Too late.I’m already dying.
Groaning, I wave my hand in my best friend’s general direction.My headisabsolutely killing me, and I’mnot in the mood to plot out my fictional death in another one of her books.
“What happened?”I press my handtomy eyes, trying to block out the morning light.
WhydoesDrunkMenever remember toclosethe curtains?One job.I only ever ask her to do one job, and she always fails.
“What happened?”Fabia hisses.“Whathappened?”As her voice increases, I really wish she’dfollow the rules more.Perhaps I should remind her that a good brownie never yells.
“Rule number sixty–”
“I am not yelling!”she yells.
Moving my hand away, I slowly open my eyes,but ablinding white light piercesmy skull.Squinting, Itryto focus past it.
“We are in jail,”Fabiasaysas she startspacingon my left.
My brows furrow.That’sweird.No onebut Fabia everstaysthe nightin jail.The cells allhaveking-sized beds, and the sheetsarechanged every day, but they’renever actually used.A good brownie always says sorrywhen they do something wrong, and a good brownie always accepts an apology.And when the jail helper accepts an apology, the accuser must be released as otherwise, they’d be holding them for no reason; kidnapping is very rude, and anything rude is illegal in Brownston.
Throwing me a dark look,Fabiaadds, “InRaza.”
“What?”Ijerkupright,only to grabmy head in both hands.“That was a bad idea,” I groan to myself.
“Oh?Now you can tell if somethingis a bad idea?Where was that insightful ability last night?”Her words drip with sarcasm.“When you brought a wasp to a wedding and set it free!And then decided the best way to handle the other ones you kidnapped out of the wild was by getting some anti-wasp runes from Raza!”
“I did what!”I shoot to my feet, thenpress a handonthewallfor support.My heart hammers, and my eyes sting from the harsh light.I look aroundthe place, desperate to see something other than the three white walls andwhite-paintedsteel bars.
“Why didn’t you stop me?”I very nearlyyell, panic starting to set in.The fairiesarea monstrous race.Theyeattrespassing children.They torturetheir prisoners.They put the milk in before the cereal.Wecan’treason with these people!We’regoing to die, and Ihaven’teven got laid!Or rather, I don’t think Ihave.
I furrow my brow, trying to remember last night.
A suddenjoltof electricity shootsthrough me.Pierced brows overviolet eyes fill my mind, sizzling and intense.An oversized nose,also pierced,nestlesbetween sharp cheeks.Black curly hair adornshis head.But the imageishazy and fleeting.
Blinking, I wonder if thatwasa memory or a dream.
“Well, because –” My best friend looks a bit sheepish.“I really wanted to see Raza, and you never want to come here when you’re sober.”
“That’s because fairies arepsycho!They have war and weapons!There aren’t any weapons inBrownston.There’s notevenany violence inBrownston.Buthere?Well, there isn’t even an ensuite in here!”I say, horror hitting me as I spot thetoilet in the corner.Itsitsdirectly in front of the bars.Anyone walking down the corridorwillbe able to see us.“That just isn’t humane.Fairies aren’t humane!”
Panicking,I run to the bars and grab them.“Hello!Hello!Mr or Mrs or Ms or Gender-Neutral Helper!I’m sorry!Weare sorry!So please let us out!”
Shaking her head, Fabia startspacing fasterbehind me.
“Hello!”I don’t-quite-shout.I turn my head to look at her.“Why isn’t anyone coming?Are they leaving us in here to starve?”
But she’s not listening, lost in her own panic attack.Shebringsher hand to her lips, nibbling on herblack-paintednails.“I never made it a secret that I wanted to visit this place.I’ve talked about it for years.My books all take place here.What authorwouldn’t want to visit their books?”
Bugger.I knew all that.DrunkMeistoo wonderfully clever for her own good.
“Okay, okay,” I say as I release the bars andturnback to face her.“It’s going to be okay.I’m sure we can sort this out.”I sigh in relief as it comes to me.“Queen Hurvan will help us.We have a treaty with the fairies after all, and we’re at peace, so she’ll just ask nicely and…” I trail off asI catch the look onFabia’sface.
She’s staring over my shoulder, her lips parted,her eyes wide.Spinning around, I find adark figure coming down the stairs at the end of the hall.Dressed in all black, he looks as ominous as our situation feels.
Steppingup to the door, I stick an arm through the metal bars and wave.“Hey, hey,” I call in my most polite voice.“Can you come here, please?”
Hedoesn’tgive any indication he’sheard me, but his feet carryhim to our cell.When hestopsin front of me, his face finally out of the shadows, I stare at him in shock.I’venever seen a scar before, and the entire half of his faceis–
“Ow!”Fabia elbowsme hard in the ribs.
