat one.
Quinn felt a drop on her head. Then another. And another.
She stepped aside and searched the mirrored ceiling for the leak. When she couldn’t find one, she looked back at Kara’s shrimp.
It was gray and alive and wriggling in her hand.