“Move faster,” I bit out as I all but shoved my friends ahead of me.
The gargoyle led us to the left. Other kids from the House of Unmentionables joined the line as we walked through the different groups. I did a quick tally and counted thirteen besides us.
Mostly there were goblins like Gregory, but a couple smaller trolls and two gargoyles who looked almost human compared to the pale creatures leading us. As we approached the wall, the house symbols etched into the wall glowed a brilliant green, and the unseen door marked by the tree opened up, offering up nothing but darkness.
The gargoyle snapped its clawed fingers, and fire bloomed over its hand as if it was a living torch.
“This way,“ the gargoyle intoned. We let the other kids go through first. I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder at the remaining kids in the main hall. Most had been removed from the room, their gargoyle butlers ushering them off to their various houses.
Ethan’s blue eyes locked with mine, and he gave me the slightest nod. He’d helped us, and I wanted to believe that he was with us still. But he was the one pointing out that things were different here. That this wasn’t the trials.
Orin leaned close. “In the end, Ethan is out for Ethan. He is from the House of Wonder, Wild. Don’t forget that. They rule, and they don’t play nice with others.”
I gave Orin a quick nod, hating that it felt as though a part of us was being lost. If Orin was right, we were back to the beginning with Ethan which meant one thing, and one thing only.
If it came down to saving his own hide or protecting the group, I damn well knew which path he’d take. But I’d taken too long staring at the boy who’d kissed me and claimed me as a date just the day before.
A shiver rolled across me, and a voice I didn’t want inside my head pulled my eyes from Ethan to the balcony and the fierce scowl waiting for me there.
Where the hell do you think you’re going?
I saluted the Sandman, noting the way his body tensed ever so slightly, his hands gripping the balcony railing—the only indication he was pissed—then touched the coin on my chest as I spoke softly, not sure if he could hear me or just read my lips. “Headed to my house barracks.” I paused and then followed it up by saying, “Something is off. It isn’t safe here. I’m staying with my crew.”
And really, what could he say to that? He likely sensed the danger too. Besides, he knew as well as I did that I had an affinity for the House of Unmentionables—just like I did for all of the other houses—so I fit in here as well as anywhere. Even if I had chosen the House of Shade when it came to picking a token.
A girl did what she had to do to keep her crew safe, and right now, that meant taking an unexpected path into the bowels of this rattler den.
Before the Sandman could snap his fingers at me, Daniella drew his attention away from us, inadvertently buying me the moment I needed to slide through the doorway after my crew.
The hallway beyond it was gloomy and looked nothing like the main room. There was no glitter, no beauty, no stunning architecture. No magical elements that left me wowed. The hallway was narrow, damp, and made with crumbling cinder blocks and cement. Stale air clung to my skin, sticky with the humidity and lack of air circulation.
“They really didn’t put a lot into this, did they?” Wally said from somewhere ahead of me.
“Cats on fire, this place stinks,” Pete mumbled. “Like bums and feet, man. Bums and rotten feet.”
“It is the route that goes to the Unmentionables. It’s never cleaned. We are not like that, of course, but no one would see us otherwise,” Gregory said. Resignation was heavy in his voice, and if I could see him, I knew his oversized ears would be drooping a little even as the skin around his eyes tightened.
“We see you, Gregory,” I said quietly, knowing they could all hear me. “You aren’t like this, you’re right. This needs to change.”
To say the Unmentionables were treated like crap by the rest of the magical world was an understatement.
“How do you know so much about this place, Gregory?” Orin asked. “Have you been here before?”
“Once,” Gregory said and did not follow that up with anything else.
The tunnel spiraled downward, and the sound of dripping water accompanied us now, along with the growing stench.
Someone ahead of us gagged, and the sound rippled through the air, setting off a few sympathetic gaggers and . . . the sound of someone going the full distance.
“Stay to the left,” Orin said. “You’re going to want to avoid that.”
From up ahead, someone whispered, “Sorry.”
Jesus, if I’d known just how bad this was going to be, I might have pushed for another house to fake it with. Then again, no one would notice us here. Or if they did, I doubted they’d care—they’d be too busy trying to avoid the nasty stuff. And it might only be for a night. If the feeling of danger passed, then we could slip back to our respective houses.
But that would leave Gregory in this shithole by himself. And I wasn’t sure I could do that either. No, I was sure I couldn’t.
Ahead of us, I could just make out the pale gargoyle in the lead, his hand glowing with flames that reflected off the wet concrete walls and the occasional clump of growing dark green things that shrunk away from the light.
“Spiro dravia,” Wally said, pointing to the green stuff. “Prefers darkness and damp conditions. The spiro dravia plant is multi-functional in its uses, from spells to salad greens, and even some milder poisons. Interestingly enough, it does have a sense of consciousness, at least when it comes to its survival.”
The plant pulled away from the flames every time the gargoyle’s hand drew close, and a low hissing sound emanated from it like a pissed off cat.
“I’m not eating that. Who wants to eat a salad that knows you’re eating it?” Pete mumbled. “I’ll stick with my Snickers bars, thanks.”
I couldn’t disagree with him.
“Why would the House of Wonder make this place so bad?” Pete asked quietly. “It’s more like a dungeon than accommodations for coworkers. Holy cats, did you see the size of that roach?”
He danced sideways to avoid the larger than life bug.
That last question slipped out of Pete as the tunnel opened into a circular room with ten doors on the periphery—doors that might as well have led to cells for all the effort that had been put into them. Gregory went to the one immediately to our left, and I brought up the rear, pushing the others along behind him.
I knew the answer already to Pete’s question. It was simple but I kept my mouth shut.
The room we went into was as dank and dark as the rest of the tunnel, with a slight glow to the ceiling, which was the only source of light I could see. And the place was cold. Very cold, as though it had never had warmth inside of it, not one fire, not one candle. Gregory rubbed his thin arms, and even in the dim light, goose bumps were clearly visible.
As soon as we were all in, Gregory shut the door behind us and leaned on it and answered Pete’s question.
“They do it because they don’t want anyone from this house—or any other house, for that matter—to gain any sort of power. It’s about control. It’s always about control. There are far more people born in our circles than any other house in terms of sheer numbers, yet we have the fewest recruits that go to the Culling Trials. And fewer yet that actually graduate through the academy and end up working in our world. The rest live on the outskirts of society—like the white gargoyles. Forced into servitude to one of the other houses.”