Page 106

“Pain or —”

“Pain I can handle,” he said, wanting to be stubborn, knowing honest was best. “My head’s fuzzy and my muscles are sore. My energy is flagging.”

Lifting a leather strap over her head, Truly uncorked the wine skin. “Drink this.”

Without objection, Westvane took it from her. His head tipped back. Cold water cut with lemon streamed into his mouth and flowed down his throat, soothing dry patches.

“You need sleep, Westvane.”

Hopping over a large rock, Montrose landed behind her. “We need to get the hell out of here. Too many eyes.”

“Eyes?” Truly tensed and looked around. “We’re being watched?”

“Never mind,” Westvane said, throwing a warning look at Montrose. She didn’t need to know about the spiders… or the more vicious creatures that called the underground enclaves home. “Break’s over.”

Gaze scanning the uneven walls, Truly drew a shaky breath. “Have I mentioned how much I hate being underground?”

“Only fifty times,” the gargoyle said.

“Rosy?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up,” she said, the comment by rote as she glanced at him. “How much farther do you think?”

Nose pointed toward a ceiling, Montrose sniffed. “The air’s thinner.”

“What’s that mean?”

Dropping his hand from the wall, Westvane rolled his shoulders. Muscles protested the pull. He ignored the discomfort and examined the cave. Dome ceiling. Larger than the others he’d traversed so far. And fifty yards away? A firepit, blackened stones set in a circle. An encouraging sign — one Azalea had told him to look for as a marker along the path.

He scanned the other side of the cavern and…

Hell.

He’d almost missed the guide posts.

Cut into the bedrock, disguised by staggered stones, a staircase climbed the opposite side of the cavern. He raised his torch higher. The charge in the air reacted to the flame. Tiny bolts of lightning blazed into a ball above his head.

“Static electricity,” Truly said.

Westvane nodded. “We’re close now.”

Her gaze tracked to the steps. “To what?”

“To the place Azalea said bends time.” He studied the rise of stairs, focused on the spot the treads disappeared behind a rock formation. Scenting the air, Westvane breathed deep. As he filtered through each smell, a tinge ofsomethingcame to him. “Heads up. We’re not alone.”

“What is it?” Truly asked.

He raised a brow. “Do you really want to know?”

“Terrific,” she muttered, reading him without effort. “More monsters — just what I wanted for my birthday.”

Westvane turned to her. “It’s your birthday?”

“A month ago.”

“Could be worse,” Montrose said. “The spiders could be attacking, instead of watching.”