I tuck Cecilia into my chest, slipping across the floor and over the Other’s happily swooshing tail. There are still shards of glass left in the window, but I manage to poke my head out and get a good look.
I instantly wish I hadn’t, the ground appearing so much further away than it usually does. Several gargoyles line the walls, and a few ledges too. But if I’m going to reach any of them, I’ll have to jump.
The calmness I was afforded moments ago seems to vanish as reality sets in.
There’s no way out of this room. Not with Cecilia in my arms.
I can’t catch myself and hold on to her, too.
No. No, I won’t accept that. There has to be another way. I will make there be another way.
Please, I pray to the Fates. You already saved her once. Please just save her again. You don’t have to worry about me.
I blink away the tears threatening to blur my vision, swallow the fear intent on paralyzing me, then search the room again.
A sling. I have to have one around here somewhere. I used one when I took the baby on walks, but it was usually Imogen who brought it to me, and in truth, I’ve never paid the slightest attention to where she keeps it. In fact, I pay little attention to much of how Imogen does anything she does; I’ve been so exhausted.
Since when did I let myself become so helpless?
Frustration boils inside of me, but I can’t let it win.
I make myself look over at the Other again, and to my dismay, I watch it lap up the last of the guards’ corpses.
No, no, no, no, no.
Cecilia is still screaming. The Other will finish its meal any moment now, and it’ll come straight for her.
I have to get out of here. I have to save her.
If only she could go, and I could stay, but there’s no way out.
I don’t realize I’ve been retreating until my spine hits a knob.
But there isn’t a door there, my brain says, rather unhelpfully.
Still, I turn.
And almost gasp in relief.
The dumbwaiter.
Imogen sent food up on it just earlier today.
It’s not large enough for me to slip into, but…
I glance down at my poor, squirming little girl.
“Mommy loves you. I know you won’t remember me saying this, but I hope your daddy tells you all about it,” I say, pressing a kiss to my child’s forehead.
And then I place my baby in the wooden box and slam the door, tugging on the rope.
The dumbwaiter squeals.
I sense the Other turn, but I don’t let myself look. I’m not going anywhere until I feel the weight of the dumbwaiter rest at the bottom of the shaft.
Fates, surely there aren’t any Others in the kitchen.
Please don’t let there be any Others in the kitchen, I pray.
The thought has me wanting to turn the rope the other way, to lift Cecilia back to the safety of my arms. But that’s nonsensical. An idea brought on by panic and hysteria.
There’s a chance the Others have reached the kitchen, but there is one in here with me.
I keep coaxing the rope until the weight of the dumbwaiter thuds softly, the rope stopping in my hands.
I throw myself backwards, no thought of where I might be sending my body crossing my mind. My only survival instinct is that I have to get away from where I was standing.
It turns out to be a pretty good survival instinct, because the jaws of the Other curl around the now empty space.
There’s a snapping of rope as the creature’s jaws cut through the pulley. Panic seizes me. I picture my baby falling, and I have to remind myself she’s already reached safety at the bottom of the shaft. There is nowhere to fall.
I suck in a breath, and realize that I’m going to die.
But then, what if there’s no one alive left in the kitchens? What if no one knows where to look for my baby? It’s not the most reasonable of thoughts, I have to admit. Cecilia is a screamer, after all. It hasn’t been my absolute favorite quality of my daughter’s, if I’m being perfectly honest, but now I could have kissed the Fates’ feet for blessing me with a baby whose favorite activity is alerting others of her presence.
I will die up here in the nursery, but someone will find Cecilia. Her little screams will notify her rescuer right where she is, and she will live. I hate that I’ll be leaving her, but I hope that perhaps she’ll understand.
The Other turns to face me, and I shudder, using what is more than likely going to be my last breath.
