Way to avoid a subject.Did he think I enjoyed bringing it up? Discussing solutions to our amorous dilemma was weird. And considering how weird the entire day had been, that was saying something.
Hopefully, it would all be over soon. Hopefully, my plan to swing us back into the portal would work, and Remo and I could finally go our separate ways.
18
Locked In
Alow grinding noise resounded around me as I finished pulling on my knee-high boots. I lunged toward the window, fear sprinting into my veins that we were about to be hit by another earthquake. Although my borrowed bedroom gave onto an alley and the white wooden siding of a neighboring house, there was a tree, a thick vibrant oak of sorts. I watched it for tremors, but no branch shivered and its leaves were so still they looked painted on.
“Amara!” The urgency in Remo’s tone made me bang my head against the window frame.
Rubbing my forehead, I strode out of the bedroom.
He was standing on the bottom stair, gaze affixed to the front window, which was no longer see-through, or rather, was, but no longer gave onto the street.
“What the?” I whispered, staring at the sheet of dark metal that had risen behind the glass. “Did you press some kind of button?”
“Of course not.” He sounded offended I’d dared to ask. “It just fucking came out of the ground.”
The obscured glass made me think of the train. “You think the house is about to transport us somewhere?”
“Are the windows upstairs obstructed too?” The strain in his voice echoed throughout my body, scouring my already raw nerves.
“They weren’t, but I’ll check again . . .” I ran back to the bedroom, which was as black as a moonless night on Earth, as though the curtains had been drawn and the blinds lowered, but there were no blinds, and the navy curtains hung motionless on either side of the window.
I sprinted down the hallway, sticking my head into every bedroom, praying one of them gave onto the blindingly white sky I so hated. I’d have given anything for a glimpse of it. Although not a born claustrophobic, I was developing into one.
When I turned away from the last room, the one with all the pictures, Remo was standing at the end of the hall, ghost-white in the darkness. Fear ramped up my pulse and spread the taste of copper inside my mouth. I flicked on the light switch, which, thank Gejaiwe, made the row of ceiling bulbs fizz to life.
For a moment, we stood on either end of the hallway, looking at each other without really looking. Like me, his attention was turned inward. Was he also running through a list of scenarios of what the inn had in store for us?
I fisted my palms, felt my dust pulse against my skin. An idea sparked, and I opened my hands, then skimmed the whorls, coaxing the dust out. Once the threads clung to my fingertips, I fashioned an axe, a monstrously large one that could not be mistaken for a butter knife, then went back into the bedroom. I tried opening the window, but it was either painted shut or magically bolted, because it didn’t even budge. I raised my arms, putting all my pent-up frustration and dread into the blow, turned my head, and swung. The blade banged against the glass before bouncing off. I gritted my teeth as the impact vibrated into my sore elbow.
“What part of laying off that arm didn’t you get?” Remo stood a couple feet away from me, tucked safely behind a rocking chair, his fingers wrapped around the top rung. “Hand it over, Lara Croft.”
I glared at him, then at my stupid joint, then at the armored window. “My arm isn’t the problem. This glass—”
“Your arm isn’t working the way it should.”
I handed him the axe, then backed up and docked my hands on my hips. “Knock yourself out. Or at the very least, knock out a pane of glass,” I said sweetly.
All the bones in his face clenched as he raised his arms and swung. The blade pinged against the glass, jolting his arms right back behind his head.
“Huh. Couldyourarms not be working properly?”
Letting out a low snarl, he gritted his teeth and tried again. Again he failed.
“Wait. Could the glass be magical?”
“Your sarcasm isn’t helping, Trifecta.” He took two steps to the side and thrust the axe into the wall. Just like the window, the blade clanged without causing a depression. Not even a blemish appeared in the plaster. He growled this time and spit out a litany of Faeli curse words.
“Is there a back door? Or a window in the basement?”
“No.”
My hands glided off my hips. “So, how are we supposed to get out?”
“Maybe we’re not.”
