Page 19 of Forgotten Monsters
Before I can explain the gist of my predicament, a forceful blow at the back of my neck sends me flying head-first into the mud. Cold metal ensnares my wrists, and the lull of a magic-bind snuffs out my powers.
A thick brown splat of mud sticks to my forehead as I crane my neck around to see my attacker.
A third soldier with a full-sized chainmail glares down at me. Recognition registers on his face even though I’m convinced I’ve never seen him before. “Always shackle them first, Jayden.”
“Sorry, boss.”
I struggle in my restraints. “Let me go. I’m a Fae princess.” I’ve never played the princess card before, but it’s a good time to start. If he recognized me, why the hell would he lead with the cuffs?
A white strip of fabric prevents me from speaking further. Thebosstightens the gag viciously over my mouth and glowers with a spark of hatred so intense, you’d think I murdered his entire family.
One of the other two flings a bag over my head. “The King will have our heads.”
I can’t see a thing, and my pulse fanfares in my ears.
Two pairs of hands haul me forward, but I wrestle to break free. Mute and blind and without magic, I’ve still got my muscles. The men clearly didn’t expect me to try my luck in a physical fight and release me.
Only, instead of freedom, I fall square on my face. Muddy water seeps through the fabric covering my head. I spit out a curse against the gag and crawl to my feet, but the soldiers grasp my arms once more, this time with more strength and ire.
“Stogg…We should throw her over the cliff and be done with her,” one soldier mumbles. “No one has to know.”
A hand presses hard on my forehead, and soft, ancient Fae lyrics graze my ear, whispered by their leader. The hushed chant squeezes my stomach before my heartbeats grow sluggish, and everything melts into darkness.
7
SENTINELS
The tall pines of the unending forest pepper the yellow, red, and orange leaves with dark green freckles, the beauty of autumn on full display. Beyond the forcefield, Dark Falls looks as normal as can be, though the solid magical wall stretches over half a mile. A golden sunrise frames the Dark Falls library. The building clashes with the worn-down dining hall on the other side, its windows in perfect condition. The glow of the library’s world-renowned chandelier acts as a beacon of hope, and I breathe a little easier as I land on the gravel path.
The hollows might have attacked Dark Falls, but they didn’t win.
My mouth dries up…if Dark Falls stands, then Daniel might still be headmaster. Maybe he’s even in the library, or in his cabin.
I rub my sweaty palms down my pants. I promised myself to dump him, but now that I’m actually here…Doubts swarm my heart.
Before I find the courage to take another step, a familiar figure stops dead in its tracks on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling glass panes.
Lydia Hawks gapes from the inside of the building. Her arms fall to her sides, and the book in her hands tumbles to the ground.
The evident surprise in the curve of her brows and her awe-struck demeanor spark an itch between my shoulder blades. I crane my neck around to check if something else in the vicinity might explain her reaction, but she jolts into action and rushes to the door.
“Allie?” she shouts from the top of the staircase.
The stone gargoyles glower at the outburst and turn their backs to her.
“Hey, Lydia.” Last time we talked, she made it clear how much she hated me, so I can’t explain the joy on her face.
A long red braid falls over her shoulder, longer than it should be, and I start to wonder if more than a few months have gone by.
She descends the steps two at a time. “It’s really you.” She clasps my arms. “Is Jules with you? Is she alive?”
Oh, I guess we’ve been missing for a while. “She’s behind the forcefield. We need to let her in.”
“Jules is alive. I knew it.” She doubles back up the library stairs and wrenches open the door. “Rose! Come, quickly.” The chandelier flickers at the sudden burst of wind.
The gargoyles flap their wings at my approach, their stony heads tilted to the side.
Rose Deveraux, the infamous Spells and Sorcery teacher, appears at the top of the stairs. The stylish pencil skirt and blazer she usually wears to class have been replaced by jeans and a white, v-neck t-shirt that emphasizes her black skin. The casual ensemble throws me for a loop. Beautiful braids flatten her hair to her scalp, giving her a young, hip look, but her intense gaze settles on me, ever so intimidating. “Allison Winslow?”
