SAVE POINT 65
Loading A Band of Merry Men...100%
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Rosabella
"What's she doing here?"
Joy's voice.
Joy's scowl.
Seriously, this is how I'm greeted after busting myself (and my reputation) wide open to try to get out of this birdcage everyone's been keeping me in lately? I get an unimpressed, cross glower from the pink-haired girl?
...Really???
"No offense, but we kind of need you to stay alive," Joy continues, her eyes sparking like the sharpest saw blade and her gum snapping as she places a bored hand at her hip, "In case you haven't noticed, you fixed the darkness in part of The Game world but not all of it so—chop, chop! Back to work unless you want it creeping up on people like me again—"
"Always a pleasure to see you too, Joy," I say. Loud enough to try to cause a wince out of the girl.
But it doesn't work. She just raises a manicured eyebrow.
"You guys are serious?" she volleys, throwing down her hands before thinking better of it and crossing them again over the guard uniform of her chest, "You're going to let her come with us—through the Darken-infested Dark Woods and the West Side?"
Not getting the reaction it looks like she's hoped for, the girl huffs, turning to the side and throwing even more weapons into a satchel that's already filled with them. "If Rosabella dies, I will personally kill all of you, you know that?" I hear her grumble, and I have to stifle a chuckle.
'All of them.'
She means our group—the group. We're all back together again—well, I'd demanded that we all be back together again, does that count?
Rainer's in the corner, sharpening his ax on the edge of the bench seat by the far wall. Dormouse is fiddling with some sort of technology, anxiously shoving wires into a backpack with his eyes darting up towards mine every three minutes like I'm supposed to give him some direction. Mimi stands, ready and waiting, running her fingers on repeat up and down the straps of her backpack—a nervous tick even though her freckled face is smooth and calm like always?
We've commandeered a side chamber of the guard's locker room, and the air feels tense like the shadows draping the corners as everyone readies their gear, using the benches along the walls to sit their bags on. With all of us in here, the place feels smaller than it looks—cramped and...silent. Hardly anyone but Joy has said much. It's...a little unnerving. Afterall, this was my idea. Was it a good one?
I heave my own pack (mostly filled with food) off of my back, slipping my hand inside the zipper to check—
Yep.
Still there.
The three, glass mason jars of root powder with a picture of the plant taped to the front of one—a last minute request to the maids. This is all of the High Place's stash and, seeing it there in the folds of my backpack, I can let out a sigh of relief. I have enough to keep me feeling well while we find more. I won't let the darkness get to me. I zip up my pack again, slinging it over my shoulder when—
Thud, thud, thud!
An urgent, full-fisted knock on the metal door makes my heart lurch.
Not the guards again.
"We're going whether you like it or not!" I yell at the steel edifice, "You can stand down. We're taking care of it!"
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
"Let me in, small one!"
My breath catches.
It's not the guards. It's—
It's—Sparo?!
My fingers can't work fast enough to unbolt the lock. They scrabble over the cold metal, yanking till—
With a grunt, I heave the door open—
"Thank God, you made it in time," I breathe, pulling him inside the secure room, "I thought they'd stopped you."
And there's his face.
Deep, brown eyes. White teeth but—
But he's grimacing?
I lean in to hug the man, but his expression stops me.
Was it the kiss? ...Oh my God, it was the kiss. I made things awkward? We made things awkward between us? Please don't be because of the kiss! My brain races into panic mode. I guess he sees it on my face—
"Hey, hey!" he pulls me to him, his warm hands on my hips like the reassurance I need that every bit of our last encounter wasn't a mistake, "What's wrong?"
"You're face—" I blurt—admittedly, not my most eloquent statement—"You're wincing. Is it because of...the kiss?" I whisper the last part; it hisses through my teeth in an embarrassed admittance.
But the man shakes his dark head, "No, no, absolutely not. I'm just—Grand Dragon, I just—wish I didn't have to tell you this." He says it like he's suddenly walking on eggshells—like each world might bust him open.
"Tell me what?" My heart flutters in my chest for a different reason now, obliterating any concentration I have except on the agitated lines forming on his forehead.
"Uh..." he pauses, then, lifts the leg of his black jeans.
And it takes my mind a minute to understand what I'm looking at. It's a black tracker. Like they use in prisons on Earth. And it's strapped to his ankle.
"Sparo...what?" My eyes dart up to his, searching for an explanation, but not finding one in his melting, tortured expression. His face just keeps twisting and contorting!
"Ah—it was something stupid!" he finally spits, throwing his hands down, "I can't come with you, and it's all because of a stupid prank that they literally all took the wrong way—the assholes. And, now, I can't be outside of 10 miles from this place. If they even find me in here, they'll probably strap another one to my other leg—"
"Hey, slow down, slow down," I place two hands on his arms, trying to get him to breathe, "What did you do?"
And he winces again.
Harder this time.
I watch him swallow.
"That paperweight of a shar-pei bitch!" the dragon-non-dragon swears—translation: the high-and-mighty, wrinkled woman? "She thinks she runs this place! Putting on a grand show! Well," he chuckles a little, though he quickly tries to hide it with the back of his hand, "someone might have broken into her bedroom and painted a shaving cream beard on her while she was sleeping—"
"Sparo!" I exclaim, half-mortification, half-admiration.
"The bastards labeled it 'destruction of property'. I got some on her pillow—Goddammit. I believe the official charges also include theft of a necklace which I didn't do," he insists.
"Good—" I barely have the word out before—
"And dentures, which I did do." He winks at me, almost throwing me into a fit of giggles imagining the dignified woman running around her room trying to find her teeth. "...Also," he ponders, scratching his chin, "They haven't found the spaghetti in her favorite heels yet so..."
"You didn't!" I crow, not minding the volume of my exclamation even as the others look up. "Sparo, why didn't you tell me—about the tracker, I mean?" I ask, my voice lowering to more serious levels.
He ducks his head, embarrassed, running a hand through his hair. When his eyes dart up to mine, they're filled with a different emotion...that longing again that takes my breath away. "I kinda had some other things on my mind," he admits with a sideways smile.
Rainer's hulky form sidles up to us, interrupting any kind of response I might not be able to give in my current, flushed state. "Rosabella," the burly warrior barks, "if we're doing this, we need to move out, and now. The Higher Place Guards are going to be on our asses no matter what, but maybe we can get a head start."
I nod.
But my insides fall.
Because this means I have to leave Sparo. Again. I have to lead this expedition to get the root powder. I have do this alone—again. I thought he'd be with me...
"Is this goodbye for now?" I whisper, ducking a glance up at him with sudden emotion clogging my throat.
But the man's fingers tighten on my arm, and a sly grin spreads across his face. "They said I can only go ten miles out, but I'm going ten miles. Howabout I take you, m'lady, on an aerial tour of the beginning of your route? You'll see the dangers up ahead before they see you?"
"It's a good idea," Rainer nods gruffly, but, then, self-conscious that he was listening to us, swipes a swift hand across his beard, "Not that I was listening or anything—"
"Okay!" I chime breathlessly, excitement filling my core at the prospect of this adventure and a few more minutes with Sparo, "Let's go. Rainer, you start everyone out on foot, and we'll report back."
"I'm on it," the warrior says, ducking away.
And I'm left with Sparo.
Grinning at me.
And that warm sensation sizzling through every inch of my bones at his gaze.