Mac demanded to be taken to the future. She and Roman refused, and then he opened the door to the hotel room, showed them Ash, and she’d caved at once.

She felt heat rise in her cheeks as she watched herself, remembering how hard she’d worked to keep the emotion from her face, to appear as though Ash’s torture didn’t bother her.

I’d been a fool, she thought now, staring back at herself. She could see each emotion play out as clearly as if it’d been written in black marker on her forehead. The horror, the pain, the desperation. Anyone looking at her would’ve known what she’d felt. How embarrassing, that she thought she’d managed to keep it secret.

Roman said, “He should have a public death, don’t you think?”

Mac lowered his knife and said, “That’s not a bad idea.” Over his shoulder, he added, “Keep him alive until I get back.”

And he left with them. Dorothy released a low sigh of relief, grateful that Mac, at least, wouldn’t be able to hurt Ash any more than he had already.

She counted to twenty in her head, and then the hotel room door swung open and the rest of the Cirkus Freaks spilled into the hall, grumbling about being hungry and wanting a drink as they stumbled toward the staircase. Dorothy watched them go, and then she blinked several times, quickly, like she was waking up.

Now, finally, was her time to act. Ash alone. She had to save him.

She slipped around the corner and knelt before his hotel room door once again. It had taken her most of the last year to figure out how to work these fancy, newfangled locks. They couldn’t be broken into using one of her hairpins, as nearly every other lock she encountered could. They were electronic, and so she’d needed something else.

She pulled a card out of her pocket. She’d had Roman configure it especially so that it opened every hotel room in the building. She swiped it through the key lock . . .

The green light blinked on.

She pushed the door open.

The smell of blood hit her first. It was overwhelming, so strong that she wanted to gag. Choking in a breath, she quickly crossed the room and knelt at Ash’s side. He didn’t look conscious.

“Ash . . . ,” she murmured, pushing the sweaty hair back from his forehead. “Come on now, time to wake up.”

Ash seemed to struggle to raise his heavy lids. “Dorothy?” he murmured, seeming confused.

Dorothy brought her hand to his cheek. “Hurry,” she said. “You don’t have a lot of time.”

Ash still didn’t open his eyes. There was blood crusted in his eyelashes, holding them shut. It hurt her to look at them.

“You aren’t here,” Ash murmured.