She felt the hearse jar into motion, bumping over the cobblestone street. Now was her chance. She jammed the jemmy bar in place, prying the coffin lid slowly and carefully; the smallest crack in the lid and they’d be sniffed out. Applying pressure only on the nails holding the lid shut, that was the safest way. Once those nails were pried out, the lids could be lifted and moved.

Gemma worked one side a little at a time. Blessed air began to leak inside. The lid wasn’t free enough to let in much light. She worked at both sides, moving each a little at a time, keeping the lid from bowing. With those nearly free, she bent her arms over her head. She slid the point of her pry bar into the tiny crack between the lid and frame. There was one nail at the head that needed to be loosened. It was a harder angle to manage.

This was taking too long. Every minute was crucial.

The top finally gave. There were only two nails left, both at the foot.

She folded the crinoline cage on itself, giving her more room to move. Gemma shifted and adjusted, needing to get her jemmy bar into the back end of the coffin and begin prying the lid there.

But she couldn’t.

There wasn’t room enough to sit up or change the direction she was facing. She couldn’t reach it.

No, no, no. This had to work. Hers weren’t the only life on the line.

If she couldn’t get the jemmy bar where she needed it, then she’d have to get something else wedged in that gap. The toe of her boots could work, but only if she created enough space. If she got the lid loose enough, she might be able to kick it the rest of the way. That had to happen while the hearse was still on the busy and noisy streets. But she’d risk damaging the lid.

One side, then the other, she worked the lid open farther and farther toward the foot, as far as she could reach. As a gap appeared at the bottom, she did her utmost to jam her foot inside it. Bit by tiny bit, she created space. A quick upward kick knocked it loose. With her hands and knees, she lifted and slid the lid to the side.

Light and air spilled in. She could hear the wheels on the cobblestone. And a knock from inside the coffin next to hers. Baz needed her help.

Gemma sat up. There was little room, the very reason her family’d think this escape couldn’t be managed. The lid she’d removed was now on top of Baz’s; there was nowhere else for it to go.