“We need to hurry,” I say, pulling her down the hall toward the staircase. Once we reach it, I see a door at the top. “Can you climb?”
Eyes glazed, she pulls the gag from her mouth. “Yes. Let’s get the bloody oak and ivy out of here.”
Smoke chases us, filling our lungs as we climb to the top of the stairs and push open the door. We scramble outside and collapse onto the earthen floor, chests heaving as we struggle to catch our breath. My vision spins but I manage to make out dense trees all around us beneath a sunset sky. I lift my head toward the smoking building we emerged from. From this vantage point, it looks like nothing more than an old-fashioned outdoor toilet, revealing no evidence of the underground operation hiding beneath it.
I think of Mr. Meeks trapped inside, fire dancing around him while ribbons of blood spill down his throat from a wound I gave him. In contrast, I recall how he sliced the scalpel and then the dagger through my arm. I think of the way he sold Lorelei to Mr. Duveau and offered her body to Mr. Osterman with nothing more than a few minor qualms.
I scoot farther from the door and lift my leg. With a kick, I slam it shut. I lay my head back in the grass, willing it to cease its spinning.
I can’t stay here. I know I can’t. The fire will reach the stairs, then the door, and that’s only if an explosion doesn’t happen first. Despite knowing this, I can’t find the strength in my limbs to stand.
“Evelyn.” Lorelei’s panicked voice beside me prompts a rush of adrenaline. I roll onto my side and follow her line of vision.
There, between two trees, stands Mr. Osterman.
13
Mr. Osterman’s eyes bulge as he stares dumbfounded at me and Lorelei. A spool of rope hangs over his shoulder, spear in hand.
My body protests at the thought of moving, but I force myself to scramble to my knees, then my feet, pulling Lorelei up with me. “Run!”
As we take off, darting toward the trees, Mr. Osterman unshoulders the rope and charges after us. “Get back here!”
“We can’t outrun him,” I say through gasping breaths. My back tingles with the fear that any moment I’ll feel the tip of his spear pierce my flesh.
“We don’t have to outrun him,” Lorelei says. Her voice sounds stronger now. “We’re near the wall. I can feel it.”
“Mr. Osterman can cross the wall, and he’ll catch us before we find it.”
“All we need to do is get closer to it. Just a little closer.”
“Why, what will that do?” My voice is strained, the fire of my rage smothered to ash beneath my fear. My muscles scream with every move, flesh pulling at the half-healed wounds on my arms, wrists, and ankles.
Lorelei, on the other hand, looks stronger, more vital with every step, her stride becoming more and more even. A look of euphoria crosses her face.
Her confidence is of little comfort when Mr. Osterman’s pounding steps and heaving breaths draw nearer and nearer. “Forget the councilman’s orders,” he calls out, voice taunting. “I’m going to cut you both into a thousand pieces.”
I pump my legs harder, faster, stumbling over the uneven ground, ignoring the sting of branches that whip my face and arms. My lungs burn, vision going bleary. I can hardly keep up with Lorelei as she whips between the trees. I try to feel what she must feel, the call of the wall, the magic of Faerwyvae drawing her closer, strengthening and healing her. But I feel nothing. Nothing but an internal weight dragging me down.
My legs nearly give out beneath me when Lorelei holds up her hand and skids to a halt. I stumble at her side, my momentum not nearly as gracefully controlled as hers. But why have we stopped? The wall is nowhere in sight and Mr. Osterman is within range to spear us.
Lorelei takes a step toward the man as he closes the distance. He lifts his spear, an angry snarl on his lips. Lorelei raises her hands, thrusting them outward. Mr. Osterman moves as if he’s about to throw his weapon when the ground rocks beneath his feet, forcing him to stumble back. A root as thick as a man’s arm shoots from the earth, its tip sharp like a blade. It rears back, then barrels into Mr. Osterman, piercing straight into his chest and coming out the other side. The man convulses, blood seeping from his lips.
My stomach heaves, but I can’t look away. Not until he ceases moving. Only then do I whirl around, falling on my hands and knees, and retch onto the forest floor. I retch until my stomach is empty, until hot tears stream down my cheeks. When I feel Lorelei’s hand on my shoulder, I realize I’m wailing.
“You’re all right.” Lorelei’s voice is a soothing whisper but laced into her tone is a hidden truth. I’mnotall right. None of this is all right. I see pink from the corner of my eye and realize Lorelei is handing me a bundle of filthy chiffon. As I turn to inspect it, I see she’s torn one of the layers off the skirt of her dress. That’s when I remember I’ve been stripped to my undergarments.
I accept the fabric and do my best to tie it around my waist. “I killed someone,” I finally manage to say. “I killed Mr. Meeks. My mentor. My lifelong friend.”
Lorelei hesitates before speaking. “There’s nothing I can say to make that right for you. I can only share your burden.”
A burden is exactly what this is. Will I ever be able to forgive myself? In the heat of my rage, I did what I thought I must do. I reacted. I saved myself and my friend and condemned a man to die. Of course, Mr. Meeks was by no means innocent. He may not have intended to kill me, but it was clear he had no reverence for Lorelei’s life or my well-being.
But does that make it right?
“We both made difficult choices today.” Lorelei’s voice quavers.
I rise slowly to my feet, feeling every aching muscle in the process. When I meet Lorelei’s eyes, I see conflict in them. She too killed a man today.
