Between (10 page)

In the life the Fellowship created for me.

I step away from the mirror and swallow hard. My memories don’t even belong to me anymore. They belong to the other Charlie, the girl with a life that made sense. Yesterday’s Charlie.

I want that life back.

I close my eyes and lean against my dresser, pushing the emotion away. That life is gone. That

Charlie doesn’t exist. I don’t know if that Charlie ever really existed at all. She was a work of fiction crafted by the Fellowship and developed by the creatures that work for it, including Mom and Seth.

I shake my head involuntarily as soon as I think of Mom.

Mom loves me. She must. Regardless of her job here and no matter what my blood means, she’s more than my Aegis. She’s happy when I’m happy, angry when I’m hurt, and strong when I’ve needed someone to take care of me. She handles the line between mother and friend like an expert—as quick to throw a
That’s What She Said
at me as she is to remind me to use my manners and follow her rules.

And no one will ever convince me that Sam and I aren’t connected at our very cores. He knows me better than anyone, and I can tell what he’s thinking without even looking at him. I am incomplete without him.

I need them. What if the last time I heard Mom say my name is the last time I’ll
ever
hear it? What if that last glimpse of Sam is all I have?

I didn’t even hug him.

My stomach drops.

Where
are
they?

I can’t do this. I can’t wait around and wonder if someone will show up any second to tell me they’re dead.

I place my hand over my chest, willing my heart to settle down. It slams against my fingers in return, over and over, entirely too fast. I glance at the clock by the bed and take note of the time—way-too-early o’clock. I doubt the sun is even up yet, but I have to get out of here.

I head down the stairs and through the door into Artedion’s lobby, pausing by the map on the wall. My eyes sweep over the elaborate drawing from top to bottom. I need quiet and solitude and something familiar. I want to go home, more than anything, but I know I can’t. Even if I could find my way back, I have no idea what awaits me there.

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the map.

I can’t be here. I can’t be there
.

I open my eyes.

The Between. Its beauty and stillness call to me, offering an escape from both of my worlds.

Already, I’m breathing a little easier.

I put my finger on Artedion and trace the path back to the unicorn field again, just like yesterday. I lean closer, my nose nearly brushing the wall. There, across from the field, is a tiny golden dot marking the gate to the Between. If I hadn’t known where to look, I’d never have noticed it.

I study the location of the gate we came through yesterday. It’s awfully close to the library, right there off the main path. Someone would probably see me if I tried to use the gate there.

I run my hand over the map, searching for other gates. They’re there, barely discernible circles of gold scattered throughout the painting. There’s a forest of purple willow trees across the path from Artedion, and gates cluster at the far end of it. It doesn’t look like there are any buildings nearby.

That’ll do.

The lobby’s empty again, aside from Vera. I tiptoe past her, even though I’m pretty sure there’s no need. She’s frozen in place, head down, hands folded and resting on her book, exactly like she was last night.

I pull on one of the heavy double doors, opening it just enough to look outside. The sun peeks over the horizon, splashing the sky with lavender and peach. Cool air sprinkles my legs with goosebumps as I creep out the door and ease it shut behind me.

There’s hardly anyone on the path this morning. Ellaurians must not be early risers. I see a few creatures here and there, nothing I recognize, but for the most part, I’m alone.

I move toward the trees, trying to look like I know exactly where I’m going.

A man with a beard longer than he is sits on a swing near a tiny house beneath one of the larger trees. His two hoofed feet dangle back and forth as the swing moves. He waves when he sees me, and I wave back.

Houses of every size and shape are tucked in and among the willows. There are larger stone cottages with flowering vines stretching across their outer walls, as well as tiny huts made of long, thick sticks. As I hike farther, the willows’ low-hanging curtains of purple leaves are replaced by towering elm trees. They’re supersized versions of the trees that line the entrance to one of the nicer neighborhoods back home.

Home. I stop and stare up at the trees. The old farmhouse I grew up in feels like a very distant memory, even though twenty-four hours ago I was in my bedroom there. I walk closer and run my hand along the rough bark. It has a gleam to it, like the trunks have been dusted with gold that’s settled in their cracks and crevices.

Nowhere feels like home right now.

I won’t be at home until Mom and Sam are with me.

I catch a glimpse of shimmering wings above me and look up. The elms’ branches are long and wide, growing in and around the branches of the trees next to them, creating natural walkways and bridges. It’s like going from the middle-class area of town to the ritzy section. The homes at ground level are nothing compared to the magnificent treehouses suspended in the maze of branches over my head. More wings flutter about in and above the leaves, and I keep my eyes peeled for Lulu’s purple sparkle.

I’m so caught up in studying the treehouses that I almost walk into a row of flowering rose bushes surrounding a large, oblong rock. A strikingly gorgeous winged girl with long, platinum hair sits on top of the rock painting her fingernails. She moves the tiny brush over her nails and then holds her hand up in the light, admiring the color.

So even magical girls do stuff to make themselves prettier. How beautifully ordinary.

No gawking
. I close my mouth and try not to be too obvious, but it’s so hard to look away. She looks different from Lulu—more goddess than punk rocker.

“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer,” she says. She couldn’t sound more bored if she tried.

I cringe. “I’m sorry. I was noticing the roses, and then I saw you here.” Though most of the roses on the bushes are spread open in blooms the size of my palm, those nearest to the girl are closed. I watch as she dips her nail brush into one of the closed roses and pulls it out. The bristles drip with fluid that matches the brilliant pink of the flower, and she patiently swipes it across her fingernail.

Oh. I guess it’s not quite as ordinary as I’d thought.

“I’m Charlie,” I tell her. My tone is bright, my smile brighter.

She plunges her tiny brush into the folded petals and slowly withdraws it again. “That’s a boy’s name,” she says, her eyes on her fingers.

I hold my smile a moment longer. Is she really not going to introduce herself? Or smile? Or even look at me? Seriously?

The muscles in my cheeks twitch.

No. No, she is not.

She extends her fingers upward, lightly blowing on her nails, then finally glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “Do you need something?”

It’s official. I hate her.

“No, I, uh, just wanted to introduce myself.” Ugh. I sound so lame.

“Well, you did.” She focuses on her nails again.

It’s my turn to be annoyed. “Do you have a name?”

She fixes her lavender eyes on me. “I’m Clara, Empress of the Fairies.”

I raise my eyebrows. Empress? Well, la-dee-dah. Am I supposed to curtsy?

“Well, Clara,” I say, “it has certainly been a pleasure talking with you.” I’ve perfected the ability of mixing sweetness with sarcasm, to the point that the other person has no idea if I’m being rude or not. It’s an art, really.

Clara, of course, doesn’t respond. She wiggles her fingers toward the closed blooms. The roses shake slightly, then open and stretch toward the sun. The nail brush disappears. She rises to her feet, smooths her bright pink dress, and shoots me one last disdainful look before straightening her wings and taking flight.

I watch her disappear above me. Unlike Lulu, there’s no trail of sparkles following Clara, and I make a mental note to ask Seth why later as I continue through the trees.

Eventually, the houses become sparse, growing farther and farther apart until there’s no sign of anyone but me out here. By the time I reach the edge of the giant elms, I’m out of breath and my legs are killing me. I stop there and lean against the nearest trunk, looking for gates.

The ground stretches into the distance in waves of knee-high, deep-green grass tipped in blue. Random spurts of jewel-toned flowers appear throughout, twinkling like stars on the ocean’s surface.

It’s breathtaking.

I hike through the grass and stop near the middle, turning in a circle. The map showed at least four gates out here, but I don’t see a single one. Crap. I should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to find them that easily.

I flop down right there next to a growth of wildflowers. The velvety flowers are scented with a mixture of vanilla, honey, and cinnamon—sweet enough that I’m seriously pondering their taste. A breeze ripples through the grass, and a faint tinkling noise floats in the air. I dip my head closer and realize the sound is coming from the field itself.

I stretch out on the ground, enveloped by the tall grass, and close my eyes while I listen. The wind continues to blow over me, creating a symphony of notes that crescendo and decrescendo as the breeze comes and goes.

The fields are literally alive with the sound of music.

Sam would ducking love this.

Something thumps in the distance, interrupting the serenade, and I open my eyes. What is that? Drums? I sit up, leaning on my hands, and stare across the field. The thumping sound grows louder, completely unaffected by the wind.

Whatever it is, it’s coming closer.

I keep my eyes open and try to pinpoint the source of the noise. Soon, I spot the outline of a large bird in the sky above the trees. Each flap of its impressive wings results in a whooshing thud.

I remain still, mesmerized. As the bird draws nearer, I make out the head of a woman with dark, matted hair attached to the body of a hawk. Her gnarled red lips are twisted with rage, and her piercing black eyes are fixed on me with a menacing glare.

Oh, sheet
.

My lungs fill with air and stop. I shove myself up from the ground, landing in a sprint toward the edge of the field. I throw one foot in front of the other and look back over my shoulder.

She’s still there, growing closer and closer, flying right at me. Pain pierces my chest with each breath. The grass whips against my shins as I lift my legs higher and higher to get back toward the woods or the path or anywhere at all besides this ridiculous vacant field.

Seth told me to wait in my room for him or Alexander to come get me. I should’ve listened. What happens if this thing catches up to me? Nobody knows where I am.

I can’t think about that now.

Run
.

My legs are shaking so violently I hardly feel the ground beneath my feet. I make the mistake of looking back again, and her eyes lock with mine.

I think my heart may actually stop.

My toe rams against something, and I’m falling. My knees hit the ground, then my hands, and I’m facedown in the grass, trembling to the point that I can’t make my body do what I want.

She’s getting closer. Air whooshes against my skin each time her enormous wings flap up and down. The biting odor of mildew and decay encloses me, choking out the sugary scent of the field. I try not to inhale, but my lungs are burning. I breathe in and the foul air tastes bitter on my tongue. Every breath tastes stronger.

She’s practically on top of me.

Move!

I press my hands to the ground and push myself upward as she swoops down with her long black talons extended. I roll out of the way, and an enraged screech sounds next to my head.

The world goes mute, silenced by the ringing in my ears. I’m up and running again, propelled through the air by sheer terror. I dart into the trees, zigzagging around the large, wide trunks of the elms.

Something digs beneath my arms and lifts me into the air. She’s got me.

“No!” The ringing in my ears is replaced by my own screams. I twist my body and fling my legs back and forth, fighting to free myself.

“Stop it, you idiot, you’re slowing me down!”

The voice beside my ear sounds strangely familiar. I freeze and turn my head enough to see Clara’s flawlessly sculpted profile.

“Duck!” she says, zooming toward the largest of the willow trees.

I’ll say. Duck this whole day.

Oh, she meant—Long strands of purple blooms whip against my eyes and cheeks. Clara dives toward the middle and shoves me to the ground next to the trunk. “Stay down,” she orders, crouching beside me and keeping her gaze upward.

I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my head between my knees, praying my red hair isn’t visible through the tree.

I see Clara’s hands on the ground, her fingers pressed against the dirt as though she might push off at any second. An angry shriek echoes through the air, and I shrink into myself.