Chapter 3: High Stakes

Penny experienced her first burn when she was eight years old. As most children were underdeveloped and did strange things for the sake of discovery, Penelope was embarrassed to say she was no different. Of course Chef Peterson had told her not to get close to the stove as it was still hot, and yet the young heiress to the biggest fortune in London refused to be told what she could and couldn't do.

Penny had set her open palm right on the used iron. It only took a moment, a second of searing pain for her realize her error. Thankfully Parker, bless his heart, was right there and shoved her hand under the ice cold faucet without a second thought, chiding her all the while in his stuffy cockney lilt. Father was less then pleased about his daughter running around like a ruffian in gauze and bandages for a week.

As she grew older, Penny had plenty other experiences where she learned by error. But never again with an open stove — she had learned quickly to keep away. The now near adult heiress wasn't sure why this distant memory had come up now of all times. Staring over the edge of the balcony with Scott Tracy, clouds of thick grey smoke already billowed several floors down. There were no alarms going off, no sprinklers, nothing to indicate any sort of trouble. But they were very much in danger, she had little doubt.

"Scott," Penelope realized after a moment of wrapping her brain around the real crisis they were in, "there are people in this penthouse. We need to get them out of here."

"You're right. There's probably a staircase up here somewhere; find it. I'm not sure how safe it is to use the elevator."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to try and wrangle the guests. I bet there's a lot of confusion going on."

Watching Scott re-enter the ballroom like a knight rushing sword first to battle, Penelope felt something inside her tug. Selflessness. Not a virtue she saw often in the company her father so graciously picked out for her. Following his lead with a bit less grandure, Scott was right about the panic. The guests created a cacophony of noise, speaking over one another as they wondered what to do or who was in charge. Whether any of them knew that a fire had somehow blasted out the middle floors, Penelope wasn't entirely sure.

And as Scott clambered up onto the baby grand as if half intoxicated, ready to give a speech, Penelope focused on the task she had been assigned. Door. She was looking for a door. Normally such a thing was obvious, clearly marked in neon and flashing like a landing strip. But there was nothing.

"My lady,"

Jumping at the voice which cut through the white noise of the ballroom, a butler had found her wandering. He was an older fellow, still holding his tray of champagne despite the chaos, "you should be in front, no doubt Mr. Tracy will send the women down in the elevator first."

"That's very kind, but I am not leaving without knowing others have gotten out before me." Penelope stated simply, "do you happen to know where the door to the stairs is?"

"Yes ma'am. Over there, behind the palms. But...I don't know if it'll be of much use."

"We'll see about that. Thank you."

Nodding to the man who merely watched her go with a hint of sadness, Penny hurried to where she had been led. Most of the crowd was gathered at the front, where Scott was trying to keep some semblance of order. It only made her job easier, grabbing hold of the large decorative plants and sliding them away. At first there didn't appear to be anything behind them, just more blank space. But as Penny ran her fingers across the wallpaper, her nails caught on a shallow seam sealed underneath.

"Oh...well. I suppose fingernails grow back in time." Penelope whined to herself, admiring her perfectly beautiful hands before jabbing her long plastic extensions into the hidden gap. Like a mail knife, she slid down the length of the doorway, wincing as her cuticles protested. But it was enough for the wallpaper to lift away, and for Penny to grab hold as she tore it aside, "here's the door. But no handle. That is distressing."

Indeed it was. The door itself wasn't really much of a door anyway, more like a hidden access hatch. It was obvious to Penny that there had been some corners cut in creation of the Glass Castle, and that she'd have to have a firm conversation with her father about any future building investments.

Feeling the metal surface with the back of her hand to make sure it wasn't hot, Penny began to do the most undignified thing possible. Using her shoulder and what little weight she had, she began to ram the door with her body. It wasn't effective, and would no doubt result in bruises. But she kept at it, over and over again until a pair of hands caught her.

"Lady Penelope,"

"Scott." Taking a deep breath from the exertion, smoke was already beginning to seep into the penthouse. It felt a bit like sand in her throat.

"Stand back,"

Shuffling to the side and rubbing her sore shoulder with a hand, Scott squared himself up to the hatch. Staring as if it would simply melt under his gaze, the man shook himself slightly. Then, with a hard grunt of effort he snapped his leg downward. The door gave at his show of pure strength, slamming open as easily as wood. This revealed the narrow stairwell, one set of iron steps heading up towards the roof, the other going down deeper into the building.

"Scott; are you injured?"

Penelope noticed how the Tracy boy now kept his foot off the ground, wincing as he was forced to rest his weight on it once more.

"Fine. The door was welded shut from the inside. I need to start moving the guests up to the roof, hopefully for air retrieval. You go, I'll handle it down here."

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Penny scoffed, "I refuse to leave unless I know everyone else is out before me."

"It could be dangerous, I'd feel better if you went."

"I don't mind a bit of risk, Mr. Tracy." Crossing her arms defiantly, Penelope (despite their current situation), smirked slightly, "that's why you sought me out first."

The husk in her tone was deep, and it made her sore throat rattle. Scott simply became flustered for a moment, opening and closing his mouth like a fish before he folded and held up his hands.

"Alright, your ladyship. Help me guide these people up then; we'll go last."

"Of course."

Stepping through the doorway as to wait at the base of the narrow steps, Scott disappeared. Soon enough party guests began to trickle through. All shades of skin glistened with sweat beads, from the increasing heat or exertion from stress. Fancy gowns and suits suddenly didn't matter anymore. Watching them one by one as they ascended, Penelope counted each person in her mind. 45...46...47...there were plenty of people to be accounted for. And though she was grateful no small children had been in attendance tonight, there were plenty of older patrons who were slow to get up the stairs. 78...79...80...the staff came through last. 98...99.

Penelope made a smile at the helpful butler, who's hands had finally begun to shake from fear. He was the last in line, only a few steps high when the building itself gave a mighty groan. It was an unsettling sound, as though it were being pulled from the top and bottom like a Chinese finger trap. Galloping his way back through the doorway, Scott had lost his overcoat, and loosened his collar as he practically shoved the old butler up the stairs with both hands.

"Lady Penelope, we need to move!"

Scott didn't need to tell her twice. Unfortunately, fate had other plans as the building gave a mighty heave from below. The landing, cheaply built and poorly supported, crumbled under her heels. Scott, who had been on the landing with her, suddenly disappeared from sight as she fell. Suddenly her back hit something solid, and everything went dark.