struck silent by rope-thick tendrils pushed past their lips and down into their guts.
“I think I’m gonna upchuck,” Elle said, nearly breathless at the sight. “I thought you was beating your gums about that spirit web earlier, Pete. I’m so sorry…I know I ain’t been this way in a dog’s age, but those damn things aren’t new. I should’ve spotted ’em long before now. I let us fall into this one.”
“Last chance,” James said as Wendy turned off the engine and pocketed the car keys, eyes steadily downcast to keep from having to look up again. Her fingers brushed the envelope still stuffed in her pocket.
While the rest of them were reeling with horror over the spectacle above, Lily filled James in on Wendy’s plan. “We can still turn back and go home. There are other ways to win their freedom.”
“The White Lady’s set up one hell of a trap,” Wendy replied, making certain her father’s car was locked tight. “Spirit webs, Walkers, and now my best friend’s soul. I’m not falling for it and neither should you. You want the Lost back? We’re going to go get them, and this time show the White Lady and all her creepy Walkers that the Riders aren’t ghosts to be messed with ever again.”
“Dunn is in there,” Lily agreed. Dunn’s cap was tightly clenched in her fist, the bill resting against her thigh. “I would no more turn back now than turn my face away from the Light.”
“Yeah, well we might get sent into the Light,” Elle said. She wrapped a companionable arm around Lily’s waist. “But Dora’s somewhere in there, so I’m all in. Come on, you ducky doll. When all this is over we’ll hit the closest juice joint that serves the likes of us. I’ll line the soldiers up and you can knock ’em down. In the morning we’ll swig some hair of the dog and do it all over again.”
“Did you see anything?” Piotr asked James as Lily and Elle began striding almost in tandem down the sidewalk, weapons at the ready and avoiding trailing strands of spirit web.
“Only a cadre of Walkers leading some Lost towards the Palace,” James said grimly. “Your lady friend is right. Looks like the White Lady is planning a soiree up at the big house.” His lips twitched. “I can smell lynching in the air, Piotr. Are you certain that you truly want to go through with this?”
“Dora, Dunn, and Tommy are in there,” Piotr replied. “Not to mention the others. If I have to put a rope around my own neck, I’d do it a dozen times to see them safe.”
“You might have to.” James glanced at Wendy. “Sunset’s coming, girl.”
Her stomach felt like lead. Wendy nodded once. “Lead the way.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Familiar with the Financial District, James was able to skirt the most dangerous zones, his outstretched arm stopping Wendy from walking into nearly imperceptible films of spirit web strung between buildings from roof to basement several times. When they reached the Palace he broke away from the group and headed for the south entrance without a word, dreadlocks bobbing with every step.
“All he has is your knife,” Wendy noted as James’ braids vanished around the corner.
“He’s stronger than you’d think,” Piotr replied in an undertone. “I’ve seen him take down Walkers barehanded before. James will be fine. Are you ready?”
Wendy glanced over her shoulder as she reached for the entrance door. The sky was a rapidly darkening grey, a mass of rain clouds as high as the surrounding mountainside gathered on the horizon. “I’m ready.”
Piotr let his breath out in a gust. “This way.”
The walls of the Palace Hotel in the Never were just as firm and strong as Wendy remembered. Piotr pressed one hand against the wall and was unable to push through. Satisfied, Wendy grinned. They couldn’t easily get in, but then again, she couldn’t easily get out. It was perfect.
Assuming a purposeful walk, Wendy kept her gaze level and her expression a touch bored. She’d learned long ago that most adults ignored teenagers and children so long as they appeared to be intent on some mundane task or otherwise occupied and didn’t appear to be loitering or making trouble. It was as if life didn’t really start until twenty-one. This sort of benign blindness had let Wendy slide in and out of several very important buildings during the past months; if caught, she just claimed to be waiting for her dad to get off work, or apologized profusely (dancing slightly side to side, of course) and asked directions to the closest bathroom. These tricks almost always worked.
Wendy had no way of knowing it, but she was extra lucky. The Palace staff was well trained and particular about making sure every guest who walked through their doors was seen to. On a normal day her appearance would have been noted and dealt with immediately. Today, however, was different. Not only was it the Palace Hotel’s evening rush, but they were hosting a junior debate conference that weekend; the vast entrance foyer was stuffed to bursting with groups of milling students, teachers, and chaperones and their bags. Wendy was lost in the crowd and easily able to sneak through an Employee Only entrance behind a bustling pair of bellhops burdened with bags. They took the elevator up, and Wendy snuck silently down the stairs with Piotr at her heels.
“I wonder how the others are doing,” he said as Wendy reached the ground floor.
“They’re resourceful,” Wendy said, reaching into her pocket and producing a bellboy’s employee badge that she’d filched from his back pocket in the overcrowded lobby. “And so,” she swiped the badge against the card reader; above the reader, the light flashed from red to green, “am I. Come on.”
“Are you going to change?” Piotr asked as the door snicked shut behind them. The basement was pitch black, the dense darkness almost velvet with dust and quiet.
“I don’t dare, not yet,” she whispered. “Unless you’re ready to go to the Light right now.”
“I didn’t think of that,” Piotr hissed.
“It’s okay, I did. Now shut up, let me think!”
After several minutes her eyes adjusted, but the darkness was still nearly complete. Wendy was able to push off from the wall and maneuver her way across the room mostly by touch, avoiding the sharp corners of neatly stacked boxes and a large plastic bin overflowing with cottony, plush fabric.
“Bedspreads,” she whispered. “I think.”
“Have you seen a single Walker?” Piotr asked. “Because I haven’t.”
“There’s a reason for that,” said a voice behind them and Piotr felt a sharp pinch on the back of his neck. Lights blared into existence—across the vast expanse of basement, several Walkers systematically stripped the blackout sheets away from the windows in the Never as another group flicked on the lights. Wendy blinked against the glare. Her eyes were seeing the two worlds pressed together, hotel lights brilliant in the Never but dark in the living world. The Never was stronger here, stronger than she’d ever seen it before, and the living world was fading from view fast.
“Amazing,” the White Lady said, “what a little bit of time and preparation can do.”
They were, Wendy realized, in a vast Never ballroom, the walls rounded at the corners and festooned with sweeps of gaily painted decorations. Here and there long, thin cracks in the walls were mending before her very eyes as the living people above went about their daily business and the multitude of students revved up for the next day’s competition. If she concentrated, Wendy could just make out the edges of the real world beyond the intense brilliance of the basement, but the Never was too dazzling to ignore for long.
Dozens of Walkers lined the walls like ancient, rotting wallflowers, their hoods flung back, each one marked with long, fresh wounds, still seeping, that had been roughly sewn closed with hanks of black twine. It was the far wall, however, that caught Wendy’s attention. The missing Lost—a dozen of them—huddled together, bound hand and foot like an under-aged chain gang beneath a temporary stage that winked in and out of existence as the Palace, pulsing with energy, cycled through the ages and all the renovations it had been through.
All of the Lost had been starved and drained of essence; fear and pain came off them in palpable waves that Wendy could sense in her gut. They watched her avidly, hungrily. Piotr groaned—among them were Dunn, Dora, Tommy. No recognition shone in their eyes.
Beside the Lost, wrapped in rapidly expanding tendrils of spirit web, were the rest of the Riders. Lily, face slashed; Elle, mouth bloody, and James, both eyes blackened and with one arm hanging at a gruesome angle from his shoulder. It had been an ambush.
They were trapped.
“Wendy,” Piotr moaned, the strands of spirit web spinning quickly around his neck and snaking down his
