Spark - ARC (23 page)

“It’s not just you I’m riding,” she said. “I failed. If I’d pulled you out earlier, when I saw you in-game, none of this would have happened.”

“I wouldn’t have come. Stop it.” He held up a hand as she started to speak again. “You were hurt, the hunt was on your trail, and I honestly don’t think you had the time to fight me into submission and drag me back, one-handed, to the mortal world.”

She pulled a breath in through her nose, then let it out. “Fine. We’re not done with this, but for right now let’s focus on closing that gateway.”

The night forest rustled with strange noises as they continued along the path, and Spark’s ball of fire made the trees loom ominously. Shadows flickered over the trunks, and Aran set his hand to his long-knife, senses on full alert.

“Halt!” A figure leaped onto the path, blocking their way. “You may not pass.”

Firelight shone off his sword and the burnished bronze of his chest piece and helm. Aran drew his blade and called upon his skills as a Saboteur to melt into the darkness surrounding them. He stepped off the path, carefully setting his feet on the dark patches of loam and avoiding any telltale twigs. If Spark kept the guy distracted, Aran could sneak around for an unexpected killing strike.

“Stand aside,” Spark said to the armored figure.

The attacker moved closer to her, and Aran drew his blade. No way was he going to stand by and let Spark get injured again in-game. He lifted his knife and lunged forward in a deadly strike.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE

“S
park?” The warrior lowered his sword.

“Aran, stop!” Spark yelled.

Twisting, Aran managed to turn his attack away from the warrior’s neck. The blade slid down his opponent’s armored shoulder with a screech, and the warrior pivoted, swinging his sword at Aran’s head.

He ducked and pulled his second blade, heartbeat pumping urgently.

“Both of you, stand down,” Spark said, pushing between them. “You’re not enemies.”

“You sure about that?” Aran asked.

“Yes.” She nudged him away from the warrior. “Aran, meet Roy.”

The warrior pulled off his helmet, revealing ordinary human features, and studied Aran. Neither of them said hello.

After a moment, Roy sheathed his sword and turned to Spark. “I was wondering when you’d make it in-game.”

“You’ve been here all night?” Spark asked. “You must be exhausted.”

“I’m fine.” Roy shrugged, but Aran was sure he was lying. “I said I’d message you when I got out. What, you think I forgot?”

Aran shot a glance at Spark. This guy had her private number? He shoved down the hot stab of jealousy. After all, he had no claim on her—in fact, had blown his chances pretty spectacularly. Even if she did keep the rock he’d given her on her nightstand.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

She turned to him, her magenta hair extra red in the firelight.

“Put your knife away,” she said. “Roy is one of the Feyguard. And he’s been doing his job of protecting the border.”

“Spark, I know why you’re here,” Roy said, then tipped his head at Aran. “But what about him?”

“Aran’s going to help me close the gate,” she said.

“He is?” Roy raised one eyebrow. “Should I be jealous?”

“No.” Her voice was firm. “You should be logging off and getting some rest. We’ll stand watch here until you get one of the other Feyguard in.”

“Zeg was here until recently. I sent him to get some rest. I can handle this.”

Aran snorted. Roy’s voice held a ragged edge, and clearly the dude was trying to play tough to impress Spark.

“Watch it, pretty-boy,” Roy said to him.

“Roy.” Spark set a hand on his arm. “Please.”

Roy’s look of resolution softened at her touch, and Aran couldn’t blame him. He’d cave, too, if Spark looked at him that way.

“Okay,” Roy said. “I’ll gather the others and send them in. Be careful.”

“Don’t worry.” Spark stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

Not the lips. Aran filed that bit of information to ponder later.

“You better do everything you can to protect her.” Roy gave Aran one last, narrow-eyed look, then strode away toward the clearing.

“Nice guy,” Aran said, finally sheathing his blade. “Are all your friends so sweet? And what’s with the super-secret Feyguard club?”

“What do you think?” The warmth that had infused Spark’s voice left when Roy did. “Somebody has to make sure the human world is protected. No thanks to you.”

“How many are in the club?”

“Not nearly enough.” Her shoulders dipped.

“Like, a hundred?”

She shook her head. “Try seven.”

“What? That seems… inadequate.”

“It would be plenty, if not for your idiotic choice to fling the gateway wide open!”

“Shh.” Aran held up his hand. “I heard something.”

The underbrush crackled again, and he whirled, going into a fighting crouch. Two spots of brightness blinked at him, and an instant later, a familiar, tattered figure sprang onto the path.

“Puck!” Aran and Spark exclaimed at the same time.

Puck grinned at them. “I am come to offer aid.”

Aran narrowed his eyes at the sprite. He didn’t trust the little creature—not after the way he’d “helped” Aran previously.

“What did you have in mind?” Aran asked.

Puck ignored him, and floated up to hover before Spark.

“You bear an injury,” he said to her. “I shall heal it, should you desire.”

“That would be great.” She held out her left arm.

The sprite set two of his long, spindly fingers on her wrist. Greenish light flared, and Spark let out a yelp. Aran took a step forward, ready to bat Puck out of the air.

“I’m all right,” she said. “That feels much better.”

Puck gave a sharp, satisfied nod. “You are mended, across all realms. But now, ’tis past time you mortals continued on your final quest. Go! I shall guard the way.”

“I don’t think so,” Aran said.

Now that he knew how utterly serious this gap between the worlds was, he was committed to closing it—and making sure that nothing else slipped through in the meantime.

“We can trust Puck,” Spark said. “Look, he fixed my wrist, and he’s helped out before.”

“Better if we wait for one of your Feyguard buddies to show up. What if Puck lets something get through? Don’t you think having a faerie guarding the way sort of defeats the purpose?”

“We don’t have time,” she said. “Vonda only gave us an hour. We can’t waste it hanging around here, especially when someone else is volunteering.”

“Some
thing
else, you mean.”

“The lady speaks truly,” Puck said. “Even now, the Dark Court may be massing, ready to push into the human world. Quickly now.” He gestured down the pathway.

“Come on.” Spark grabbed Aran’s arm and towed him into movement.

Grimly, he followed deeper into the dark forest, hoping they hadn’t made a huge mistake by leaving the sprite in charge.

“What’s this quest Puck mentioned?” he asked, once they’d gone some distance.

“An extended questline I’m on. If I’m right, we need to find a golden apple.”

“Sounds mythic.”

She shook her head, her bright hair shining in the firelight. “No gods and goddesses in the realm. Just the fey folk—who are probably older than human history.”

The memory of the Dark Queen’s timeless, beautiful face sent a shiver down his back. He’d bet Spark was right.

Ahead, a glimmer of light shone between the trees, and the scent of wood smoke twined through the air. They hurried along the path and came to another clearing. This one held a fire in its center, and beside the fire sat a hunched figure in a gray cloak.

Aran and Spark paused at the edge of the trees, and the figure lifted her head. Long white hair spilled from her hood and framed her wizened face.

“Who comes?” she asked in a voice as thin as cobwebs.

She turned her head, seeking, and Spark leaned close to his shoulder.

“She’s blind,” she whispered, her breath a feather against his ear.

“Ah!” The old woman’s face fixed on them, her eyes blank sockets. “I hear you. Come to the fire, so my hands may learn your features.”

“Is that a good idea?” Aran whispered back.

Spark pulled her bow out. With one smooth motion, she nocked an arrow to the string. “You go. I’ll cover you. Ask her for a quest.”

Great.

Slowly, he approached the fire. The woman kept her blind eyes turned to him. Just in case, he slipped one of his knives free of its sheath.

“Now, now,” the old woman said. “No need for that. Put your blade away, young man.”

“I thought you were blind.” He halted and re-sheathed his dagger.

“Ha! My ears know what my eyes cannot see. Tell me, your companion, does she stand, weapon at the ready to defend you from such a fearsome creature as I am?” The woman cackled, shaking with laughter.

Aran glanced over his shoulder. Spark, arrow still nocked, nodded at him to keep going. When he reached the fire, the woman stilled and held out her gnarled hands.

“Let me see you,” she said.

“How about you give us a quest.” He didn’t want to go any nearer the old woman and her eyeless face.

“Favor for favor,” she said.

Gritting his teeth, he leaned forward, close enough for her to reach up and touch his face. Her fingertips felt like moth wings against his skin.

“Aye,” she said softly. “A tarnished hero, seeking redemption. It will be within your grasp, have you the courage to seize it.”

“Okay.” Aran pulled back. “My turn. Do you have a quest for us?”

“So impatient, the young.” The woman shook her head, the firelight casting odd shadows across her face. “I could tell you more, of pasts and futures, should you linger.”

“No time for that,” Spark called.

“Sharp-eared, that one.” The old woman beckoned to Spark. “I will read your face as well, girl.”

“No, thanks. Hurry it up, Aran.”

“Very well.” The old woman pointed one twisted finger off to the right. “In yonder stream resides the creature who will lead you to what you seek—but she is a wary thing and must be coaxed forth with a hazel wand and a bright berry.”

Aran waited, but the woman said nothing more.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“It is enough.”

“Thank y—”

“Never give the fey your gratitude,” she said. “It will earn you more enmity than you could guess.”

“Okay then.”

Moved by some impulse, even knowing she couldn’t see him, Aran put his foot back and dipped into the formal court bow. A smile crossed the old woman’s face, and for a starlit moment her features were those of a beautiful young woman.

“Come on,” Spark said, beckoning.

When he rejoined her, she gave him a look. “What was that? The bowing thing.”

“Just something I picked up,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The path curved around in the direction the old woman had indicated, although when they’d first stepped into the clearing, Aran could have sworn it went the other way. Soon they left the firelight behind and the night closed in around them. An owl hooted nearby, and the wind creaked the dry branches overhead.

“Does this really have to use the soundtrack from a lame horror vid?” Aran asked. “All we need to complete the effect is—”

“A monster,” Spark said, her voice tight. “And there it is.”

Something shambled in the darkness in front of them, then lurched forward, illuminated by Spark’s fireball. It was a huge man, wrapped round with clanking chains and carrying a wickedly spiked mace. From his chain belt swung three severed heads, their dead eyes open and staring.

“Fee, fi, fo,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “Jack smells lovely flesh and blood. Come play, my pretties.”

With a roar, he lifted his mace high overhead, then smacked it down hard on the path. The ground trembled, and Spark glanced at Aran, wide-eyed.

He shared her worry. This giant looked to be severe trouble.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO

P
ulling his blades, Aran melted into the shadows. He ghosted silently to one side of the path. It would be foolish to meet their adversary head-on, but the giant’s back was unprotected.