Page 20 of Forgotten Monsters
Lydia paces in front of the main entrance. “It’s really her.”
“Which means…” Deveraux whispers.
Lydia’s green eyes shine with tears, the cracks in her voice filled with unbridled joy. “Yes. Jules is alive.”
Deveraux presses her hand to her heart, as though my sister being alive solves all her problems and then some. After a heavy, sauntered breath, she hurries down the stairs. Her black boots crunch in the gravel as she grips my arm. “Where is she?”
“Wait a minute. What’s going on?”
Lydia runs past us, the flaps of her checkered jacket wafting in the wind. “There’ll be time for questions later. Let’s get Jules first.” She raises a hand to the force field and cuts a doorway in the impregnable wall.
I run to the other side. “Jules?”
“Julia?” Deveraux yells over the wind.
“Where the fuck did she go?” I mumble under my breath, certain the fifteen minutes we agreed on haven’t passed, yet.
The cliffs offer a wide view of the bay—and Barron’s boat. The beach is empty, and there is no way Jules could have rowed back to the ship in so little time. I scan the dining hall, but no hollow lurks along the confines of the building.
Lydia grips my shoulder. “She’s gone. The Fae patrol must have gotten to her first. How did you get here?”
“We used a boat to sail back.” I point to Lettie, waddling in the bay.
Deveraux squints at the sea. “You found a sailing boat in the Underworld?”
“Something like that. Why is a Fae patrol gallivanting around the academy?” I dig my heels in the grass. Nothing makes sense. “What the fuck happened to Dark Falls? I need to knoweverything.”
8
ALL TIED UP
Cold water splashes my chest, and I jolt awake, the bag still propped over my head.
“Wake up, coconut,” a man says in a typical sprite accent.
Hands tied above my head, I stand on my tiptoes, struggling to bear my weight. The magic shackles have metallic spikes that dig deep into my wrists, and my muscles scream in agony at the prolonged stretch.
“I’ll remove the bag. Stay calm,” a quiet voice grumbles.
I squint at the light. A sprite and the Fae soldier that shackled me earlier stand stock-still in front of me.
“Fuck,” the sprite whines.
The soldier rubs the arch of his brow. “I told you so.”
I dangle from a beam holding a medium-sized war tent up. A slit in the fabric acts as a door on the opposite side of the tent. Not one sound pierces the red tarps, and the slit is perfectly sealed, so I suspect a privacy spell shields us from the outside world.
Pointy strands of grass prickle the soles of my bare feet. A water glass sits on a mahogany table in the back of the tent, along with an array of weapons, and the sight sparks an itch on my tongue. It’s been a weird day, and I wouldn’t mind gulping down cold water, but I’m still gagged.
The sprite’s parched wings twitch at his back. “The King will be here in a minute.”
“I’m off, then. Good luck.” The soldier slips through the tent’s exit and disappears from view.
With a wet rag, the sprite washes off my forehead and nose, but not in a gentle, helpful way. No, the fiend rubs my face like he wants to erase it, and I take advantage of his closeness to head-butt him.
He hisses and snaps my necklace off my neck. “Where did you find that?” His face crumples, and he turns the emerald pendant in his gnarly hands like it means something to him before he wraps it up in a rag.
I’m gagged, so it’s not as though I can answer him.
