Calla's Story

Chapter 8-2

The man looks amused. “Just that good, huh? I doubt it. You’re a faerie, which means the most likely way you got in here is through the faerie paths. But this home has no name or number for you to whisper to the paths, and I’ve taken great care to make sure there are only two other people who know what the inside of it looks like. So how did you get in?”

If I wasn’t in such a dangerous situation, I’d probably roll my eyes. This guy thinks he so clever, yet it took me less than a minute to get in here. “You might want to block your keyhole,” I tell him.

“It is blocked. No magic can get through it.”

“Well, I guess you forgot about light.” And with that, I throw up my arm and raise a shield of invisible magic between us. Still gripping the bangle in one hand, I drop down, retrieve my stylus, and—

A wave of power knocks me backward. I crash into the desk chair before landing on the floor. My shield is gone, the man is striding past the couch toward me, and I’m blinking in confusion. How the freak did he call upon so much power so quickly?

He’s only feet away from me when my recent training kicks in. I grab a throwing star from the air—which, miraculously, is there the second I need it—and throw it at him. It nicks his arm as he dodges to the side. I scramble to my feet and launch myself over the couch. I run for the door, but nothing happens when I twist the handle.

“Not only an art admirer, but a guardian and a thief as well,” the man says.

Knowing now that there’s only one way out of this, I spin around—and let go of my mental wall.

It crumbles into imaginary dust as I focus hard on showing this guy exactly what I want him to see. I picture a dragon breaking through the door behind me. In my mind’s eye, I see the dragon’s powerful talons rip the door apart and fling it to the side, knocking me out of the way in the process. The dragon lumbers into the room, letting loose scorching flames. It grows larger and larger until its head brushes the ceiling and all the furniture in the room is not only burning, but crushed against the walls. The man jumps out of the way and flattens his body against the wall. He holds his hand up, probably to do some kind of magic that will have no effect whatsoever on the imaginary dragon, while edging toward the splintered, burning remains of the door.

With his attention no longer focused on me—at least, not the real me—I can safely get out of here. I turn and hold my stylus up to the door. Gritting my teeth and breathing hard against the effort of holding together such a detailed scene in my mind, I quickly write the words to open a doorway. I step into it and wait for the darkness to close up behind me before finally releasing the image of the dragon and the destroyed living room. Weariness tugs at the edges of my mind, but I can’t give in to it just yet.

I push the bangle onto my left arm and think of Club Deviant. Since I have no image to hold onto, I repeat the words in my mind until the darkness ahead of me lifts and the silence pressing against my ears gives way suddenly to a hammering beat and a magically enhanced repeating melody. Just outside the faerie paths, fae of all kinds dance and sway beneath a lingering haze of sweet smoke.

Don’t hesitate. Be confident. Pretend you belong here.

I push the bangle further up my arm and walk into the club. It isn’t as packed as the few clubs I visited back at the beginning of my Ellinhart schooling when I still had some friends. I don’t even have to push past anyone to get to the bar area. I perch on a stool and look around for Saskia and Blaze. They’re not at the bar, and I don’t see them on the dance floor. Darkened booths line one side of the club, but something tells me I probably don’t want to take a closer look into any of them.

A reptiscillan man leaning against the other end of the bar seems to be watching me. Or is it someone behind me? Not wanting to encourage him, I avert my eyes and angle my body away from him. I eye the bottles of varying shapes, sizes and colors behind the bar. Should I order a drink? How long do I need to wait for Saskia before I can call an end to this initiation thing? Surely I’ve proved myself by now. She’ll be able to see from the tracker band that I broke into someone’s home, took an item, and—

Oh, shoot.

I projected while wearing a tracker band.

No! How could I be so stupid? I stuff my hands beneath the bar’s counter, as if that might hide the evidence that’s wrapped around my wrist. Then I pause in my panic. Exactly what information will show up on the tracker band? When Saskia and Blaze hold it under a replay device, they shouldn’t be able to see the dragon. After all, the dragon was never there. So instead they’ll see a guy who suddenly began fighting off nothing, and that’ll only serve to fuel the rumors that I can somehow make people crazy.

Fantastic. So I’ll still be an outcast, but at least I won’t be on the Griffin List. Unless … what if a mentor sees what’s on the tracker band? What if a Councilor sees it? What if everyone at the Guild starts to think I have a special ability to make people go insane, and I wind up on the Griffin List anyway?

Stop panicking!

The solution is simple. Take the tracker band off and destroy it. That way no one will ever—

“Do you have a death wish?” The owner of the intrusive voice slides onto the stool beside mine and into my personal space. “What are you doing in a club owned by the number one guardian hater in Creepy Hollow?” he demands.

I lean away from him, my eyes traveling up tattooed arms to the same face and eyes I was admiring not ten minutes ago. Eyes that are now narrowed in anger. I shrink further away from him, my right hand gripping the bangle on my left arm. “What do you—Wait, how did you find me?”

“Word travels quickly when silly young guardians decide to risk their lives Underground.”

“I’m not a silly—”

“No, you’re a thief.”

“I’m a thief? You’re the one who stole the bangle in the first place.” I raise my bejeweled arm and wave it at him. “I’ll be returning this to the Guild, and there’s nothing you can do to—

“You put it on?” He slips off the stool and takes a step back. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I look from him to the bangle and back again, wondering if I should be alarmed. I haven’t felt any different since I pushed the bangle onto my arm, though. Perhaps this is a trick to get me to take it off. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” I tell him as I stand. “And since this club is apparently owned by someone with an intense hatred for guardians, I think I should go.”

“Wait.” He steps closer, and I bring my hand up fast, sending sparks dancing through the air toward him. He ducks out of the way, then raises his hands, gesturing surrender. “Just give me the bangle,” he says, “and I’ll let you go.”

“You’ll let me go?” I say with a confidence I don’t feel. “Have you forgotten the dragon already?”

“Have you forgotten the power that knocked out your shield in an instant and swept you to the ground?”

I haven’t. That’s the problem. Don’t show fear, don’t show fear. I just need to keep talking long enough to come up with a projection that can get me out of here. “That was hardly power,” I say casually. “Why don’t we have a second go, and you can show me if you’ve got any power left after—”

“This isn’t a game, little guardian.” He closes the distance between us and grabs my arm. “Someone is coming for that bangle, and you don’t want to be here when he arrives.” Up close, I see that his eyes are a very light grey-green that doesn’t seem to quite match the color highlighting his brown hair. They’re beautiful eyes. I could stare at them for ages if I wasn’t currently trying to get away from this guy.

I try to wrench my arm from his grip, but he’s far too strong. “If you want it so badly, old man,” I say to him through gritted teeth, “then why haven’t you taken it already?”

“Because, silly girl,” he says, leaning even closer, “I’d have to cut off your arm.”

A chill runs through me, but I do my best to forget his words and focus instead on the projection I’ve decided on. I don’t have enough energy for anything as detailed as the dragon, and he probably wouldn’t fall for something like that a second time. Instead I imagine myself slowly raising my left arm. “Fine,” the imaginary version of me says. “You can have it.” In my mind, I see myself slipping the bangle off my arm. I hold it between us, waiting for the moment when he releases me.

“Thank you,” he says, somewhat warily. He lets go of my arm and reaches for the bangle. The bangle that isn’t there. Imaginary me throws it with all her might over his shoulder. With an angry groan, the artist spins around and dashes after it.

I turn and run in the other direction—but a large bald man is moving toward me. “You!” he bellows. “You are the one. The gold they told me about. The guardian.”

What? I glance around, seeking the best escape route. But before I can move another step, I’m surrounded. An elf on each side, and another behind me. They grab my arms and tug me roughly after the bald man, who’s heading through a door behind the bar.

“I will not have guardians in my club,” he calls over his shoulder.

“But I’m not a guardian,” I protest.

The man stops and looks over his shoulder. His eyes—fiery orange with narrow vertical pupils—glare at me. “They said you’d say that,” he snarls, revealing a forked tongue. Drakoni, my mind whispers to me.

“Look,” I say to him, struggling against the elves until I manage to raise my arms just enough to show my bare wrists. “No guardian markings.”

“Trainee,” the drakoni man spits. “Same thing.”

How does he know that?

He strides along a passageway, and I’m dragged after him into a dim, smoky room where two men are sitting at a round table, drinking amber-colored drinks and playing cards. They’re laughing about something, but they look up as the elves push me roughly into the room. One of them leers at me, while the other—

“Zed?” Relief and confusion collide, making me light-headed. For an odd moment, the room seems to vibrate. “What … what are you doing here?” In the company of Creepy Hollow’s biggest guardian hater?

The room vibrates again.

“TAKE IT OFF!” a voice yells from somewhere behind me. At the sound of running footsteps, I look over my shoulder past the elves. I see the artist, but he blurs as the vibration around me intensifies. A shock wave ripples through the air, and with a loud whoosh, everything around me vanishes.

And then reappears with a jolt.

I blink.

This isn’t the room I was in a second ago. This is my bedroom at Ryn’s house. All my things are here, despite the fact that I moved everything out this afternoon. Aside from a faint green tinge overlaying the scene, everything looks the same as it was when I lived here. My clothes peek out of a half-open drawer. My work is spread across the desk. My trainee pendant hangs on the closet doorknob.

I turn slowly on the spot as my heart pounds heavily in my chest. Then I see the person sitting on the bed—and I completely freak out.

The person is me.