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Her sparkling form disappears through a propped open door into another building, this one tall and spiky. I follow. Those orb thingies from before spin inside delicate glass bulbs affixed to the walls, casting light over marble hallways and warming the air.
Soon I’m sweating. My hair plastered to my face and mouth hanging open in a pant.
The sprite ducks into an open door of deep mahogany, and I burst after her, swearing under my breath . . . into a giant auditorium full of people.
Crap.
Not people. Fae. Note to self. I suck at remembering that.
Hundreds of Fae eyes pin me to the spot, the air in the room heavy with a sense of magic.
I freeze, suddenly recalling my overwhelming hatred of crowds and attention. Perhaps if I hadn’t slammed the door open l could have snuck in unnoticed . . .
Shoving my fear down deep, I force my legs to move, shuffling forward.
Why can’t I breathe?
One of the Fae near the back calls out, “Who’s the fresh meat?”
My gaze darts around the crowd, the exoticness of their features spinning my heart into overdrive. Some are wild-looking, with beaks and hooves and claws. Some only come up to my waist and are strange colors. Varying shades of mauve and teal and chartreuse.
But most look like versions of us, just with pointy ears, expensively tailored clothes that are a mix between modern fashion and a renaissance fair, and like a million times the hot factor.
In contrast, my frumpy, spaghettiOs stained hoodie, clunky Salvation Army boots, and unattractive jeans feel like a prison yard uniform.
I take a few more tentative steps, scouring the room for my sprite guide, whom I’ve already developed a love/hate relationship with.
Where are you, tiny person?
Instead I find massive chandeliers in the shape of vines hanging from high, arched ceilings. Magical orbs drip from their golden branches, each orb of light a little sun that illuminates the room. A layer of shimmery frost covers the entire thing.
Wooden bleachers filled with students surround the chamber, looking down upon a marble floor that appears to be a giant map, segmented into seven distinct locations. Great leafy mosaic trees of orange and yellow and red spread across the section I stand on . . .
I suddenly get what each segment represents. The Fae Courts. This area is Autumn. The one next to it, Winter.
The crowd on the floor is smaller, less than a hundred Fae, all dressed in extravagant clothes beyond imagining. Headdresses made of gold-spun leaves; cloaks weaved from spider silk and butterfly wings; armor carved from ice.
The clothes match the theme of the floor each Fae stands on, and I quickly realize these students are split up by court, meaning everyone has their place.
Everyone but me.
Desperately, I search for an indication of where to go.
A dais of obsidian rises in the center of the room. As I take in the black pedestal and the very human, very terrified group that huddles there inside a silver cage, I answer my own question.
That’s where I belong.
A pang of dread pierces my gut.
They’re inside a cage. A Mother. Freaking. Cage.
My nostrils flare as I try to pull in air, panic tightening my chest. I don’t do well in tight, enclosed spaces.
The sprite that led me here flits over, an anxious look scrunching her face. “What are you doing, weird one? Get up there with your people.”
“No!” I didn’t plan on yelling my refusal, but the combination of acoustics and fear amplify my voice and it reverberates through the room, even echoing for dramatic affect.
Oh. My. God.
