Page 1 of The Knight

Chapter 1

The lights are blinding.

Red, blue. Red, blue.

They shine through even my tightly-closed eyelids.

I feel hot and cold at the same time. Cold from the remains of the storm sticking to my skin. Hot from the heavy blanket weighing me down. Cold from the New England winter closing in. Hot from the fire kindling inside me, sparking to life after finding a new target to burn.

I'm sure we've got enough rope left to do the job.

Fingers on my neck. Pressure on my nose and mouth. I force my eyes open, wondering if I'm dead. Wondering if I'm about to die.

I don't feel the burn of rope on my neck, or the pain of suffocation.

If this is the afterlife, though, it's not what I pictured. Way too many flashing red and blue lights. And a flat board beneath me, being effortlessly lifted up into the rear of an ambulance. It takes me a moment to realize that I'm not even wearing my dress anymore. Someone must have cut it off me.

A calm voice, floating above my head, says, "You'll be at the hospital shortly, Ms. Wilder. Try to take it easy—no, don't sit up. We called your emergency contact. Your mom is on her way."

Ms. Wilder.It all comes back to me at once: Georgia at the Blind Ball, Holly trying to talk her down, getting partnered with Cole, running outside in the thick storm, and that kiss that made the sky split open and everything come crashing down.

I told the Elites that Silas killed himself.

The men who put me in the trunk made it clear that he was murdered.

I struggle, despite the advice from the EMT, and he patiently pulls the oxygen mask off my mouth. "Is there something wrong? Any pain anywhere?"

Coughing, I lick my lips. Another voice, this one at my feet, silhouetted by the red and blue lights, speaks up. "Is she ready to give an initial statement?"

"I'm not sure—"

"I'm ready." Pulling myself up, the blanket askew on my lap, I squint at the police officer standing at the open doors to the ambulance. She's thin and smartly dressed, her eyes projecting confidence. "I want to tell you everything I know—everything that happened. Those men..." Rubbing my throat, where a rope didn't tighten, I ask, "Did they get away?"

"We didn't find any men." The officer's voice is calm and empathetic. "We just found you, passed out in the trunk of the car. You're lucky your classmate found you."

"Classmate?"

"Young man with a funny name: Ferdinand von Hassell. He's headed to the station to give a statement. I'll let him know you're up and doing well—he was very worried."

Chills go down my spine.

Mariana's rapist saved my life.

There are two pressing questions on my mind now.

The first is: how did Hass know where to find me? When I look out past the parked police vehicles and their flashing lights, I see nothing familiar. Those two men had to have driven me pretty far into the woods, all the way to where they planned to stage my death—just like they staged Silas's suicide.

The second is: where is my brother's laptop, and why were two strangers willing to kill for it?

I have the feeling that Hass knows the answer to the second question as well as the first.

Rich boys don't find their way to active crime scenes on accident.

And boys like Hass don't save girls like me unless they're looking for information that the dead won't give.

* * *

They bring me to the hospital first, to get checked out. I try to protest, but it doesn't matter—teen girl gets found chloroformed and stuffed into a trunk, the officials have her looked over.

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