I didn’t see why they had to wear the nasty things. Nathan had tested how they actually kept tabs on the pixies by running a tracking hex check on them, which had come back clean of any actual tracking technology. Delving deeper into how they were meant to work, he’d clamped one to his pinkie finger and run diagnostics with a device he’d “borrowed” from Naomi. According to him, it hadn’t seemed to do anything at all before he breached the perimeters of the interdimensional bubble. That was when the beacon had started to go off, though he’d only triggered it for a split second. So, unless I wanted to do circuits in the orchard, those rings would need to come off.
The three pixies banded together and linked arms in the air. Their cuttlefish spots shifted to a warm shade of pink, showing their approval and their promise to behave.
“Then sit on the desk, so I can get rid of the rings.”
They perched on the edge of the desk like a novelty ornament, their legs dangling. I took a seat and pulled open the top drawer of the desk, removing a small tin box. To the unsuspecting eye, it looked like it might contain art supplies or sewing needles, but it really contained my lockpicking kit—one of my uncle’s, actually, and it had proven to be the perfect tool for unlocking the ring mechanisms.
“Sit still!” I whispered, as Spartacus swung his legs to and fro like a little kid. He made a rude “ooh” sound, but still did as I’d asked. Taking out a razor-thin file and a pair of tweezers, I jammed the former into the hinge of the ring and pushed up until the minuscule pin in the center of the ring’s lock loosened. Grabbing the top with the tweezers, I lifted it cleanly out and dropped it in the box. The metallic clink made me smile. Yes, this was definitely against the rules, but it felt right to free them from their manacles, if only temporarily. In fact, I wished it could’ve been permanent, but Victoria would definitely notice that. After doing the same for Boudicca and Cynane, I stowed the rings away in the box with the tools and put them back in the drawer.
“Hide in here until we’re outside,” I instructed, stretching out the pouch of my hoodie. The pixies saluted, chattering excitedly to one another, and slipped inside. “And no noise until it’s safe!”
Boudicca chirruped in reply. I knew her tone, subtly different from Cynane’s or Spartacus’s. The trio fell silent, curled up in my hoodie pouch like the world’s peskiest joeys. I checked the clock to find that twenty minutes had gone by, and I made a silent promise to stay out for at least an hour. Even if I only managed to jog for half of that time.
With that, I headed out. The Institute hallways lay eerily empty, peppered with the slightest hint of bass from somewhere else in the residential annex. I heard girlish laughter erupt behind one door as I passed and thought of Genie. We hadn’t exactly come up with a plan to get her alone with Nathan, but an opportunity had presented itself, and I was freaking glad that Genie hadn’t chickened out at the last moment and hurried after me. She was the most fearless person I knew, but when it came to Nathan… Well, I guessed that took a different kind of courage. I’d hear all about it later, no doubt.
Pressing on through the Institute, I let myself out into the gardens and kept walking up the central path to the far gate. Overhead, the vibrant sunset leaked into the inky blue-black of night, soon to be swallowed up entirely. On my left, a chilly wind rustled the leaves of the pear trees, and I heard the hushed whispers of people hiding behind the sandstone sanctuary of the walled gardens. Friday night was date night for everyone but me, it seemed.
Sliding back the bolt on the gate, I paused for a few seconds, filled with the same bizarre guilt that I felt when I left a store and knew I hadn’t stolen anything, but still wondered if a whole rack of clothes had somehow jumped into my bag. Except in this case, I actually did have contraband on me.
Satisfied that no hunters were going to come and lock me up, I left the Institute’s perimeter and broke into an ungainly jog across the open fields. My knees jarred and my feet couldn’t find a rhythm, but I pushed on, putting more distance between myself and the Institute. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to move faster, knowing I probably looked like the bottom-ranking horse in a serious case of dressage gone wrong. After a hundred yards or so, I tapped on my hoodie pouch.
“You can come out now, but remember—dim those lights and stick to me like glue. If you sense anyone, then puff out of sight.”
The pixies shot out of my hoodie, nudging and smacking each other. It had been a bumpy ride, made worse by their cramped conditions. But they soon got over it, relishing the freedom of flying in the open air. They turned loop-the-loops like fairy dancers, plummeting to the ground before pulling up at the last second and spiraling high in a mesmerizing twist of wings and light. They had an elegance that my running skills desperately lacked, though I hoped I got points for trying.
Engaging my inner crab, I stumbled along the uneven ground, using the moon as my spotlight to avoid rabbit holes and stones. With no pre-planned route, I decided to head for the small church where I’d dug up Fergus’s bones. After all, this was essentially a replay of the night I’d realized I had zero stamina whatsoever. Once I reached the church, I knew I’d find a flat path to follow.
“This … really… freaking… sucks!” I gasped five minutes later, my lungs on fire.
Boudicca fluttered alongside me, pumping her arms and cycling her legs like she was running in mid-air. She flashed me a cheeky grin and gave a whoop of encouragement. The difference was, she didn’t have to wade through lumpy grass and every other potential pitfall cloaked in the semi-darkness. Still, I appreciated the sentiment. Cynane and Spartacus joined Boudicca in pretending to run, and I found myself feeling even more determined to push on. All I needed was the Chariots of Fire theme song, the one my uncle used to play through a loudspeaker whenever the SDC had a sporting event.
Eventually, I hit a shaky sort of momentum. I nearly rolled my ankle on a rock and the ricochets from every footfall splintered up my shins, but every time I slowed down, I got a whack on the back of the head from Boudicca, a jab in the ribs from Cynane, or a tiny slap in the face from Spartacus. They turned out to be far more effective than any trainer, mostly because they had absolutely no compunction about using violence to get results. They kept me moving until I couldn’t even see the Institute anymore.
I’d taken a different path than the one I’d taken on gravedigging night, venturing toward the cliff trail instead of heading inland. Below me, the waves crashed against the rocks and I heard seagulls calling in the moonlit sky. I made sure to stay far enough away from the edge to avoid tumbling to my death if I tripped on my own clown feet. The lactic acid building in me felt like fire ants crawling through my muscles, but my mind felt clearer than it had in a long while. I didn’t have to think about anything other than the thud thud thud of my sneakers on the dirt path. And for a while there, I was at risk of thinking Genie had a point about the perks of running.
I ran a little further to a lookout spot, which featured a solitary bench dedicated to an “Irene Cadman,” and stopped for a breather. I braced for the expected onslaught from my tiny trainers, but it didn’t come. I was about to turn to figure out what was keeping them when I heard a low, menacing growl drift from a thicket of gorse bushes that bordered the lookout spot.