Chapter 25. Eloise
Eloise
Like a cat, I maneuver my body in the air and land on the wooden floor with my knees bent and my legs in a crouch. But despite my efforts, my hands burn and my ankles feel like they got shoved up into my legs.
I lift myself to a standing position, and realize I sprained my ankle. I let out a yelp as I put weight on it.
Grayson catches my elbow. “You all right?”
But all I say is, “How much time do we have left?”
Grayson looks behind me to the wooden wall clock. “Twenty-three minutes.”
We’ve used up half our time, and I have no idea how I’m going to balance on a sprained ankle. As though the beam sensed my frustration and was laughing at me, there’s a creaking sound.
Our heads snap up, just as the beams and the pouch above them shoot up an additional ten feet in the air. My heart sinks and I look at Grayson.
But he only seems more determined. “Screw it. I’m going back up,” he says, shoving the paintbrush into my hands.
“Grayson, you got your pouch,” I say. “It should be me who goes back up.”
But he doesn’t stop. He just jogs toward the thirty-foot stairs. “Like I said, I got us into this, Claws, and I’ll damn well get us out. Plus, I’m betting this room’s after-hours security system is ten times worse than a bucking balance beam. Lesser of the two evils and all that.”
Damn this ankle. All I can do is watch from the ground as Grayson reaches the top of the platform. High. Way too high.
Strangely, he doesn’t look scared. The opposite, really. Grayson looks strong and confident like he’s in his element, the same way musicians own a stage. And it resonates with me in a way that feels comforting. Attractive even. Not that I’d ever admit that.
His eyes momentarily flit to me. “Not now, Claws,” he says.
I startle. “Excuse me?”
“Do not think about me that way right now. I can’t be distracted.”
My eyes widen. Embarrassment is an understatement. I’m pretty sure I turn a shade of red never to have been recorded on human skin.
“I most definitely was not thinking—”
He cuts me off. “That’s better,” he says as though he’s aware of my shift from attraction to embarrassment.
My mortification is cut short, however, because Grayson steps onto my beam in one sure stride.
He takes off, moving fast, and the beam holds steady.
But as he nears the end, our luck runs dry and it shakes.
Only it doesn’t stop this time, it just keeps going, getting more violent.
And with zero caution, he launches himself in the air.
His hand tightens around the pouch, but he doesn’t immediately fall back onto the beam like I expect.
Which is when I realize he’s not holding the pouch at all, but the thin rope above it.
There is a faint snapping sound and the rope rips out of the ceiling, slamming him onto the shaking wood, stomach first.
His arms wrap around the beam, but they don’t find purchase, and then he’s falling again.
I reach for my magic to help him, but I’m bone dry and the effort yanks at my insides like an overstretched rubber band.
Only Grayson doesn’t smash into the ground.
He stops midair, like someone pressed pause on his descent.
Which is when I realize the ends of the thin rope are in each of his hands, the rest of it craftily looped over the beam.
It’s too flimsy to hold his weight for more than a moment without splitting, but it does its job in slowing him down, cutting his fall in half.
He smacks onto the floor in a crouch and I jog up to him, ignoring the sharp pain in my ankle.
“That was…,” I start, not knowing if I want to yell at him for scaring me or hug him for being so tactical.
“Impressive?” he offers.
I catch sight of his hands, which have angry rope burns across them.
Not that he seems to notice. He yanks open the second pouch and pulls out a small glass vial. “Bingo,” he says with a fast glance toward the clock.
“Eleven minutes,” I breathe, and we both take off, jogging for the door, the pain in my ankle shooting up my leg.
Which is when I realize we weren’t told anything beyond the fact that the potion opens the door.
“Judging by how small this vial is, we’ve got one shot at this,” Grayson says as he pops the cork off.
I hold out the paintbrush. “Okay, well, maybe we put the potion on the paintbrush and try spreading it near the lock?”
“Fair enough,” he says, and carefully tips the small vial.
The liquid comes out dark and murky, but when it mixes with the bristles it starts glowing.
I make a fast swipe over the lock, and it also starts glowing. But when I grab the handle, the door doesn’t budge.
“Maybe try brushing it over the entire doorframe,” Grayson says. “Akari’s locking spell seemed to be focused there. I saw the magic soak into the wood.”
Without hesitation, I start from the bottom, running the brush up both sides and handing it to Grayson to do the high arch. The wood glows along the brush’s path as he completes our lines.
He reaches for the handle this time, but once again, nothing happens.
Grayson curses and I stare at the door like it just betrayed me. That is, until I notice something.
“Look,” I say, pointing. “The very tip of the arch isn’t glowing. You must have missed it.”
His brow furrows like he disagrees, but he reaches up and paints it again.
Nothing happens.
He pours more potion onto the brush and paints it a third time.
Still, it doesn’t glow.
“The hell?” he says, and now I’m rubbing my hands over my face.
“What are we missing?” I say to both of us.
“I don’t know, but we’ve only got seven minutes,” he says.
“We can figure this out,” I say. “We just need to think.” I take a deep breath, pushing the heel of my hand into my forehead. We need to think. We need to—I stop. We might be the most important word of that sentence.
“What?” he asks. “What’s that thought you just had?”
“The beam. It stopped shaking when we, um, held hands?” I say, feeling more awkward with every word. “Maybe this is similar?”
For a flash of a second, he looks taken aback. I’m positive he wants to say that’s ridiculous, and I agree. But it’s literally the only thing I can think of.
“Let’s try it,” he says. “We’ll both hold the brush.”
“I’m not tall enough,” I reply, and before I finish my sentence Grayson wraps his arm around my back, lifting my feet off the floor as my body presses into his.
He holds me against his chest with one arm and I’m fairly certain my breath stops altogether.
He offers me the brush and I wrap my fingers around his. Then together, we paint the point of the arch.
And wouldn’t you know it, but the thing starts glowing.
Grayson lowers me to the floor with a grin, and I reach for the handle. This time, it makes a clicking sound, turning underneath my palm.
I’m so relieved I could cry.
I yank it open and we bound into the hallway. The sconces are already dimmed in preparation for curfew and there’s not a student in sight.
My limp is pretty bad now, but there’s no time to rest. If we don’t make it back to our room, we risk another punishment. I push as hard as I can, but I’m slow. Still, Grayson doesn’t leave me; he just loops his arm around my waist to support my weight.
“I’m—” I protest.
“I know you’re capable, Claws. Hell, you braved the last twenty minutes injured with no complaints. But we have maybe two minutes left and we need to move faster than you can go on your own.”
Boots sound somewhere behind us, and I don’t dare turn to see who’s coming. I wrap my arm around Grayson’s neck, gripping his shoulder. In one deft move he scoops me up into his arms, and we move. Fast.
He reaches our door in the exact moment the curfew bell sounds. As we barrel inside, I turn my head in time to see Akari at the end of the hall. Watching.