“You think there’s enough?”
“Duh.It’s magical glue.”
I wasn’t sure if he was convinced, but still, he threw mywitaconcoction onto the mound of twigs and glass. After a few minutes, I prodded the base of the pile with my boot. It was hard as concrete. Remo tested a higher spot in the pile. When there was no give, he climbed. The ceiling was so low he had to stay crouched.
“Smart little villain you are.” He held out his hand.
I smiled, my heart lifting in time with my good arm. I seized his outstretched fingers, finding footholds in the stationary mound. Once on top, we crawled toward where the staircase should’ve been, the edges of broken things jabbing our knees and shins. Remo dug through a spot of loose debris until he uncovered one of the cement steps. Once he managed to stand, he nodded to the stationary mound.
“Grab your dust.”
Mydust? Had his tongue slipped?
I started to sweep my palm over the mound when he said, “Actually, wait.”
I fisted my fingers and was about to ask what he’d forgotten down in the cellar, when his forearm snaked around my waist.
“Okay, go.”
Stunned by his unceasing thoughtfulness, I spread my fingers slowly, and the golden strands ofwitacurled up like smoke. Things popped and rattled as though it was every stick for itself. Sure enough the knoll changed shape, sinking in spots, swelling in others, and its modifications affected the clutter in the stairwell. Everything rolled and tumbled anew, gushing like a mountain stream during snowmelt.
Remo’s arm tightened around my middle, keeping me from getting swept into the debris. Once things settled, he said, “Grab my hand.”
I searched the wall for a rail but found none. Biting my lip, I slid my hand into his, then slowly pirouetted. My stomach churned, and not just from last night’s winefest. Without meeting his gaze, I followed him up the stairs, the pressure on my fingers easing and hardening as we ascended. When we reached the opening, a pothole amidst a titanic field of rubble, I glided my fingers out of his and spun to take in the extent of the devastation.
The only thing that remained in the valley was the train. It gleamed red and silver in the brash light. I turned away from it to find Remo squinting at the steep bank that we needed to scale to reach the portal. It seemed somehow steeper and taller, as though the tornado hadn’t only leveled out the town but excavated the valley.
“I wish I could make a hoverboard.” Unfortunately, we couldn’t craft electronics fromwita.
“That would’ve been practical.” He tipped his neck back, inspecting the magnitude of the rock wall, and then he took in the glittery field of wreckage, his eyes stilling on an uprooted tree. “If you make me an axe, I could try hacking at the trunk to make a ladder.”
“Or I could make a ladder. A really thin one.”
“You don’t have enough dust for a ladder. Not even for a thin one.”
I sighed. “We’d need more than one tree to make a tall enough ladder. And how would we stick all the trunks together?”
He shrugged. “With your magical glue.”
“What about a rope with a hook?” I suggested.
“I couldn’t swing it that high.”
“Maybe I can float it up.”
He exhaled long and deep. “Not if it has anything heavy attached to it.”
I took a step, and glass crunched. A big, pointy piece that reminded me of the one which had jutted out of Remo’s back.
I must’ve stared at it too long, because he said, “Don’t even suggest it.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I wasn’t going to.”
“We go back to the train.”
“What if the next cell is worse?”
“What if it’s better?”
