“We search the place,” I say. “Try to find clues about where they went. Anything could help, so keep your eyes peeled. We’ll meet back here in ten minutes. Make that five.”
“Who put you in charge?” Sporty asks.
I so don’t have time for this crap.
“Listen,” I say. “You don’t have to like me, but I’m the only one here with a clue what the Chief is up to. So if you have a problem taking orders from me, then I suggest sitting this one out. No one is going to mind.”
Her mouth falls open.
“She’s right.”
The two of us look over at Zeke.
“You’re going to let her talk to us this way?” Sporty sputters.
Zeke raises a pointed eyebrow at her before crossing to the door. She disappears inside, and the rest of the rebels soon follow suit. Sporty looks after them, paused by indecision, before sending me a nasty glare and trotting off after the others.
“Good job,” Bishop says, grinning at me. “I didn’t know you’d become such a badass.”
He takes my hand, and together we enter the Chief’s headquarters.
The rebels have split up, taking off in all different directions through the snaking tunnels. I’d hoped to have some bearings in the place since I’d been here before, but it all looks the same. I pick a direction at random and set off at a jog, Bishop at my side.
The place feels different. It’s not just that all of the heavy metal doors set into the rock walls are open—the air itself seems zapped of the charge that it used to hold.
Up ahead, a group of rebels file through a set of double doors. I slow behind them. It’s the dormitory. The sheets are rumpled at the ends of the military beds as if everyone got up and left in the middle of the night. Where are the teens? What’s happened to Paige?
“Clear!” someone yells.
Bishop tugs my arm, and I follow him out of the room.
Shouts ring out from deep inside the tunnels. We break into a sprint toward the noise. After a few twists and turns, we find the source.
The rebels have found the Chief’s office. A half dozen of them pore through the files and maps spilled out across his desk, cackling with glee at each new discovery.
“He’s got maps of our locations,” one says. “He knew about our Redondo camp.”
“No wonder those jack-offs knew about the March raid.”
“How do I look?” Eminem says. He’s got one of the Chief’s velvet jackets on and is modeling it like a lady. I dig my fingers into my scalp.
“Hello!” I yell. “You’re supposed to be looking for clues!”
One of them pitches over the tea cart, and china goes crashing to the ground. They holler like a bunch of wild dogs.
I don’t have time to babysit these idiots.
I dash over to the desk and start frantically going through the papers. Bishop takes the hint and joins me.
A rebel smashes the red velvet divan against a wall. A resounding crack splits the air, and splintered wood flies everywhere as a chorus of maniacal laughter rises up around me. My heart races as I riffle through the papers.
“What’s this?” Bishop stamps his finger down on a page. In the center of a large piece of graph paper is a drawing of a circle with horizontal lines stretching around half of it.
“I don’t know—do you think it could be important?”
He pulls the paper close to his face, quickly scanning it. “I don’t know.” He hands it to me.
Footsteps and shouts ring out through the hallway. Sporty stops in the doorway, huffing for air.
“Found anything?” I ask hopefully.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. Just some sorcerer tied up in the basement. Practically dead by the looks of it.”
I drop the paper. “Where is he?”
She scrunches her nose at me. “What’s it to you?”
Idiot. She. Is. An idiot.
“Did you try to revive him?” I ask.
“And why the hell would I do that?” she retorts.
Isn’t it obvious? “Because we could make him tell us where they’re doing the spell!”
She opens her mouth to retort, but Zeke steps inside the room.
“It’s a good idea. You should have thought of it yourself.”
Sporty’s jaw tenses as rebels come running in, bent over and heaving for breath.
“Well, are you going to take us to him, or pout all night?” Zeke asks.
I have to restrain myself from smiling triumphantly at Sporty—I’m afraid she’ll try to kill me if I do. She turns on her heel. Zeke jogs off behind her, and Bishop and I hurry to follow.
We’re led through a series of tunnels twisting down into the bowels of the building. The farther we get, the narrower the paths become; jagged rock presses into us from all sides. It smells like damp and mildew and there’s the sound of steady dripping coming from somewhere deep in the shadows. The only light comes from a lantern swinging from Sporty’s arm that I’m guessing she magicked into existence.
Finally, the rebels stop in a small alcove that definitely doesn’t qualify as a basement. It looks more like a place used to torture prisoners in medieval times. Which, from the looks of it, isn’t too far off the mark.
The space is so small that with the rebels crowded around, I can see only the sorcerer’s hands chained over his head and the splatters of blood on the stone wall behind him. I start to move closer to try to get a better look, but Bishop pulls me back.
“It could be dangerous,” he whispers. “We don’t know what this guy is capable of. Let them take the risks.”
I want to argue that tied up and unconscious, surrounded by a dozen angry rebels, he doesn’t look capable of much, but what Bishop is saying makes sense, so I press myself back into the shadows with him.
Zeke pushes through the crowd and stops in front of the man.
“Wake up,” she demands.
Silence.
There’s the sound of an impact, then a quiet grunt from the prisoner.
“Wake up,” Zeke repeats. “You don’t want me to have to ask you again.”
More silence, broken only by that same dripping sounding from the dark.
Coming down here seemed like such a good idea only minutes ago, but it’s beginning to feel like a waste of time. And we didn’t have a lot of time to begin with.
“Ah, there he is,” Zeke says.
Thank God. I rise up on my toes, trying to get a better look.