She snatched the mask from the floor and ran, stumbling, for the doors, lost among the mirrors and smoke, searching for a red Exit sign that would be her beacon, a light at the end of this haunted tunnel. She pushed by the other students, who were becoming increasingly panicked. Was that a burning smell in the air? There was no order, no one in charge. Just screaming and shouting. People running out the doors. But Skylar didn’t care about any of them anymore. She just cared about herself.
By the time she made it to the exit, Skylar was shivering and sobbing. Her body was wrecked—by the cuts, by the drugs, by the bewilderment, by the mortification of being seen like this. I’m sorry, Gabby. I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m so sorry. She felt weak. A bunch of kids pushed past her, running out into the hallway and then out into the cold night. She wobbled and stumbled over the trash can in the doorway; when she didn’t bother to set it right, it fell over and rolled down the hall. The door slammed shut.
But Skylar just kept running, and crying, and whispering her unheard apologies, so lost in her own misery that she could only barely hear the fists that almost immediately began to pound on the gym door from the inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
As soon as the lights went out, Em felt Crow try to grab her, but there was confusion, with people going in different directions, and Crow and Em were separated.
They were here, the Furies—she knew it. They’d plunged the Ascension gym into blackness, and whatever they were planning, it wouldn’t be good. Panic filled Em’s chest, along with rage. She had to find them, figure out what they were up to, and stop it. She had to stop them.
She became disoriented quickly in the dark; her senses were all screwed up. After an initial moment of silence, the sound had been restored to the gym. She heard the thumping bass of dance music and Mr. Shields’s feedback-distorted voice on the microphone as he tried to make himself heard above the din. “The lights will be back on in a minute,” he said. “Everyone, please stay calm.” People were shouting—an adrenaline-fueled combination of confusion and excitement. The noise came as an assault, making it impossible to think. She felt like the room was spinning around her, and she really didn’t know where she was going or what she was doing. She’d lost Gabby. JD. Even Crow. She was on her own, heading toward the shadows at the back of the gym, away from the crowd.
She ran smack into Drea. In jeans, a striped sweater, and her hooded peacoat, with a backpack on her back, Drea had obviously not dressed for the dance. Em felt a rush of relief; she wanted to throw her arms around her friend.
“They’re here, Drea,” Em said breathlessly, looking around for them as she spoke.
“I know,” Drea said grimly. “That’s why I came. The ritual has to happen now, Em. Before it’s too late.” She slung off the backpack and kneeled on the floor next to it, pulling out a pair of thick gardening shears. Em stared at them dumbly. “We need everyone out,” Drea said, still digging in the backpack. Then she found what she needed: a flashlight.
“Hold this,” she said, thrusting it toward Em.
Em didn’t move. She felt rooted in one position.
“Fine,” Drea sighed. “I’ll do it myself.” She turned it on and stuck it in her mouth so she could see and use her hands at the same time.
Em felt a new type of fear—a sharp, knowing dread—coil around her body. “What are you doing, Drea? What’s this stuff for?” she asked. Mr. Shields still droned on in the background, imploring the kids to simmer down. There was a commotion on the middle of the dance floor, near where some mirrors were set up. The coil of fear grew tighter around Em’s ribs.
Drea didn’t answer. Instead, she took a deep breath, opened the shears until they were gaping, then sliced them quickly closed, through a bunch of cables that were attached to the giant speakers that lined the front walls. Then she did it again. And again. She hacked away as Em looked on, mystified.
“What are you doing?” Em asked, even though the answer was clear. Why are you doing it?—that was the more important question. Static started to hiss through the speakers, overpowering both Mr. Shields and the music.
“Trust me, this is the fastest way to get everybody out,” Drea said, still sawing at the wires, the static growing louder and louder. And then the speakers went out entirely. Now the only sounds to be heard were those of increasing alarm. The fear in the room was becoming palpable.
“Drea, stop. This is crazy.” Em reached out to grab her. They needed to talk this through, to get on the same page, to come up with a plan. But Drea whipped around, holding the shears between them. The flashlight was still in her mouth, shining out at Em, blinding her.