“I know, I know. I wanted you to hear it from me. And I don’t have much time.”

  I give her the rundown of the day. As quickly and succinctly as I can.

  She listens without saying much, but when she does interject, I can tell how scared she is. I’m scared as well—my hands shake the whole time we talk. But it’s so good to hear her voice, to know she knows I’m okay.

  The chief claps his hands at all of us and makes a hurry-it-up gesture by winding his hand in the air.

  “I have to go,” I say. “The police need to get statements from everyone.”

  “Okay. I get it.”

  “Look, I figured something out today. And . . . I know it’s hard for us with the kids getting close to college and everything, but I don’t think I want to do this job anymore. I’ve never liked kissing up to these donors, and after today . . . Well, despite everything, it’s nice to spend time with students and get to know them as human beings.”

  “I can tell how much you miss teaching,” she says. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Remember, I can take on more clients. With the kids older, we can make it work.”

  “Rachel, you and the girls are all that really matter to me. The rest is . . . Nothing else matters. That’s it.”

  The chief claps again.

  “Okay, I’ll call when I’m coming home. I love you.”

  “I love you too. I’m sorry about everything that went down, but I’m glad you’re safe. Stay that way, okay?”

  “I will. I promise.”

  When I finish, I head toward the chief. Sydney sniffles as she tells her mom she loves her. The captain speaks a highly formal good-bye to someone, then asks them to give Tanya a kiss on his behalf.

  Emily continues to speak into her phone in a voice so low we can’t hear anything. The chief takes a step toward her, about to hurry her along, but then he turns and looks the other way, toward the main drive.

  “Oh,” he says. “See that, Mr. Gaines?”

  “Oh.”

  Two vehicles head our way, coincidentally arriving at the same time. The first is a white van with one word emblazoned on the side: coroner. Behind the van comes a vehicle we all recognize—the white Ford sedan driven by President Chan.

  “Looks like you have someone else to tell your story to,” Chief says.

  “Looks that way. Chief, can I ask you something?”

  “What?” He fixes the laser stare on me.

  “Did you have any idea there would be this kind of trouble? Inside the house, I mean. You said people are disgruntled, the workers on campus.”

  “What are you saying, Troy?”

  I’m stepping through a minefield. “Just . . . did you know or suspect? You all were in there this morning, and the food . . .”

  He looks like he doesn’t understand me. Then he shakes his head. “Fuck you, Troy.”

  Emily continues to talk, her voice growing louder. “Yes . . . Yes . . . Yes, I’m ready.”

  “Ma’am?” Chief says. “We really need you to wrap that up. You can call your parents again later.”

  She ignores him and steps farther away. “Yes . . . Yes . . . I saw it. . . .”

  “Emily?” I say. “Chief needs you to—”

  With a loud huff, she says, “Good-bye, okay?” and ends the call.

  “Can you just come over here?” Chief says. “All of you?”

  They start to gather—

  —except for Emily, who surprises everyone by turning and making a mad dash across the lawn, up onto the portico, and back inside Hyde House.

  71

  THE CHIEF AND ONE of the other cops—the one who brought the bag of phones—start to go after her. I run along behind them, and when we reach the portico, I call out.

  “Easy, easy.”

  They stop at the doorway. The chief looks at me, his brow furrowed, his hairless scalp glistening in the bright daylight. “Stay back, Vice President Gaines.”

  “Hold it,” I say. “Can you let me— She’s probably scared out of her mind.”

  “That’s a crime scene,” the other cop says.

  “I know. That’s why I want to get her out of there,” I say. “I feel responsible for these students, okay? Can I just get her out? Talk to her and get her out of there? Safely.”

  The chief studies me, brow still wrinkled like a mussed bed. He looks like a man just realizing how long his day is going to be—and it’s going to be a long day and evening and night for him as everything gets sorted out.

  I’m trying to make his life a little easier.

  His posture remains ramrod straight, his muscles taut as wire. “You’d better get her out of there fast. And the only reason I’m allowing you to do it is because we have to start interviewing these other students.”

  He holds up his hands, every finger extended. “Five minutes. Then we’re coming in and dragging her ass out. And you with her.”

  “I promise.” I hand him the bylaws. “Hold this for me.”

  Chief takes the book and nods to his underling, and the other cop, who’s scowling to show his displeasure with the chief’s decision but is still going along with it, nods back.

  “Let’s go get these statements started,” Chief says. “Five minutes. And don’t touch anything.”

  “Chief, I want to be done with that house forever.”

  They leave, their gear rattling as they walk away.

  I’m face-to-face with the opening to the house. I don’t want to go back in. My skin prickles with gooseflesh at the thought. A wave of unease spreads through my stomach. I reach out, place my right hand on the jamb as I step through, hoping Emily is right there inside the door, ready to leave.

  The foyer sits empty.

  The staircase stretches out ahead of me. In the distance, the faint ticking of the grandfather clock continues. To my right, Milo’s body rests in the music room. To my left in the parlor, Mr. Hyde. Even though I spent the day inside here, my mind struggles to process all that happened. It’s already like a haunting dream, the kind that hovers over our heads for an entire day with a creeping unease. I’m not sure I’ll ever shake it.

  “Emily?”

  It’s so quiet, so hushed, she must be upstairs. But no sounds come from above. No squeaking floorboards, no steps.

  “Emily? You need to come outside. If you don’t, the police are going to—”

  Metal strikes metal in the parlor. A sharp ringing sound. Once and then twice.

  “Emily?”

  I go that way, enter the parlor. Emily stands by the far end of the fireplace. She holds the sword—the major’s sword, which the captain dropped—over her head. The blade extends nearly to the ceiling and appears to be as long as she is. Determination twists her face as she swings again, brings the sword down against the gas sconce.

  Clang!

  The sconce sits at an odd angle. The stem attaching it to the wall twists like a slithering snake, and the screws anchoring it in place are popped loose.

  “Emily. That’s gas. Real gas.”

  The flame reflects off her glasses, obscuring her eyes. She ignores me, sucks in a deep breath, and takes one more giant swing like she’s a miniature Paul Bunyan.

  Clang!

  The blade sends the sconce flying off the wall and across the room, where it clatters against the hardwood and comes to rest at the side of Nicholas Hyde’s body. Gas pours directly out of the wall with a whoosh.

  “Emily, my God—”

  She digs in the pocket of her dress and brings out a lighter. “I brought this with me. I kept it to myself when you went downstairs with the matches.”

  Her thumb strikes the wheel once and then twice, but the flame doesn’t catch.

  “Emily, stop.” I hold out my hand. “Think about what you’re doing. The criminal charges.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re with the protestors. They did call your name during the day. The phone call outside, the Roman candle. It was a signal.”

  “They’re all marching now,” she says. “They’re going to tear down the statue of Major Hyde, wipe any trace of him off the face of the earth. A polluter and a mass murderer. A genocidal maniac.”

  “Emily, we need to—”

  “I can’t believe I thought about staying and taking his blood money. I did. I was ready to stay until—”

  “Until you found out about the job. And working for a year.”

  “Exactly. That was a bridge too far.”

  “Did you fake being sick so we wouldn’t suspect you?”

  “I didn’t fake it, but I overplayed it. I haven’t eaten meat in years. They don’t give out much good meat at the food pantry, so I tried the rabbit here. I think it disagreed with me, and that was my chance to throw suspicion off myself. The whole thing makes me sick. Really. And I hate myself for being tempted by the handouts, the crumbs. That’s what always happens. I’m always tempted off the true path by some vestige of privilege. This house has to go too.”

  “Did you kill them? Did you kill Nicholas as part of this plan?”

  She looks down, the lighter in her hand. She studies the body as though she’s seeing it for the first time. “Fuck him. He’s small potatoes compared to all of this and the college.”

  She shakes the lighter, runs her thumb across the wheel. The lighter ignites.

  Without hesitation, Emily lifts her hand. She looks like a smaller version of the Statue of Liberty—with Virginia Woolf’s face painted on her arm.

  The flame from the lighter reaches the gas jet from the wall—

  An orange flash as big and bright as the sun—

  I’m in the air, suspended for a moment above the furniture. My feet rise as high as my head.

  I’m leaving my body, leaving the earth. Rachel and the girls flash through my mind, my parents and my friends—everything I know and care about flying by—

  Then I slam against the floor. My body rolls, a reverse somersault with my feet swinging back over my head and hitting the parlor wall underneath the window. I’m crumpled in the corner like a pile of old clothes. Heat and flame grow in intensity above me.

  72

  THE RINGING IN MY head brings me back to life.

  Everything burns, and the air glows. My lungs pump and gasp but can’t find enough air to breathe.

  I get on all fours, look across the room. The walls, the ceiling, are all aflame—and the flames dance and spread.

  “Emily?”

  The word barely escapes my throat. My throat burns, and I choke. The heat blisters my lips.

  “Emily?”

  Something moves across the room. Illuminated in orange, Emily stumbles to her feet. I do the same, start toward her. Smoke fills the space in thick gray puffs. Emily comes toward the center of the room. As she does, a portion of the parlor ceiling falls and lands where she was standing, sending up an eruption of flame and spark.

  “Let’s go,” I say. My words are lost in the crackle of the flames.

  I take Emily by the hand, feel the grit and dirt on her skin. We start for the hallway, but she stumbles, goes to her knees with a grunt.

  “I can’t. . . .”

  “Come on.”

  With all my strength, I pull her up, keep my arm around her back to make her go. We enter the hallway. The flames jump out here, igniting the walls and the staircase.

  A coughing spasm takes hold of my chest, sending me to my knees. I can’t breathe, can’t force any air into my lungs. Giant bands of pressure squeeze my chest like I’m underwater.

  Emily goes to her knees as well.

  I can’t move. Strength drains out of my body.

  “Go, Emily. . . .”

  “I can’t. . . .”

  Smoke fills the space so I can barely see her right next to me. I just want to close my eyes, go to sleep—

  A figure appears before us, emerging from the outside.

  “Sir?”

  “Captain . . . take . . . her. . . .”

  Something grabs me, a giant hand. Like I’m a toy in one of those claw vending machines. I’m moving toward the light—toward the door—

  Then daylight surrounds me and other hands take me. I’m dragged off the portico steps and into the grass. Dragged and dragged, my shirt pressing against my throat.

  But the oxygen flows into my lungs, clean and clear. I inhale it greedily.

  The chief leans over me, undoes my tie, loosens my shirt. “You’re okay,” he says. “Just breathe.”

  “Emily . . .”

  “She’s okay too. Breathed a little smoke like you, but that’s it.”

  “The captain . . .”

  “Well . . . he went back in.”

  “Back in?”

  I struggle to rise. Chief places his hand against my chest gently, trying to keep me down in the grass. I can’t do anything. . . .

  I rise to a sitting position. Hyde House is a cauldron of flames. They shoot out the windows and chimney. Smoke pours from every opening.

  Two police officers and a paramedic stand on the portico but can’t enter. More sirens wail in the afternoon, approaching fire trucks and ambulances—but none of it can help the captain.

  Painful moments pass. Everything inside me feels scorched and raw. My eyes water. Yes, because of the smoke, but also for the captain. He saved us—Emily and me.

  And he didn’t get out.

  “Chief, you’ve got to—”

  A figure emerges from the smoke, hunched and carrying a large burden. He stumbles across the portico and out onto the lawn. The cops and paramedic rush to his side as he goes down on his knees, the body on his back flopping onto the ground beside him.

  “It’s the captain,” I say.

  He’s surrounded by help. I stumble to my feet, Chief by my side. I make it to the captain’s side, fall to my knees. The paramedic places an oxygen mask over his face. He’s breathing. His clothes are dirty, his hair is scorched, but he’s breathing.

  “Captain, thank you.”

  His eyelids flutter.

  I see what—who—he carried out of the house on his back. It’s Milo. Milo’s body rescued from the flames.

  “Captain . . .”

  He lifts his hand, moves the oxygen mask aside. “I couldn’t let . . . His mom will want . . .”

  “I get it,” I say. “I do.”

  The paramedic slides the mask back over the captain’s face.

  “Is he okay?”

  “He should be fine. Smoke inhalation and some burns on his hands and arms. But it doesn’t look too bad.”

  The same can’t be said for Hyde House.

  Flames engulf every inch of the structure, foundation to roof.

  It’s a total loss.

  73

  HYDE HOUSE BURNS. AND burns.

  Two fire trucks arrive, but by the time they pull up to the front of the building, it’s far too late. They drag out their hoses and spray the flames, but they might as well be spitting on it for all the good it does.

  The paramedics load both Emily and the captain onto stretchers and wheel them to separate ambulances. A cop walks alongside Emily’s stretcher, asking her questions she refuses to answer. She says only one thing:

  “I waited until the house was empty. I waited. . . .”

  More police arrive, and the chief redirects some of them to the entrance of the college to try to stop the protestors from bringing down the statue of Major Hyde and Lancer.

  I cough and cough. My mouth tastes like an ashtray. My lungs burn like someone has taken a blowtorch to them. Chief and Grace Chan approach.

  “Let’s get you to the hospital,” Chief says. “I can get one of my officers to drive you.”

  “I’m okay. I want to stay.”

  “You trying to get more hero points?”

  I blink and blink, trying to ease the pain in my eyes. “I don’t know, Chief.”

  Grace takes a step closer. “Chief’s right. Why don’t you go to the hospital? We can handle it all here. It’s pretty obvious what happened, isn’t it? These protestors had a grand plan to bring down the Hyde family and all they represent. The house, the statue. And yes, even to kill Nicholas Hyde. I just can’t believe one of our students could commit murder in such a way.” Grace struggles to find the right words and fails. “I just . . .”

  “They’re likely not all students from Hyde,” Chief says. “Most of them are outside agitators. That’s the way these things go. This Emily fell in with a bad crowd.”

  “And she murdered one of her classmates in the process,” Grace says.

  The chief rubs his forehead. “I suspect she didn’t want to do that. She probably intended to poison Mr. Hyde and was sloppy. Nerves cause mistakes.” He points at me. “We heard this Milo and Mr. Hyde were standing next to each other during teatime.”

  “They were.” I blink and blink. The day’s events run through my mind like a sped-up film. A horror film. “But Emily wasn’t near them . . . and she just said she waited until the house was empty to burn it down, which is true. She could have done it anytime during the day. . . .”

  “I know you want to figure out a way to let her off the hook,” Grace says. “It’s tough to accept any of this.”

  “How are they picked, Grace? These students. How are they picked to go in there?”

  “It’s financial need and—”

  “Grace, I know that song and dance. But the students who were in there today—they were desperate. Utterly desperate. It’s like the Hyde family and the board found the students who were the most vulnerable, the most needy. Students with sick children and murdered parents. Undocumented or broke or homeless. Is that how they guarantee obedience and compliance? Is that how they make sure no one talks about the process? No wonder it ended up like a viper pit.”