Chapter 16 The Trojan Horse
The van vibrates as Jax weaves through the heavy traffic near the Vance Academy. Every time a siren wails in the distance, my stomach does a slow, painful somersault. I stare at the small screen on the dashboard. The news anchor is speaking in a grave, hushed tone.
"New details are emerging in the abduction of Caspian Thorne," the woman says. "Sources close to the family suggest Zora Vane may be holding the young heir in an attempt to negotiate a massive payout for her mother's legal fees. Arthur Thorne has issued a statement pleading for his son's safe return."
Caspian lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Abduction? He's a genius. He isn't just making you a criminal, Zoe. He's making me his leverage. If I say a word against him, he'll just say I'm suffering from trauma. That I'm confused."
"He's protecting the brand," I say, pulling an oversized grey janitor's jumpsuit over my clothes. "To the world, you're the prince in the tower. I'm the monster who climbed the walls."
"It's sick," Caspian mutters, zipping up his own jumpsuit. He looks at his reflection in the van's window. With the soot on his face and the baggy work clothes, the Golden Boy is gone. He looks like one of us. He looks like someone who knows what it is like to be invisible.
Jax pulls into a dark alleyway two blocks from the Academy. "This is as close as I can get. The front is crawling with news vans and private security. If I drive any closer, they'll scan the plates."
"The service entrance is through the basement laundry chute," I say, checking the thumb drive in my pocket one last time. I hand Jax my crutches. "I can't take these. They're too recognizable."
"How are you going to walk, Z?" Jax asks, his eyes full of worry.
"I'm not walking," I say, looking at the heavy laundry bin Jax has in the back of the van. "I'm being delivered."
Caspian looks at the bin, then at me. "You want me to wheel you in?"
"It's the only way. Janitors move these bins every hour. The security guards don't even look at the faces of the people pushing them. We're just part of the furniture."
Jax helps me climb into the bin. I curl my body into a tight ball, my injured ankle pressed against the cold plastic. Caspian piles several heavy white tablecloths on top of me until the world goes black. It is cramped and smells like bleach, but it is a hiding spot.
"See you on the other side, Z," Jax whispers. He taps the side of the bin twice. "Kick some elite ass for the Flats."
I feel the bin tilt as Caspian wheels it out of the van. The sound of the city gets louder, the honking of horns, the distant chatter of the crowd gathering for the Gala. Every bump in the pavement sends a shock of pain through my leg, but I bite my tongue until it bleeds. I cannot make a sound. Not now.
The wheels transition from asphalt to smooth concrete. The air gets cooler. We are inside the loading dock.
"ID?" a gruff voice asks. My heart stops.
"Night shift," Caspian says. His voice is different, flatter, more tired. He is acting. "The Gala crew requested extra linens for the VIP lounge. Apparently someone spilled red wine on the first floor."
"Always something with these rich kids," the guard grunts. I hear the electronic beep of a gate opening. "Get it moved. And don't get in the way of the cameras. Madam Sterling is on a warpath tonight."
The bin starts moving again. Caspian's pace is steady, but I can hear his breathing. It is fast and shallow. We are deep in the belly of the beast now. The smell of bleach is replaced by the smell of expensive perfume and floor wax.
"We are in the service elevator," Caspian whispers, his voice barely audible over the hum of the machine. "I am taking us to the third floor. The dressing rooms are being guarded, but the prop closet behind the stage is usually empty until the finale."
"Is anyone following?" I whisper through the fabric.
"No. They are all focused on the red carpet. Zoe, I can hear the orchestra tuning up. We have maybe forty minutes before the opening solo."
The elevator dings. We move down a hallway, the wheels squeaking on the polished tile. Finally the bin stops. The lid opens, and the tablecloths are pulled back.
Caspian pulls me out of the bin. I collapse against him, my leg nearly giving way, but he catches me. We are in a small, cramped room filled with velvet curtains, fake trees, and gold painted chairs. It is the prop room, right behind the main stage.
Through the thick curtains, I can hear the low murmur of the audience. The elite of the city are out there, sitting in their silk dresses and tuxedos, waiting to be entertained. They think they are here for a ballet. They have no idea they are here for an execution.
"I need to get to the tech booth," I say, leaning against a pile of gym mats. "If I can plug the drive into the main projector, the files will play on the giant screen behind the stage. Everyone will see the crash reports and the legal logs at the same time."
"I'll go," Caspian says. "I know the bypass codes for the server room. You stay here. You need to save your strength for the dance."
"Caspian, if you get caught in the server room, they'll call it extortion. They'll use that news report to bury you."
Caspian looks at the stage curtain, then back at me. He reaches out and takes the thumb drive. "Let them try. For the first time in my life, I am not playing a part, Zoe. I am the one writing the script."
He turns to leave, but I grab his hand. "Caspian. Be careful. Your father, he won't hesitate to use the guards."
He gives me a small, sad smile. "He already tried to burn me alive. A few security guards don't scare me anymore."
He slips out the door, leaving me alone in the dark. I sink to the floor, clutching my ankle. The pain is a dull roar now, muffled by the pills, but I can feel the weakness in the joint.
I look around the prop room. In the corner, I see it. A pair of my old pointe shoes. Someone must have thrown them in the bin after I was kicked out. They are scuffed and dirty, the ribbons frayed.
I pull them toward me. I begin to strip off the janitor's jumpsuit. Underneath, I am wearing the black leotard I wore in the Flats.
I start to tie the ribbons. My fingers are steady, even if my heart is not. Every loop of the silk is a promise to Lumi. Every knot is a middle finger to Arthur Thorne.
Suddenly, the lights in the prop room flicker. A shadow falls across the door.
"You really should have stayed in the fire, Zora."
I freeze. I know that voice. It is not a guard. It is not Arthur.
It is Sloane. She is standing in the doorway, her white Gala tutu glowing in the dim light. In her hand, she is holding a heavy metal trophy. And she is not looking at me with pity. She is looking at me with the eyes of someone who is about to protect her spotlight at any cost.
"Give me the drive," she says, stepping into the room. "Or I make sure that ankle never heals."
I look at the door Caspian disappeared through, then at the girl who has everything I ever wanted.
"You're late, Sloane," I say, standing up on one leg, balancing against a fake tree. "The show has already started.”