Alma frowns.
I wrap my arms around myself, feeling unbearably cold. And jumpy. God, I’m jumpy. My knees wobble so hard they almost buckle.
“Cadence . . . is it me, or is the ground shaking?”
My skin becomes as slick as the cobbled square around thePuits Fleurithe night it overflowed.
47
Slate
I’m used to seeing the clock bathed in colored light from the glass cupola. But under the fluorescent tubing, the monstrosity looks menacing, like a mechanical bomb from a steampunk horror movie. The ticking is just as sluggish as it was earlier, but it echoes through the space, its pace setting my teeth on edge. I can’t help but notice how close to the end of the lunar cycle that damn clock hand is.
I calm my nerves by reminding myself that Bastian, Cadence and Alma aren’t here. No matter what happens with the clock, at least those three will be safe.
We climb over the plexiglass guardrail. Gaëlle struggles a bit, the pocket of her coat catching on the edge of the barrier, but I can’t help her since touching her body is a direct conduit for the dark magic. Still, when she wobbles, I reflexively reach out.
“Don’t, Slate. I’ve got it.” She tugs on her coat.
We each take our place around thedihuner—Gaëlle at the top with Air, Adrien and I across from each other with Fire and Water.
Adrien unwraps his piece. Like good little students, Gaëlle and I follow suit. The Bloodstone lights up, and liquid fire shoots through my veins. I grit my teeth to avoid growling.
Gaëlle’s knuckles go white, like she’s strangling her piece. I wonder if she feels something, too.
“With your free hand, touch the symbol at the edge of the dial.” Adrien crouches and rests his fingers on the triangle representing fire. Like earlier, a red glow leaks from the symbol.
Gaëlle presses hers to the barred triangle in front of her and is immediately bathed in white light. She gasps in surprise.
My skin itches even before I touch the water symbol. I hesitate for a second, but then drive my hand down. Blue light ignites and outlines my arm.
The clock gears screech, and the recesses for the Quatrefoil leaves grind down.
Another rushed exhale escapes from Gaëlle’s parted lips. “Do we put them all in at the same time or separately?”
“I don’t know that it matters,” Adrien murmurs.
“I think we should do it together.” Gaëlle’s voice is thin.
Adrien nods. “On the count of three.”
Tick . . . tick . . .
“One . . .” he says. “Two . . .”
I swallow, ignoring how both the ring and the leaf feel like they’re charring through my flesh even though no flames engulf my palms.
“Three!”
Like a synchronized dance crew, Adrien, Gaëlle, and I each reach forward with our pieces. As the distance between them and the grooves decreases, a magnetic pull sets in, towing my fingers faster than I’d like. My leaf snaps into its cradle with an audible clank. Gaëlle’s and Adrien’s, too. The lowest leaf of the Quatrefoil—Earth—stays empty.
We all recoil, breathing as hard as when we faced our curses.
48
Cadence
My gaze lurches off the shifting snow and vaults toward the temple.
