The blows against the door hesitate long enough for Orion to push a second chair across the floor before starting up with renewed vigor.
She realizes his game plan and smiles.
“And here I thought you were just another pretty face,” she says, earning an unexpected guffaw.
Once he settles down, he whispers, “I need something small and round, with a bit of weight to it.”
Rachel fishes the can of mace from her pocket. “This?”
“That’ll do,” he says.
The lacrosse stick buckles under the pressure. The wood cracks in half, the pieces rattle against the door, before falling onto the floor.
“Better get a move on, Faerie Boy,” she says.
“Almost done,” Orion says, stacking a third chair. He takes a few steps back to regard his work, and nods. “Okay, up you go, Rachel.”
Rachel frowns as she casts a glance back at him.
“Play along,” he hisses.
“Don’t let me fall,” she says louder than necessary, shrugging at her lame acting.
“I won’t.” He gestures for her to continue her performance, his eyes twinkling.
Rachel grunts repeatedly and over-exaggerates an oomph. “Come on, Orion, before they break down the door.”
In response, the beating intensifies.
“Wait for me in the kitchen,” he whispers. “Just go, Clarré. I’m right behind you,” Orion says louder.
Rachel nods and makes the journey back to the kitchen. She peers around the entrance.
Orion waits to complete his ruse, looking between the cafeteria doors and the ceiling. After a few minutes, he pulls back his arm in order to throw the mace can into the vent, while he wraps his other hand around the leg of the highest chair.
Bang, bang, bang.
The broom handle splinters beneath the assault, weakening with each hit.
Then, when Rachel is certain her nerves won’t be able to take much more of this, he pulls the chair down and, at the same time, tosses the mace can into the vent. Orion turns and runs for the kitchen, jumping over the counter and slips down behind the surface, while the muffled thumping and rolling inside the air duct continues.
He’s barely out of sight when the broom handle shatters and the door bursts open.
Rachel crouches and pokes her head out of the kitchen, only to find him with his back pressed against the counter, breathing hard.
Rachel mouths the words: “Come on.”
“Gimme a boost,” the woman’s voice intrudes on their silent argument.
“You give me a boost,” the man replies.
They laugh together, before the woman says again, “No, you give me a boost. I’m smaller and faster.”
“Fine,” the man agrees, still chuckling.
Orion’s lip twitches and nose crinkles before he gives into her request. Rachel waits until he shifts onto all-fours and crawls across the sticky, soiled floor. She slips back inside and stands, waiting for him to get out of sight.
Once Orion is inside the kitchen, he can’t get back to his feet quick enough. He finds a dish towel on a nearby surface and wipes his hands clean, clearly displeased about having to crawl through the muck. Rachel can’t blame him. She’s ready to bathe in bleach just to get rid of the smell.
Rachel crosses the kitchen to where the pantry is located, the door having been left ajar during the fray. The smell is worse in there, so much so that her eyes start burning and she has to swallow down bile. Still, it’s a better hiding place than standing in the kitchen.
Rachel slowly opens the door to eliminate any chance of squeaking, and disturbs a swarm of fat flies feasting upon a second boneless corpse. Maggots crawl across the skin, pulsing in unison, making it appear as if the misshapen cadaver is actually breathing.
She dry heaves at the ghastly sight, tastes bile as acid burns its way up her throat.
Orion is there before she can make a sound, spinning her away from the pantry so that she can hide her face in his broad chest. With his free hand, he gently pushes the door shut again, but the smell doesn’t dissipate. The image doesn’t vanish.
Who was it? Who else had suffered Golvath’s wrath?
The first time she’d come across one of Golvath’s victims, she’d been too shocked to respond appropriately. Now, though, Rachel can’t help the tears from stinging her eyes. It doesn’t matter who had died by Golvath’s hand—they’d still suffered an excruciating and needless death. And for what? Because an insane Fae had the hots for her but was too scared of being rejected? That wasn’t a good enough reason to kill anyone.
Orion rubs small circles on her back to soothe her.
“You see anything?” the man in the cafeteria calls out.
“Nuh huh. You?”
“I see a hole,” he says, chuckling. “I’ll go check.” Wandering footsteps crunch over debris, an out-of-tune whistle grows closer.
Rachel pulls away from Orion and looks up at him through bleary, widening eyes. She shakes her head, not willing to force herself into hiding alongside the decomposing body in the pantry.
In response, Orion moves his hands to rest on her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes, expressing without words: “Don’t worry, I’m right here.”
Rachel shakes her head more violently.
The whistling doesn’t stop. Crunching footsteps near the kitchen. It won’t be long until—
Orion’s hands make their way up to her cheeks, forcing her to stop shaking her head. “There is nowhere else,” he whispers, his words mere breaths.
A tear rolls down her cheek. Of course he’s right. The cupboards are too small to hide in, the fridges have glass doors, and there’s no telling how thorough the guy will search. There are no other options than the walk-in pantry, body or no. She inhales deeply, the hand she has on his chest trembling, but she relents.
Orion opens the door again, just wide enough for them to slip inside, and gently nudges
