What was he doing? Wanda stared after him as he went for the verandah doors, frozen with surprise. Planting bombs outside was one thing, but this wasn’t how she’d anticipating entering the manor. This wasn’t the plan. She’d had a whole route mapped out with secret passages and ways to avoid the main areas of the house and what the hell was Clint doing? Like an anxious child sneaking around with her parents gone, Wanda followed Clint in and stayed by the doors. “He might be anywhere,” she hissed, not at all assuaged by his cheeky grin. She actually cringed when he took the helmet, it was like he was asking to be murdered by her father. “You’re insane,” she told him and dragged him from the room by the wrist, back outside and around to another window into a dark hallway. Not knowing where Magneto was put a damper on her plans. If he was down in the cells then they had a very big problem. If he caught them in the house she thought there was a distinct possibility they could hold out against him.
Wanda clambered through the window, making plans and backup plans in her head. If she could get Magneto’s shields down then Clint could fire an arrow. If she could distract him then Clint could free Pietro and if Pietro was in good shape he could get Clint away. If they were fast enough maybe she could just teleport them out without a fight. They could survive this, they would survive this, she told herself over and over because it was far too late to turn back now and they were so close to getting Pietro. At the end of the hallway she paused, listening, but still she heard absolutely nothing. The next hallway led off into the kitchen which she was always used to hearing bustling with sound, it was where the few staff Magnus had liked to congregate, but now it was silent which confirmed her theory that he’d dismissed the manor’s workers.
The pair went up a back staircase and through hallways of doorways and paintings and she paused now and then to pull him through some secret passageway or through one room and out into another. It was a roundabout way through her childhood home but it was safer than getting down to the cells directly. Another staircase down and more hallways that looked like all the others and they broke out from a door in an alcove and then behind a tapestry to another door. “Cells are below.” She examined the door and shook her head. It had no handles, it was just pure metal in the wall, impossible to open. Of course.