Page 47 of Fading Sun

“Sure,” Blaze says. “No problem.”

I’m getting the impression that when Blaze says “sure,” what he really means is, “I don’t agree, and I don’t want to talk about it any further.”

Luckily for him, we don’t say much as we continue what might possibly be the most awkward plane flight ever taken halfway across the world.

Still, while the path ahead is uncertain, at least I’m not alone.

And somehow, that makes the challenges ahead feel a lot less daunting.

Amber

I’m brought out of my sleep by someone’s hand gently shaking my arm.

“Amber,” Morgan says. “We’re almost there.”

I blink the sleep from my eyes and stretch. I’ve never left the East Coast, let alone the country. This has, without competition, been the longest flight of my life.

I open the window, glance out, and stare in awe at the sight before me.

Mountains.

They’re the largest mountains I’ve ever seen, so tall that I can barely see the ground, and so otherworldly that if Damien told me the jet was a spaceship and we were landing on another planet, I might believe him.

I press my face closer to the window, continuing to take it in.

The sun hits the snow-capped mountain tops, casting a gleam that nearly blinds me. Which says a lot, given that the sun is basically a part of me, and it takes far more sunlight to hurt my eyes than it would for anyone else.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

“It’s also dangerous,” Damien says. “Many climbers have tested their fates against these mountains, and many have failed.”

“Have you ever climbed one?” I ask, since he’s been alive for so long that I suppose anything is possible. Plus, he’s not exactly one of “many climbers,” given that he’s a vampire with supernatural strength.

“Please,” Blaze scoffs. “The only climbing he’s ever done is social ladders and the occasional flight of stairs when the elevator’s broken.”

Damien picks up one of his daggers and tosses it in the air, catching the hilt perfectly in his palm.

“I’ve survived more centuries and battles than you’ve seen years,” he says, somehow seeming to be looking down at Blaze, even though they’re sitting on the same level. “Let’s not confuse longevity with indolence.”

Blaze’s smirk fades under the weight of Damien’s gaze. “Understood,” he says, and all falls quiet between the four of us again.

We each make our way to the bathroom to change into gear more appropriate for whatever awaits us, grabbing sandwiches in between.

Soon, the runway comes into view.

My stomach flips at the sight of it. I’m no expert in aviation, but this runway is short—unnervingly so—wedged between the mountain on one side and a steep drop on the other.

“That doesn’t look like it’s going to be a smooth landing,” I say, staring out at it in dread.

“Lukla’s one of the most challenging airports in the world,” Damien says. “But it’s nothing our pilot can’t handle.”

True to his word, the landing is successful. The plane taxis to a small building that serves as the terminal, and as the engines power down, the reality of our location sinks in.

We’re in the Himalayas. In Asia.

About to climb one of those impossibly tall, monstrous mountains that seem even more gigantic now that we’re at the bottom of them.

We step off the plane, the crisp air sharper and colder than any winter back in Vermont. I tug my jacket closer, grateful for its warmth, and adjust myself to the feeling of the pack on my back.

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