light—orange—I see his face turned in my direction. Blue, green, magenta, and then he starts forcing a way through the crowd toward me.
Oh crap, oh crap. I crouch down. Keeping my right side against the wall, I run. I squeeze past a group of pixies, a faerie couple tangled in each others’ arms, a woman with bat’s wings, a confused boy who looks like—
Nate?
I turn back and grab his shoulders. “Nate! What are you—how did you—”
“Violet! I . . . I . . .” He swallows, blinks, wraps his fingers tightly around my arms. “I don’t know . . .”
No time for this. I hold his hand securely in my own, slip my stylus out of my boot, and write on the wall. Please open, please open, please open. And it does.
“Stop!” The shout is loud enough to be heard over the music. I spin around and find myself face to face with the centaur’s sword. Slowly, hating the fact that I have to do it, I raise my hands. “You will not leave,” the centaur commands.
I slide one foot backward through the doorway to prevent it from closing. I’m about to ask the centaur what he plans to do to stop us when I feel my eyes drawn over his shoulder. A boy with blue-black hair and a look of contempt on his face is staring at me. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I say. What the hell is Ryn doing in an Underground club?
“No,” says the centaur. “There is no kidding. If you enter the labyrinth you may not leave without seeing the Silver Lady.”
My eyes are still fixed on Ryn. His gaze slips from me to Nate and back again. He shakes his head, mock disappointment written across his face. Dammit! Do I really have to run into the person I dislike most in the world now ?
“Come,” says the centaur, and the tip of his sword glows white.
“Sorry,” I say, feeling a dagger materialize in each of my hands, “but I’m not going anywhere with you.”
The centaur thrusts his sword forward just as Nate dives in front of me. The force of the lightning bolt throws him back against me, and we fall through the doorway. “No!” I scream, and fling both daggers through the rapidly diminishing slit of space as the edges of the doorway melt back toward each other.
*
I fall through the darkness, Nate on top of me, and land on something soft and hairy. We tumble onto my bedroom floor beside an enormous brown bear—Filigree. I sit up, grab Nate’s shoulder, and roll him onto his back. Just below the centre of his ribcage, a hole is burned into his T-shirt. His skin is blackened and bleeding. His eyes are closed.
“No no no no. Filigree!” I punch Filigree’s shoulder to wake him. He raises his head. “Help me get him onto the bed. Now!” Filigree shifts into gorilla form, stands, and lifts Nate from the floor. He drops him onto the bed, then changes into a mouse and scurries up Nate’s arm and onto his shoulder.
I reach under the bed for my training bag and pull out my emergency kit. I scramble through the vials, powders and bandages until I find what I’m looking for. It’s a clear potion with tiny green flecks in it, excellent for speeding up the healing of burns. Nate is only half faerie though, and I have no idea if it will work on him.
I pour a few drops into the open wound. The potion sizzles as it meets Nate’s skin, giving off a smell like crushed leaves. I grab the edges of his T-shirt and tear the hole bigger, then place my hands on either side of the wound. Despite the life-or-death situation, it doesn’t escape my notice that my fingers are spread out across Nate’s bare chest. Filigree lets out a squeak. I look up at him. One eye bulges slightly larger than the other, as though he’s trying to raise his non-existent eyebrow. “What?” I ask, feeling my cheeks flush. “I’m not just doing this so I can touch his chest, okay. I’m trying to heal him. Besides, he’s actually a halfling, not a human, so you can stop judging me.”
I turn my attention back to Nate. Magic runs
Oh crap, oh crap. I crouch down. Keeping my right side against the wall, I run. I squeeze past a group of pixies, a faerie couple tangled in each others’ arms, a woman with bat’s wings, a confused boy who looks like—
Nate?
I turn back and grab his shoulders. “Nate! What are you—how did you—”
“Violet! I . . . I . . .” He swallows, blinks, wraps his fingers tightly around my arms. “I don’t know . . .”
No time for this. I hold his hand securely in my own, slip my stylus out of my boot, and write on the wall. Please open, please open, please open. And it does.
“Stop!” The shout is loud enough to be heard over the music. I spin around and find myself face to face with the centaur’s sword. Slowly, hating the fact that I have to do it, I raise my hands. “You will not leave,” the centaur commands.
I slide one foot backward through the doorway to prevent it from closing. I’m about to ask the centaur what he plans to do to stop us when I feel my eyes drawn over his shoulder. A boy with blue-black hair and a look of contempt on his face is staring at me. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I say. What the hell is Ryn doing in an Underground club?
“No,” says the centaur. “There is no kidding. If you enter the labyrinth you may not leave without seeing the Silver Lady.”
My eyes are still fixed on Ryn. His gaze slips from me to Nate and back again. He shakes his head, mock disappointment written across his face. Dammit! Do I really have to run into the person I dislike most in the world now ?
“Come,” says the centaur, and the tip of his sword glows white.
“Sorry,” I say, feeling a dagger materialize in each of my hands, “but I’m not going anywhere with you.”
The centaur thrusts his sword forward just as Nate dives in front of me. The force of the lightning bolt throws him back against me, and we fall through the doorway. “No!” I scream, and fling both daggers through the rapidly diminishing slit of space as the edges of the doorway melt back toward each other.
*
I fall through the darkness, Nate on top of me, and land on something soft and hairy. We tumble onto my bedroom floor beside an enormous brown bear—Filigree. I sit up, grab Nate’s shoulder, and roll him onto his back. Just below the centre of his ribcage, a hole is burned into his T-shirt. His skin is blackened and bleeding. His eyes are closed.
“No no no no. Filigree!” I punch Filigree’s shoulder to wake him. He raises his head. “Help me get him onto the bed. Now!” Filigree shifts into gorilla form, stands, and lifts Nate from the floor. He drops him onto the bed, then changes into a mouse and scurries up Nate’s arm and onto his shoulder.
I reach under the bed for my training bag and pull out my emergency kit. I scramble through the vials, powders and bandages until I find what I’m looking for. It’s a clear potion with tiny green flecks in it, excellent for speeding up the healing of burns. Nate is only half faerie though, and I have no idea if it will work on him.
I pour a few drops into the open wound. The potion sizzles as it meets Nate’s skin, giving off a smell like crushed leaves. I grab the edges of his T-shirt and tear the hole bigger, then place my hands on either side of the wound. Despite the life-or-death situation, it doesn’t escape my notice that my fingers are spread out across Nate’s bare chest. Filigree lets out a squeak. I look up at him. One eye bulges slightly larger than the other, as though he’s trying to raise his non-existent eyebrow. “What?” I ask, feeling my cheeks flush. “I’m not just doing this so I can touch his chest, okay. I’m trying to heal him. Besides, he’s actually a halfling, not a human, so you can stop judging me.”
I turn my attention back to Nate. Magic runs
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