16As soon as Cecil and Ava stepped out of the elevator, Freddy rocketed back upstairs. They were left in the trenches, the foundation of LeClaire Model Management.
“Hey!” Cecil banged on the elevator doors. “Are we locked down here now?”
Figaro climbed down Ava’s leg and scurried through the hall. “Probably,” Ava said casually. She scanned the hallway.
A checkered black-and-white passage stretched the entire length of the mansion, a wormhole to Margaux LeClaire’s dirty business. Orange spongey fabric dangled down from the ceiling. It was a perverse laboratory, the smell of burnt hair and body odor clinging to each antiseptic brick.
“Well, how do we get out?” Cecil asked in a panic. He started knocking on the white brick walls.
“We’ll starve,” Ava said. “Or we’ll be set on fire by Fred
