Small ones?
“You’re sure it’s a friend?” Mal shouted over the grating noise of the horde of sprites. He was poised to attack.
“Of course I’m sure, now shut up so I can hear what they’re saying.”
“You can understand it?”
“I could if you’d be quiet.”
“Small ones shake. Small ones yell. Small ones cry. Sprite friend help.”
If the small ones the sprites were talking about were Merry and Tommy…
“We have to go!” Without thinking, Clayton grabbed Mal’s arm, only this time, the sparks extinguished a split-second before Clayton made contact. He raised an eyebrow at Mal, who shrugged indifferently.
To the tower of sprites, Clayton said, “Take us to the small ones.”
The tower disassembled and raced away, flowing back down the tunnel.
Dropping Mal’s arm, Clayton followed.
He had no plans. No real magic. Just a scary-looking guy he’d recently met with the ability to sparkle.
What would Marshall do if he were here? Have a ton of magic and over a hundred years of experience using it at his disposal. That didn’t help Clayton even a tiny bit.
If he were Adelle or Jack, the answer would be the same. If he were Cym, sheer pluckiness and fortitude would be the key. But he wasn’t Cym. He wasn’t any of them. He was just Clayton. Lethally clumsy Clayton, whose only real skill was baking.
“So don’t be them. Be you.”
Startled, Clayton glanced at his companion keeping pace at his side. It was then that he realized he’d been babbling his thoughts out loud.
“I can’t bake my way out of this!” If he could, the results would be delicious.
“You weren’t baking back at the tavern.” Mal’s voice was even and steady, not at all as though he were racing pell-mell down a tunnel.
“You were watching?” A stitch was forming in Clayton’s side.
Oh joy.
“I’ve been watching since you entered Boston Below.”
“But I was… only pretending.”
“You survived. Now you must survive what comes next.”
“Survive?” Clayton had no more breath for talking, but his mind continued to work.
Clayton was excellent at surviving. He’d survived for days alone in the forest when he was little more than a toddler. He’d managed to deal with the occasionally dangerous hazing that came from being a defenseless, magical oddity among the Other. And he’d survived being himself, which was the greatest accomplishment he could think of. All he had to do was survive what happened next.
He could do that.
They came to a juncture in the tunnel, and the earth sprites swirled around the outside of the off-shooting tunnel as if afraid to enter. Mal grabbed Clayton’s arm, pulling him to a stop before he could round the corner.
“Are your friends any good in a fight?”
Clayton shook his head. “They aren’t fighters. They build, and they watch.”
Mal sighed. “You might want to stay behind me.”
