Spark

by Anthea Sharp

  Puck gave him a saucy wink, then bounded into the faerie ring. The chill wind rose, tugging at Aran’s hair and pushing at his shoulders. He huddled against it, waiting for it to end.

  When it did, he blinked at their surroundings, then rounded on Puck.

  “Where are we? I thought the plan was to get me back to the tent! This looks nothing like the clearing I came from.”

  Instead of the dark trees and endless night, the sky overhead shone pearly gray. The clearing they stood in was larger than usual, and on one side stood a falling-down hut.

  “Wait,” Puck said, holding up one long-fingered hand.

  “No. Take me back, right—”

  Aran broke off as a figure emerged from the building, one arm cradled close to her body. Her magenta hair was unmistakable.

  “Spark?” he whispered.

  What the hell was Spark doing here, in the fantastical areas of Feyland?

  “She is injured,” Puck said, springing forward.

  Aran didn’t hesitate. He sprinted past Puck and met Spark in front of the hut. She stood there, holding on to one of the crooked posts supporting the porch, and stared at him.

  “Oh, my God. Aran.” Her face, which had been pale before, lost all color.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, reaching for her arm.

  She flinched back. “I think I broke my wrist—but that’s not important. I came to rescue you. We have to get you out of here.”

  “Me? What about you?”

  She shook her head, her bright hair swinging across the pointed features of her avatar.

  “Puck,” she said, turning to address the sprite. “I heard I might run into you. Thanks for the help.”

  “A pleasure, milady.” Puck swept her an elaborate bow.

  “How did you even get here?” Aran asked her. “I thought humans couldn’t enter the realm.”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” She narrowed her eyes. “As soon as we get back to the mortal world, you and I are having a serious talk. Dammit—I knew something happened when you played the Feyland demo.”

  “You did?” Aran thought back. All her questions started to make sense. “Wait—is that why you kept inviting me to things? So you could pump me for information?”

  He’d been an idiot. Spark wasn’t interested in him romantically, she had just wanted to know what he’d seen in-game.

  “That’s not the only reason,” she said.

  “Yeah, right. How did you know I was in Feyland?”

  “It’s complicated. Once we’re in our world I’ll explain. Come on.” She started across the clearing, toward the ring of mushrooms sprouting on the far side. “Puck, can you send us through?”

  “I will do my best,” he said. “Though my magic is small compared to the queen’s, you hold the Elder Fey’s favor. It will be enough to take you home.”

  “Whoa.” Aran halted, lifting his hands. “I’m not going back.”

  “What?” Spark whirled on him, her expression fierce. “Of course you are. Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in? I’m just glad I found you before you got to the Dark Court.”

  “Um.” Aran shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve already been there.”

  “How did you escape?” Still holding her right arm against her chest, she grabbed him with her other hand. “Never mind. Let’s just go.”

  As if to underscore her words, a long, mournful howl wavered through the air. Aran shivered at the sound.

  “The hunt,” Puck said. “Quickly, mortals, to the ring!”

  Aran pulled out of Spark’s grasp.

  “Look—it’s nice that you came to get me and all, but I’m staying here.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “There’s nothing back in our world for me,” he said. “Nothing.”

  Her eyes widened, and she took a step closer to him. “If you were to see the Dark Queen, you’d understand how dangerous—”

  “I’ve seen her. In fact, I’m working for her.”

  Spark stared at him, a look of disbelief on her face. The air curdled with another eerie howl, punctuated with the rumble of hoof beats.

  “Now!” Puck cried, dancing about them furiously. “There is no more time to waste.”

  “You’d better go.” Aran crossed his arms. “Get that wrist taken care of.”

  “I can’t believe this.” She took hold of his arm again, but he yanked free.

  “I said no.”

  She glanced at the sky, then back to him, eyes flashing. “I’m coming back for you. Soon. You may be working for the queen, but my job is to return you to the mortal world. Whether you want to or not.”

  “I choose not.”

  A dark shadow swept over the clearing. Aran looked up, to see a company of faerie folk mounted on black horses with fiery hooves riding across the sky. At their head rode the horned hunter, and before him dashed his flame-eyed hounds.

  Spark let out a gasp and, clutching her arm against her body, sprinted for the faerie ring. As soon as she leaped into the center, Puck flung up his hands and chanted three syllables, high and chiming. Blue light flashed, and Spark was gone.

  The sprite rounded on him. “Oh, foolish, foolish choice. She braved the realm for you—indeed, bears an injury because of it—and you turned her away.”

  Guilt twinged through him. Had Spark really gotten hurt because of him?

  “It’s not my fault she came in here.” The words rang hollow.

  “It is,” Puck shook his head sadly. “Think well on that.”

  An instant later the sprite disappeared, just as the horned hunter landed in the clearing.

  The hounds circled, growling at Aran. Despite the panicked pumping of his heart, he didn’t move. He was under the queen’s protection. He clutched that thought as the master of the hunt rode toward him, antlered head silhouetted against the storm-tossed sky.

  “Mortal,” the hunter said, in a voice that held the echo of doom. “You have lost your way.”

  “Not really. More of a detour.”

  The hunter slowly turned his head to regard the faerie ring. When he looked back at Aran, his eyes were lightless pools.

  “We shall escort you back to the court,” he said, reaching out a hand gloved in thick leather.

  Aran hesitated, and the hunter grabbed him, quick as a snake striking. An instant later, Aran was seated behind him on the huge black horse.

  With a shrill whistle, the hunter pointed into the sky. The fey mount leaped, and Aran lurched forward, forced to take a handful of the hunter’s cloak to steady himself. It was way closer than he ever wanted to be to any of the fey folk.

  A rank, feral odor surrounded him as the hounds flowed around the horses’ feet. From somewhere behind came the high keening of pipes. The wind ripped tears from the corners of his eyes. Aran glanced down to see the dark tops of the trees billowing beneath them like waves. Silver ponds blinked their still eyes as the hunt rode over, leaving shadows in their wake.

  He held on, clenching his jaw as the Wild Hunt stormed across the sky like his worst nightmare made real.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Spark fumbled, one handed, at her gaming helmet, and managed to yank it off. Her wrist throbbed, and she knew she had to call Vonda and get it tended to right away. All she could do for the moment, though, was sit there, half in shock.

  Aran was the mortal who had stumbled into the Dark Court. Aran! And not only that, he’d gone there on purpose.

  Dammit—why hadn’t she nailed him to the wall and demanded more information?

  Well, and what if she had? He’d been evasive with his answers. Did she really think he would have told the truth? And would she have risked revealing all the secrets she knew about Feyland?

  Even if he’d confessed, it wasn’t like she could have done anything, other than warn him.

  Her wrist twinged. With a soft groan, she got out of the sim chair and stumbled to the hotel phone on the nightstand. It was beyond late, but she had t
o wake Vonda. Sinking onto the bed, she punched in her manager’s room number.

  “Hello?” Vonda’s voice was groggy. “This better be an emergency.”

  “It’s Spark. And yeah, you should probably call the med techs.”

  “The hell?” Vonda sounded suddenly wide awake. “I’ll be right there.”

  Spark unlocked the door, then sat on the bed, waiting. She felt wretched, inside and out. How could she rescue Aran if he refused to leave the realm? Her first assignment as a Feyguard, and so far she was failing miserably. She had to talk to Jennet. Soon.

  Vonda burst into the room, and hurried over to the bed.

  “No blood,” she said, after looking Spark over with a critical gaze. “What happened?”

  “My wrist.” Spark held it out, then winced when Vonda touched her.

  “Aw, damn. Can you wiggle your fingers?”

  She tried, and this time was able to manage a little motion, though the pain that followed made her gasp.

  “I’m getting you some ice and aspirin, and pulling the FullD out of here. The med techs should be here soon.”

  “Okay.” Though things were so far from okay she wanted to scream.

  When Vonda returned, Spark pressed the ice-filled towel against her wrist and tried to breathe normally. She watched, heart sinking even further, as the VirtuMax crew took the sim system out. There went her last chance to get into Feyland.

  She had to come up with another plan, and fast. The longer Aran spent in the realm, the more danger he’d be in of being trapped there forever. Even if he didn’t know it, she did.

  Outside, she heard sirens approaching. They cut off, and a few minutes later she was surrounded by med techs taking her vitals and examining her wrist. They stuck her arm in a portable scanner, then clustered around the readout.

  “It’s a grade two sprain,” one of them announced. “Not broken.”

  Spark let out her breath. The pain killers were starting to kick in, too, and she leaned back against the mounded pillows.

  “What does that mean?” she asked. “I don’t have to get a cast or anything, right? How soon until I can play again?”

  “Gamers.” Vonda shook her head.

  “Young lady.” The head tech, a guy with reddish hair, gave her a stern look. “You have to give yourself time to heal. Ice regularly, take anti-inflammatories, and wear a splint, especially when you sleep. With the right care, you’ll be functioning normally again in a few weeks.”

  “A few weeks?” She glanced at Vonda. “I can’t sit around that long! I’m working, and we have a system to debut.”

  Vonda firmed her lips. “We’ll deal with it, Spark. Now shut up and get some rest.”

  Despite the harsh words, Spark was reassured. Vonda would let her try playing—that’s what the “we’ll deal with it” meant. Maybe she could fit her splinted hand into an oversized glove. Or even play one-handed.

  “Good advice,” the med tech said. “We’ll let your manager take care of the details of paperwork and prescriptions. If you’ll step outside, ma’am?”

  Vonda looked a little sour at being called ma’am. Before she followed the man out, she set her hand on Spark’s forehead.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll work this out.”

  Spark could only hope.

  ***

  Aran stormed into the tent. He wished it had a real door, one he could slam. Or a hard floor to stomp over instead of the lush carpets. Anger was a bright flame, covering the guilt gnawing at him.

  “And he yet remains in the realm? This is disastrous.” Thomas broke off as Aran entered.

  “You!” Aran pointed at Puck, who hovered cross-legged several feet in the air, drinking a cup of tea. “You tricked me, with your faerie ring switcheroo. Taking me to Spark, when you were supposed to bring me back here.”

  “I only spoke true words,” the sprite replied. “You parsed the meaning incorrectly. ‘Twas no trickery, but a sidestep.”

  Aran scowled and turned to Thomas. Arguing with Puck was a useless activity.

  “Do you know a girl named Spark?” he asked.

  Thomas tilted his head and studied Aran for a long moment. Then he sighed and went to the table.

  “Tea?” he asked.

  “As long as you’re serving up some answers, too.”

  “I will reveal what little I may. Understand, I walk a difficult path between my loyalty to the queen and the remnants of my mortal heart.”

  “Just tell me about Spark.” Aran took an impatient swig of tea. There were lies upon lies here, and he was sick of being tangled in the middle.

  “She is one of the Feyguard,” Thomas said.

  “No idea what that means.” Though Aran could guess.

  “The Feyguard are those few mortals set to watch the boundary between your world and the Realm of Faerie.”

  “So she knew about Feyland all along?”

  “Aye,” Puck said. “And you should have heeded her warnings.”

  Aran wrapped his fingers around his cup. Thinking back, she had warned him—in a totally oblique way. Not that it would have made any difference, even if he’d understood what she was saying.

  “Why are you still here?” Thomas asked. “Spark battled her way deep into the realm to free you, sustaining injuries along the way. Puck stood ready to open the gate. Every shred of mortal sense would have you gone from the realm, and yet, you remain.”

  Damn right he’d stayed—mostly out of pride, and stubbornness, and the burning desire to fit somewhere. And the pure thrill of unlocking the puzzle of code. He was close on that one. Not to mention the reward.

  Aran drained the last of his tea and set the cup on the table. “Even if it’s dangerous here, at least I’m doing something. Helping the magic.”

  “The magic needs no assistance from you,” Thomas said. “The queen has more than enough power at her command.”

  “Fine, then. Send me back.” Aran folded his arms, betting on the fact the bard couldn’t directly cross the queen. “I’ll go.”

  Thomas gave him a long, weary look. “Would that I could, but your presence here is not so easily undone. Deep magic summoned you, and only deep magic can return you to the mortal world again. You missed one chance. Pray that you do not miss another.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The next morning, Spark ordered room service. She felt clumsy, and didn’t want to explain her injury. Or deal with the Terabins. As soon as her breakfast arrived, she pulled out her messager and keyed in Jennet’s contact.

  :You there?: Spark sent.

  A full minute later, the reply came.

  :Barely. It’s two hours earlier here, you know.:

  :Yeah, sorry. But I have bad news.:

  :No luck getting into Feyland?: Jennet’s message appeared slowly. Clearly her fingers were slow to wake up, too.

  :Oh, I got in-game no problem. I even found the person who was sucked into the Dark Realm.:

  Spark paused, trying to think of how to phrase her next words. Ah, hell. Jennet was her friend. She deserved complete honesty.

  :And?: Jennet prompted.

  :And not only did it turn out to be the guy I met at SimCon, he’s still in the realm. I failed.: There, she’d gotten the worst of it over with.

  :?! Give me a sec.:

  Spark grabbed her tea and took a big gulp, then fiddled with the bunch of grapes on the room service tray.

  :Did you lose a battle with the queen?: Jennet finally asked.

  :No—I didn’t fail that way. Aran simply refused to return to our world.:

  :So push him into the faerie ring.:

  :I was hurt.:

  :What? Stop, already, with the epic reveals. Are you all right?: Jennet’s messages were coming quicker now. Probably Spark’s news was shaking the drowsiness right out of her head.

  :It’s just a sprained wrist. Hurt a lot, though.:

  :Don’t do it again.:

  :Yeah, well, I don’t know when I can get back in Feyl
and again. Could you and Tam—:

  :Of course,: Jennet sent. :Though neither of us have heard even a whisper from the Elder Fey. We’ll see if we can find your guy and pull him out.:

  :He’s not my guy.: Most definitely not, after their last encounter. :Let me know. And thanks.:

  :Hey, friend, it’s what we do. Right?:

  :Right. See you when.:

  Jennet sent a smiley wave icon in farewell.

  Still tired, Spark leaned back against her pillows to finish her tea. She hoped Jennet and Tam could succeed where she’d failed. After all, they were the experts.

  After picking at her breakfast, getting packed, then burning an hour watching stupid cat vids, it was time to go. Spark was careful to stay behind the Terabins as they boarded the tour bus. With one hand out of commission, she knew she’d make a tempting target.

  “Did you fall down?” Cora asked, looking at her splint as Jennet passed her seat. “I know you’re uncoordinated, but I thought you at least knew how to walk.”

  “She’s taking the easy way out,” Roc said, sprawling along a whole row. “Now she has an excuse for why our scores and gameplay will be so much better than hers.”

  Spark felt her cheeks heat with anger, but she didn’t give them the satisfaction of a reply. Head high, she sidestepped Cora’s attempt to trip her and headed for the middle of the bus. Niteesh was already there, and Spark settled across the aisle from him.

  “Nice timing on that,” he said, nodding to Spark’s splinted wrist.

  “Like I sprained it on purpose.”

  “No.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But this way the Terribles can rule supreme without having to take you out. And you can still appear onstage at Bella Boingo’s concert tonight.”

  “Oh joy.” The pop star’s music had never been to Spark’s taste. The singer’s fan base overlapped with hers, though, so VirtuMax had set up the special guest appearance.

  Originally, Spark was scheduled to run a quick demo on the FullD, but her injury made that impossible. Vonda had scrambled and arranged for footage of Spark’s SimCon demo to be shown instead.

  “I know why you sprained it.” Niteesh flashed her a smile. “You won’t have to sign autographs.”