Chapter 9 - The Chase Through the Archives
Footsteps pounded on the oak floorboards behind me.
"Get her!" a rough voice shouted down the corridor.
I didn't look back. I sprinted past the formal dining room, my floral pajama pants swishing wildly around my ankles, my bare feet slipping slightly on the polished runner rugs. The mansion was a labyrinth of shadows, high ceilings, and locked doors—a maze I had spent thirty days mapping out, every hidden corridor and service latch memorized for routine maintenance checks.
I veered hard to the left, diving into the narrow service corridor behind the grand pantry—a passage the family used for catering staff that bypassed the main living areas entirely.
The heavy door banged shut behind me. I threw the brass deadbolt, locking it from the inside just as a heavy shoulder slammed against the wood from the other side, splintering the frame.
"She's heading toward the east library!" a voice yelled.
I scrambled down the dark, narrow passage, my fingers tracing the cold brick wall until I found the brass latch leading to the basement stairs. I yanked it open, tumbled down the first three wooden steps in a chaotic tangle of pink satin and bad balance, and hit the concrete floor of the cellar with a sharp gasp.
The basement smelled of damp stone, old wine casks, and the iron tang of the underground utility tunnels that led out to the lake house.
I clutched the ledger tight, my chest heaving for air, listening intently to the sounds above.
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Heavy boots thudded across the ceiling directly overhead. They were cutting me off at the main exit.
Suddenly, a hand clamped firmly over my mouth from the darkness behind a row of towering wine racks.
