I can see that she’s uncomfortable. She looks up at the corner of the room, and I see the security camera. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asks gently.
“I need to see Mr. Berry,” I say urgently. If the guards are all gone, who were my witnesses, and I can’t contact Carrick to help me, then I realize I need to get to Mr. Berry myself. I need that video now.
She looks relieved that she can help me with something. “I haven’t seen Mr. Berry for some time. I believe he took a vacation, but let me see if he’s back.” She dials his number, then, disappointed, hangs up.
“Unfortunately, he’s out of the office. Would you like me to pass on a message?”
“Can you tell him to call me? It’s urgent.”
“Of course.”
“Could I have Tina’s contact details? A phone number? Or e-mail address? Anything. I just want to ask her something. I won’t bother her in any way if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She bites on her lip. “I’m not really supposed to…” but I can see doubt there somewhere. “Just one moment.” She stands up and makes her way into the room behind her, and I wait, still in shock that they’re all gone.
I drum my fingers on the countertop, watching the clock. Mom will be collecting Juniper soon. She’ll flip when she finds out I’m not going home with them. I need to make this risk worth it. When the door opens, I expect to see the receptionist, but Crevan steps out. My heart hammers wildly. I haven’t seen him since the Branding Chamber, and it brings it all back to me, the lunatic look on his face as he shouted at me to repent, as he ordered the unbelievable pain on my skin. He’s wearing his red cloak, ready for court. My breathing becomes heavy. I’m afraid of him. I don’t see Art’s father anymore. It’s another man, an evil man, and I understand how Art can’t stand to be near him anymore. Neither can I, so my body shivers from head to toe.
The receptionist’s face has turned scarlet behind him. She has a piece of paper in her hand, and I know it’s Tina’s contact details, and I want it so badly. If I don’t get it now, she will never give it to me. But Crevan is looking from her to me, and if he snatches the note from her hand, then it’s all over.
“Celestine,” he says, nostrils flared, as though there were a bad smell in the room. He looks at me with more hatred than I’ve ever seen in anyone. “What are you doing here?”
THIRTY-EIGHT
“WHAT AM I doing here?” I ask, and I can hear the tremble in my voice.
My obvious fear only makes him stronger, gives him an amused, patronizing look.
“I’m … I’m…” I can’t even think. I can’t lie, and I can’t come up with any reasonable explanation. I am so stupid for putting myself in this position. I feel light-headed. What would happen if I just ran? Would he chase me?
“There you are,” Pia Wang says suddenly from behind me, all business. “I was looking for you. I’m ready now.”
Just what I need, Pia and Crevan together at the same time.
She stops beside me and looks up at Crevan. “Oh, Judge Crevan, hello, how are you? Celestine and I were just about to begin the next part of our interview. Were you looking for me?” she asks me.
I look at her in surprise. She’s helping me? I nod.
The receptionist crumples up the piece of paper in her hand, and my heart drops.
“Let’s go. There’s a café around the corner,” she says. “Judge, nice to see you,” she says confidently, and leads me away.
With wobbly legs, and not a second look at Crevan in case he calls me back, I go with her. There are many narrow alleyways and cobblestoned pathways around and through the castle. Pia leads me down one and into a tiny café with five tables close together. She must have known it would be empty, and the spotty teenager behind the counter makes us our coffees and sits on a high stool and disappears into his phone. Even if he hears every word we say, I doubt he’ll care in the slightest.
By the time we’ve sat down, I’ve managed to gather myself.
“What are you doing here?” Pia asks.
“Looking for you, obviously,” I say, sarcastically. “And ta-da!”
She views me with suspicion, but if I don’t go along with her idea, then she’ll want to know why I’m really here, and I can’t tell her anything about looking for Carrick.
“I thought about your proof,” she says, looking at the teenager, then back at me.
“Right.”
“And it doesn’t hold up. You could have done that to yourself.”
I almost choke on my coffee, and she at least does seem to feel a little stupid for saying it.
“Or somebody else could have done it. There’s no proof that … he … did it.”