“You need to hear me say yes?” I breathed, recognizing the passion in my voice. I would rather die here with Kisten then in fear with Piscary.

The ding of the elevator intruded and the doors opened.

A flush of cool air drifted about my ankles. Reality flashed back in a painful rush. It was too late. I had tarried too long. “Do I have the vial?” I questioned, breathless as my fingers twined among the short hair at the nape of his neck. His weight was heavy against me, and the scent of leather and silk would forever mean Kisten to me. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to get out of this elevator.

I felt Kist’s heartbeat and heard him swallow. “It’s in your purse,” he breathed.

“Good.” My jaw clenched and my grip in his hair tightened. Yanking his head back, I brought my knee up.

Kist flung himself away from me. The elevator shook as he hit the opposite wall. I’d missed him. Damn.

Breathless and disheveled, he pulled himself straight and felt his ribs. “You have to move faster than that, witch.” Flipping the hair from his eyes, he gestured for me to go out before him.

Knees watery and loose, I gathered myself and walked out of the elevator.

Twenty-Seven

Piscary’s daytime quarters were not what I had expected. I walked out of the elevator, my head swinging from side to side, taking it all in. The ceilings were high—I guessed ten feet—and were painted white where they weren’t covered with warm, primary-colored sheets of fabric draped into soothing folds. Large archways hinted at equally spacious rooms farther in. It had the soft comfort of a playboy mansion mixed with the air of a museum. I spared a moment to try to find a ley line, not surprised to find I was too deep underground.

My boots trod upon a plush off-white carpet. The furniture was tasteful, and there was occasional artwork under spotlights. Floor-to-ceiling curtains at regular intervals gave the illusion of windows behind them. Bookshelves behind glass were between them, every tome looking older than the Turn. Nick would have loved it, and I spared a thought, desperately hoping he had found my note. The first hints of possible success made me walk with more confidence than I deserved. Between Kisten’s vial and Nick’s note, maybe I could escape with my life.

The doors to the elevator shut. I turned, noticing there was no button to push to make them open up again. The stairway, too, was missing. It must come out somewhere else. My heart gave a pound and settled. Escape with my life? Maybe.

“Take off your boots,” Kist said.

I cocked my head in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“They’re dirty.” His attention was on my feet. He was still flushed. “Take them off.”

I looked at the expanse of white carpet. He wanted me to kill Piscary, and he was worried about my boots on the carpet? Grimacing, I slipped them off and left them askew by the elevator. I did not believe this. I was going to die in my bare feet.