“What about that?” she asked, pointing out a smaller door on the far wall. It was square, about halfway up the wall, and when she opened it, he could see it was some kind of chute. The space was just large enough for a person to fit through. “Looks like it goes down to the basement. Maybe it’s the laundry?” she offered, indicating the carts filled with linens.
“It could just as easily be a trash chute leading to an incinerator.” He walked over and poked his head into the dark opening for a moment.
Outside the door, the voices were growing louder. “I think we should risk it,” she said, already lifting a leg to wedge herself into the chute. “If we get down to the basement, there has to be a way out.”
“Esta, no,” Harte said, pulling her back as they heard another door in the hallway bang open. “We don’t know how far the drop might be or what’s down there.”
“But—” He scooped her up before she could finish her protest.
“We can’t risk breaking a leg or something,” he said as he carried her, squirming, over to the laundry bins.
He saw her eyes widen as she understood what he was about to do. “Harte, don’t you even think about—”
But he was already dumping her into the rolling bin. “Cover up.”
Esta struggled to right herself amid the slippery piles of fabric. “But—”
“We don’t have time to argue,” he said, pulling extra linens from one of the other bins. Whoever those women in the ballroom were, they’d bought Harte and Esta some time with their distraction. At least Harte hoped they had. “I trusted you in the elevator. Now it’s your turn.”
“Harte—”
“Get down and stay down,” he snapped, and then piled another load of linens on top of her before she could argue any more.
Harte tied one of the white tablecloths around his waist, approximating the aprons he’d seen the servers wearing earlier. He wasn’t dressed in one of the white jackets the other hotel workers wore, but he had to hope it was like Esta had said: No one ever noticed the help.
“Ready?” he asked the cart, and he got a string of muffled curses in reply. He figured that was as good as a yes.
Carefully, he backed out of the room, pulling the cart behind him. Turning away from the voices and trying to figure out where he was, Harte tried to look natural as he maneuvered the cart down the hall. He was nearly to the first turn when he heard someone calling out behind him.
“Hey! You there!”
Pretending that he hadn’t heard them, Harte kept his pace brisk but steady as he headed for where the hall branched into a T.
“Hey!” The shout came again. “Stop!”
He took the first right and then broke into a run. He didn’t bother to slow down for the set of swinging doors ahead, but instead took them at full speed and plunged into the kitchen. Surprised chefs raised their heads, pausing their work to watch him rush through. On the other side of the kitchen was an empty service hall. He didn’t look back to see how close their pursuers were, but tore down the hallway and then out another set of doors that led to the lobby.
The front door of the hotel was ahead of them—just a few more yards and they would be out into the night—when the shrill screech of a whistle split the air, causing the tinkling of the piano to cut short and people all throughout the lobby to stare. And in front of him, blocking the one exit he had left, two uniformed policemen stepped into his path to stop him.
In that moment Harte knew they were done. There would be more police outside, and even if he got them through the front doors, they’d have no place to go. Not that he would go easily.
“Hold on,” he told Esta as he picked up his speed.
“Harte, what are you—”
He’d expected the two men to move out of the way, but they held their ground, bracing for impact, so when the cart plowed into them, they all went over. Esta tumbled out of the cart, disoriented and with her hair falling from her hat, but Harte was already on his feet, taking her by the hand.
“Run!” he shouted, half dragging her as he sprinted toward the exit, but suddenly there were three more men blocking their way. He pulled up short as he realized there was no way to get through them—not without magic.
“Esta—” Her name was a question and demand all at once.
She tightened her hold on his hand as though she understood, but at first nothing happened.
“Any time now,” he said as the men started to close in on them.
She blinked over at him. “Right—”
Harte almost stumbled when the men chasing them seemed to halt in midstride, and Esta let out a shaking breath. Together they wove through the men and out the front doors of the hotel. He’d been right: There were police wagons and a row of dark-suited police standing along the front of the hotel, waiting for them.
The storm that had threatened all evening had started, and the cold drops of rain, suspended midfall, felt needle-sharp against Harte’s face as he and Esta continued to run from the hotel. Above, the sky glowed from a flash of lightning, the bright forks of the electric bolts frozen like cracks in an iced pond. They lit the night with their brilliance.
Next to him, Esta’s breath hitched as she stumbled, nearly pulling him down with her. But he caught the two of them in time. “Esta?”
“I can’t—” she said through gritted teeth. “It’s too much.” She was trying to pull away from him.
He realized then that where their hands were clasped, ribbons of energy, like miniatures of the lightning bolts that hung in the sky, were winding about, binding them together. These weren’t frozen in time, though, like everything else around them. This energy was alive—hot and dangerous and creeping up her arm. The voice inside of him was howling in victory.
“We’re too close,” he said, looking at what was happening with a numb sort of horror. The hotel was still in sight. The police were still a danger. Everything they’d risked, everything they’d done to escape, would have been for nothing if they didn’t get away. “I need you to hold on for just a few more minutes.”
Esta’s face was twisted with the effort of what she was doing. “It feels like fire.” But she nodded, and without pausing or asking for permission, Harte scooped her over his shoulders, in a fireman’s carry, and threaded his way through the now-still traffic. He ignored the needlelike cold of the raindrops. The power inside of him surged again, pulsing with satisfaction, but he gathered all his strength and pushed it down.
He was barely across the street, just out of view of the hotel, when Esta gasped and the world around them righted itself. Above, the sky went dark, and a moment later thunder crashed over the steady patter of raindrops. He ran for the cover of a doorway and lowered Esta to the ground.
“Did we make it?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he said, brushing back the hair from her face. “We made it. We have to keep going, though. I need you to help me here. You’re going to have to walk.”
She wasn’t listening. Her gaze was glassy and unfocused as she stared up at the night sky. “Can you see that? It’s like the darkness is eating the world.”
Harte didn’t bother to look. His attention was on Esta as her eyes fluttered closed and her limbs went limp.