Page 61

Alexandra

Preparations

“ W ait, Sandra!” I call out after my friend—at least, I hope she still is.

But she pretends not to hear me, rushing down the cavernous tunnels like we’re on an angry ghost ride.

It’s a struggle to keep up with her. The green haze from the ritual still muddles my mind with strange thoughts.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to clear my head. It doesn’t help.

Is she mad at me? I mean, I was kind of a bitch yesterday.

.. “Are you angry with me?” I shout, my voice cracking a little as I navigate the dimly lit, simmering passageways.

Sandra doesn’t respond, but I see her shaking her head, her long red hair swaying over her black leather tunic.

My stomach sinks to my garish shoes. Have I crossed the line, pushed her too far? Wouldn’t be the first time.

Ugh, friends are always so bitchy, but as soon as you give a little back, they can’t handle it.

Most times, I’d show such hypocritical ‘ friends ’ the door, tossing them out like spent makeup.

But Sandra? She’s different. We’ve come too far, seen our lowest lows, and still stuck by each other.

The idea of losing her... it makes my chest tighten.

Although I only recently met the woman, she hasn’t abandoned me, unlike everyone else—my so-called friends, boyfriends, even my mother, and my prick of a father.

“Please, Sandra, I’m sorry!” I call out again.

Don’t abandon me like all the others!

The thought is on the tip of my tongue, but it’s too raw, too desperate.

She doesn’t stop, instead disappearing into Dracoth’s chambers.

It’s the largest room I’ve seen down here.

Dark and eerie, with glowing orange and yellow veins pulsing along the walls.

Sandra collapses onto a pile of furs, burying her face in them, and lets out a muffled scream.

This is bad.

I carefully sit beside her, listening to her muffled breathing, and place a comforting hand on her back.

“I’m sorry I called you Greg. It was—”

“You ruin everything!” she snaps, whipping her head around to face me, her eyes red and brimming with anger. Her face is flushed, and sweat is dripping from her forehead. “We could’ve had a fun night with Dracoth, but you had to start acting like a mental bitch!”

I barely register the insult. I’m too distracted by the sight of her. “You don’t look so good, Sandra.” I frown, pressing my hand to her flushed, clammy forehead. “You’re boiling.”

“Of course I’m boiling!” she shouts, swatting my hand away. “We’re in a bloody volcano, Lexie.” She waves a hand at the molten seams glowing along the walls.

She has a point.

“Here,” I offer Sandra the slab of stone. “Want some giant snail monster? Demon Egg-Head’s little brother gave me it.” After he gassed me with psychotic murder drugs. “It’s actually nice. Tastes a bit like moist scallops.”

“Moist?” Sandra’s eyes light up as she snatches the stone plate from my hands.

“I’m dying of thirst,” she mutters, tearing strips from the generous chunk of meat.

She chews noisily, moaning with satisfaction.

The tension in my shoulders lessens now that I know she’s just a little annoyed, not furious.

“How are you not roasting?” she asks between bites, wiping sweat from her brow.

Images of the bubbling pools of lava flash in my mind, and I find myself wishing I could bathe in them. Feel its molten heat scorch the grime and darkness from me... But it’s probably just the murder gas messing with my head again.

“I’m not sure,” I shrug. “Maybe because I’ve spent summers in the Caribbean and Mediterranean?” I frown, feeling a little homesick. God, I miss lounging on yachts, with only my choice of meal and bikini to worry about.

“I went to Ibiza, and it was nowhere near this hot,” Sandra replies, her face glistening with even more sweat.

Maybe it’s because she’s a ginger? I force the thought down, already in enough hot water.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” she says, her eyes locking onto mine, a tremble in her voice. “Living here with Dracoth... in this... heat.” She shakes her head like someone just ruined her favorite dress—ugh, I miss my Chanel too.

“You’ll be fine. He probably doesn’t stay here that often anyway,” I offer, gesturing to the sparse, oversized stone furniture scattered around the chamber.

“No piles of dirty clothes, no nude posters on the walls, and definitely no used tissues by a crusty computer desk.” I say with a smile, trying to suppress the revolting image of Michael’s bedroom flashing through my mind.

God, the number of times I urged him—nicely—to clean that disgusting pigsty.

You’d think with his family’s money, he could’ve hired some help. Some people, I swear...

Sandra chuckles, fanning her flushed face. “Thanks, Lexie,” she says, snapping me out of my disturbing memories—worlds away now.

My eyes catch on something tall and stone-like in the corner, its height making it hard to spot at first.

“Oh!” I gasp, my heart fluttering with eager anticipation. I tiptoe to peer over the edge of a tall stone container. It’s a basin, complete with a drain and a black metal faucet. “Jackpot,” I mutter, turning the handle. Crystal-clear water rushes out, and I grin.

“Is that water?” Sandra blurts out, her excitement greater than mine. “Oh, thank God!” She rushes over to stand beside me. “I swear, if I could, I’d sit in that thing and never leave.”

“Wait,” I say, holding up a hand, a sudden concern dawning on me.

“Knowing the ‘hole-in-the-ground’ clan, it might be lava,” I suggest, running my hand under the stream, half expecting to scald myself.

Instead, it’s cool and soothing. “It’s actually cold,” I say, turning to Sandra, raising an eyebrow.

Her face lights up like my ex-boyfriend’s red flags.

“Gimme a hand,” Sandra pleads, lifting her leg as if I’m some kind of donkey she wants to mount. I stare at her foot like it’s a bargain-bin reject. “Please,” she adds with wide eyes, looking as sweet as honey.

I shake my head in disbelief. If it weren’t for the teeny-tiny bit of guilt gnawing at the back of my mind, I’d tell her to go jump. But instead, I sigh—loudly—offering her a hand as she clambers on top of me like I’m the world’s most beautiful ladder.

“Stop wriggling!” I grunt through gritted teeth, her awkward squirming somehow making the whole ordeal more difficult.

A bizarre moaning noise—like a cross between a cow and a banshee—mingles with the sound of rushing water. I manage to glance past her flailing legs and spot Sandra bent over the edge of the basin, her entire head dunked into the water.

“Oh my God, this is amazing!” she exclaims, splashing water everywhere as she thrashes around excitedly.

“Hurry up!” I groan, my arms and back shaking under the strain of holding her up. “You must’ve eaten too much giant snail monster!”

“No, wait—” Sandra starts, but it’s too late. My strength gives out, and we both stumble, collapsing in a heap.

“Aww,” she pouts.

I straighten, trying not to laugh, noticing wisps of steam rising from her drenched head.

“What’s so funny?” she frowns.

“Oh, nothing,” I say, trying to keep a straight face, fingers covering my quivering lips. “Just... you look like your head just came out of an oven.” I chuckle.

“Oven?” Sandra touches her head, confused. “What the hell? It’s almost dry already!” She runs a hand through her hair, eyes wide. “This place is a bloody oven.” She holds out her hands, interlocked, offering me a boost. “Your turn.”

I wave her off. “I’m good.”

Sandra stares at me like I’ve just run naked through Times Square. “Maybe Carmen was right. You do have lizard skin,” she smirks.

My brows wrinkle into a frown. “Very funny. Wait... I’ve got an idea,” I say, nodding at her gnomish leather clothes. “Take those off.”

“Huh?” Sandra replies, frowning. With her steaming head, she looks like an angry gnome. “My clothes?” She sounds incredulous.

“Don’t give me that look.” I tug at her tunic, trying to yank the thing off. “It’s not like we haven’t seen each other doing way worse.” I shudder...

That disgusting hole in the ground. I am the toilet.

Sandra shrugs out of her clothes, down to her leather underwear, and I stretch, drenching them in the basin.

“Oh, good idea!” she says as the realization finally hits her.

“I’m full of them,” I reply smugly, feeling a surge of pride.

“Uh-huh?” Sandra asks, popping my balloon of joy before it even has a chance to lift off. “Like when you screamed like a lunatic through the streets? Or when you tried to run away?”

Wait, I did? I don’t remember that.

“Or better yet, when you told Dracoth to screw you before insulting his parents?”

Fucking hell.

Hearing it spoken somehow makes it worse. “Lalalala,” I cringe, covering my ears, wishing the baking floor would swallow me whole.

“Lexie...” Sandra presses, her voice muffled through my hands, tinged with disappointment.

“I mean, I was drunk! And the giant bore kept yanking my chain... literally!” I blurt, pulling down Sandra’s soaked clothes from the basin, hoping to distract her.

It doesn’t work.

“But you got us in trouble, Lexie!” Sandra snatches the sodden garments from my grip. “More of those armored fellas showed up,” she adds, tugging on her outfit, her tight-lipped annoyance giving way to a small sigh of relief. “Class... so much better.”

My face heats with embarrassment, the words tumbling out before I can think. “Well... maybe we’d be better off without him. Have you ever thought about that?” I throw the suggestion out like a stinky rotten egg.

Was that what I was thinking? It’s all hazy now.

“That new Demon Egg-Head guy said I was free. He even tossed my collar into the lava.”

“He’s an Elder,” Sandra corrects, grimacing as if the title means something.

“Whatever,” I wave it off dismissively. “Not like I need to remember all this garbage they keep babbling about. I mean, who’s to stop us from walking out of here right now?” I gesture to the chamber’s exit.

“Um... Dracoth?” Sandra replies, like the answer is so obvious it doesn’t even need saying. “And I think we should figure out what’s going on so we can help him.”

I fight back the urge to shake her—Sandra’s far too kind and riddled with severe Stockholm Syndrome for her own good. Instead, I opt to shake my head.

“Sandra, he’s using us. He just wants us for this stupid marriage thing. You’ve seen the way he is—the way he rages... the way he kills...” My words trail off, distracted by images of dark corridors and blood-curdling screams flickering in my mind.

Sandra stares at the simmering floor, her hand covering her mouth.

“Do you really want to be around when he finally snaps for real?” I ask, my voice dropping.

“He’d never hurt us,” Sandra whispers, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as me.

“Like when he locked us in a cell? Or when he slapped collars on us and nearly yanked my head off?”

“That’s because you were acting up.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sandra!” I snap, struggling to keep my voice from shaking with frustration. “Do you hear yourself?”

The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the disgusting sound of Sandra gnawing on her nails.

“I still trust him,” she says finally, with the kind of misplaced conviction that lands people on TikTok’s toxic relationship reels.

I throw up my hands in disbelief, feeling like I’m the only sane person in a universe full of crazies.

“He’s been lying to us this whole time!” I press, desperate for my friend to see sense.

“ Hello, I’m Mr. War Chieftain. Me give you great power, ” I mock, dropping my voice into a poor imitation of Dracoth’s growl.

“Please! You heard those aliens. His dad was the War Chieftain, not him. He’s just a confused boy pretending to be something he’s not. ”

“He’s not a boy!” Sandra’s eyes snap to mine, blazing like heated sapphires. “And he will be Chieftain once he wins this fight—and the one after.”

She’s missing the point! He still lied!

My anger boils beneath the surface, urging me to lash out. It’s maddening listening to her delusions—she’s constructed this fantasy around him, and even if the truth hit her like a slap across the face, she’d refuse to see it.

“Okay...” I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing my anger down. “Just promise me, when a better opportunity comes along, we leave together?”

I stare at her, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come. It’s buried in her downcast gaze. Her eyes drop, avoiding mine, the gears turning in her head. And then I know the truth. She won’t leave. She’s in love with Dracoth, and nothing I say will change that.

“Sandra?” I press, my voice a little softer. “We stick together like we agreed, right?”

Her hesitation says it all. Any words she might offer now are meaningless. “Yeah... until he picks one of us,” she says finally, nodding.

I sigh, feeling the weight of resignation settle in my chest. “Come on; let’s go help the giant bore, then.” I turn to leave his cavernous chambers.

“But... he’s training?” Sandra falls into step beside me, fanning her flushed face. “What can we do?”

A good question—not much.

“We’ll get the pom-poms out and cheer him on, of course.” I smile at the absurdity of it, and to my surprise, Sandra grins too.

Together, we walk down the winding tunnels of this mountain—or volcano, or whatever this place is.

The pulsing crystals embedded in the walls cast an eerie light over the sizzling, rocky surfaces.

Hazy steam rises around us, the colors shifting like strange beacons in the dark.

I try to memorize the hues; they are the only thing helping me keep my bearings in this place.

I remember how Dracoth had stalked out of the ritual room, his molten eyes flashing with rage.

He’d brought us to the entrance of a training room, before sending us back to his chambers to await his return.

I was amazed he didn’t tie us up or lock us away somewhere, but I think he was too angry to care.

We stop suddenly as a gray-haired Clown-dathian with a stone peg leg limps toward us. My heart pounds in my chest, and I wonder if we should turn back.

“What should we do?” Sandra mutters, her tone as tight as my mother’s purse.

“Um... let’s see what he does,” I suggest, trying to sound braver than I feel. It’s unlikely he’s going to hurt us... but Dracoth might have sent him to check on us.

So we stand still awkwardly waiting, like we’ve been caught with our hands in the cookie jar, while this bare-chested granddad approaches.

A granddad with muscles?