by Anthea Sharp
A rustle went through the crowd, and Spark swallowed the lump of fear blocking her throat. Striding toward them was the forbidding figure of the Black Knight. She remembered him from her former battle against the queen. Encased in ebony armor, his helmet was drawn over his face, the eye slits revealing only more darkness within.
He stopped at the edge of the ring, but made no move to attack. Yet.
No need to—not with the Dark Queen gliding into the clearing. Her dark hair framed a face pale as snow, with high cheeks and eyes like fathomless pools. Spark glimpsed the death of stars in those eyes, and tore her gaze away. The terrible beauty of the Dark Queen was enough to freeze Spark’s senses.
Wait. She shook her head and blinked frost from her eyelashes. Stiffly, she looked at Aran. A thin layer of frost coated him, his cheeks shining with ice.
Anger flared through her, and she called up her wall of fire, blasting it forth from frigid fingers. The heat of it freed them from the frost’s embrace and made the watching fey folk cry out, stumbling in their haste to avoid that sheet of flame.
The Black Knight held his shield in front of his queen, absorbing the fire as if it were a black hole, eating up the light.
“Unfair,” Spark said.
The queen laughed, with a sound like icy bells.
“Mortal girl,” she said. “Do not speak to me of fairness when your companion has cheated us.”
“Cheated you?” Aran scowled at the queen. “How about gold coins turning into leaves? I’d call that quite a scam.”
“We upheld our end of the bargain,” the queen said. “You received your reward. A pity that our coin takes a different form once transported from the realm. Yet you may not break the bargain we had.”
“Oh, yes I can,” Aran said. “And I have. The gateway is closed, and you can’t make me open it again.”
He lifted his tablet and, pivoting, smashed it against the invisible wall. The screen shattered, pieces of plas-metal and glass littering the moss. Spark glimpsed a bit of bright orange in the mess—the plastic dragon Aran had wished for.
The Dark Queen’s eyes narrowed into glittering shards of diamond. A frigid wind whipped through the clearing, lashing the branches of the white-barked trees.
“Take them!” she cried, pointing at Spark and Aran with her long, sharp finger. “What mortal meddling has begun, mortal blood will make undone!”
The Black Knight drew his sword and strode forward, a gang of goblins at his feet. Spark nocked an arrow and fired, but the point slid uselessly off his black armor. Beside her, Aran flung throwing knives at their advancing enemies. A few of them hit, but not enough. Time for a bigger attack.
She conjured up a wave and sent it splashing over the goblins. They shrieked and flailed as most of them were washed away. The remaining few halted, dripping and wary. But the Black Knight kept coming.
Spark lifted her bow again, and fired. The knight charged forward, knocking her arrow aside. She danced back, throwing up a wall of air to stop him. That armor was going to be a beast to deal with. A shot right into the helmet was her best—probably only—chance.
As the knight forced himself through her barrier, Spark darted to the side and nocked another arrow. She sighted down it, pulled back, and let the arrow fly. It was a good shot, fast and true. Halfway to the Black Knight the shaft dipped, suddenly cased in ice. It plummeted out of the sky to bury itself uselessly in the bright green moss.
Aran appeared from the shadows behind the knight, his blades at the ready. He stabbed, and the Black Knight let out a growl. Clearly one of Aran’s knives had connected. But now he had an enraged knight attacking him at close range. He ducked the swishing sword, then kept going, tucking himself into a roll that brought him past their adversary. Aran rose beside her, knives crossed warily.
The knight turned, and Spark smiled a grim smile. Aran had neatly manipulated him so that Spark had a clear shot at his helm.
She set another arrow to the string. As she released it, she summoned an earth spell. Two more arrows appeared alongside her first, made of wood and ore and fine fletching. The first one dipped, then fell out of the air, heavy with ice.
The second was incinerated by a glowing ball of magic.
The third arrow wobbled, off-center, and struck the Black Knight in the neck. He roared, then charged them, fast as black lightning.
Spark threw up her hands, but she had no more spells to summon. Aran faded back—too slow, too slow. With sick horror, Spark watched the knight’s enormous blade swing, slicing right for Aran’s middle.
“No!” she cried, leaping.
She hit the knight’s armored side, and it was cold and hard, like flinging her body against black ice. Aran let out a cry of pain and doubled over, dropping his knives. He clutched his side, then took one hand away. It was red and slick with blood.
“Sorry, Spark,” he gasped.
The queen laughed.
“Hold her,” she commanded, brushing past Spark.
Three goblins leaped to do their queen’s bidding. Their claws dug into Spark’s arms and legs, and one of them gave her an ugly, sharp-toothed grin.
Her heartbeat banged through her, but she forced herself to breathe. To wait. She had a few more tricks, but the timing had to be just right. The queen was planning to… Spark squeezed her eyes shut, then made herself open them again. The queen would sacrifice Aran. If Spark remembered correctly, a few ritualistic things had to happen first.
An unearthly fire kindled in the center of the faerie ring. Its flames burned sapphire and azure and deepest indigo, casting eerie, writhing shadows against the trees. The queen smiled, fierce and terrible, then turned to Aran.
“Now, BlackWing, you will pay the price.”
She reached into the midnight folds of her gown and drew out a long, black thorn. Spark tensed.
Chanting harsh syllables, the queen passed her thorn above the blue flames. They leaped hungrily. Once. Twice. Thrice.
The Dark Queen whirled, lifting the black thorn high above Aran’s heart. In that moment, Spark transformed, her limbs compacting and shrinking, her vision flattening, losing its color. Four-footed, she sprang out of the goblins’ grasp.
Her teeth closed on the queen’s arm, and the Dark Queen shrieked—a sound born more of anger than of pain. Spark’s mouth burned from the queen’s blood. She couldn’t hold on…
She fell, back in human form, to sprawl beside Aran on the moss.
“The apple,” he hissed, face taut with pain.
Spark conjured it and brushed her fingers over the top.
“Help us,” she whispered. There was no time for specifics.
The apple split and flared, then disappeared. She looked up, and gasped as the Black Knight’s sword cleaved down upon her.
“Spark!”
With a cry of pain, Aran heaved himself up and threw himself into the path of danger, covering her body with his own. She felt the sickening thud of impact as the knight’s blow connected. Aran stiffened and cried out again. Then, slowly, his head dropped to her shoulder, his whole body going limp. She could feel the wetness of his blood seeping into her vest.
“No!” Spark’s voice broke on the word. It couldn’t end like this.
“Forgive me, my queen, for robbing you of your sacrifice,” the Black Knight said.
“Fear not.” The queen ran her long pale fingers along the length of her thorn. “There is another.”
The queen gave Spark a look that turned her blood to pure ice. Aran lay unmoving across her, pinning her to the ground. They’d failed. Hot tears ran from the corners of her eyes.
They were both going to die there, in the Realm of Faerie, all their dreams undone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Moving like the wind over dark water, the queen knelt beside Spark.
“Farewell, mortal girl,” she said, raising her black thorn.
Spark squeezed her eyes shut. Then opened them again, bracing herself for the queen’s strike. She’
d rather die knowing it was coming.
“STOP!”
Five figures sprang from the air in the middle of the clearing. In the lead was a silver-armored knight, followed by a blue-robed mage girl, a bearded healing priest, a black-clad martial artist, and a mercenary wearing a bronze breastplate.
With a hiss of anger, the Dark Queen brought the thorn down towards Spark’s chest. The knight sprinted forward, deflecting the blow, while the mage and healer pulled Spark and Aran away from the Dark Queen.
Tears of hope blurred Spark’s vision. The rest of the Feyguard, and they’d arrived just in time.
“I am so glad to see you guys,” she said. “Aran’s hurt. Can you—”
“Already on it,” Zeg said, green light pouring from his fingertips to Aran’s wound. “You two get in there. Jennet, I think your dad needs a hand.”
Jennet helped Spark scramble up, then sent a bolt of power across the clearing, hitting the goblin that was sparring with Mr. Carter.
Metal clanged as Roy and the Black Knight circled one another, Roy’s bronze armor a brilliant foil for the knight’s darkness.
In the center of the clearing, Tam faced off against the queen, dodging her magical attacks but unable to get close enough to land a strike with his sword.
“Flame her,” Jennet said, raising her mage staff.
Spark called up her wall of fire, relieved to see that her spells had recharged, and the two of them sent their dual blasts toward the queen.
Flames engulfed her, and Tam danced back, lifting his shield. The fire reflected from its polished surface, bright orange. The queen laughed, then turned insubstantial as smoke, her black dress swirling about her.
Tam yelled and sliced his sword through that wisp of blackness. His only reward was more laughter, cold as frost.
At the edge of the clearing, a gang of goblins advanced on Zeg and Aran. Spark let out a relieved breath when she saw Aran was sitting up, his eyes open. Jennet’s dad joined them, and he and Zeg began dispatching the redcaps.
A clang of sword hitting armor brought her attention back to Roy’s battle. The Black Knight was pressing Roy hard. She needed some distance, and a clearer sightline to get a good shot. She needed…
Yes. The grav board was still in her game inventory. Spark summoned it and leaped onto the deck. With a faint whine, the board lifted. She whipped out her bow and nocked an arrow, sighting down it to the knight’s black helm. This time, she was making that shot—especially if Tam and Jennet kept the queen distracted.
Aim. Pull. Release.
It was a perfect shot—until Roy leaped into the arrow’s path.
Sick fear squeezed her lungs. “Roy, duck!” she yelled.
He did, throwing himself flat without a moment’s hesitation. Thank God. The knight looked up, and the arrow flew perfectly through the eye slit.
The knight let out an immense bellow and fell to his knees. He shook, and the clearing shuddered with him, the trees creaking as a rain of silver leaves stormed down. Slowly, he toppled, his black armor dull against the brilliant green mosses.
“Curse you, mortals!” the queen cried, re-materializing in the center of the clearing.
Her expression terrible with wrath, she passed one hand over her wounded knight, blue power flowing in its wake. He disappeared. With that, the rest of the fey folk fled until only the Dark Queen was left.
“You shall pay for this day,” she said, her voice harder than diamonds.
She narrowed her eyes, sweeping her gaze over the Feyguard, and Spark shivered at the fury in those depths.
Then she was gone, and the humans were alone in the clearing, ankle deep in a silver wash of fallen leaves.
Almost alone. One member of the court remained, his form almost insubstantial among the trees. The edge of night retreated, the stars fading into pearly twilight.
“Thomas!” Jennet cried, dashing to the ghostly figure. “I didn’t know you were in the battle.”
He enfolded her in an embrace, then let go. “I could not aid you, but neither could I fight beside the court. My part is to observe, and to scribe the songs and sagas of what has befallen upon this day. Bitter and sweet as it may be.”
“Hey,” Aran said, stepping forward. “I owe you—”
Thomas held up his hand. “There is no debt between us, BlackWing. I should have spoken far earlier, and bear equal blame for what occurred. My only defense is that I am already forgetting the fiery passions that move the human heart.”
The sorrow in his voice made Spark swallow in sympathy.
“Please, come back with us,” Jennet said, her voice nearly breaking. “Surely there’s some way.”
“Jen.” Her dad moved to stand beside her, setting his hand on her shoulder. “We’ve been through this before. We have to let him go.”
Thomas sighed, like an autumn wind bearing the last fallen leaf. “My love for you both remains, in all worlds. But I must depart. Farewell, Feyguard.”
He lifted his hand, his form already fading until there was nothing but pale-barked trees where he’d been standing.
For a moment, they all looked at one another. They’d won, though it didn’t quite feel like a victory.
“You were supposed to get some rest,” Spark said to Roy. Still, she couldn’t be mad. It had taken all of them to beat back the Dark Queen.
“Did you see Puck as you all came in?” Aran asked.
“No,” Tam said, glancing at him. “I take it you’re the guy Spark came to rescue.”
“Yeah.” Aran grimaced. “I owe you guys my thanks—and an apology. This was my fault.”
Roy crossed his arms. “I don’t trust you. What’s stopping you from opening the gateway again? Or telling somebody else how to do it?”
“A lot of things.” Aran looked at Spark, then away. “I don’t need to be convinced that the Dark Court entering our world means serious trouble. Also, I triple-encrypted the code. Nobody else could hack that.”
“Are you certain?” Mr. Carter stepped forward, studying Aran.
“Yeah.” Aran winced, fingers going to his stomach.
“Zeg, I thought you healed him,” Spark said.
“His injury was pretty bad. I poured all my healing power into him, and he barely pulled through.”
Jennet set her hand on Spark’s shoulder. “You should get him back into the real world. I assume you’re simming together?”
Spark nodded.
“Let me give him one more blast of heals,” Zeg said. “Then we should log.”
“I’m late to work,” Mr. Carter said, tilting his wrist, then shaking his head as he realized his avatar didn’t have a watch.
“Spark, you better come back to Crestview soon,” Jennet said. “We miss you.”
“What about him?” Tam tipped his head toward Aran. “Can we trust him?”
Spark chewed her lower lip.
“Yes,” she finally said. “In the end, he proved his worth. He tried to save me by sacrificing himself.”
Jennet and Tam shared a look, then Jennet smiled.
“That’s good enough for me,” she said.
“Fine,” Tam said.
Roy frowned, but it looked like he was done arguing.
“All right, team,” Mr. Carter said. “Good job. I hope we don’t have to do it again soon.”
“Me too,” Zeg said. “Take care, everybody.”
His character winked out, and Mr. Carter’s followed. Roy gave Spark a last, regret-filled look, and was gone. Tam hugged her, then shook Aran’s hand. Jennet did him one better, and gave hugs all around.
Then it was just Spark and Aran in the faerie ring. He bent forward, one arm held tightly across his middle.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you taken care of.”
And then they had some serious talking to do.
She lifted her finger in the command to log out, then held her breath. Please, don’t let them be trapped in the Dark Realm. Thankfully, the air about her swirled, motes o
f golden light whirling until she was dizzy.
The clearing wavered and disappeared. The bright light faded, but still strobed oddly, and a high screeching noise penetrated her gaming helmet.
Spark ripped off her helmet, then doubled over, coughing. The hotel conference room was filled with smoke. The fire alarm blared, lights flashing. She glanced around, heartbeat racing. It was too smoky to see where the fire was coming from.
“Aran!” she called.
She could barely make out his form through the haze, still sprawled in his sim chair. Fear pounded inside her skull—had Zeg’s heals failed? She darted over and squeezed his shoulder.
“Wake up!”
She yanked up his blood-covered shirt, then sagged with relief. No gaping wounds, only a scar running across his ribs, a faint silver line against his dusky skin. He was still breathing.
Quickly, she stripped off his helmet and gloves and pulled him out of the chair. He was heavy, and she didn’t get him down to the floor as gently as she would have liked. The air was marginally better there, though smoke still scraped her lungs.
Staying low, she dashed to the door and wrenched the handle. It didn’t budge. She tried again, throwing all her weight behind it. Panic pulsed, hot and frantic through her veins, keeping time with the blaring alarm.
“Help!” she cried. “Let us out!”
Spark pounded on the door, cursing the fact that there were no windows facing into the hall. But there were some on the other side of the room.
Coughing, she scrambled toward the windows, then stopped when she heard Aran groan.
“Spark? What’s going on?” His voice was groggy.
She knelt beside him. “Fire, and we’re trapped. Trying the windows.”
“Sec.”
He sat up and stripped off his T-shirt, then ripped it in half. The cloth left streaks of blood on his hands. With a crooked smile, he handed her half his shirt, then tied the other section over his nose and mouth. Spark, trying not to be squeamish about the blood, did the same.