The Faerie Guardian

Chapter Two

I watch for the entrance. It's never in exactly the same place, and it would be easy to miss if I didn't know exactly what to look for.

"There," I say, breaking the silence and pointing to a tuft of goldenrod flowers growing at the base of a tree. They glitter faintly in the darkness. I head straight for the tree and rest one hand against the smooth bark. With the other, I reach for my stylus.

"You guys live in trees?" asks Nate.

I don't bother replying. I set my stylus against the tree trunk and etch a few words—in a language I know Nate can't understand, despite the fact that he's trying to read over my shoulder—into the bark. A brilliant gold light fills the letters and then disappears, taking the words with it.

The tree's shape begins to change. Leaves are sucked into branches. Branches curl downward and merge into the trunk, which widens and changes color and texture. A set of double glass doors shimmer into view. Stairs push their way out from the roots. In a matter of seconds we're standing in front of the entrance to the Guild of Guardians.

"Um . . ." says Nate. "Perhaps you could punch me now, because I'm pretty sure I'm dreaming."

I roll my eyes, clutch the sleeve of his T-shirt, and pull him up the stairs. "Don't tempt me," I say. "And aren't you meant to pinch people who think they're dreaming?"

The glass doors slide open to reveal the night guard, Tank, blocking the way forward. "Evening, Vi," he says. "Bit late, isn't it?"

I gesture to Nate. "I'm in trouble."

Tank's eyes bore into the human boy beside me. "Yes. I can see that." He holds up his stylus. My fingers go to my neck and tug the chain out from beneath my shirt. I hold up my trainee pendant, and Tank scans it with his stylus. He steps aside and nods toward the stairs at the other end of the foyer.

"Thanks, Tank." I pull Nate across the open space. He tilts his head back to stare at the domed ceiling high above us. Clouds of purple, grey and midnight blue swirl within the dome. "Protective enchantments," I tell him.

We climb the stairs to the second floor, Nate trailing his hand over the leafy vines that twist around the banisters. At this time of night there aren't many people here—most trainees with evening assignments report to their mentors the following morning—and the only person we pass is Amon, the Guild's head librarian.

"Are those . . . dwarves?" Nate twists to look over his shoulder as we pass two short figures arguing in a corner. I can't think about answering him, because in about five steps we'll reach Tora's office door. Anxiety chews at my insides.

We stop. I tug a strand of hair over my shoulder and wind it around and around my finger. "Don't say anything," I tell him, and then I knock.

After a second of silence that lasts about half an eternity, I hear Tora's voice: "That had better be you, Vi."

I bite my lip and push the door open. Tora sits behind her desk, scrolls of reed paper piled neatly around her. She crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, watching me. Light shifts across her youthful face as the giant glow-bug on the ceiling squirms and settles down.

"It's called rule number one for a reason, Vi," she says, nodding her head toward the two chairs in front of her desk. I move to the one on the right. After a moment's hesitation, Nate sits down beside me. Tora doesn't acknowledge him, holding her hand out instead for my tracker band.

I unclip the strip of leather from my wrist and push it across the table. Tora smoothes it flat beneath her forefingers and whispers something under her breath. Tiny black markings appear on the leather. Markings that tell her whatever she needs to know about the assignment I just completed.