Page 64 of Ink Blood Sister Scribe

Esther’s limbs went numb. She’d been wrong. He wasn’t asking her a single question; he reallywashere to kill her. He aimed the gun at her legs, finger finding the trigger, and said, “Let’s start with the knees.”

Every muscle in her body tightened as she stared at his trigger finger, preparing to throw herself out of the way, preparing herself for the crack of a shot—but the next sound that echoed through the room wasn’t a crack, but a click.

The door was opening.

“What the—” the blond man said. His eyes darted from Esther to the opening door and back to Esther, gun still level in his hand. Nothing happened, no one entered. Holding the gun in both hands now, like he thought he was in a spy movie, the man backed toward the open door, glancing out into the hall, and because this was the only chance she had, Esther took it.

She lunged to one side and then the other in case he shot and threw herself toward the door—right as it slammed shut again under its own power.

“Jesus,” the blond man yelped, and Esther hurled herself against him, getting so close he wouldn’t have an angle to shoot, but she didn’t have much leverage and her body hit his with a soft, weak thud. It shouldn’t even have been enough force to make him stagger—yet he did stagger, badly, and a second later he collapsed at Esther’s feet, cracking forehead-first against the ground. He went absolutely still.

Esther stared down at him. After a few seconds had passed and he didn’t move, she did, because there would be time to unpack this new mystery later, if she survived. Even if his collapse was another trap, it was also the only hope she’d felt since this man had closed his fingers around her arm at the gate, and she wasn’t going to waste any time. She pulled her duffel bag back onto her shoulder, scooped her fake passport up from where it had fallen on the ground, and glanced back at the drugged,half-naked mustached man in the corner, whom she’d nearly forgotten. She did not know what she could do for him at this point except wrestle the gun from the guard’s limp fingers, empty the bullets into her palm, and smash the butt of it against the mirror as she left the room.

Her body screamed at her to run, but she didn’t, because running invited chasing. Instead, she walked quickly down the hall, slowing only slightly when she saw that the pink-lipsticked woman was slumped back in her ergonomic chair, mouth wide open, unconscious behind her computer. There were no signs of a struggle. Goosebumps rose on Esther’s arms. She didn’t stop moving though, only dropped her handful of bullets into the wastepaper basket beside the desk as she passed. Back in the main room, harried-looking travelers were still submitting to searches and questions. A few of the security personnel glanced at her without much interest as she passed toward the door. She focused on projecting an air of absolute confidence and ease despite the fact that her hands were trembling and she was cold-sweating uncontrollably. She even managed to smile at a uniformed woman, and a second later, she was back in the main airport.

Everything felt unreal, staged: the overhead lights, the speckled tile of the floor, the hum of a passing cart loaded with luggage, all the people calling for their kids and queuing at gates and frowning at their phones. She didn’t look behind her to see if anyone was following but she did pick up her pace a little, glancing up at the signs to find the direction of the exit.

Suddenly, someone grabbed her wrist.

She yanked away on instinct and whirled around, but no one was there—in fact, the closest person was nearly ten feet away, a man in a business suit standing at a vending machine. Her breath was coming fast, almost in pants, her whole body alight with nerves; had she imagined the feeling of cool fingers grabbing her?

“I’m right next to you,” said a voice in her ear, and this time when Esther whipped around, she felt the unmistakable brush of fabric againsther hand. “Don’t say anything,” said the voice, which was light and female and had a New Zealand accent. “And don’t leave this airport. They have people waiting at the exit for you in case you try. Go into the nearest washroom and wait for me.”

“Wait for—who are you?Whereare you?”

“We’ll talk in a sec,” said the voice. “All you need to know right now is that I’m the one who saved you back there, and I promise I’m on your side.”

Esther started walking toward the exit again, even faster this time. She had never heard of any circumstance under which listening to a disembodied voice had been the right course of action.

“Esther,” the voice said, those cool fingers touching her wrist again—and then, in faltering, unimpressive Spanish, “La ruta nos aportó otro paso natural. Did I say that right? Please believe me when I tell you not to leave this airport.”

Esther didn’t know if it was the sound of her own name or the sound of that familiar phrase that slowed her steps, but she did stop. She stood there, duffel bag digging into her shoulder, T-shirt damp with anxious sweat beneath her jacket, teeth gritted against a scream of frustration. She just wanted to take one step that belonged to her, make one move that she had independently decided to make, but at every turn it felt as if her strings were being pulled by unseen hands.

“The last time I trusted that particular sentence,” she said quietly, “it led me here, straight into a trap.”

“That trap wasn’t laid by the person who sent me,” the voice said. “I swear it.” Then, with a gusty sigh that ruffled Esther’s hair, “Please, come into the washroom and hear me out? Being invisible is actually so uncomfortable, it’s like bees are crawling inside my skin. I’m really over it.”

If this little glimpse of humanity was a trick, well... Esther was tired and friendless and let herself fall for it. Silently, her jaw still clenched in fury, she turned on her heel and stalked into the nearest restroom, then stood there, arms crossed, as a tiny redhead finished putting on a layer ofmascara in the mirror and hurried out, casting Esther a nervous glance. Once the redhead had gone, one of the taps turned on by itself, and a paper towel unrolled itself from a dispenser, tore itself from the roll, and floated over to dampen itself beneath the water. It began scrubbing away at something unseen, and then a young woman stood over the sink, holding a book and a paper towel with traces of blood from where she’d wiped it off the page.

“Ugh!” she said, shaking herself like she was casting off spiderwebs. “That was really unpleasant. You all right?”

Esther stared. It was the girl she’d seen in line what felt like hours earlier: the Asian girl with the huge red glasses who’d watched her being dragged off by the blond man. She seemed to be a few years younger than Esther and was wearing a black blazer, a black messenger bag, and very clean white sneakers. She looked like the kind of Young Professional that Esther had seen on TV but never met in real life.

“You’re okay,” the girl said, answering her own question. “Just a bit shaken, I imagine.”

A woman and two children entered and both Esther and the stranger went quiet, waiting for them to do their business, which seemed to take forever and involved a lot of arguing over whether or not the little girl actually had to pee. (It turned out she did; Esther had to listen to her do it.)

When the family left, Esther said, “What did you do to those people back there? The guard and the woman at the desk?”

“I injected them with a tranquilizer,” the girl said earnestly, pushing the red glasses up her nose.

“Who told you to do that?”

“I do wish I could answer you,” the girl said, “but, you know.” She mimed zipping her lips and tossing away the key. “Now listen, you’ve missed your flight, which really threw a wrench in things, but I got it sorted. That’s why it took me some time to break you out of there, by the way, my apologies for the delay, though he wouldn’t have actually hurt you. I’m told they want you alive.”

With this last horrible pronouncement, she stuffed the book in her messenger bag and passed Esther a sheaf of boarding passes, all in Emily Madison’s name.

“Your new flight to L.A. leaves in about thirty minutes, which is good, because the tranquilizer only lasts an hour or so and we want you gone by the time those people wake up and start yelling.”

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