by Sarah Wynde
What the hell did she think she was going to do?
Out, out, out, was the answer her heartbeat gave her.
“Can they trace me through you?” she asked her voice.
“Trace you?”
“Know where I am. Find me because of our connection.”
“That should not be possible, no.”
Okay, one worry down.
Folding her hands in front of her, Fen stared at the wall that Gaelith had turned into a window. It had turned back into a wall while she slept. Had Gaelith transformed it back for privacy? Were there guards patrolling the park on the other side of the wall? But Fen couldn’t worry about that. Not yet.
“Window,” she said.
Obligingly, the wall transformed. Fen stepped closer and looked out. Under the twilight sky, an expanse of ground cover led to what looked like forest, with trees and shrubs lit by hanging globes of light. Beyond the trees, she thought she could make out a stone wall. No one seemed to be moving within her range of sight.
Fen licked her lips. She placed her hand on the window. Door, she thought. Under her fingers she felt the wall shift and shiver. But no door formed.
She closed her eyes. “Door,” she whispered. The shiver this time was more like a quake, the wall rocking under her fingertips, but when she opened her eyes, the wall was still a window.
Fen put her hands on her hips.
No way was she going to put up with that bullshit from a wall.
She pressed both hands against the wall, full-force, her entire weight such as it was, leaning into the wall, and demanded, “Door.”
The wall rippled. It melted, shaped, reshaped, melted again and reshaped again, but when it finally stopped moving, it was still a window.
Fen could almost see the nanomites quivering.
She stepped back and folded her arms across her chest, contemplating the window. She almost had it. She could see she almost had it.
She needed something else.
A little boost.
A little extra oomph.
Turning back to the bed, she scrambled in the pockets of her dress until she found her crystal.
Hand open, she looked at it.
It was just a rock. A blue rock.
“Do you know what this is?” she asked her librarian.
“It appears to be a smoothed piece of kyanite.”
“Kyanite?” Fen froze. She’d never heard that word before.
“A typically blue silicate mineral, commonly found in aluminium-rich metamorphic pegmatites or sedimentary rock.”
Fen breathed again.
Right.
Kaio’s name had nothing to do with her rock.
Of course not.
Kyanite.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Let’s see how this works.”
She closed her fingers around her crystal.
Door, she thought as softly as she could.
Pop.
The wall was gone. A sliding glass door, already open, stood in its place.
“Apparently my previous response omitted relevant information,” the library voice murmured.
“Oh, yeah? What was that?” Fen slipped the crystal into the pocket of her pants and glanced over her shoulder, eyes scanning the room. Did she want anything? Her bikini, the dress, a jar of random nanomite-infused bath salts?
“In the hands of a crystal speaker, kyanite is an amplifier.”
“An amplifier?” Fen paused, questions flooding her mind. There was so much she wanted to ask. But any second, guards might appear. Curiosity would have to wait.
She stepped out through the door and put her hand on the glass, not touching her crystal. Wall, she breathed, imagining the surface as it had been when she first saw it. The wall leaped back into place.
Fen bit back a laugh. Maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was euphoria from her success, but she couldn’t help picturing the nanomites as a clutch of gossiping gremlins, saying, “OMG, that was insane,” and “Can you believe what she made us do?” and, “I know! Did you ever?!” and other expressions of nanomite shock.
Thank you, she thought at the wall. It could have been her imagination, but it felt as if the wall gave a purr of pleasure under her hand.
What next?
Head for the exterior wall, of course.
But not at a run.
This place was no prison yard. Maybe her cell was part of a government building, like a holding cell at a courthouse, rather than a top-security facility. That being so, most of the people who might catch sight of her probably weren’t guards. If she looked as if she belonged, as if she were strolling through the park on her lunch break, the casual onlooker might think nothing of it.
Did elves take lunch breaks?
“An amplifier magnifies a signal,” the library voice said in her head as Fen forced herself to walk calmly toward the tree line. “Crystal speakers utilize silicate minerals to enhance their ability to manipulate nanomites.”
“So I’ve got a magic rock?” Fen muttered, hoping no one could see her talking to herself. Of course, if someone spotted her, she was screwed anyway. Unfamiliar place, unknown rules—this little jailbreak could end as quickly as it started with one observant glance from an upper-story window.
“The kyanite has no inherent magic. It is simply a tool. A loudspeaker, if you will.”
“Nice.” Fen acknowledged the information with a dip of her head. Walking at this pace was killing her. She felt as if a giant target were painted on her back, as if eyes like laser-beams were pinpointing her already.
And then her brain processed what her librarian was telling her and added in previous experiences. “Wait,” she whispered, feeling her feet start itching with the desire to run. “Other people can hear it, right? When I say something with the crystal?”
“Potentially, yes.”
Fuck.
Never Make It Easy
Fen’s feet stopped listening to her brain. She bolted, running for the trees as fast as she could.
The grass wasn’t grass, she realized, but a weedy flat ground cover. It wanted to tangle her bare feet, to capture her toes, but the sandy soil underneath it was soft and even, easy enough to run on. She was gasping by the time she reached the trees, lungs burning with exertion, but she caught herself on a tree trunk, stepping into its cover.
She looked back at the building. It extended in both directions for the length of a city block, but it didn’t look like any jail or government building she’d ever seen. The walls were colorful, patterned in warm shades of yellow and orange and umber, while the building itself curved, roof and edges and walls, all flowing like waves or plants, like a mini and more fluid version of the Aqua Tower on Columbus Drive. Upper-story balconies had intricate metal railings and flowering plants, reminding her of pictures of New Orleans or Spain.
It was weird as hell. But pretty for all that.
Fen stayed still, taking deep breaths and watching for signs of life. Had anyone seen her? Were they after her already? But when no guards in red tunics raced around the side of the building, she calmed.
It was spooky under the trees, shadowy and dark and still, but the glow of the hanging lights would make it impossible to hide. Anyone searching would find her in minutes.
The tattoo on her leg itched.
She resisted the desire to scratch.
She’d get to the wall… and then what? Look for a door. Or a way over. Maybe she could climb a tree and drop across to the other side.
And then what?
She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing so big and knotted that it threatened to break through the skin.
She was screwed.
Okay, so she’d gotten out of her cell.
She started walking again, sticking close to the trees and heading for the wall.
But what was she going to do now? Sure, maybe she could catch a glider but it couldn’t actually take her home. Maybe, if she got way lucky—lucky beyond reason—she could get back t
o the door that Luke had brought her through.
And then what?
If she managed to get out, she’d be in the middle of the damn ocean and she didn’t know how to swim.
She grabbed the thin trunk of a tree, pressing her fingers and palm on it so hard that the rough bark dug into her skin.
Cut it out, she told herself ferociously. Rewind. Go back in time. Back to who you were.
This wasn’t real life anymore. This wasn’t her day-to-day—the bookstore with Theresa, the idea of college, the study of geometry. This wasn’t safety.
No, she was back on the streets. But this time she knew the rules. She knew how to play the game.
Live, one minute at a time. Avoid danger. Keep moving.
Find food. Find shelter. Keep moving.
Look for allies. Never trust them. Keep moving.
She could do this. She would do this. Letting go of the tree, she started to move, walking as softly as she could.
When the distant yipping and yelping started, it took Fen a second to identify the sound.
Dogs.
Shit, Atlantis had dogs?
She started to run again, weaving through the trees, crashing through bushes, and cursing the dim light and her lack of shoes.
Water, she needed to find water. She’d run upstream through flowing water and disguise her scent. Get out of the stream at a different spot, preferably on the same bank…
Fen stopped, leaned over, hands on her knees, and drew a deep gasping breath.
She didn’t know where she could find water.
And she couldn’t outrun dogs.
She backtracked a few steps, scuffing the ground, wondering what she could do to confuse them. Run in circles? Hide?
She might as well give up now.
But fuck that.
She wasn’t going to make it easy for them.
Glancing at the trees around her, she looked for one with decent branches. She’d never climbed a tree, not that she could remember, but she’d jumped for the rung of a fire escape ladder often enough when she was still living in squats. How much harder could it be? And if she climbed high enough, maybe she could leap between trees, like Rue in The Hunger Games.
The bark was rougher on her hands than the metal of a fire escape. At least it wasn’t cold. The climbing was easier than she’d expected, though, one branch leading to the next, like weird angled stepping stones. When she’d gotten as high as she could go, she looked down.
Ugh.
She closed her eyes and held the trunk tighter. She’d inch out along the branch she was on and reach for a branch of the nearest tree. If she could get far enough out on the branch, she could do it. But her fingers refused to let go of the trunk.
The back of her leg itched ferociously, the feeling spreading up along her thigh. Fen wanted to whimper or cry or scream, but she gritted her teeth and rested her head against the tree trunk. All she needed to do was let go.
She could hold the branch. Wiggle along it.
If she fell, the branches would break her fall. She’d get scraped, but not seriously hurt.
But the part of her that refused to let go of the trunk also refused to listen to her own advice. And the dogs were getting closer. She could hear rustling in the brush. If she moved now, they’d hear her.
Not that it mattered. They’d find her any minute anyway.
“This is stupid.” It was a discontented male voice, close enough that every word was clear.
“Hey, no complaints. Getting out of the guard house makes a nice change.”
Fen blinked in surprise. Those voices sounded modern. American. Normal. She risked a tentative glance down.
A grey wolf sat at the base of the tree, panting up at her, its jaw dropped in a doggie smile. When it saw her looking, it stood, putting its paws against the trunk and gave a single bark.
Oh, hell.
The wolf dropped away from the tree and crouched, front down, back half up, tail wagging furiously.
Fen scowled at it. “Go away,” she mouthed.
“She can’t be out here. She’s in the castle somewhere. That slob Mishka doesn’t want to admit she snuck by him. He must have been asleep at his post.”
Two more wolves appeared below her. One of them bounced playfully on the first which promptly abandoned its post at the base of Fen’s tree. The other sniffed around the ground with interest before lifting its leg on the trunk.
Fen pressed her lips together, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. The itch along her leg was still spreading, moving up her back now, so desperately annoying she wanted to scrape her skin against the tree to relieve the irritation.
“He’s a good guy,” Number Two voice responded peaceably. Fen shivered. His voice reminded her of Kaio’s, with hints of the same deep resonance. “And which would you rather do, chase the dogs around or stand by a door for three hours?”
“Eh, whatever,” Number One voice grumbled. A light appeared below the tree and shone up into the branches. “These damn dogs couldn’t find a bone in a butcher shop. Waste of time.”
Blinded by the light, unable to see beyond it to determine what he looked like, Fen waited for him to change his tone, to shout in surprised recognition, but his light moved on.
And then so did the voices.
One of the wolves lingered by the base of the tree. It looked up at her, its tail still wagging. In the shadowy light, its eyes looked golden, its fur grey.
In a whisper so soft it was nearly sub-vocal, Fen asked, “You don’t have werewolves here, do you?”
“No,” the library voice answered. “The consequences of attempting to use magic to transform your shape are unpleasant. It is ill-advised.”
Fen breathed again.
A whistle summoned the dog, and it bounded away from the tree.
Fen stood on the branch, her arms wrapped around the trunk, her cheek resting against the rough bark. She trembled, cold with sweat, her stomach queasy with fear and frustration and tangled-up fury. What just happened?
Whisper slightly louder, she asked the library voice, “Why didn’t they see me?”
The library voice was silent for a moment before saying, “Response includes speculation. Reliability not assured.”
“Go ahead."
“Gaelith Del Mar is an extraordinarily gifted healer. It is possible that one of the non-traditional patterns she activated provides you with the ability to go unseen. Note, however, that this is supposition. There are stories of such magics but nothing in Library Level One that would allow for calculation of a percentage chance of such an eventuality.”
Her ivy.
Fen didn’t strain to see it.
She didn’t need to.
She stood, clutching the tree, until her trembling had eased and her breathing was calm and her sweat had dried and the only sounds she could hear were the random buzzing of bugs and chirping of birds. And then, cautiously, one branch at a time, she made her way down.
On the ground again, she headed straight for the wall. She paused in the shadows of the trees when it was within easy reach. A grassy gap separated the wall from the trees, and the wall was taller than she’d imagined from a distance, at least ten feet high.
It was also smooth. She’d hoped for a stone wall, with handholds and footholds she could pull herself over, but the surface was flat. And she wouldn’t be able to climb a tree and drop over—none of the branches extended across the wall.
She could find a door—they must exist—and hope her ivy would help her slip out.
Or she could try something else.
She looked in both directions.
No one within sight.
As lightly, quietly, as she could, she ran across the grassy expanse and crouched next to the wall. She put her hand on it.
The wall was still. None of the quiver she’d felt from the wall of her cell.
Door, she thought.
Ah, there it was. A shifting. An uncertain wiggle. But nothing that indicate
d a door would melt into place the way she wanted it to.
She touched her pocket on the outside of her pants, feeling the solid lump of crystal within it. It might work. But it might also summon guards down upon her and she wasn’t quite ready to trust her ivy.
Lifting her head, she gazed at the wall. What would be easiest for it? What would make a wall want to change?
Stairs? She suggested to the wall, picturing blocks sliding out that would lead up and over.
It felt as if the wall sighed and settled down deeper into itself.
Fen grimaced. But her eyebrows arched as the part of the wall directly under her hand warmed and jumped. The rest of the wall wanted no part of her but the part she was touching was stirring, shifting uneasily.
“Come on,” she coaxed, voice soft. “Come with me.” She pulled her hand out from the wall, two inches, no more.
The wall followed her. It stopped when she did and she could feel its relief, its reluctance to keep moving.
Magic.
She loved magic. Or nanomites, whatever. She wasn’t picky.
One handhold at a time, Fen built herself a ladder over the wall. At the top, she looked back at how she’d climbed. Home, she ordered her handholds. They slid into the wall so fast she could barely see them move.
The ground was a long way down, but she turned, facing the wall and bracing herself on her stomach. Eesh. But she knew she could do this. She slid off, dangling for a second or two, all her weight on her fingertips, before letting go and dropping to the ground. She landed hard, her knees bent, but her feet stayed steady under her.
“All right. Where to now?”
“You have exited the Queen’s residence using highly unorthodox means.”
Fen glanced over her shoulder. The Queen’s residence? Shit. She’d been in the royal dungeon. And she’d busted loose. She wondered whether she should be proud of herself or totally freaked out. Freaked out was definitely winning.
“Have you an intended destination?” the voice continued.
“Someplace to hide. Any ideas?”
“Searching.” The voice’s tone was abstracted.
“We need a place with people. It’s easier to get lost in a crowd than it is to hide out someplace isolated.”
“Adding parameters to search.”