So wrong, though amusing in a sick way. Even though postcards were out, maybe he could send a message.
:Sorry to leave so abruptly. Having quite the time, here. Catch you later.:
He had no idea if the message would get through, but he liked to imagine it would.
The net connection worked, too. Aran scrolled through the entertainment news until he got to a piece about Spark’s tour. Actually, it covered the whole FullD launch, but he skimmed the boring stuff.
There was a picture of Spark, unhappily sandwiched between those other two gamers, the Terabins. Some kind of rivalry going on there. She hadn’t looked very happy when she left the lunch panel stage at SimCon—though seeing him seemed to brighten her up.
As if. Spark Jaxley hadn’t given him another moment’s thought after she’d left. He’d been a diversion to her. One that hadn’t ended up being all that pleasant, once her goons got hold of his records. Their connection was over before it had even begun.
Aran tapped his fingers over the screen. Enough with the past; he had to sort out the future. How to open the gate, escape the queen, and leave the realm with a nice profit in his pocket.
What if opening the gate wasn’t such a good idea? Worry pinged the back of his brain, and he stuffed it back down. Thomas hadn’t gotten too tweaked over the idea, so it couldn’t be that bad—especially if the Realm of Faerie would die without that connection. Sure, the place was creepy, but it was magic, too. It didn’t deserve to be destroyed.
And after all, didn’t the human world need a little more enchantment?
Nine by Night: A Multi-Author Urban Fantasy Bundle of Kickass Heroines, Adventure, Magic#p#分页标题#e#
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Spark strode through the dim forest, the scent of cedar and loam filling her nose. In the half light every branch resembled a reaching arm, every bush a crouching creature ready to spring.
Unlike the first game level, this one didn’t open out into a meadow. Instead, she glimpsed a small clearing ahead. As she got closer, a dilapidated hut at the edge of the trees came into view; just the type of place one would find a wicked crone lying in wait to eat passing children.
The windows were dark, and cobwebs hung from the corners of the eaves, but a thin line of smoke trailed from the crooked chimney. Somebody was home.
“Hello?” Spark called, stepping into the clearing. “Anybody there?”
A night bird screeched nearby, making her jump, but there was no other reply. Still, she hadn’t just stumbled onto this place by accident. Feyland had its own weird logic, and she’d do best to follow it.
Holding her breath, as if that would make her presence quieter, she stepped onto the sagging porch. The boards creaked loudly under her feet.
The weathered door had a metal knocker in the center, depicting the head of a woman with long, flowing hair. The brass was cold under her fingers as Spark lifted the knocker, then let it fall with a thud that echoed through the hut.
Should she knock again? She started to lower her hand, and the knocker’s hair came to life, slithering around her wrist and binding her fast.
“Hey! Let go,” Spark cried as her hand was pulled back toward the woman’s face.
The metal eyes opened, blank and pupil-less, and the knocker smiled. Its teeth looked very sharp.
“There is a price for admittance,” it said, in a high, whispery voice.
Spark tugged at her hand, but the strands of metal held tight. Great. She was the captive of a freaky doorknocker.
“What kind of price?” she asked.
A sharp pain shot through her palm. With a yelp, Spark ripped her hand free. Blood trickled from a wound at the base of her thumb.
“You bit me.” She couldn’t quite believe it, despite the evidence. Despite the things Tam and Jennet had told her about how Feyland worked.
“Consider your admission paid.” The knocker closed its eyes, its hair coming to rest again in still metal curves.
Slowly, quietly, the door swung open.
The hut was much bigger inside than it had appeared from the outside. A vast marble hallway stretched away from the door, lined with columns and the glow of ornate lamp sconces. In a niche at the far end of the hall something shone silver—something round, with a stem at the top.
A silver apple.
There was a theme here. Get the apple, gain the next level of Feyland. Somehow, Spark didn’t think it would be as easy as sauntering down the hall and grabbing the fruit.
She set one booted foot on the marble floor, then quickly drew it back. Sharp blades flashed up from the floor, rising and falling in an unsynchronized rhythm. Each sword was three feet long, and wickedly honed. The air filled with the sound of steel snicking against steel. Sure enough, she’d activated the first defense system.