Free Masque of the Red Death by Bethany Griffin Page B

thrown into Elliott, hard. He doesn’t have his arms outstretched now, so my cheek hits his shoulder, and it hurts. Without looking at me, he wraps one arm around me—the other steadies us, pressed against the side of the elevator.
    He seems completely calm, but his hand, against my bare skin, is slightly sweaty. I keep my eyes on the operator’s pale face.
    The elevator rumbles and I gasp.
    “So you are afraid of dying.” Elliott leans in to whisper in my ear.
    As we lurch down to the lobby, I try to emulate Elliott’s calm. Finally the elevator stops with a sudden jerk that almost knocks me off my feet.
    The attendant’s face is white as he opens the door. “I’m sorry, Miss Worth. The explosions must have damaged the cable; your apartment is so far from the ground.”
    I need to feel the solid marble floor under my feet. Elliott takes his time, smiling. I remind myself that his hand was clammy. He worries about dying, too.
    Elliott has a small steam carriage, faster and less elaborate than April’s. The seats are close together, and I’m aware of him beside me, that my bare knee is touching his leg, but as we navigate the streets, I forget him and stare out at the rubble. The city blurs in the light rain, and gray buildings merge with the hulks of blackened ones. This was far worse than the single acts of vandalism that happen occasionally. This was organized mayhem. To our left are the remains of a beautiful cathedral, the roof gone, walls blackened.
    “What else did they burn?”
    “They focused on churches.”
    I’m surprised, as we drive past the blackened structures, just how many churches there are in our city. Blending in between taller buildings or standing tall at the corners. You see one on nearly every block in the upper city.
    Churches make me think of bats, and bats, of April.
    “Have you heard anything? Is she with your uncle?”
    He knows I mean April. “It’s my uncle’s style to take her, to prove that he can. If someone else, like these rebels who are burning and bombing, had taken her, we would know. They would ask for something, ransom.”
    “I’m worried,” I say softly.
    We drive past the rubble of what used to be an apartment building, and I wonder if any people were inside when it blew up. It must have been vacant. I don’t want to consider the alternative.
    “When we get to the club, I need you to fetch something for me.” He glances over at me, and he looks very serious. “It’s too risky to do myself.”
    My heart speeds up a little as he explains. He wants me to get a specific book with a green cover from the upper floor of the club, then bring it to him. There are whispers about the men who inhabit that floor. I’ve heard odd noises from up there, a scream once, though April says she didn’t hear anything. I agree to everything he asks. I won’t show him any weakness now.
    “Be sure to hide the book,” he says. “Don’t let anyone see it. And if anyone speaks to you, pretend to be lost.”
    If they speak to me, I’m not sure I’ll have the wits to pretend anything.
    We are driving in the shadow of a tall building when the carriage hits something. Elliott swerves, working the controls furiously. I fall into him, and he puts his arm around me, shielding me from impact, and then his face hits the side of the carriage, hard.
    I catch my breath, afraid that he has broken his mask.
    I look over my shoulder. “Did we run over someone?”
    “I don’t think so,” he says. “It was too flat. I mean, I don’t think it was a person.” His voice is shaky. “We shouldn’t stop.”
    “We should see what we hit,” I say. “We should make sure it’s not a person and we’ll go,” I say.
    “Fine.”
    The thing in the street could be a shadow, except that we both felt the impact as we rolled over it. Elliott pulls the steam carriage closer, takes a sword from behind his seat, and leans out of the carriage to prod the dark mass.
    I suppress a scream as he lifts a