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After the initial shock wore off—which did not take more than a few seconds—I started running with him. It may also have something to do with the fact that his tight grip on my hand forced me to follow.
As for the touchy matter of faith, I didn't question where the escort was taking me. There were only two possibilities: he was either helping me get away from the men, since he undoubtedly knew the underground pathways well, or he was leading me towards death. If he was helping me get away, great. If he was taking me to the Lees, also great. It was better than being trapped underground with no idea which way to go.
He was fast, and in undeniably good shape, which meant that I was panting by the time we got upstairs. I knew we were out of the tunnels because of the multiple flights of stairs we had to take to get away. Somewhere along the way, we had lost the mercenaries who had been following me—which meant that we had traced a pretty convoluted path in an attempt to get away.
"Where are we?" I asked in a whisper, because I didn't want anyone to overhear and get a location on me, and also because I was so out of breath that I could barely get a proper syllable out. The escort seemed a worn out too; his chest was rising and falling rapidly under the white suit jacket. The skin around his eyes was smoky gray, which I guessed to be the result of makeup rather than natural causes.
He shook his head, pointing in the direction of a long hallway before releasing my hand and making his way down it with soundless steps. I followed him as quietly as I could, lifting up the dress to my calves. I kept the remaining heel with me, in case someone chanced upon it and got an idea of where I could be.
The walls were polished wood—of what kind, I couldn't tell—and the yellowish lights made them gleam. The floor was covered by a thick red carpet, which helped hide the sound of our footsteps, and there were no visible doors. At the end of each corridor was a table, decorated with an ornate vase filled with fresh flowers, and the whole place smelled like lemon soap.
It had to be a hotel of sorts, a floor above the ground floor, where I assumed the auction was going to be held. Speaking of auction—when I glanced at my watch, the time was already eleven twenty-five. I felt a cold flush of panic in my gut.
"I don't know where you're taking me," I hissed quietly, after I had made sure that there was no one around, "but it would be a great help if you could at least tell me."
The escort didn't glance back, sticking to the walls and walking—more briskly now—along the corridor. I ground my teeth together, internally praying for patience, and we exited the last hallway and out onto a platform in front of twin staircases.
I gasped in surprise, pulling back reflexively before I realized there was no one around. I glanced at the escort questioningly, who had already crossed over to reach the other side. Sighing, I followed, and went up to him.
