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Her masked abductor ducked inside and emerged above her, all towering height and grimness. She scampered backward until she met with the damp wall.
“Do you have any idea how much danger you are in?” asked a muffled voice.
Husky and ever sharp with admonishments, it was a voice she recognized immediately.
Reynolds.
And it was about time.
41
Alone
“What is wrong with you?” she exclaimed, removing one of her flats. She threw it at him with enough force to jar her shoulder in its socket. The shoe hit the wall behind him with a sharp smack. Even with the mask and hat, the surprise in his eyes could not have been missed.
“Where the hell have you been?” she raved. Wasting no time, she wrestled her other shoe free and hurled it at his chest. He blocked the slipper with a raised forearm, and it tapped harmlessly onto the floor. She was sorry she didn’t have anything else to throw.
Blood oozed from the embedded glass in her shoulder, and she reached up to yank the splintered shard out. She hardly felt the pain, only the blood as it trickled warm down her shoulder to stain the neckline of her dress. She was angry enough to throttle him. Yet at the same time, she could have just as easily rushed him, thrown her arms around him, and buried her face in his cloak. Somehow, though, she figured Reynolds probably wasn’t the touchy-feely type, and if you’d asked him beforehand to fill in an option bubble on the questionnaire, she thought he’d probably have opted for the shoes anyway.
“Don’t you look at me like that!” she snarled, her teeth chattering. The quaver in her voice betrayed her emotion.
He continued to stare as Isobel struggled unsteadily to her feet. Her knees wobbled.
“This is all your fault!” she shouted. “None of this started happening until you showed up! I don’t even know who you are! I don’t even know what you are!”
“Lower your voice.”
“No! I’m not going to lower my voice!” Isobel yelled, incensed. What gave him the right to talk to her like she was a child? “You say you’re helping me, but then you just disappear.
You show up just to freak me out, and then, when I need you the most, you aren’t anywhere, while those other things are everywhere!”
“Isobel—”
“So far I’ve been jerked around, thrown through a window, molested by a monster, and now practically abducted! What do you want from me? Why won’t you or anybody else tell me what’s happening? Why can’t I tell what’s real and what’s not anymore? Why am I inside this nightmare story?”
“There is no time for this. You should not even be here.”
“That’s it! The next person who tells me I shouldn’t be where I am gets decked! I know I shouldn’t be here, but I am, and as far as I can tell it’s because you—”
“It is because of the boy and his utter carelessness,” Reynolds corrected, and with such sudden ferocity that it made her swallow against the anger boiling inside her.
“Where is he?” she asked, quieter now.
“With her,” he whispered, as though pronouncing a death sentence.
“Who?” She remembered Varen’s earlier mention of a “she.” And then those hands that had dragged him into the darkness. She thought about the white light from the woodlands and the figure reflected in the clock pendulum with those black-socket eyes.
“I have no time. You must return to your world immediately. You must seal the link that has been made, because I cannot. Otherwise, your entire world will be forfeited to this one.
Come. We must make our way to the woodlands. Hurry.”
He held a gloved hand out to her, just as he had done that first night he’d brought her to the Woodlands of Weir.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He studied her with those dark eyes, as though trying to gauge the level of her seriousness.
“You refuse?”
