Page 19 of Cruel Juliet

Bet I could make her, though.

That’s when the idea comes. Desperate? Sure. But so am I, and I can’t sit here waiting for a miracle crack in her routine. Knowing her, it’ll be her funeral, some hundred-odd years from now.

So I might as well do it tonight.

When she comes to collect my dinner tray, I put the plan in motion. “Hold on,” I say.

Then I stack my dirty laundry on top of the dishes. Socks, nightgown, even the blanket I’ve been sweating through.

“Do me a favor and wash these, will you? The smell is starting to haunt me.”

Anya shoots me her usual pursed-lips look. She doesn’t argue, which for once I’m grateful for.

I plow ahead and start piling the books on top of the laundry. “And these, too. I’m done. Consider me fully educated in the riveting history of Baltic shipping lanes.”

By the time she balances everything in her arms, she looks like a human tower. The tray wobbles, the blanket slides. I watch the book obelisk threaten to topple twice.

She barely manages to step through the door and pull it shut behind her without dropping the whole load. When she’s gone, I freeze and wait for the familiar clunk of the lock. The sound that usually seals me back in my cage.

But it doesn’t come.

It. Doesn’t.Come.

Her footsteps creak down the hall, slow and steady, and then fade away. I don’t give myself time to think. If I think, I’ll lose my nerve.

And that’s the one thing I can’t afford to lose.

I shove the door open and slip into the hall. My bare feet are ninja quiet on the wood, but my pulse is pounding so hard I’m sure it’s loud enough to give me away.

I press close to the wall and move down the corridor. The urge to look back claws at me, but I force myself to fight it. No time for sentiment while running away from Bly Manor.

On the third step, the staircase creaks under me.

I freeze, count to ten, then keep going.

Every second, I expect a shout. A hand coming to yank me back into oblivion.

But nothing happens, so I keep going.

At the bottom, the kitchen smells like garlic. Odd for a house of likely vampires, but I don’t have the luxury of dwelling on that rich comedic gold mine. There will be plenty of time to crack jokes once I’m halfway across the globe.

The nightlight above the stove throws a weak glow. I slip past it. My palms are slick against the wall as I steady myself.

The driveway stretches ahead. The garage door is only a few steps away. On the wall, the peg board of keys.

My throat is dry as I scan the rows. Luxury cars, sports cars—completely useless. I need something plain.

Finally, my eyes land on a black fob that looks like it belongs to an SUV. I grab it. My hand shakes. I squeeze until the keys dig into my skin.

The clink sounds too loud. I hold my breath and brace myself for footsteps.

Silence.

I edge toward the garage door.

Just one more push and I’ll be outside. Free.My legs feel weak, but I force them to move.

Outside, the faint lick of fresh air is enough to make me grin from ear to ear.This is it,I realize with a thrill. I’m going to make it.