“What do you think?” I ask the Professor.
“They deserve to know what’s really going on in this realm,” he says. “They deserve the truth.”
“So what are we going to do in the meantime?” Dray asks, bouncing on his toes, his hands wedged in his pockets. “Hide out here all day?” It’s clear he’s feeling caged up and does not like that idea.
“I think you should take us to where you found the firestone, Briony,” Beaufort says. “Because if my vision is correct and there are more here in Slate, that’s the place we’re most likely to find them.”
Briony shakes her head. “If I can remember where that was… it was deep in the forest.”
“I’m sure we can find it,” Dray says, tapping his nose.
Half an hour later, we’re dressed in an array of clothes from Mr. and Mrs. Tudor’s closet. The pants I’m wearing are too short. The coat doesn’t fasten up at the front. And as she had no boots that would fit my feet, I’ve had to scuff mine up with mud. I look ridiculous, but apparently, I’ll fit right in.
“You really think the clothes that people own in Slate Quarter are well-fitting, Thorne Cadieux?” Briony says when I complainabout the way I look, her hands resting on both hips. “Most people rely on hand-me-downs. You’re lucky if it doesn’t stink.”
“My clothes do not smell,” Mrs. Tudor says, obviously insulted.
“No, I wasn’t implying that,” Briony says. “Just explaining that he looks more like he belongs in Slate.”
Mrs. Tudor considers me and the rest of us. “To anyone not looking too closely, you do,” she says, “though your teeth are a definite giveaway.”
“My teeth?” I say.
“Well, you have all of them,” she points out, “and they’re gleaming white.”
“He’ll keep his mouth closed,” Dray says, grinning at me. “He doesn’t have a lot to say anyway.”
I scowl at him.
But then, leaving Mrs. Tudor and the dog behind, we’re slipping out of the house, using our shadow magic to disguise us anyway as an extra precaution. Briony leads us to the far end of town, to where the old temple lies surrounded by an uneven graveyard.
She takes us to the place where her sister is buried. There’s no stone, although someone has planted some winter flowers, their delicate petals piercing through the frozen snow. Briony stares down at the grave.
“This was the place I first felt the firestone call to me,” she says. Her eyes linger on the scrabbly ground. The delicate winter flowers, pink in color, seem too fragile to have survived a bitter place like this. Then she turns around and looks out towards the forest that lies just a few yards away. “It was that way, I think. It was raining hard, and I wasn’t thinking straight, but I know I came back this way once I had the stone.”
Soon we’re making our way through the bare trees and, despite her earlier reticence, Nini seems to recognize the way.
“Do you feel anything now?” Beaufort asks eagerly.
She halts, concentrating for a moment, then shakes her head. And Beaufort sighs with disappointment.
“It’s probably kind of a miracle there was a surviving firestone out here anyway,” Clare points out. “The chances of there being more than one…”
She’s right of course but neither Briony nor Beaufort are deterred and so the rest of us follow after them as they continue trudging onwards. The snow becomes thicker, the trees denser, until we’re weaving our way among them. I notice how quiet the forest is. No animals scrabbling in the undergrowth. No birds squawking from above. I wonder if the smog and pollution of this place has killed them all off or if the people have in their desperation to eat.
“Do you think it’s much further, Cupcake?” Fly whines a few minutes later. “My feet are killing me.”
“Your feet or your head?” Tudor asks.
“Both,” Fly admits, rubbing at his temple. “Your parents are way more fun than you are.”
“Professor Tudor is fun,” Briony protests.
“I am not,” Tudor contradicts.
Fly laughs and winks at our little mate. “I’ll take your word for it, Cupcake.”
She gives him the finger, opening her mouth for what I’m sure is a smart retort. But then she halts, her mouth dropping open.
