But I couldn’t allow myself to get caught up in sentiment at the moment. “If Emerson St. John is inside, I need to find him. Preferably alive,” I said grimly.
Ariane frowned, registering the tension in my tone or perhaps something from my thoughts. “What’s wrong?”
I hesitated. She was going to be so pissed. “Emerson wasn’t done with me. You know that. He had to speed up the process to save my life and to be ready for the trials. But there’s a tipping point where the body either rejects or accepts the changes going on. It requires monitoring and adjustment. You can’t exactly go cold turkey on this stuff.” I paused, grimacing in anticipation and memory. “There was a video. Emerson made me watch it so I’d know what I was getting into. There was a rabbit he’d done some testing on. He let the virus run its course without interference. It died…badly.”
If you could call bleeding out of pretty much every opening of your body for hours something as simple as “dying badly.”
She went very, very still, her eyes dark and wide in her pale face. “Why didn’t you tell me?
“Because what were you going to do? What could you have done differently?” I asked, holding up my hands in defense. “Besides, it wasn’t a guaranteed outcome, so I didn’t—”
“You should never have done this,” she hissed at me. “You should have stayed home and safe in Wingate. None of this would have happened.”
“Too late now,” I pointed out. “What’s done is done. The only choice now is what to do going forward.” I was actually pretty proud of that last bit. It was exactly the kind of logic she would have used against me. Never let it be said that I wasn’t learning anything through all of this.
Ariane closed her mouth with an audible click. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with fury and anguish.
“So, to the Manderlay?” I asked with forced brightness.
She didn’t respond.
“I don’t need to go with you,” I reminded her quietly. “I can just go on my own later, as soon as you’re done throwing yourself beneath the wheels of whatever disaster you can find. If there’s a chance Emerson St. John is still alive, I need him.”
She folded her arms across her chest protectively, and I hated that I’d done that to her, made her close off like that. Then she shook her head. “No, we need a distraction first. That has not changed.” Her voice was thick, almost guttural in her distress.
But at least she was speaking to me again, and seemingly agreeing to take me with her.
“I need some supplies.” Avoiding my gaze, she pushed past me on her way to the bedroom.
“For the record, I liked ‘scapesheep’ better,” I called after her, trying to lighten the mood.
“Shut up.”
Yep, still angry. That was okay. There was very little in this situation that wasn’t infuriating, one way or another.
Sirens screamed outside, mingling with the fire alarm shrieking overhead as we exited the Ulta lobby and cleared the overhang with the other guests. When Ariane said we needed a distraction, she wasn’t messing around.
A cavalcade of emergency vehicles roared into view. Fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, a little bit of everything.
With their arrival, everyone around us turned to watch them pull in, whispering among themselves, wondering what was going on.
“Come on.” Ariane tugged at my hand, pulling me after her as she threaded through the crowd, moving away from the safety in its chaotic midst.
When we reached a clear patch of sidewalk, I watched in surprise as Ariane moved to the curb and lifted a hand to hail a cab, like she’d done it a thousand times.
A yellow taxi pulled up next to us within seconds.
“Trouble at the hotel, eh?” the driver said, gesturing at the Ulta as he pulled away.
“Fire alarm,” Ariane said at the same time I said, “Bomb scare.” Technically, it had been a little of both, thanks to Ariane’s scheming and “supplies.”
The driver frowned at us in the rearview mirror, and Ariane’s mouth tightened with displeasure.
She straightened up in the seat. “We’re switching hotels. The Manderlay, please,” she said with smooth authority.
But the cab driver shook his head vehemently. “No, no, you don’t want to go there today, lady. They got their own trouble at the Manderlay.”
Clearly, he’d heard something over the radio or through his dispatch service.
Ariane stiffened, not expecting the refusal.
“Just get as close as you can,” I said easily. “We’re meeting my uncle over there.”
Ariane held her breath, obviously preparing for further resistance, but the cab driver just shrugged. “Okay.” He started whistling tunelessly, weaving in and out of lanes.
I leaned in next to her. “Breathe,” I said. “We’re fine.”
“In this particular second. Maybe. I still wouldn’t be shocked to hear someone landing on the roof of the cab,” she murmured. “And you’re still not forgiven for lying to me.”
“I didn’t lie,” I said, avoiding her gaze.