Brightly (Flicker #2) (49 page)

All the breath went out of him. He tried to sit up straighter, but his face constricted and his hand shot to his side, like his ribs were injured. When Neman reached for him, he flinched.

She stroked his cheek with the side of her hand, and though she barely touched him, he winced at the pressure on his bruised face. Filo’s eyes were bright with fear, but Lee thought she could see something else there, too: a miserable devotion.

“Oh, Filo,” Neman murmured. “You are a strange boy. You love only what hurts you. And the things you love—do they love you in return?”

“Nem…”

“From the moment I foresaw Alice’s departure,” she went on, “I wondered if I was mistaken, if something would change her course. I did not think she would really leave. She has nowhere else to go. But she would rather wander the streets in the snow than be here with you.”

“Nem.” Filo ducked his head. The blanket was bunched in his fists.
“Please.”

At that, Neman paused. “What is it?”

“It hurts,” he said plainly, and Lee could tell by the way he was hunched over, curled into himself, that it wasn’t just his body that hurt. It was everything.

“You are not well,” Neman concluded a moment later. “Lie down.”

Careful of his ribs, he obediently lowered himself onto the mattress, facing away from her. His eyes were open; he stared at the opposite wall. Lee had never seen him look so haunted.

“When you were small,” Neman said quietly, “before we found Nasser and Jason, you knew nothing of music but what I taught you. I sang you the songs of our homeland—not the one in Otherworld, but the one we found in this world, where we were happy. We lived there so long. We fought and we loved, but mostly, we fought.” She smiled, as if thinking of a good memory. “Do you remember that? Do you remember the songs I taught you?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice muffled.

“Shall I sing one for you?”

At first, Filo didn’t answer. Then he nodded mutely, just a tiny movement of his head, and Neman began to sing softly in a language Lee didn’t understand—not Old Faerie, but something else. Her voice was clear and soothing, nothing like Lee would’ve imagined. It was beautiful, but it could also break a heart.

After the last note faded, Neman sat beside Filo for a long time. She hummed quietly and stroked his hair with a gentleness Lee hadn’t realize she was capable of, until his eyes drifted shut and he finally fell asleep.

The light dimmed until Lee was in complete darkness. The darkness shifted around her, thick and feathery, and Lee felt herself moving, rising, being thrown violently from Filo’s memories and back into the physical world.

When her vision cleared, she was back in the dwarves’ home, sitting bolt upright and gasping as if she’d been submerged in water. Beside her, Filo was sprawled on the hard-packed floor, only slits of white visible through his half-open eyelids. Henry was bent over him.

Lee’s head spun, but she whipped toward Berrach. “What did you do?”

“You cannot take a journey through another’s mind while that mind is alert,” said Berrach. “He had to be dreaming to show me his memories. You were connected to him, so you dreamed with us.”

“Well, wake him up!”

“There’s no need.”

Lee opened her mouth to claim otherwise, but Henry touched her wrist and she dragged her gaze away from Berrach.

“Look, he’s coming around,” Henry said, leaning back.

Sure enough, Filo stirred. He looked dazed when he opened his eyes, and Henry had to help him sit up. He cleared his throat. “How long was I out?”

“Not long,” said Henry. “A minute. Maybe a minute and a half.”

Lee blinked. It had felt like much longer—but then, time ran strangely in dreams.

Filo looked up at Berrach. His pulse jumped at his throat, a rapid drumbeat. “You said it wouldn’t hurt,” he croaked.

“I said you wouldn’t feel a thing,” Berrach said primly. “And you didn’t. You were unconscious. It only hurts now that you’re awake.”

He scowled and said nothing.

Berrach’s mouth stretched into a grin that was all teeth. The crystal in her hand shone with blue light. “That was a beautiful memory.”

Filo didn’t smile. “The salt.”

“As you say. Wait here.” Berrach tucked the crystal into her apron, crossed the room and disappeared through the other door.

She returned holding an apple-sized pot that looked like it had been hewn from opaque crystal. When she handed the pot to Filo, Lee saw that it was filled with white granules. She dipped one finger into the pot and tasted the contents. Salt.

“Will this be enough?” Filo asked.

“Yes,” Lee said. “It’ll be just fine.”

“Good.” Filo turned to Berrach. “Our debts are settled. We’ll take our leave now and trouble you no more.”

She nodded once. Without another word, they began to move Nasser toward the door.

Lee drew the circle on the first clear, flat piece of ground they saw. As she knelt with her blade, she felt her hand trembling and forced herself to stop and take several deep breaths. It didn’t matter how quickly she completed the spell base if it was imperfect. She needed to take the time to do this right.

On Troll’s Island, Henry had scooped some dirt into a plastic bag and tucked it into his pack. Now Lee poured that dirt into the center of the circle, in the same place the crystal shard had occupied the last time they cast this spell. That little mound of dirt would anchor the spell in the human world and open the way back.

When the base was finished, Lee was proud of her work. Every line and symbol was in the right place. She thought the salt that ringed the base might’ve been the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, gleaming faintly in the starlight.

Filo and Henry wasted no time once Lee retreated to where Nasser lay on the grass. They cut their hands and knelt at the edge of the circle, just as they had before, and soon, the lines and curves of the spell base shone blue and green. She watched with stinging eyes as Filo and Henry fed their magic and their blood to the circle, and the circle devoured it all, burning brighter and brighter. The hair on the back of Lee’s neck stood up as pressure built in the air.

Lee felt the crack of thunder like a break in her own bones. The circle burst into a column of flame with a blast of heat that knocked her backward. The ground shook and the trees shuddered in the scorching wind.

She grabbed Nasser under his arms and started backing toward the fire, hauling him with her. She thought she heard Filo screaming at someone to
go, go, hurry
, but his voice was lost in the crackling speech of the fire. A moment later, he was at her side, helping her to drag Nasser.

When the incredible heat pressed close against her back, she looked up at Filo. “Where’s Henry?”

“Already through,” he shouted. He looked pale and strange in the unearthly light, but his eyes were blazing. “Don’t let go!”

Lee nodded. Then she closed her eyes, pulled Nasser as tightly against her as she could, and fell backward into the flames.

In an instant, the firestorm claimed her. The roaring of the inferno and her own screams were the same, because she was filled with fire. She
was
fire. The heat couldn’t harm her; they were one. She was a body made of flame, clinging to another piece of flame, careening through a burning sea.

Abruptly, the universe
stopped
, and Lee kept moving. She hit the ground so hard she thought she would shatter. For a moment, she lay stunned and disoriented, unable to move. It was bright here—a different kind of brightness, golden and buttery. The air smelled all wrong, like smoke and brine and rot. Her head spun.

Behind her, the fire bellowed and burned, but she hardly noticed it. She had landed half on top of Nasser, and for a moment, when she scrambled off him, she was afraid that he’d fallen wrong and snapped his neck. He was breathing. That was all she knew.

A shout made her whip her head around. Filo hurtled from the column of flame, landing hard. Seconds later, the fire snuffed itself out, without leaving so much as an ember to show that it had ever been. Nearby, Henry was picking himself up out of the grass. As the roaring faded from Lee’s ears and she climbed to her feet, everything else sounded muffled.

The stench of death was overwhelming. When she looked up, Lee couldn’t miss the source. Less than ten feet away, the troll lay on its back, limbs sprawled at weird angles. The three of them approached it cautiously, like it might spring to life and grab them.

The corpse had clearly been lying in the sun for a few days, long enough for the body to bloat and start to decompose, long enough for flies to settle. Dark stains covered its face—blood, she realized. Its eyes were still open, covered in a cloudy film. One of its cheeks had been ripped open. Its throat was shredded. A knife was buried hilt-deep in its chest, surrounded by more stab wounds. Gagging, Lee turned away.

“This is your knife, Lee,” she heard Filo say. “What the hell
happened?
”

“Clem.” Henry sounded dazed.

Lee forced herself to look back. Filo was right: Her knife was embedded in the troll’s chest. She remembered seeing the troll fling it across the clearing the night they left.

As he looked down at the corpse, Filo looked both revolted and weirdly impressed. He bent and yanked the knife out of the corpse. “I told you I wouldn’t want to fight with her.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Lee said weakly. If she stood here much longer, she was going to throw up. “We need to get Nasser back to Siren.”

Chapter Twenty-Six:

Jason was upstairs when he heard the screaming. The sound was distant, but he knew those voices as well as he knew his own: Lee and Filo. He reacted without thinking, rushing downstairs so fast that he stumbled on the bottom step. A minute later, he threw the front door open, and there they were, emerging from the trees.

For a moment, Jason was confused. Even from a distance, he recognized Lee’s bright hair, flaring copper in the sunlight as she ran ahead. Filo and Henry lagged behind. Henry was carrying something large and unwieldy across his shoulders. Nasser wasn’t there.

Lee must’ve seen him, because suddenly she was screeching something else:
“Jason! Jason!”

His gaze flickered back toward Henry and Filo, to the object slung across Henry’s shoulders, and it hit him.

Jason began to sprint.

When he reached Lee, the first thing he registered was her face: pale, shocked and streaked with dirt. Her hair was much shorter than it had been when she left. Her clothes were wrinkled and dirty. “Nasser’s hurt,” she panted.

“How bad?”

“
Bad.”

The mix of panic and anguish in her eyes was enough to keep him from asking any more questions. He shoved her toward the house. “Get Davis and Amelia.”

“Who’s Amelia?”

“I’ll explain later. Go!”

She ran up the path toward the house. Jason didn’t watch her go; he dashed up the trail to meet Filo and Henry.

When his eyes fell on his brother, Jason felt like he’d been punched in the chest. Nasser was ashen, paler than any living person Jason had ever seen. He was completely limp, his limbs hanging lifelessly. His eyelids were open a fraction, each showing a slit of empty white.

Everything inside of Jason stopped. “Is he dead?”

Filo looked up. His face was grim and grimy, his eyes dark. “Jason—”

“
Is he dead?”
The words scraped up his throat. “I swear to God, Filo—”

“He’s not dead,” Filo said quickly. “But if we don’t get him help right now, he will be.”

Lee let the screen door crash behind her as she crossed the living room. Her heart was drumming and she couldn’t get her breath, like she was the one in danger. “Hello? Anyone?”

Clementine was trotting down the stairs. “What’s going on out there, Jason? I thought I heard screaming.” She froze when her eyes fell on Lee. “You’re back? Where’s Henry?”

“He’s coming. Look, Nasser’s hurt. I need Davis and—and Amelia.”

“Everyone’s in the basement.” Clementine was already halfway to the kitchen. She disappeared downstairs, but Lee didn’t follow. Instead, she returned to the porch. The boys had almost reached the house. She held the door open.

“What’s happening?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

Lee spun around. A woman dressed in a tank top and jeans was crossing the kitchen toward Lee, flanked by Davis and Alice. The woman looked to be in her late thirties, with an angular face, olive skin and remarkably light brown eyes. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun.

Before Lee had a chance to speak, the boys were on the porch and she was moving aside to let them in. Jason and Filo helped slide Nasser’s unconscious form off of Henry’s shoulders and onto the floral-printed couch.