Page 77 of Riot Reunion
“Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck was I thinking,” Pax curses. He catches her up in his arms, scooping her up before she collapses. White as a sheet, Pax hisses through his teeth as he sets off at a fast walk, skirting around the parking lot, back toward the academy.
“Where are you going?” Carrie calls. “The cars are back that way!”
The remainder of our group takes off after him, jogging to keep up with Pax’s long strides. “He can’t carry her through the forest like that,” Dash says. “He’ll end up falling. It’s slippery as hell, and we can’t see a fucking thing.”
“And the cars are too far away, anyway,” Wren says grimly. “There isn’t time to hike back down to the gate. Presley needs to get warmnow.”
“Well then, where the fuck are we going?” Carrie demands. Her tone is laden with an anxiety that’s started to steal along my bones, too, chilling me from the inside. Pres does not look good. Her hand hangs limply from her body as Pax charges off in the direction of the school’s rose gardens, her fingers uncurled and lifeless, her skin pale as alabaster.
“He’s heading for the maze,” Wren says tightly. “He’s taking her to the gazebo.”
25
WREN
Pax knowsthe route through the maze as well as me or Dash, but in his haste to find shelter, he misses a turn, leading us in the wrong direction. He growls like a dog, nearly taking my head off, spitting curse words as I grab him by the arm and steer him back the way we came.
“Calm the fuck down,” I snipe back, gesturing toward the left-hand turn we need to make. “You wanna get us really turned around in here, asshole? Go on. Go!”
I can’t blame him for being reactive. If it were Elodie lying unconscious in my arms, I’d be just as vicious and likely to snap. He needs to listen, though. This mazeisbig enough to cause a headache if we don’t stick to the right path. With all this rain, I don’t know if I could find the way to the gazebo beforeallof us catch pneumonia.
More lightning crackles across the sky, fingers of white light dragging through the clouds. With every flash of light, the tall hedge walls of the maze fall into sharp contrast, the academy rising out of the darkness. Pax constantly mutters under his breath, talking softly to Presley. With every turn we take, my focus remains locked on Elodie at my side.
Left.
Left.
Right.
Left.
The maze spits us out into a clearing at last. The small gazebo is exactly as I remember it—the fascia covered in rose vines and ivy, the shutters painted white, the pale blue wood trim turned a muted grey by the storm. Pax flies up the stone steps and reaches the door first, but his hands are full. Elodie rushes up behind him and turns the brass handle, and miraculously it opens—the door was never locked when we were students at Wolf Hall; I made fucking sure of it. This wasourplace. Well, mine, really. Once upon a time, it belonged to Fitz, but I made sure he knew that I’d commandeered it once I decided I wanted it. I wasn’t the type to share.
Inside, all the books I brought here are still sitting on the shelves. The comfortable, worn old white couches are still angled toward the open fireplace. Even the smell is the same. Everyone piles in, and Carina slams the door closed behind us, sealing out the weather.
“Someone start a fire,” Pax commands. I’m way ahead of him, though. The stack of chopped firewood by the hearth is dry—a small blessing, considering how unreliable I know the gazebo’s roof to be, and how heavy the rain has been coming down for the past week.
I scrunch up some newspaper and stuff it beneath the wood, lighting it with a match from the mason jar I put on the mantlepiece years ago. In under two minutes, there are flames licking at the wood, the fire strengthening. When I turn back to my friends, Presley has already regained consciousness, and she’s lying out on the couch, face incredibly pale, blinking owlishly up at everyone. Pax stands back, regarding Pres, his fist pressed into his mouth, eyes wild with concern. Elodie, Carrie, and Dash are all prodding at their cell phone screens, wearing matching frowns.
Shaking his head, Dash says, “It’s no good. There’s no service up here. The storm—”
“No. Absolutely fucking not,” Pax growls. “'The storm took out the service tower’ is not coming out of your mouth right now. Just fuck off with that.”
Presley reaches out, hand extended to Pax. She smiles at him, rolling her eyes. “Don’t start, please. I don’tneedan ambulance. I feel fine now. I just got dizzy, is all. Just let me get warm. I’ll be okay to walk back to the car in half an hour or so.”
“You’re not walking anywhere.” Pax doesn’t take her hand; by the looks of things, he doesn’t want to be calmed. His anxiety is at a ten, the pressure inside of him building by the second. The slightest prod, and he’ll fucking blow. Again, I can’t say that I blame him. If he loves Presley a third as much as I love E, then the state he’s in is no great surprise. I’d be climbing the walls if this was Elodie. “You’re gonna stay right fucking there until we can get an EMT to you,” he says.
“God, you’re being ridiculous. Have you never fainted before?”
“No!”
That takes the wind out of Presley’s sails, her argument rendered moot. “Well, it’s not that big of a deal. I faint at least two or three times a year.”
“Then you really need to get that checked out!” Pax cries.
“Elodie, tell him—”
“Sorry, girl. I’m with Pax.”
