“I’m wonderful now that you’re back.”
“If you’re sure, then.” It wasn’t Clayton’s business if she wanted to keep her ailments to herself. He had more important matters to deal with anyway. “Have you seen the children? I think they might be in a bit of trouble.”
Gelda’s eyes stopped doing the strange blinky thing, and she frowned. “I shooed them away from my shop ages ago. What do you want with those little thieves, guardian?”
“Which direction?” Mal growled.
“What?” Startled, Gelda put a hand on Clayton’s arm. He pulled away, bumping into Mal. Of the two of them, Mal seemed more capable of dealing with the backlash if Clayton’s affliction reared its head again.
“Which way did they go when they left your shop?” Clayton clarified. It had been more than an hour since he’d parted from Merry and Tommy, so they could be anywhere, but he needed to start somewhere.
“I don’t know. That way, I think.” Gelda waved vaguely down the tunnel.
“Thank you.” Clayton dodged another attempt from Gelda to capture his arm and sprinted in the direction she’d pointed.
An hour later, they’d found nothing. There was no trace of the children. A kind dwarf had directed them to the children’s home—a set of refrigerator boxes taped together—but Merry and Tommy were nowhere to be seen.
Clayton picked up a toy dragon that was missing an eye and most of its stuffing. He placed it gently on a pile of threadbare bedding.
A rustling noise made him look up to see Mal’s night-black eyes on him, and the inside of Clayton’s head shimmered.
Perhaps he needed another spellpatch. He checked his crystal box and saw that there were only two left. He’d save them in case he accidentally severed something.
Clayton’s finger traced the faceted edges of the box as he considered the situation. “This town isn’t that big. If the children were still here, we would have found them by now. Do you think they’ve already been taken?” His throat started hurting for some reason.
“Are you quitting?” Mal’s gaze was as sharp as an assassin's blade.
“Of course not!”
Clayton wasn’t a quitter. If he had been, he never would have gotten as far as he had in life. He’d keep looking for Merry and Tommy as long as it took. Mikhail, their basement-dwelling archivist, could watch over the chapter house until Samantha returned. If he bothered to leave the basement long enough to realize he was alone, rather.
Clayton squared his shoulders and said, “We’ll just have to search the town again. This time, we’ll go further into the tunnels. They could have gotten lost.”
Mal frowned down at his hand, and a crackle of energy danced along one fingertip. He shifted it from finger to finger, observing the play of it as it flowed along his skin, and it was so mesmerizing that Clayton would’ve forgotten what they were discussing if it hadn’t been such an important topic.
Mal let the magic sizzle out and said, “I doubt they’re lost. Eira said they’ve lived here for years.”
“Unless you have a better idea, you can keep your doubts to yourself,” Clayton snapped. If a tiny part of him marveled at how commanding he’d just sounded, he shrugged it off. He didn’t have time to congratulate himself. He needed to find those kids. He moved away from the threadbare bed and said, “Let’s go.”
Instead of arguing, Mal followed, his face an inscrutable mask.
Before they could take more than a handful of steps, a commotion came from down the tunnel. At first, Clayton thought it was an earthquake, but when he realized nothing around him was actually shaking, he knew what it had to be. It wasn’t his eyes being affected; it was his essence—wherever the hell it might be hiding.
Crawling along the ceiling, walls, and floors, hundreds of earth sprites came at him, every single one of them in a panic. Clayton found himself shoved roughly behind a muscled wall as Mal came to stand in front of him, sparks crackling up his arms with blinding intensity.
“Wait!” Clayton grabbed Mal’s shoulder, then immediately regretted it when a thousand tiny pinpoints of pain tore through his hand, racing down his arm. “Bugger!” He snatched it back and shook it, trying to dislodge the sparks clinging to his skin.
Mal spared him a look. “Keep your hands to yourself if you know what’s good for you.”
“Noted,” Clayton grumbled. “But you can put away the light show. They aren’t going to hurt us.” He tried to edge in front of Mal but found the way barred by a lethal-looking arm.
“Explain.”
“They’re earth sprites, and they’re my friends.”
The stampede of small rocks parted and flowed around Mal like water, keeping a respectful distance. They stopped in front of Clayton and began stacking themselves on top of one another until they formed a roughly humanoid shape.
Once the shape had a head, a clumsy mouth formed, and a grating, ear-piercing sound assaulted Clayton’s ears. “Help. Small ones.”
