Kelly Mendig - Three Days to Dead

“I do love you,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s romantic love, or just because of our history, or if it even matters now if it’s mine or Chalice’s or gratitude for everything you’ve done for me—”

He silenced me with a finger across my lips—a simple touch that unleashed a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. His finger traced a line down my cheek and hooked beneath my chin. The subtle hint drew me forward the few inches he needed to kiss me.

It was tender and awkward and painful. The bars bit into my cheekbones and left little maneuvering room. The spicy taste of him, familiar and foreign, invaded my senses. His tongue probed forward. I parted my lips to allow entry, meeting his with mine. My hands tangled in his short hair.

As our mouths danced in what little space we had, a subtle warmth built low in my stomach. It spread lower. I clenched my thighs. The movement elicited a pleased growl from Wyatt.

Cold metal continued to press into my face. Cold, like a goblin’s skin.

Irrational fear drove me back, out of the safety of Wyatt’s embrace. His hurt surprise quickly turned to understanding.

“Evy?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I am. I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m glad you did.” And I was. Glad and terrified and turned on and a conflicting mess of other things. “A little awkward through the bars, though.”

“Maybe if we ask nicely, they’ll put us in the same cell.”

“Sort of a final request?”

Darkness flickered across his face. “I thought we were thinking positive here.”

I shivered at the chill in his voice, yet another reminder of my lack of clothes. My jeans were still on the other side of the cell. I padded across the cold cement to fetch them, then put them and my sneakers back on.

Fully clothed once again, I sat back down against the bars. Wyatt hadn’t moved and he didn’t reach for me. He was still waiting for an answer, and I had none to give. Positive or negative, I was tired of thinking. I wanted to lock myself into a room and let Wyatt hold me until this nightmare was over. I wanted to eat pizza and beer and donuts, and do tequila shots until I threw up. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life staring at him through iron bars, waiting for Kelsa to show up and the clock to run out, wondering if I’d escape or wither away.

“I’m thinking,” I said, turning to face him. “I’m thinking I’d like to get out of here.”

“Ditto, but unless we can shatter that crystal, or discover a hidden escape route, we seem to be stuck.”

“What happened to thinking positive?”

“I—”

The ground trembled, distant and soft, like a train passing too close. It couldn’t be an actual train—we’d have heard one passing sooner. The mini quake silenced itself after only a few seconds. Maybe a truck, or an airplane flying too low.

“That was odd,” Wyatt said.

Odd repeated itself a moment later. The second tremor was closer, stronger. The floor vibrated like an electric wire. Whatever it was, it seemed to be moving toward us. Sideways, upward, backward, I couldn’t tell. Through the cement floor.

The unfinished cement floor.

I whooped, pumping one fist into the air. Wyatt stared. “What, Evy?”

“The cavalry is here.”

The cell floor hummed and shimmied. The tightly packed particles began to thrum with kinetic energy. They pulled apart and shifted, like quicksand. I backed to the corner, careful to not get sucked into the maelstrom. A hand formed, the size of my leg. It braced on the unmoving section of the floor and pulled a second hand out of the liquid cement. A familiar face coalesced. Basketball-sized eyes blinked at me, but did not see. Only sensed.

“Smedge,” I said.

“Stony. ”

“How did you find us?”

“Know scent. Spells … cannot block.”

“But why?” Wyatt asked. “What are you doing here?”

Smedge grumbled, a familiar sound of dislike. “Save. Sent.”

“By whom?”

The bridge troll grumbled again, but did not reply.

“Who sent you to save us, Smedge?” I asked. I didn’t dare hope it was true, that we were on the verge of getting out of there. Hope was a dangerous thing. Like gargoyles, the trolls had always presented themselves as a neutral race. Stories about trolls hiding under bridges and eating children are highly exaggerated.

Smedge curled his stony lips in some attempt at a smile. “Amalie. Friend.”

“Amalie?” I repeated. The sprite Queen was sending trolls to find us? I recalled yesterday’s conversation with Smedge about Amalie. He said she was consolidating her power in preparation for choosing sides. Had she seen this coming, or was she working with Tovin? Sprites and elves were distant cousins after all.

“Friend.”

“Smedge, do you trust her?” I asked.

“Yes. Trust. Friend. Save Stony. Save Truman. Save world.”

Save world? Gee, no pressure.

“Can you get us out of here?” Wyatt asked.

“Trust me. Must.”

“We trust you,” I said.

Smedge’s head lowered back toward the floor, flattening out until it appeared to be little more than an anthill. His eyes disappeared as his mouth opened and expanded. Wider until it was a three-foot hole in the floor, outlined by cement hands. I peered over the edge. It descended into complete darkness. Into the heart of the earth and the world that trolls inhabited.

I looked at Wyatt. He seemed dubious, but shrugged, leaving the choice up to me.

“I’ve always wanted to see how the other side lived,” I quipped.

“Just don’t forget to come over here for me.”

“Never. See you down there.”

I inhaled and held it, summoning up the courage it took to leap off a cliff with no sign of the bottom. I closed my eyes, stepped off the edge of Smedge’s lip, and plummeted into his belly.

25:12

Free-falling into utter darkness turned into a sensation of floating. At some point, I stopped moving. Pitch surrounded me. I tried to move, but couldn’t. I opened my mouth to scream, only to realize that I couldn’t breathe. Something filled my mouth, thick like gel, but with no taste or actual consistency. It was in my ears and nose.

Great plan, Evy. You’re going to suffocate in the gullet of a troll .

I tried to spit out the offending substance. It was like forcing air out of my mouth without actually exhaling. My lungs ached. I tried to move, claw, fight, anything but hover there. Alone.

Wyatt! I screamed in my mind. Was he down here with me, slowly choking to death on some viscous fluid with no real properties? Had it all been another of Tovin’s tricks?

My chest spasmed. Lungs burning, I prepared to open up and suck in that fluid and just end it all. Then floating turned to actual movement. Free-falling again, this time headfirst, toward light. I held on, fighting against the need to inhale.

I hit something hard. My left shoulder burned and I cried out, which forced an intake. I coughed on the fluid and something else—air. I inhaled greedily, alternately spitting out the mucus, which was foul-smelling and gluelike now that I was … somewhere else.

Rubbing the mess out of my eyes with equally messy hands, I tried to get a look at my surroundings. I felt dirt beneath my knees and caked on my skin. Mixed in with the stink of the goop was the heavy odor of earth. Dark shapes coalesced in the gloom.

Something slammed into my back. I fell over again, this time with Wyatt tangled up in my arms. Dirt scraped my elbows and face. I grunted. He wasn’t coughing. I rolled him onto his back. He was slathered in the same clear goo from head to foot, but his eyes were shut. He was perfectly still, and not breathing.