I set down the knife and picked up the pins. I heard Keira’s voice, even though she was long gone. She must be at the convent, or maybe she was already at a police station, wrapped in one of those silver space blankets.
But it was harder without her there; it seemed to take hours. Finally, when the quality of the moonlight began to change, to fade, I heard a tiny popping sound. The doorknob turned.
Barely glancing at me, Yana slipped out and strode past, dressed in boots and a coat, carrying a tote bag. I picked up the knife and followed her down the stairs to the kitchen. In the gleaming rays of dawn, she grabbed items from the cupboards and stuffed them into the bag. Peanut butter. Soup.
She looked at me, finally. “Where is your coat?” Her eyes swept over me, her mouth tight, like a disapproving mother. She didn’t blink at the knife in my hand.
“In the library.”
“Get it.” She returned to her task.
“Yana,” I said, “we have to get Wren first.”
“No time.” She struggled to open the kitchen door to the backyard. It was blocked by that packed snow.
“I’m not leaving without her.”
Yana gave up and went to the basement steps. I followed her down. At the bottom she hurried to the back door.
“Wait.” I grabbed her shoulder, hard. “Stop.”
She turned, her pale face drawn, her sea-gray eyes dull. I wanted to ask her so much. What had happened between her and Roza? Why had she stayed on for so many years? When and why had she decided to help Keira and me? But there wasn’t time.
“The snowmobile’s gone,” I said. “The cars will get stuck in the snow.”
“I’ll hide.”
“In the woods?” My arm dropped. “You’re going to freeze.”
“Keira left, yes? To get help?”
“Yes.”
“Then the police will come soon.” She turned.
“The code,” I said quickly. “What’s the code to Wren’s cell?”
She rattled off the numbers: 1-2-1-4-8-3.
I repeated it. Apparently, Mila had died on December 14, 1983.
“Hey,” she called over her shoulder as I backed away. “I’ll wait by the garage. Okay? If you don’t come, I will leave.” Before I could answer, she was gone.
I hurried through the doorway into the cell. The rancid smell of the overfilled toilet was even worse now that I’d spent a few hours away from it. At first glance I didn’t see Wren and panic speared me. Had they moved her? Was she bound up like a mummy on the floor of Taylor’s room?
But no. There she was. Just a slight bump on the mattress.
I typed the password into the panel. It flashed red. Shit.
I typed it again. A red flash and an annoyed beep. Wren stirred.
December 13th, right? Why wasn’t it opening? Had Yana lied?
Wren sat up, rubbing her eyes. When she saw me, she flew to the door and grabbed the bars. “Get me out of here!” The angry scratches across her cheek moved with every word.
“I’m trying.” I typed in the number again. Two loud beeps this time. Was it going to lock me out?
Wren was saying something but I said, clearly, “Shut up.”
And she did. I waited, sinking back down into my body. I willed my mind blank.
December 14th.
The panel flashed green and the door clicked. I pulled Wren out. As we hurried into the basement, my brain calculated. I couldn’t take her outside. If I gave her my coat, then I—or both of us—would freeze to death. I opened the door. Wren waited behind me and cursed when I pushed her away from the frosty air.
“We’re going to make it look like we left,” I said.
BOOM.
A shot went off. We both jumped.
Another shot. Wren clung to me, sobbing into my shoulder. Someone was shouting in the kitchen.
I pulled us back into the dungeon, then into the surveillance room. The blank monitors reflected our movements. I opened the door to the tunnel, half expecting to see Roza looming like a vampire. But it was empty. We hurried up the rickety spiral staircase. I held the knife out in front of me, willing myself not to trip and fall onto it.
We burst out of the wardrobe. If Roza was there, in her room, she would see us.
But it was empty. I raced to the window. In the glowing light of dawn, dark figures moved on the wide expanse of the yard.
“No,” I murmured weakly. Taylor, in her bright blue hat, was kneeling down by someone. Yana, facedown. Splotches of red stained the snow around her.
Taylor was calling in the direction of the house. I stepped closer to the window and looked down. Roza and Chitra stood almost directly beneath.
Taylor bent over the body, and I held my breath. Maybe Yana was still alive. Maybe Taylor was tending to her.
But then Taylor grasped Yana’s hands and began to drag her facedown towards the garage. This time the stains were beautiful watercolor strokes of salmon and rose against the pure white snow.
Chapter 36
Wren and I sat on the floor of Roza’s wardrobe, clothes surrounding our heads like soft buffers against the world. The knife sat on my lap. I massaged my stiff fingers as I told Wren about the last twelve hours, ending with our need to hide until the police arrived. Wren said nothing, only gasping when I mentioned finding Zoe’s body in the garage.
“They’re going to look for me,” Wren said when I finished. “They’re not stupid.”
“No,” I agreed. “But they might be getting desperate. They know Keira’s getting help.”
“Then why did they kill Yana?” Wren’s voice broke on the word “kill.”
“I don’t know. Roza told Taylor not to hurt Yana. Maybe she’s losing control of her? In any case…” I tugged at my earlobe. “All we have to do is hide. And if they find us: fight.”
“I don’t know if I can fight anyone,” she said in a low voice.
“Hey.” I squeezed her leg. “Just think positively. We’ll be okay.” While Zoe’s death had shattered me, Yana’s had slid me into a deep calm. Maybe even acceptance. I would do everything I could to get us out of here, of course. But it might not necessarily be enough. We just had to wait and see.
We were quiet for a few minutes, staring at our hands.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally.
“Me too.” She fiddled with her engagement ring.
“No. I mean for what happened.” It felt important to say this during our brief respite. “At the bar.”
“Oh.” She looked up at me. “That.”
“I was so angry.” I exhaled sour breath. “I didn’t go in with the intention of hurting you, but I needed you to listen to me. And you just looked so disgusted… I might not have shoved you, but I did reach out and touch you. I knew you’d jerk away. I knew how close you were to the stairs.”
“Stop.” She shook her head. “We don’t have to do this.”
“I know. But I wanted to be honest with you. Finally.”
She didn’t respond. We sat in silence. I realized how relieved I felt. Regardless of Wren’s reaction, I’d done the thing I’d never thought I could do. I’d accepted responsibility.
Roza had tried at every turn to stoke my resentment. And it felt good to fight a larger-than-life villain. But it wasn’t that simple. Wren and I were both fallible, imperfect, sometimes cruel people. Wren had hurt me throughout our friendship, but I’d allowed it, because then she was the Bad Witch, and I was the Good Witch.