Her stomach churned with both apprehension and dread. Gritting her teeth, she told herself standing around wasn’t going to answer any of her questions. She moved for the staircase. It was battered but stable, and she grasped the railing on the right as she climbed to the next level. Another hallway opened before her, this one not quite as wide. A frayed carpet ran along the floor, and broken doors sporting holes and splintered wood hung open on hinges that looked as if they could give with a tiny gust of wind.
She glanced in rooms as she passed. The remnants of a library—books charred and torn and scattered across the floor like kindling. A dining hall—tables shattered and overturned; windows broken with tattered curtains blowing in the breeze. An office—computer screens cracked and smashed, lying on the floor; desks splintered and busted as if someone with a sledgehammer had gone ballistic.
That unease came rushing back. She turned the corner and stopped, peering into what she knew on first look had once been a nursery. Toys were broken and ripped and scattered across the floor. Cribs lay in shambles. A rocking chair sat in pieces near a shattered window.
These weren’t just ruins. This was a demolition.
Her head grew light. Her stomach a tight knot. She turned out of the ruined nursery and swiped a hand over her suddenly damp brow as she passed room after ransacked room, looking for one that wasn’t in pieces. At the far end of the hall, she found a closed door that was still hanging on two hinges, wrapped her hand around the knob, and pushed.
Paper lay scattered across the floor, and a few mirrors on the walls were cracked and broken, but this room hadn’t sustained the kind of damage the others had. She walked through a sitting area, then stepped into what she knew instinctively was a salon.
Swivel chairs were lined up on each side of the room. Mirrors—whole, undamaged, normal mirrors—sat in front of each one. Scissors, hairbrushes, razors, and clippers were all tucked into canisters on the workstations.
She caught her reflection in one of the closest mirrors. Her skin was still pale, her eyes a little wild after everything she’d seen, and her clothes were a mess, stained with blood and dirt. She fingered the ends of her bleach-blonde hair and stared at the image Zagreus had created.
Not her. Not who she was inside. Not who she ever wanted to be again. Suddenly, she felt the need to purge herself of everything related to the last year.
She rummaged through cupboards until she found what she needed. Tugging on clear plastic gloves, she mixed the solution she figured was closest to her natural color in a plastic bowl, then rubbed the cream into her artificial blonde locks. After wrapping her hair in a plastic bag, she secured the end, then went in search of something clean to wear.
The next level up had clearly once been sleeping quarters. These were left in shambles too, but she didn’t focus on the destruction. In one room she found clean jeans that looked as if they’d fit. In another, a loose-fitting white sweater with a ballet collar. In still another, she dug through a ramshackle closet until she pulled out a pair of boots her size.
She went back down to the salon. In the back of the room, she found a full bathroom decked out with a wall-length mirror, granite counters, and a glass-enclosed shower with a rock floor. She flipped on the shower. The water sputtered as if air had been in the line, then finally flowed freely, growing warmer with every passing second. Tugging off her disgusting clothes, she stepped beneath the spray, rinsed her hair, and sighed.
Just being clean made her feel a thousand times better. She stayed in the shower as long as she could, then climbed out and dried off. After dressing in the fresh clothes, she moved back into the salon, wrapped a towel around her shoulders, found a pair of scissors, and started cutting.
She’d always hated that white-blonde Zagreus was so fond of. The blue streak had been her one attempt at defiance, but he’d liked that too, the bastard. She snipped and cut, using her fingers as a guide. When she was happy with the length, she tugged the towel off, ran her hands through the brown shoulder-length locks, then stared at her reflection.
It was like looking at the old her. Before anger and hate had driven her to become someone else. Her gaze strayed to the white sweater that showed off the length of her neck and the line of her collarbone, still bruised from Zagreus’s hands. Disgust swirled in her belly, but she forced it down along with the memories, focusing instead on the fitted jeans that were so new, she guessed they’d been worn only once or twice.
Who had they belonged to? What had happened to her? And why did Cynna suddenly feel like she was stealing from a ghost?
The relief she’d felt at being clean dissipated. And the need to find Nick grew even stronger.
She turned out of the salon and continued up several flights until she reached what she guessed was the top level. Double doors hung haphazardly off their hinges, and a strong breeze blew the hair back from her face. Shivering, she walked through the broken doors, stopped at the stone railing, and looked down.