I press my palms to the cold dirt under them and think about the nights I spent locked in the closet at home. The hours I’d be in there, sometimes so long I wet myself before Mom dragged her hungover ass up and remembered where I was. Then she’d rage at me and smack me around a little and tell me to clean myself up, that I was a disgusting pig. Or if she had a boyfriend over, she’d howl with laughter at my wet pants because she didn’t want men to see her pissed. A sense of humor is sexy, after all. No one likes an angry woman.
I take another ragged breath, forcing it into the constricted airways to my panicked lungs. This is not that bad. And if I could clean up myself and the closet without crying back then, I sure as fuck won’t cry now. I didn’t freak out then, and I won’t freak out now.
Once, she locked me in a cabinet because she said I’d lose my claustrophobia if I just faced it. I was curled up in a ball, with my knees to my chest, for hours. I have all the room in the world here. I could lie down flat and crawl on my stomach. I can roll over. I can move.
I start forward again. After a time, I hear echoing scuffles high above. I reach up a tentative hand and can’t feel the ceiling. I climb to my knees, then my feet. Relief floods through me in a rush that brings tears to my eyes and a whoop of relief to my throat. Blinking back the wetness, I hold a hand in front of me and one on the wall, and I walk until the wall falls away. I turn on my phone for the last time. No skeletons. No cage with Mabel Darling being held captive like Gretel waiting for the witch to eat her.
There are two tunnels off the side of a cavernous room. I continue straight ahead, and at the far side of the room, I find a door, just like Baron said.
Heart galloping in my chest, I find the knob and twist. It doesn’t budge.
Fuck. I sink down on the floor, shaking with spent energy, the adrenaline leaving my limbs. My fingers are trembling and stiff with cold, but I try to pick the lock for a while, anyway. When I can’t, I consider sleeping here. At least I’m away from the guys. But it’s so fucking cold, and I’m shivering so hard I can’t possibly relax. My phone dies, and suddenly, the darkness seems close and oppressive and terrifying. Even though I wasn’t using the light, there was comfort in knowing it was an option if I needed it.
Now, drunk obnoxious Duke seems preferable to staying here alone, not knowing if someone will come through the door and who it might be.
But going back to the twins means facing the tunnel again.
I did it before, though. I can do it again. I know there are no forks until the tunnel opens up, which means I just have to find the tunnel in the dark and hope it’s the right one. It’s not too hard. I just have to go straight ahead.
I gather all my courage and creep across the room in the dark. When I find the tunnel, I take a deep breath and barrel in. I don’t think, just charge through as fast as I can. Somehow, it doesn’t seem so bad on the way back. When I finally see a scant light ahead, my heart starts racing with relief. I burst out of the tunnel into the dirt room in the basement of Willow Heights. The familiarity itself is a relief, and I can finally breathe easy. Duke is sitting up in a chair, a beer in one hand, his eyes unfocused and his jaw slack. A lump has already formed where I decked him.
Baron sits on the stone slab, his phone sitting beside him with the light on. “How was it?” he asks, holding up his beer.
“Fuck you,” I say. “You knew it was locked.”
“Faced your fears, though, didn’t you? One more Midnight Swan challenge down.”
“Is that what this is?” I ask. “My initiation?”
“Depends,” he says. “It could be.”
“Bullshit. Royal said I could never join.”
“Royal’s not the only Swan,” Baron counters.
“He’s your leader.”
“He’ll be done with you after tonight, and then he won’t care what happens to you. That’s how it works with him. When he’s done, you don’t exist to him anymore.”
“Fine,” I say, planting my hands on my hips. “What do I need to do next?”
“You tell me, Stalker Girl.”
“Betray a friend for a Swan. See, that one might be hard, since I don’t have friends.”
“Gloria’s a friend,” he says. “I’m a friend.”
“Are you, though?”
He holds out a beer, the cap still on. “Have a beer. Relax. We’ll be here a while.”
“I like to stay sharp.”
“Me too,” he says, taking a drink from his beer. “But one beer won’t hurt.”
I relent and take it. At least it might warm me up a little, and to be honest, I need to calm down and think this through. Like when they threw me in the dumpster with Colt, I’m attacking a big problem with a tiny knife. If I chill and wait it out, someone will come open the door. If this is some kind of hazing for the Midnight Swans, then I need to see what they want me to do. So, I sit down on the stone slab next to Baron.
“What’s the last challenge?” I ask. “The gauntlet.”