“Sounds like a compliment.”
“You should be so lucky.”
“In that case—” The lock croaks and shudders open, at which point, Cerulean’s eyes widen “—it’s my lucky day.”
Adrenaline’s my hero. Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I reel back and slam my boot sole into the bars. The door rams into Cerulean’s chest, blasting him backward. He’s too strong and agile to flounder, so before he can spot the quill, I wrench it from the knot and shove it into the hidden closure of my pack. Then I leap out and crack the whip across his legs, bringing his ass down.
“By the way, I can free myself, thank you very much,” I gasp, then hop over his prone form. “So piss off.”
Racing for the hedge path, I veer around the bend. The shrubbery multiplies into a maze of ascending stairs, each lined in tall shrubs and twisting up the mountainside.
Fear the wind. Follow the wind.
Always both. Never a guarantee. Damn him.
Relying on same tactic from the courtyard, I unravel my whip and watch the breeze drag it around until choosing a direction—toward the stairs leading away from the crest. I can only hope this choice will have the opposite effect and guide me toward the peak.
The walls of foliage crowd around the stairway. I pump up the incline, my heart pounding out a frenzied rhythm, my thighs scorching. I skid around a second corner, discover another grid of turns, and keep navigating away from where I want to go. Another bend. Another intersection of slopes. I lose track of where I am, the shrubs looming, bracken scratching my skirts and snatching my hair. The stairs get steeper, narrower.
Oxygen thins, sawing through my lungs. Everything looks the same, all these blues, greens, and whites of eventide. I’m running in the dark, fleeing without knowing where to go, where I’ll end up.
But it works. The summit seems a tad larger, a bit nearer.
I accelerate my pace, anxiety gripping me by the gullet. My nemesis was caught off guard, but he’s not a numskull, and he’s got the wind on his side. Any moment, I expect to feel the lash of a gale ensnaring my ankles and hauling me back to him.
Instead, I hear pounding feet—the sound of Cerulean himself pursuing me.
11
I’m pretty sure I’ve ruined his day. But hey, a mortal’s gotta do what a mortal’s gotta do.
I imagine him seething while he chases me, because how dare I be a troublemaker, how dare I outfox him, and how dare I do it without another lively bargain.
Then I imagine him sighing, as if I just can’t cooperate. I imagine he’s not the brooding type, because amusement is healthier for the complexion.
Then I imagine him smirking, his dark mouth crooking into the slopes of his face. I imagine him taking his time, because he’s faster than me. And yet, I imagine him catching up very soon, too soon.
The glistening hedges crowd the stairs. I pound up the steps, my legs shaking from exhaustion. Everywhere smolders. My lungs, my thighs, my rump.
The maze of stairs refuses to let up, the trajectory getting steeper. Again, I scramble toward another fork, a crafty split veering in opposite directions, with no indications what lies around the bends. I use my whip, check the gale, and take the rightward incline.
The stale funk of sweat infests my nostrils. Can his heightened senses pick up my smell? Does he hear me panting?
My palms blaze from that journey across The Wayward Steps, my flesh stings from tumbling into The Cauldron of Bats, and my bones ache from the crash into The Black Nest. Everything’s catching up and slowing me down.
My pace lags, lags, lags. Dragging myself to the landing, I grip a stone banister that protrudes from the hedges and slump against it, my breath hammering. The pack strap bridled across my torso cuts off my air supply. I can’t move, but I have to move.
I have to move because I hear him flying my way. Why run after me when he can pop up wherever he wants? Hell, I know why. He fancies the chase, wants to draw it out.
I should have cashed in on that bargain I’d made with Cerulean. That free rule allowing me to skew things to my advantage. I could have used it to make him open that cage.
But it would have been too soon, playing that hand. Any time I see a way out, I’m gonna take it without squandering my one and only asset.
A breeze rushes up the steps and snatches my skirt. I bolt from its grip. The foundation levels as I reach the end of the stair maze, resurrecting a cache of energy. I sprint down a torchlit lane.
The flames taper into a screen of mist. I hotfoot in that direction—then yelp, skittering to a halt. The route ends at a steep drop into the forest valley. My arms windmill, saving me from tipping over.
Swatches of hair batter my face as I gawk into the sylvan woodland. Somewhere down there, Juniper’s suffering at the hands of a demon.
