Chapter 7 - Blood on the Ivory Key
Lily didn't hesitate. She scrambled away from the edge of the pit, her sneakers slipping on the slick marble, sprinting toward me with all the speed her little legs could muster.
I dove across the floor, sliding on my knees, catching her in my arms just as Vance recovered his footing on the balcony above. He looked down, his face contorted in rage, and slammed his thumb down on the remote detonator.
A sound like an artillery shell detonating ripped through the foundation of the house.
The floor beneath us didn't collapse—the charges Vance had set weren't high explosives; they were pneumatic release valves. The entire central section of the marble floor tilted violently at a thirty-degree angle. Massive steel counterweights swung free within the walls, groaning like dying beasts. The Persian runner slid into the darkness like water pouring down a drain.
"Daniel, get her out!" Miller yelled, firing three more rounds toward the upper gallery, keeping Vance pinned behind a load-bearing column.
I scrambled backward toward the front entrance, clutching Lily against my chest, shielding her with my entire body. But as I reached the heavy double doors, a heavy steel shutter slammed down from the lintel with the force of a guillotine, burying itself six inches into the oak sill.
Sparks flew as the metal locked into place. The front door was sealed.
All around us, the automated security protocols of Blackwood Manor were activating. Steel shutters crashed down over every window in the dining room, the library, the conservatory. The house was turning into an iron tomb, hermetically sealing itself from the outside world.
The lights cut out entirely.
Only the emergency strobes from the subterranean hatch remained, casting long, monstrous shadows across the walls. The air grew thick with the smell of ozone, plaster dust, and burning insulation.
"Clara!" I shouted into the gloom, holding Lily tight. "Clara, where are you?!"
A ragged cough answered from near the base of the grand staircase. Clara emerged from the shadows, leaning heavily against the banister. Blood was seeping through her hospital gown where her stitches had torn, but her eyes burned with feral determination.
"The control hub," Clara wheezed, pointing toward the tilting floor. "The pneumatic override isn't up there with him. It’s in the vault. If we don't trip the manual breaker within five minutes, the ventilation dampers will seal, and the halon fire-suppression system will flood the entire house."
"He’s going to suffocate us," I realized, the horror suffocating me before the gas even arrived.
"He built the halon system as an emergency wipe," Clara nodded, gasping for air. "He’d rather destroy the entire estate than let the police take his research."
From the upper shadows, Vance’s footsteps began descending the rear servant staircase—the one hidden behind the walls. We could hear him moving through the hollow spaces, his boots scraping against the pine catwalks directly above our heads.
"He’s coming down behind us," Miller said, ejecting his empty magazine and slapping a fresh one home. "Daniel, take Clara and Lily down into that vault. Find that override."
"Miller, you can't fight him in the dark—he knows every inch of these walls!"
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"I don't need to know the walls," Miller growled, racking the slide. "I just need to buy you four minutes. GO!"
***
