7. Claire

CHAPTER 7

CLAIRE

I woke from a dead sleep to crashing and screaming, the sounds of the apocalypse rushing in from all sides. Something went thump above me, and the wind keened. Footsteps came pounding, or hailstones, or thunder, a terrible rumbling that echoed off every wall. I sat up and gasped at the sound of glass tinkling, the chill of the wind gusting in from outside.

"Conrad?" I called. The wind swallowed my shout and I tried again louder. "Conrad? You in there?" I pulled my blanket around me and got to my feet.

"Right here," he said, and lightning sheeted behind him. I caught a brief glimpse of him, black against the storm, and then he was gone, and I stood blinking, dazzled.

"We're okay." He took hold of my elbows. One of his hands was wet and the other was freezing. I flinched away, then grabbed for his arm.

"What's going on? Did the windows blow out?"

"What?"

" The windows! "

Lightning caught Conrad shaking his head. "I opened the door, was all. The wind broke a glass."

I shook him hard by his shirt. "You opened the door?"

"To see if—" A thunderclap cut him off mid-thought, so loud my teeth twinged and I stifled a scream. I burrowed into his shoulder and squeezed my eyes shut. He ran a hand through my hair and the thunder died out, but something was banging, a stray branch, a chair, slamming up on the window, trying to break in. It stopped, then it came again, three quick-fire taps.

"Someone's at the door."

I caught my breath. "What?"

"Someone's knocking. Come on." Conrad slid his arm around me and walked us to the door. He peered through the peephole, then opened the door.

"Sorry," said the hotel clerk, his hair all disheveled. He looked like he'd been sleeping and had dressed in a hurry, skipping a button halfway up his shirt. The wind rose, and he had to shout to be heard. "The storm's worse than we thought. We're moving downstairs."

I stared at him. "What?"

"We're moving you to the ballroom, just to be safe."

I pressed up against Conrad, still bleary from sleep. Safe? Were we not safe? How bad could it get?

"This is just a precaution," the clerk went on. "In case the windows blow in, or the ceilings could leak. They probably won't, but please, for your comfort?—"

"All right," said Conrad. "Do we have time to get dressed?" He was already dressed, still in his dinner suit. The clerk glanced at me, in my robe and pajamas.

"Hurry," he said. "I'll be waiting outside."

Conrad slammed the door shut and I scurried for the bathroom. I shimmied back into my sleek evening gown. The zipper caught when I tried to pull it, and I stood there grunting and cursing out loud. Conrad slid in behind me.

"Can I help?"

I turned my back to him, too scared to feel awkward. The wind was howling like a plane taking off, a terrible, spiraling jet-engine roar. I could feel the floor trembling, or maybe that was me. Or it was Conrad, his hands on my back. He was pressing my dress to me to stretch out the fabric, wiggling the zip tab to disengage it. Thunder clapped and his hand slipped. His thumb grazed my spine.

"Hold still," he said. "I've almost got it."

I tried to do as he said, but my breathing was ragged, my chest rising and falling, my dress moving with it. Conrad was murmuring some soothing nonsense, stroking my back, working my zipper. I felt it loosen, then catch, and then he had it. He zipped me up, smoothed my dress, and patted my hair into place.

"Let's go," he said.

I took his hand and we hurried out of the room. Out in the hall, the lights flickered, then steadied.

"This way," said the clerk, and herded us to the stairs. We could hear other footsteps echoing below us, high, frightened voices, the slamming of doors. Above it all rose the wind and the roar of the storm, the pounding of rain against concrete walls. Conrad kept hold of me all the way down, his arm around me keeping me steady.

"The ballroom's straight ahead," said the clerk, at the bottom. "Go on in, find a seat. There's staff on hand, if there's anything you need."

Conrad started to say something, but the clerk had left us, rushing off down the hall toward the kitchen. We followed the line of scared stragglers instead, straight ahead past the elevators and into the ballroom. Conrad glanced up and I followed his gaze, flinching back at the sight of the huge chandelier. Thunder pealed and it shuddered. Rainbow lights quivered on the walls and the ceiling. Conrad whistled the Phantom of the Opera theme.

"Not funny." I elbowed him.

"Come on. It's hilarious."

"Then you go stand under it. I'm finding a seat."

Conrad moved toward it, but I jerked him back. "Don't be an idiot. Please, Conrad. Don't ."

He turned back, grinning, and then his smile faded. His expression turned sober as he took me in.

"You have goosebumps," he said, and ran his hands down my arms. Then he unbuttoned his jacket and slipped it off. He draped it over my shoulders and snugged it up to my neck. "Are you still cold?"

I shook my head. In truth, I wasn't. If anything, the ballroom was uncomfortably warm, hundreds of guests filling up the wide space. Most of them had crowded up at the far end, where tables had been set up laden with snacks. A few had climbed up to the high gallery, and stood looking down at us, pale in the gloom. They'd turned on every third lamp and left the rest off, and the big room lay steeped in an undersea twilight, our shadows climbing huge up the walls. No one was talking much, except when it thundered, and then cries went up, and nervous laughter. The rest of the time, the wind was too loud.

Conrad pointed at two men carrying a couch in, a big red-and-gold one I'd seen in the lobby. He said something to me I didn't hear, then took me by the arm and hurried to cross the ballroom. We intercepted the couch as the clerks set it down, and Conrad lowered me onto it. I jumped back up.

"Wait, did you bring this — were you going to sit?"

The clerks frowned at me, not hearing. One of them cupped his hand to his ear.

" Were you going to sit here? "

"No, we're on duty. We're going to bring more."

I sat back down, dizzy. Conrad sat beside me.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," he said.

"How do you know that?"

"All I can hear is the wind and the rain. That means nothing too big's flying around. If this is the worst of it?—"

"Conrad! Claire! You made it!" Verity swooped down on us, Ken at her heels. She was in a plush bathrobe and pink silk pajamas, with traces of green clay dried on her face. She must've noticed me noticing, because she thumbed at her hairline. "I was in the middle of my mud mask, trying to stay calm, and didn't they come knocking? Isn't this awful? Do you think it's a hurricane, or just a storm? What's even the difference? Do you know?"

"They become hurricanes when the wind reaches seventy-four miles an hour," said Ken.

Conrad moved over to clear space on the couch. "It's nowhere near that bad. Come on and sit."

Ken sat, but Verity stayed on her feet. She pulled her robe around her and looked up at the ceiling. "I can't sit," she said. "I'm too… fight or flight. What do you think birds do when the wind gets like this? Does it blow them away, or can they fly up above it? How high does it go, do you think, this kind of storm?"

"Sit down, hon," said Ken. "The birds are okay. You're doing that nervous talking thing…"

"Because I'm nervous!" She threw her hands up and flapped them around. She was making me nervous, more so than ever.

"Let's get some drinks," said Conrad. Waiters were circulating with trays of something sparkling. He waved one over and plucked two flutes off his tray. I gulped mine and coughed at its cloying sweetness.

"Sparkling cider," I said, when I'd got my breath back.

"Probably for the best," said Ken, sipping his. "You never add alcohol to a tense situation. That's how you get panic, how you get?—"

A great peal of thunder split the thick air. It came so loud, so close, I clapped my hands to my ears. My drink splashed on my bare leg. Screams rose all around. Conrad pulled me to him and held me tight. He rocked me in his arms. I closed my eyes. I'd thought for a second the whole roof had split, that the rain would pour in on us, and a shower of concrete. I'd thought we were dead, and a cold chill raced through me.

"It's all right," said Conrad. "It's good it's so loud." His voice was thin, and he swallowed and combed his fingers through my hair. "It being so loud means it's right overhead. That means this, now, is the worst it'll get. It's going to move on now. Just hold on. You'll see."

I sat up, embarrassed, but Conrad didn't let go. He pulled me back in, my head on his shoulder. I could feel his heart beating, a slow, steady pulse, and I breathed along with it, finding my calm. Ken had stood up, and was soothing Verity's panic, squeezing her hands, speaking low in her ear.

"Just a loud storm," said Conrad, and I leaned in, grateful. It occurred to me this might be at least partly for show, the way he was holding me and talking me through it. If it was, I was glad he'd got us into this mess. Maybe it was, as he said, just a storm, but I'd have hated to tough my way through it alone.

"Just a storm," I whispered, and felt for his hand. He twined our fingers together and gave me a squeeze.