by Ken Brosky
“Alice.”
I ignored Chase, hurrying into the bathroom. The bottle of Jump was still sitting next to the sink. I grabbed it, fumbling with the lid.
“Alice!”
I twisted the lid off, but before I could grab one of the pills, Chase was out of his wheelchair, lunging toward me, his heavy body grasping desperately at my sweater and pulling both of us onto the tile floor. He landed on my legs, grabbing for my arms.
“No,” he whispered, tearing the bottle from my hand. A few pills spilled onto the floor. I gave up the bottle and Chase tossed it into the toilet. My shaking hands fumbled for the pills that had spilled. He grabbed one of my wrists with a sweaty hand. My ribs ached and I rolled onto my side. He immediately took advantage of the moment, grabbing my other arm and squeezing.
“Chase!” I said, tears burning my eyes. “I need one! It’s the only way I can get through this!”
“You don’t need these,” he hissed, his fingers pulling at mine. He was on top of me now, his hot breath splashing over my face. I had my eyes closed, unwilling to look at him. Unwilling to let him see the shame in my eyes.
“I can’t, Chase. I need—”
“You need to trust yourself, Alice.” His hand closed around mine. “Don’t put your trust in this drug. Put your trust in yourself!”
I opened my eyes. Tears streamed out. I’d expected him to be glaring at me, angry and ashamed of me. But his face was warm, his muscles soft. Sweat lined his forehead. I opened my hand. He plucked the pill and tossed it in the toilet.
“I love you, dragon slayer,” he whispered.
“I love you, too,” I said, hugging him tightly. There was a flash of pain in my ribs, then it began to retreat into a dull ache. Chase’s warmth seemed to infect my body right down to the tips of my fingers. This was what I was fighting for. This was why I had to succeed.
“Come on,” I said, helping him back into his wheelchair. Briar was standing beside the bed, holding all the torches. He set them on Chase’s lap.
“What do you have in mind?” Chase asked.
“You’re going to lead everyone to safety through the underground tunnel,” I said, drawing a steel saber on the floor. I pulled it out, weighed it in my hand, then tossed it on the bed. “The secret tunnel comes out somewhere near the town. You can leave the torches at the end of the tunnel to make sure the lions can’t follow. Get everyone to the safety of the train station.”
“Alice …” He shook his head, looking down at his lap. “I can’t carry a torch and wheel myself.”
“That is where I come in, my dear boy,” Briar said. He disappeared with a little popping noise. A second later, I felt him brush past me. He took the handles of the wheelchair, pushing Chase to the door.
“Wait,” I ordered, pulling out my pen. I colored in the fabric at the end of each torch so that they glowed.
“What are you doing?” Chase asked.
“Something I learned in a cave.” I brought one torch to the stone wall and scraped the edge of the magic pen’s nib along the stone. Sparks rained down on the end of the torch, igniting it. The small flame burned a golden yellow, flickering a few times as it caught on the rest of the fabric and grew brighter. I handed it to Chase. “Magical torches work better than regular torches.”
Chase smiled. “Guaranteed or your money back.”
I leaned down, kissing him. “Be careful. Both of you.”
Briar wheeled Chase back into the foyer. A moment later, I hear Chase barking orders with a shaky voice. I retied my shoelaces, then watched them walk past my door and into the secret passage underneath the grand staircase. I met eyes with Chase one last time, fighting the urge to go to him.
I see the death of your loved ones …
Seth burst through the open doorway, tearing away his jacket and throwing it in a corner. He was out of breath, frantic, panicked, his black Metallica t-shirt stained with sweat under the armpits. He looked at me, then looked at the wooden sword. “Uh … for real?”
“Seth, get out of here!”
He shook his head. “You’re going to need someone just in case …” He swallowed hard. “In case Sanda is in cahoots with the prince. Maybe I can distract her, or talk her down. You need my help.”
I sighed. The sound of claws scraping on the giant front doors echoed in the foyer. There was no time left to second-guess the plan. No time to change course.
It was time to face the Malevolence.
Chapter 11: Briar
So there we were, at the bottom of the secret staircase, making our way down the looming tunnel that would lead us far away from the castle. The farther the better, in my opinion. It could have taken us all the way to France and I would have been happy. I had no intention of being tonight’s dinner for any of those foul lions.
Of course, Chase being the brave and valiant fool that he was, he had to go and bring up the rear of our retreating party. Which meant I had to bring up the rear, too.
“Keep moving,” he said in a low voice. I wheeled him on the uneven gravel floor of the tunnel, doing my best to keep my anxious legs from quadrupling out speed. We needed to stick together so we could all benefit from the light of the magic flames. Thankfully, the rest of his compatriots were too panicked about the entire situation to take notice of the fact that Chase’s wheelchair was moving without his help—they had bigger worries on their minds. I was giving us a little distance so that I wouldn’t accidentally turn visible to the nearest frightened kids. And they were all frightened, shivering like wet cats and unable to keep their heads darting from left to right with each frantic step.
The older gentleman—Mr. Whitmann—had agreed to lead us, clutching a torch in one shaking paw and keeping us all moving at a fair pace. The others were huddled close together, with two of the boys and two of the girls holding their torches with equally shaking paws. The light danced on the stone walls, and every handful of steps someone screamed, sure that the flickering shadows were something more.
“Chase, what the heck were those things?” asked Margaret. She looked most frightened of all, but she’d agreed to carry one of the torches regardless. A true test of bravery if ever there was one.
“They were lions,” Chase said. “Big, big lions.” He glanced over his shoulder. Instinct told me to do the same. The path behind us was lit a just teensy bit by Chase’s torch, but past that there was quite a bit of darkness. Darker than a cloudy night in the woods.
“We’re talking to the American embassy about this,” Mr. Whitmann said. “No, we’re talking to the, the, the president of the United States about this!”
“I’m sorry for cheating,” Scott said. “I’m really, really sorry. I just want to put that out there.”
“We should be quiet,” Mrs. Satrapi whispered. “The lions—”
“Mom! We have torches. They’re going to find us! They’re going to kill us!”
“Reassure them,” I whispered to Chase. He nodded, clearing his throat.
“We just need to keep up this pace. We’ll reach the end of the tunnel, and then we’ll find the safety of the train station. Alice says there’s a train leaving soon. We’ll be safe then.”
Behind us came just about the most terrifying roar I’d ever heard in my life. Chase leaned back, and I spun him in the chair, pulling him backward.
“Faster!” Chase ordered over his shoulder. “Faster, faster, faster!”
“The tunnel is narrowing up ahead,” Scott called out. “You sure this leads out?”
Chase glanced up at me. I nodded. “It’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”
More roars from the darkness. A cold shiver ran down my spine, right into my bushy tail.
“Oh dear,” I whispered, my keen rabbit eyes cursing me with the gift of seeing what was just out of the orange glow of the torchlight.
Lions. Four of them, from my count. Scary as all get-out, skulking in the darkness. Drool hung from their jowls, glistening in the torchlight. Boy howdy, it
never came easy.
“Briar,” Chase whispered.
I clammed up, ears pulling back. As long as the torches were lit …
Suddenly, one of the girls screamed! … Or at least, it sounded at first like a girl. I glanced over my shoulder: there was a commotion in the group, and for good reason.
“Skulls!” Mrs. Satrapi cried out. “There are skulls everywhere!”
She was right. The walls had narrowed because they were lined with skulls. Skulls and oodles of bones piled five feet high on either side. A veritable wall of bones, decorated with a row of chest-high skulls smiling at our misfortune!
“Dear me,” I whispered. “I suppose I should have explored this place with a flashlight. Well, now we know why the prince loves tourists.”
“Just keep moving,” Chase called out. “The fire will keep them at bay. We can …”
“Chase!” Miguel shouted. “My flame went out!”
“Then move faster!” Chase called. I wheeled him backward as fast as I could. He kept the torch held out, and every few steps one of the lions tested his bravery, stepping into the light and changing into a human being. An ugly human being, all snarls and frowns with just a hint of lion to him, like a distorted blurry image in an old photograph.
We hurried deeper into the catacombs. Every twenty or so feet, the walls opened up a bit, revealing more and more tunnels. And lions. They were moving parallel with us, following us on the other side of the walls of bone. I pulled Chase faster, guiding his wheels over a puddle of rancid-smelling water.
“They’re trying to cut us off!” Scott shouted. I turned right to see what all the fuss was about: the furless drug-addled fool was right! The tunnel wall split open for about five feet, held up with rotting horizontal boards that had been nailed between the old wooden beams holding up the ceiling. Between the boards was first a lion and then a man as Margaret’s torchlight happened upon him. He growled, baring his teeth and disappearing deeper into the side tunnel.
“Keep going,” Chase ordered. His voice had grown shakier but the torch in his hand remained steady, its golden flame still burning bright.
“My torch is out!” Rachel cried out, her voice as shrill and frantic as I’d ever heard. I looked over my shoulder, hoping against hope that the torchlight was still bright enough to protect us. But the situation was even worse than expected! We had only two functioning torches left: Mr. Whitmann’s and Chase’s. As if sensing our urgency, Chase’s flame began to shrink, the darkness behind us closing in.
Along with one big, hungry lion.
“I see the exit!” Mr. Whitmann called out. “Fast now, kids! Old Mr. Whitmann’s gonna get you through this!”
Chase and I exchanged a wary look. “Just keep us going,” he murmured.
“Right-o.” I pulled hard, wrenching his left wheel from a slushy bit of earth where another pool of water had gathered. Water dripped from the ceiling.
“Come on, Chase!” Mr. Whitmann called.
“Put the torch at the exit!” Chase called over his shoulder. “Get everyone moving! I’m coming!”
The bones gave way to slimy-looking limestone. As I looked over my shoulder, I could see the other torch sitting not more than ten feet away, right in front of the tunnel end. I could see trees beyond the torch. We were going to make it!
I remember thinking this very thing when I realized that the darkness to my left and right was not made of limestone at all.
Suddenly, three of the lions were leaping out of the darkness. The side tunnels! I let go of Chase, ducking low. The lions bounced off each other, growling and swiping at my beautiful vest. I pushed Chase forward, unable to stifle a whimper at the thought of even so much as a thread being pulled from my wardrobe. Or a hair being pulled from my body, for that matter.
“Spin me!” Chase ordered. “Keep that last one off my back!”
I reached for the handles of his wheelchair, dodging the snapping jaws of the nearest lion. I spun Chase and he held out the torch, turning our three sneak-attackers into human beings once again. They stepped back, pinned between Chase’s flame and the one at the exit.
“Hold on!” I said, lifting myself up on the handles of my compatriot’s wheelchair with all the grace of a beginning gymnast. I tucked my powerful rabbit legs into my body and—when I felt the fur on my butt puff up—kicked with all my might. Both feet connected with the fourth lion, pushing him back into the darkness. I landed on the rancid-smelling puddle and pushed forward with all my might. Chase held the dwindling torch like a jousting lance, aiming it right at the three terrified Corrupted fools. One stepped onto the torch at the entrance, his pants catching fire. The other two fell away and Chase swung his torch at them, igniting their clothes.
Poof! Poof! Poof!
Chase reached down, grabbing the torch that had been lying at the entrance. “Watch it,” he told me, holding both torches out so there was no danger of their flames harming me. A grateful gesture under the stressful circumstances, I had to admit.
But we weren’t quite finished yet! The fur on my butt alerted me to incoming danger once again. I spun Chase around, hoping the brave fool had enough in him for one more act of heroism. Perhaps he did, but the sight of the lion coming at him, the torchlight only transforming creature partway so that he was a half-human monster of nightmarish proportions … why, it was enough to cause both of us to scream at the tops of our lungs! Chase threw one of the torches with a side-arm precision only a star baseball player could accomplish. The dying flames caught the cuff of the lion-man’s shirt, igniting him on fire.
Poof!
We remained at the entrance a moment, breathing hard. Chase gripped the last torch tightly, staring at the dark tunnel.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I told him, turning him around to face one very frightened-looking group of very fragile human beings. “And I’m worried too, my boy. But we must finish our role in this macabre nightmare.”
“But I love her, Briar. What if she needs our help?”
The torch answered for me, its golden flame shrinking and turning a crimson red before disappearing entirely, leaving only hot embers at the end of the stick.
Darkness consumed the tunnel.
Chapter 12: Alice
I watched the lions disappear into the secret passage behind the grand staircase, not surprised they would go for the group instead of the armed hero.
But Scar … he had other plans. He sat on his haunches beside the large front doors of the keep, staring up at me. I stood at the top of the stairs, clenching my wooden sword. I’d taped my magic pen to the tip using the medical tape from Chase’s little first-aid kit.
Seth stood behind me, peering out from over my shoulder. “Uh … is he coming after us?”
“Eventually,” I said. “But right now, we have bigger fish to fry.”
We passed through the double doors, closing them behind us and lowering the iron latch. That might hold him a bit so I can have some pleasant one-on-one time with the prince. But if you die—no! No! Don’t think like that. Not now.
We passed Sanda’s room. The door was open, her room empty. Seth cursed under his breath.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll get her.” I led the way up the winding staircase, aware of the pain in my leg and the fatigue deep within my bones. But it was a distant feeling, vague and undefined. The pain wouldn’t hold me back now.
“Sanda!” Seth called out at the top of the stairs. The door to the prince’s lair was open, and from inside I could see that all of the candles were lit, the fireplace roaring. Sanda, wearing a pair of blue pajama bottoms and a white X-Men t-shirt, stood beside the fireplace.
Right next to Sam Grayle. He had a gun in his right hand, pointed at the floor. I felt a strange chill run over me. I hadn’t expected this. I should have, but for some reason the idea of Grayle with a gun, holding an innocent girl hostage … it just felt out of character.
Seth hurried over to Sanda before I could stop him. Grayle watch
ed with a bemused expression, keeping the gun lowered.
“You were right,” Sanda sobbed into Seth’s shoulder. “My father …”
Seth shushed her, squeezing her tight. “We’re here. And we’re totally going to save you. Well, Alice is. I’m going to just try and stay out of the way.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I murmured. The door shut behind me. The candles fluttered, shadows dancing on the brick walls. “Nice to see you again, Grayle.”
Grayle was uncharacteristically silent, watching Seth pull Sanda away from the fireplace. He turned to me, glancing at my wooden sword. He raised an eyebrow.
I shrugged. “Sometimes, you have to play your weakness.”
“Never in the history of the hero,” Grayle said, “has one been successful playing their weakness.”
A hand jutted out from the mound of dirt on the far end of the room. The prince emerged, his long black cape smattered with bits of black earth. More fell from his disheveled hair. More yet clung to the pale skin of his face. In his left hand was an old sword, much heavier-looking than a traditional saber. His other hand was still half-destroyed, the missing fingers replaced by slender shadows.
A crack ran down his face, as if his entire body was made of clay and had been left in the furnace too long.
“You need a new body,” I said, stepping to the side. I let the tip of my sword—and the nib of my magic pen along with it—drag on the floor.
“It is but a shell,” the prince conceded, smiling. Another crack emerged along a wrinkle just below his left eye. “A vessel. By now you must know what will happen tonight.”
“You’re going to take Sanda’s body.”
He glanced over at Sanda. She cringed, pushing herself into Seth so fiercely that she nearly knocked him over. “No,” Vontescue said. “Not now. I will take your body instead.”
