Sinful Ella (Seven Ways to Sin 6)

I remembered the way I had fled from the playroom in the early hours of the morning, the stunned expression on Grant’s face as I had left without explanation. Guilt twisted low in my belly. Maybe I had hurt his feelings, and he wouldn’t even want to help me. But no—I shook my head. Grant wasn’t like that, I was sure of it.

I sensed something was wrong before the Ball came into view. There was something in the air, an unsettled quality that made my skin prickle with awareness. Then I smelled it: smoke.

I began to run.

As the Ball came into view, my fears were realized: it was engulfed in flames, most of the building obscured by licking flames and thick, billowing smoke.

My heart raced, and I felt lightheaded. The Prince Charmings—were they in there? How long had the venue been on fire, had it started while they were still asleep? “Please, God,” I prayed through numb lips, rushing toward the flames. “Let them be okay.”

The street was full of firetrucks and ambulances, uniformed firefighters ran with purposeful strides around the building, shouting orders as they went. I looked around wildly, desperate for a familiar face.

Finally, I found one, but not one of the faces I had hoped for.

“Ella!” Valentina called, shocked. “What are you doing here? I thought you left last night?” Valentina looked haggard, her lipstick bitten off, her once perfect cat eye makeup smudged beyond repair.

“I—” I didn’t have time to get into all that had happened. “Valentina, what happened? How did this start?”

Valentina shook her head, eyes troubled. “I was in my office when I smelled the smoke. The fire chief seems to suspect arson.”

“Arson?” My mind reeled. “But who would want to burn down the Ball?”

“That’s what I intend to find out,” Valentina said.

I hardly dared to ask: “Valentina . . . the Prince Charmings . . . were they . . .?” I licked my lips, unable to finish the question.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to. Valentina shook her head. “They were lucky. They had a spring clean of their equipment this morning, and cleared everything out. Their gear and their van are gone; I guess they must have hit the road.”

I shook my head. That didn’t make any sense. But for the moment, I was too grateful they were safe to press the issue. “Thank God,” I said fervently. “When I saw the smoke, I thought . . .”

Valentina squeezed my hand reassuringly. “I’m sure they’re fine,” she said. “But Ella, what are you doing here?”

The full weight of my predicament swept over me. If the Prince Charmings were gone, I was truly out of options. To my extreme embarrassment, I began to cry.

“I don’t know what to do,” I gasped between sobs. “My band left without me, and I have no phone, and no money, I can’t go after them, I can’t go home.”

“Hey, hey,” murmuring softly, Valentina crushed me to her in a comforting hug. She smelled of smoke and something else, something acrid and unpleasant. I broke the hug as soon as I could politely do so. “It’s going to be okay. Do you want to use my phone to call home?”

Briefly, I considered it, imagined dialing my dad’s number, explaining the whole sorry situation to him. He wouldn’t say I told you so—he was too kind for that—but I would see it in his eyes, under his pitying expression. I couldn’t bear it.

Besides, I wasn’t yet ready to face him, not after what I’d done the night before. After all, there was only one thing he’d made me promise before I left, and I’d disregarded it at the first opportunity. I needed time before I saw him again.

Still crying softly, I shook my head. “I can’t,” I said. “Not yet. I don’t want him to know—”

For a moment, Valentina didn’t say anything, just looked at me assessingly with her dark eyes. “Tell you what,” she said finally. “I’m going to need a lot of help getting this mess cleaned up. If you stick around to help for a few days, I’ll give you the money to get home.”

“Really?” I sniffled. “Oh, but I don’t have anywhere to stay.”

Valentina waved this away. “You can stay with me,” she said.

Overwhelmed, I threw myself at Valentina, wrapping my arms around her. “Thank you,” I sobbed. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Valentina patted my back. “Don’t mention it,” she said. “I’m happy to help.”

For the first time since I’d arrived at the garage that morning to find the van gone, I started to feel like maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay.

20

Grant

We drove late into the night, on our way to New York. In a final, last-ditch effort, we had finally stumbled across the goth-punk shop where Ella had bought her outfit. The owner, a plump, friendly Latina woman named Demi, had recognized the boot straight away.