The Skin Thief

Chapter 71

Blinding panic sears through me, making my limbs tremble and my mind spin. I pull on the door, yanking it roughly and making it rattle. It doesn't budge. From outside, I hear laughing.

"Good luck with your interview, Ivy!" Serena shouts, and I hear her laugh disappear.

Tears, hot and heavy threaten to spill. My lips quiver and I kick the door in frustration. I resist the urge to collapse to the ground and sob. Instead, I look around in a mad rush, trying to figure out something, anything, that could get me out of this room.

There is nothing.

No windows, no other doors and definitely no spare keys lying around.

I shut my eyes and take in a long, slow, deep breath, trying to calm myself down. It doesn't work. Rage and frustration make me strangely, stiflingly hot. A clammy sweat breaks out across my skin and my hands shake violently.

How did I not see this coming? I practically walked into her trap. Twice.

I groan, angry as much with myself as I am with Serena. I know better.

I turn back to the door, still taking in slow breaths to try and calm myself. Panicking won't get me anywhere. Still, I can't get the thought of either arriving late in my sweaty gym gear or standing up Marcus and the other interviewers out of my head. I can feel my cheeks flushing with embarrassment already.

I need to get this job. My realm relies on me doing so.

Yet, a small part of me, a tiny niggle in the back of my mind, wants to work with Marcus. A slightly bigger part of me doesn't want to let him down.

I shake my head as though that will get rid of those thoughts, and focus on the task ahead. How am I going to get out of here? Brute force isn't going to work. The door is far too thick and heavy. I look at the hinges. No, they are screwed in too tightly and I have nothing on me that would get the free.

So, the last option is the lock. I've picked plenty of locks in my time, and this one doesn't look special. It isn't electronic, thank goodness. I just need something to pick it with.

Spinning on my heels, I look toward the hairdryers. A smirk forms across my face. The door may be too sturdy for my brute-force approach, but shitty hairdryers won't be.

I walk over to them, praying they'll have some sort of wire inside I could use in the fine gap of the lock. I pull the closest dryer from its holder on the wall and then slam it on the countertop. There is a satisfying crunch, and I can't help but smile.

I slam it down again, being careful so it doesn't shatter and shred my hands. With every loud bang and crack, a little bit of tension leaves me. Smashing things is a great way to release anger.

After a few good slams, the cheap plastic of the dryer has broken apart, revealing the wires and metal inside. I stare down at it for a few moments, wondering if I'll get electrocuted if I start messing around with it. Looking at the wall it's connected to, I try and see if there is some sort of switch to turn off the power.

"Ah," I say, grinning, seeing it above the mirror, close to the ceiling. I probably should have done this first, but oh well.

Climbing onto the counter, I stretch up trying to reach for it. Getting onto my tiptoes, my teeth grit as my fingers desperately claw for the switch. With a small jump, I have it flicked.

Nothing else happens that I can see. No lights turn off and no alarms sound, so I assume it is the hairdryer's switch.

Jumping back down off the counters, I gaze down at the dryers once more.