“We know where the basement is,” said Wilkey.
The nurse frowned and made a show of shuffling through her papers. “Dr. Knox is expecting three of them,” she said. She ran her finger down a page, then tapped it when she found what she was looking for. “You’re missing Sebastian Temple.”
Ada jerked at the mention of Saint’s name, and Pierce shifted his grip on her arm.
“We’ll have him before the night’s over,” Pierce said.
“We have a few other matters to attend to first.” Wilkey smiled at the nurse, revealing the dimples in his chin.
The nurse looked between them, her disdain replaced by something more wary, but she nodded. She made a show of busying herself with the contents of her desk, although Ada saw her cast them one furtive glance as the agents led them through a door at the edge of the lobby. Ada quickly lost all sense of direction as they moved through a maze of taupe corridors that all looked the same. She couldn’t catch her breath. A part of her had known that Haversham was inevitable, but that didn’t mean she was prepared. This was different from last time. Before, she had known that Corinne would come for her, that if anyone could plot an escape from Haversham Asylum, it was Corinne Wells. All the terror she had repressed came back to Ada in waves. Every whispered rumor, every remembered scream.
Then they turned a corner, and at the intersection of two halls was a thick wooden door with dual dead bolts. Ada had the sickening thought that it locked from the outside—clearly meant to keep people in rather than out. When Wilkey opened it, the hinges made no sound, as if they were well-oiled with use. Corinne turned her head to catch Ada’s eye over her shoulder. The look was fleeting, lasting only the length of a heartbeat, before Wilkey moved between them to prod Corinne first down the stairs into the basement, but Ada saw everything there was to see. Corinne was afraid.
Ada took a short breath through her nose, trying to find some courage, some equilibrium. Then Pierce pushed her toward the stairs, where shadows enveloped her, and it was too late.
Corinne stumbled blindly down the steps, knowing that if she tripped with her hands cuffed behind her back, she would tumble headlong down the entire flight. Agent Wilkey probably wouldn’t bother to catch her. As her eyes adjusted, she could see that there were a few dim electric bulbs, hanging from wires along the wall to her right. There was no banister, only faded brick that glistened faintly with moisture. The smell of mildew trickled into Corinne’s nostrils, and she had to gasp in a few breaths through her mouth to fight the nausea rising in her throat. Choking on her own vomit in this godforsaken hole was not how she intended to die.
Accompanying her descent was a growing ache from iron somewhere below. She tried to quote Dante in her head, to distract herself from the pain, but it was no use. Even Dante could never have imagined the hell that Haversham had created here. By the time she reached the bottom of the steps, she was trembling uncontrollably. The stairs emptied into a long, narrow corridor lined with metal doors. Pain lanced through her legs with every footstep, and she looked down to see that the floor of the corridor was iron.
“Clever, eh?” Wilkey asked, giving her a little shove forward. “You wouldn’t believe how much effort was put into this place. Just enough iron to keep the slaggers quiet, but not enough to render them useless. It really is an art.”