I turn my attention back to Nate. Magic runs down to my fingertips and into his body like rain soaking into the earth. And still I don’t feel drained. I can’t help marveling at that. It’s as though my supply of power is endless, never needing to be replenished by rest or food. But after only a few moments, I remove my hands from Nate’s skin. I have no idea what this power will do to his normally magic-free halfling body, and I certainly don’t want to overdo it.
“Please work, please work,” I mutter, staring at the wound. Nothing seems to be happening, but perhaps it’s just that the healing is really slow. I stretch out my hand and gently brush Nate’s hair off his forehead. My heart contracts painfully for a beat.
I climb off the bed, walk to the bathing room, and get down on my knees by the pool to scrub my hands. I’m now utterly confused by my feelings for Nate. I thought I was ready to say goodbye to him earlier, but when he disappeared in the labyrinth, I was terrified I’d never see him again. That must mean something, right? I force myself to take my time washing my hands, hoping that when I return to Nate, the wound will have begun to heal.
It has. It’s healing from the outside in, the edges turning pale pink as the potion works its magic. It happens slowly, too slowly for me to see unless I look away for a considerable amount of time. I let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding and collapse onto the bed beside Nate.
The griffin disc is poking into me again. I pull it out of my pocket, lean over, and place it in the drawer beside my bed. I wish I could tell Tora about it. She’d be amazed at the amount of power I used tonight. Anyone would be. I held back a flood of water, fought off another faerie, and used stunner magic three times. Man, I would be getting so many points if this were an assignment.
I begin to relax, and my mind drifts back to the Underground chamber. Nate had his questions answered tonight, but now I have a whole lot of my own. Is it possible that Angelica knew my parents? And what could she want revenge for? Maybe she made a mistake. Maybe what I said to her was true, and she did just have the wrong Violet. Somehow, though, I doubt that’s the case.
I force myself to think of other things. I wonder what I should do with the griffin disc. I wonder how much power it has left in it. I wonder if Nate will want to see his mother again, and whether his father ever knew what Angelica was. I wonder what Ryn was doing Underground. I wonder many things, until finally I drift into dreams.
*
I wake when I feel movement beside me. I sit up quickly. Nate groans and rubs his eyes. His hands flop to his sides and he blinks at me. “Are we home?” he asks.
“Yes. Well, my home, not yours.” I look down at his chest. Nothing remains of his encounter with the centaur except a pale pink patch.
Nate follows my gaze down to the scar on his chest. “Oh,” he says as he sits up. “Didn’t I . . .” He looks at me. “Something hit me.”
I nod. “The centaur’s magic. You jumped in front of me. Thanks, by the way.”
He smiles. “You’ve saved my life more than once, remember? It was the least I could do.” He looks down again. “And I like what you’ve done with my T-shirt.”
I chuckle. “You’re welcome. Though the credit should really go to the centaur. He did most of the damage.”
The corners of Nate’s smile lower slightly. “I don’t think I’ll be returning any time soon to thank him.”
I reach forward and cover one of his hands with mine. “So what happened, Nate? Where did you go? One second you were behind me and the next you were gone. I was just about going insane trying to find you.”
Nate rubs a hand over his eyes and shakes his head. “I don’t know, Vi. I remember running behind you . . . and then I remember being in the club.”
“That’s it?” I search his eyes. “You’re sure you don’t remember anything in between?”
He stares at the bed covers for while, as though trying to see something that’s not there. “I’m sure,” he says eventually. “There’s nothing.”
“Maybe it was just some labyrinth trick,” I suggest.
“Maybe,” he says, but there’s doubt in his voice.
I take both his hands in mine, lacing my fingers between his. “So,” I say. “You’re a halfling.” And it’s possible your mother has a major grudge against my deceased parents.
“Uh, yeah. I guess I am.” He pulls his hands free of mine and climbs off the bed. “So this is your home, huh?” Okay. Clearly he’s not ready to talk about the halfling thing yet. Well, I can wait.
“Yeah,” I say, twisting my hands together as I watch him examine my room. For some reason, it makes me feel as vulnerable as though I’m standing naked in front of him.
He turns in a slow circle. “It’s round.”
I arch an eyebrow. “I see your observational skills are still intact.”
“Why is there a mirror lying flat on your desk?” he asks. “Do you do some kind of magic on it?”
“Yes, actually. I use it to talk to other people. I see them in my mirror, and they see me in theirs.”
He looks at me. “Like the faerie version of Skype?”
“Um . . . sure.” It’s possible I’ve heard the word before, but I have no idea what it is.
He picks up two objects, each roughly the size and shape of a silver coin. I open my mouth to explain what they are, but he says, “Wait, let me guess. These . . . magically expand into dumbbells?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Way off. They’re sound drops. You stick one on each temple, send a little magic into them, and they play music in your ears.”
“No way.”
“Yes way,” I assure him. “I like to train to music. It blocks out all the gossip going on around me.”
Nate leaves the sound drops on my desk. He wanders past the shelf of old poetry books that belonged to my mother and crosses to the other side of my bedroom. I jump off the bed and join him at the doorway to the bathing room. He peers in at what looks like a slice of nature. Grass grows naturally, and a pool fills the centre of the room. Scattered amongst the blades of grass are hundreds of tiny blue and yellow flowers. Trees with tangled branches conceal the walls, and water tumbles down a pile of rocks and into the other side of the pool.
“You are kidding me,” says Nate. “You have a pool in your bathroom?”
“The bath idea never really took off,” I say. “Self-cleaning pools have been in for centuries. And the mini-waterfall provides an excellent shower.” Nate simply stares, his mouth hanging open. “If you’d like to,” I add, “you can use it sometime.”
He closes his mouth and looks at me. Several heartbeats of silence pass between us before he says, “So you’ve decided not to leave me then?”
I look down at the bare skin revealed by the hole in his T-shirt. “I have no reason to anymore,” I say quietly. “You’re a halfling, Nate, not a human, which means I’m not breaking any Law by being with you.” He stiffens at the word halfling. I touch his arm. “I know it’s a lot to take in, everything that’s happened tonight, but I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk about it. I’m not going anywhere.”
I look up and find him staring at me. His gaze makes me feel hot all over. I lift my hand and run my finger over the almost invisible scar on his chest. He shivers at my touch. Gently, he reaches out and cups my face in his hand, brushing his thumb over my cheekbone. I lean forward to meet his kiss. My hands slide down over his jacket and slip beneath the hem of his T-shirt. His skin is warm, smooth. I skim my fingers across his back, feeling the ridges of his spine and—a raised pattern of hot skin?
I open my eyes and step back. “Nate,” I say. “Your back.”
“What?” He’s as breathless as I am. I turn him around and lift the bottom of his T-shirt. My next breath catches in my throat, and I clamp a hand over my mouth. Tattooed onto the left side of Nate’s lower back, the skin around it still red, is the black outline of an eye.
To be continued . . .
Look out for the next installme
nt in the series, Traitor.
Coming in May 2012
Find out more about Creepy Hollow by visiting the Creepy Hollow website.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Once again, the number one thank you goes to God.
Major thanks to Kittie Howard and Lara Stavridis for their expert feedback. Kittie, for all the commas and the smiley faces, thank you!
And thank you to everyone who read Guardian and said they wanted to know more.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rachel Morgan was born in South Africa and spent a large portion of her childhood living in a fantasy land of her own making. These days, in between teaching mathematics to high school children, she writes fiction for young adults.
Connect with Rachel online:
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Table of Contents
Labyrinth
The Next Installment in the Series
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Rachel Morgan, Labyrinth
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