The Crucible, Book 1: Forged Steel

Chapter 2

Marc eased away from me, the colors in his eyes calming to their normal blue. "You saw that?" He pointed to his eyes.

When I didn't answer, he groaned and ran his hands through his hair. I watched him cautiously, trying to process what had just happened.

This is a dream. It has to be. I would wake up tomorrow in my bunk bed at school. Marc would already be up, studying or doing his daily one hundred sit-ups and fifty push-ups. I'd tell him about my dream, and we'd both laugh at the absurdity of it, and then we'd go to class. Or maybe I'd skip class, and he'd gripe at me for it.

This is a dream.

Maybe that would work on most people, but my brain wasn't easy to fool. I rubbed my forehead. My forearm burned with the movement, and I twisted it around. Ragged edges of skin clung to a bloody scrape, bits of black tar sticking in the wound. I never felt real, aching pain like this in my dreams.

This is real. I clutched the back of my head with both hands, dug my fingers into my hair until it hurt. My gut felt tense and cold.

"That's the only injury you have?" Marc asked.

I snapped my eyes up to him. Marc still stood several feet away from me, his arms folded over his chest. His eyes still looked like normal human eyes.

"Care to explain?" I asked again.

Marc scratched the scruff on his chin. "It depends."

"On what?"

"On what you saw."

I stared at him. "What I saw? Dude, I don't know what you're on, but I saw two really creepy shape-shifting monsters who probably wouldn't mind taking off our limbs." My breath caught in my lungs. "That just made me sound certifiable."

"Depending on who you talk to." Marc started walking up the alley, heading for the intersection.

I jogged after him, brushing my fingers on the brick wall beside me, hoping it would ground me in reality. The rough, grainy texture of mortar and old brick pulled at my fingers. We passed another Dumpster, and the sour smell made me gag. Again.

Yeah, definitely not a dream.

Marc paused at the end of the alley. He looked up and down the street. It looked deserted, and the shop windows were all dark. A stoplight stood right in front of us, the light just changing from green to yellow.

Marc hurried across the deserted street and turned, hugging the curb as he walked.

"Marc?" I caught up and fell in step on his right.

"It's pretty complicated, but—" he shrugged. "I should've known that this would happen. Stupid of

me to think I could escape the Underworld."

"Huh? What, you're involved in some kind of Mob stuff?"

Marc snorted. "If only."

Oh-kay. What was he into, that he acted like the Mob was a bunch of pansies?

He tugged at the hem of his hoodie, then tucked his hands into the pocket. "Underworld, with a capital U. Anyone who used that for the criminal world stole it from us."

"Sure. And who's 'us'?"

He glanced at me, and I got the feeling that he was judging me. Like I was back in grade-school doing a science fair. I'd won a lot of those easily. My throat tightened. Don't think I'll win whatever he's judging me on.