Page 83 of Faerie Fate
“Then why isn’t she moving?” Bronwen asked.
I couldn’t, not yet. Weakness kept me leaden and I swallowed, relishing the movement of muscles I hadn’t been able to control before. The rise and fall of my chest, the sense of warm fingers trailing over my face to push my hair aside.
“I’m here,” I grunted. “I’m back.”
“Can you walk?” Poppy was all business.
I kept my eyes closed as I shook my head and for good reason. The dizziness was back but this was different from the blood curse. I was empty. No magic left. “Nope.”
“That’s fine. I’ve got you.” Strong arms looped behind my shoulders and knees before Mike’s warm scent filled me. “I’ll carry you.”
“You got her?” Bronwen shifted nearer.
“Of course I do. Lead on, Poppy.”
Mike carried me through the tunnels with Poppy directing us back to the surface. Noren greeted us at the lip of the crater, his nose a wet press against my limp palm. I scratched him softly and cuddled closer to Mike. Burrowing my own nose in his chest.
They’d saved me.
Now what could we do about the haunting images seared into my brain?
“It’s this way,” Poppy urged, “and watch your step. We don’t need another cave-in.”
“Another meeting with a burrendigger, you mean,” Bronwen joked.
“Youknowwhat I mean, girl.”
Eventually I managed to open my eyes again, hungry for sunlight. Poppy marched ahead with her head thrown back and streaks of blood turning the tail end of her braid red. Noren kept pace with Mike, always near enough for me to touch.
The crunch of gravel shifted to the softer thud of moss and dirt, the rows of fruit fading into the distance, replaced by neat beds of flowers like zinnias.
Poppy refused to slow as she led us toward the main house at the center of the pixie village, then wasted no time before she knocked on the door.
The size of the place was a feat in itself because the pixies were slight, minuscule things made of pure magic. Their houses weren’t normal size, reaching no higher than my knees and those were the ones with multiple stories.
We stood in front of a two-story dollhouse with gingerbread trim in a cheery dandelion yellow and wafts of fluffy smoke curling out of a chimney.
“A little longer, Tavi,” Mike murmured. “Hang on. We’re going to get you fixed up.” His breath ruffled my hair.
I wanted to tell him not to bother because any discomfort I felt was entirely my fault. No words came out when I opened my mouth.
“Keep your wits about you. They’re small but mighty and you do not want to mess with the pixies,” Poppy warned under her breath.
Bronwen’s blood-covered hands found her waist. “I thought you said they were your friends.”
“They are. It doesn’t make them any less dangerous.”
The front door swung open and a figure only inches high filled the space. She hovered in midair, carrying a sword. Not a small one, either. The sword was as long as my arm and tipped by a point prepared to carve bone.
How in the world had she managed to fit it through the doorway?
She flew up and leveled the sword at Poppy’s forehead.
“Get away,” the pixie snapped. “You’re trespassing.”
What the hell was up with people greeting us with a weapon? My head spun with the full-circle moment: Barbara pointing a gun to my face the moment I stepped onto her porch. Now I was here, with her, being threatened by a pixie for coming onto their property.
Undaunted, Poppy equally snapped, “Take me to Elfhame.”
