Page 63 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

As if brushing himself off from the conversation, he stands, the only remnant of stress in his jaw. “Do you want to sit here in this coffee shop and plan, or do you want to practice up in Alaska?”

16

Gurlien bullies Ambra into dressing in more layers than she thinks is probably necessary, but she lets him, an odd sort of contentment in the growing familiarity of his actions. He makes her take his large wool coat, which dwarfs her comically, and he layers on a few extra sweaters.

“I can’t practice with the leash if it’s tucked under my coat,” he protests, which after the discussion she laughs in his face.

“It definitely goes through solid objects and that includes clothing,” she informs him when he has the temerity to press his hand against his chest, offended. “Or else I could just go to the other side of the world and be safe.”

“Still,” he replies, packing one of the backpacks with a change of clothes and his gun. “I’m not putting nearly as much faith in my ability as you are.”

She narrows her eyes at him, some hint of the past conversation threading through her mind.

He had been changed, just as her.

“One day,” she starts, tugging the lapels of the wool coat closer to her skin, “I want to know the secret of how you lost your power.” His face falls, dropping into a mask. “Maybe you can tell me when we get to the library.”

He scowls at her, before pulling on another wool sweater, and the collar of his maroon shirt peeks over the top, still drawing her eyes to his complexion. “It’s not a secret.”

“You can tell me now,” Ambra nudges him with her elbow, as if the brief physical contact could soften the world as quickly as his hand on her shoulder did. “I’m not gonna turn down free information.”

“Of course you’re not,” he mutters, then straightens. “You promised me an abandoned mining cavern in Alaska.”

There’s some small tenderness in his words, some nuance she hadn’t heard before, and it’s just as warm as the woolen coat.

And a mining cavern in Alaska. She could do that.

She clasps her hand over his wrist, right over the knot of the leash, and pulls them there.

Even before shehas a chance to pull in a breath, even before she can think to blink, the cold stings her eyelashes.

“Woah,” Gurlien mumbles, up into the open air around them. “What—”

It’s pitch black in the cavern, and his hand grasps hers right back, the only warmth in the entire place.

Her wards still seal the entrance, untouched by the ravages of time, and her circle of protection still glows against her mind, perfectly whole.

“Like I said, Alaska,” Ambra says, her words echoingback at her from the opposite wall, as if she has more power than she does.

She moves to brush off her hands, but he grips hers tight, almost desperate.

“Ambra,” he starts, and the faux bored tone is back, desperate. “Ambra, I can’t see in here.”

She can’t either, besides the oft familiar shine of her magic, not enough to light the physical, and he shifts closer to her, the edge of his sweater sleeve brushing up against the woolen coat.

So Ambra lets her eyes flutter shut, lets her magic expand, creak out towards the cavern walls, to where rushing water and metal tools carved into the very stone. Let’s her magic find the lantern sconces, where candles and torches once hung. A few rotting pieces of wood, almost dust in age, still sit in the sconces.

And, with a flick of her mind, she ignites them.

Light spills across the ground, rock smoothed by the hundreds of footsteps, illuminating the far reaches of the cavern. Flame licks along the wood, and with barely a thought she freezes it there, so it gives light but doesn’t consume the wood in its entirety.

The firelight flickers over Gurlien’s face, reflecting in his glasses, and his hand gentles in hers. Not letting go, just his fingers going slack against her palm, his thumb still curved along her knuckles.

“Is there an alternate source of oxygen?” he asks, almost dumbly, like it’s been struck from him.

“What?”

“There’s fire, it’ll…it’ll use up all the oxygen, we’ll suffocate, or…”

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