All at once, my energy returns. She’s going to let me go. Before she can change her mind, I move toward her. She presses her back against one of the swinging doors, keeping it open for me, poking her head into the hall every few seconds to make sure the coast is clear. Just as I’m about to scoot past her, I stop.
Jasmine and vanilla. She still wears it after all. She does smell the same.
“Hana,” I say. I’m standing so close to her, I can see the gold threaded through the blue of her eyes. I lick my lips. “There’s a bomb.”
She jerks back a fraction of an inch. “What?”
I don’t have time to regret what I’m saying. “Here. Somewhere in the house. Get out of here, okay? Get yourself out.” She’ll take Fred, too, and the explosion will be a failure, but I don’t care. I loved Hana once, and she is helping me now. I owe this to her.
Once again, her expression is unreadable. “How much time?” she asks abruptly.
I shake my head. “Ten, fifteen minutes tops.”
She nods to show that she has understood. I move past her, into the darkness of the hallway. She stays where she is, pressed against the swinging doors, rigid as a statue. She lifts her chin toward the back door.
Just as I’m placing a hand on a door handle, she calls to me in a whisper.
“I almost forgot.” She moves toward me, her dress rustling, and for a moment I am struck by the impression that she is a ghost. “Grace is in the Highlands. 31 Wynnewood Road. They’re living there now.”
I stare at her. Somewhere, deep inside this stranger, my best friend is buried. “Hana—” I start to say.
She cuts me off. “Don’t thank me,” she says in a low voice. “Just go.”
Impulsively, without thinking about what I am doing, I reach out and seize her hand. Two long pulses, two short ones. Our old signal.
Hana looks startled; then, slowly, her face relaxes. For just one second, she shines as though lit up by a torch from within. “I remember…” she whispers.
A door slams somewhere. Hana wrenches away, looking suddenly afraid. She pivots me around and pushes me toward the door.
“Go,” she says, and I do. I don’t look back.
Hana
I have counted thirty-three seconds on the clock when Fred bursts into the kitchen, red-faced.
“Where is she?” His armpits are wet with sweat, and his hair—so carefully combed and gelled at the ceremony—is a mess.
I’m tempted to ask him who he means, but I know it will only infuriate him. “Escaped,” I say.
“What do you mean? Marcus told me—”
“She hit me,” I say. I hope that Lena left a mark when she slapped me. “I—I cracked my head on the wall. She ran.”
“Shit.” Fred rakes a hand through his hair, steps out into the hall, and bellows for the guards. Then he turns back to me. “Why the hell didn’t you let Marcus take care of it? Why were you alone with her in the first place?”
“I wanted information,” I say. “I thought she was more likely to give it to me alone.”
“Shit,” Fred says again. The more worked up he gets, strangely, the calmer I feel.
“What’s going on, Fred?”
He kicks a chair suddenly, sending it skittering across the kitchen. “Goddamn chaos, that’s what’s going on.” He can’t stop moving; he clenches his fist, and for a moment, I think he might go for me, just to have something to punch. “There must be a thousand people rioting. Some of them Invalids. Some of them just kids. Stupid, stupid…. If they knew—”
He breaks off as his guards come jogging down the hall.
“She let the girl get away,” Fred says, without giving them a chance to ask what’s wrong. The scorn in his voice is obvious.
“She hit me,” I repeat again.
I can feel Marcus staring at me. I deliberately avoid his eyes. He can’t possibly know that I let Lena escape. I gave no indication that I knew her; I was careful not to look at her in the car.
When Marcus’s eyes pass back to Fred, I allow myself to exhale.
“What do you want us to do?” Marcus asks.
“I don’t know.” Fred rubs his forehead. “I need to think. Goddamn. I need to think.”
“The girl bragged about reinforcements on Essex,” I say. “She said there was an Invalid posted at every house on the street.”
“Shit.” Fred stands still for a moment, staring out at the backyard. Then he rolls his shoulders back. “All right. I’ll call down to 1-1-1 for reinforcements. In the meantime, get out there and start combing the streets. Look for movement in the trees. Let’s rout as many of these little shits as we can. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Got it.” Marcus and Bill disappear into the hall.
Fred picks up the phone. I put a hand on his arm. He turns to me, annoyed, and hangs up.
“What do you want?” he practically spits.
“Don’t go out there, Fred,” I say. “Please. The girl said—the girl said the others were armed. She said they’d open fire if you so much as put your head out the door—”
“I’ll be fine.” He jerks away from me.