Chapter 4
Into the Fire
I snap my gaze to his as a hissing sound erupts from a grate in the ceiling.
A plume of smoke snakes its way overhead, forming a cloud that begins to gather above us.
I rush to the window, the only other obvious escape route, and thrust back the curtains to find not glass, but a solid brick wall.
Just what kind of entrance exam is this?
Striding back to the door, I feel along the hinges, seeing if there’s any way I can simply lift it clean away and get out. But someone must have tried it before; the hinges are stiff, the kind with a hidden mechanism.
‘Do exactly as I say and we’ll both live.’
I whirl around in disbelief, my eyes locking with his as I bark out an incredulous laugh.
The cloud overhead is thickening, obscuring the white ceiling in dusty grey, tinged with green, the weight of it descending in slow eddying circles as the grate continues to hiss.
I reach down into my boot, flick open my switchblade and try levering the hinges with that.
‘Unless you know far more about the Crucible than you’re letting on, I don’t think so.
I’m more than capable of leaving this room on my own. ’
‘Perhaps, but you clearly have a skill set I don’t. You’re an accomplished liar, you came prepared with that blade, you’re already trying a method I hadn’t even considered and even though we’re rivals—’
I grit my teeth, giving up on the hinges and turn to him. ‘If you’re so quick to call me a rival, maybe that’s how I should consider you . How can either of us trust each other?’
‘Well, we’re going to have to, at least for the next few minutes …’ He pauses, eyes widening as he sniffs the air. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they hold something close to … fear?
‘What can you smell?’ I ask urgently, glancing up at the swirling smog still accumulating above our heads.
He coughs, once, twice and shakes his head before confirming my own fears. ‘Poison. An immobilant of some kind.’
I crouch down instantly, staring up at the ceiling, the grate still hissing in the corner of the room.
The Collector taught me about poisons or rather, how to avoid being poisoned.
Never accept a drink that’s handed to you, never spray perfume from an unknown source …
and if you’re in an enclosed space, get as low to the floor as possible.
I begin tapping along the walls, searching for a seam in the wallpaper to suggest a secret door, slicing at sections with my switchblade to peel them back to find another way out, anything .
‘An immobilant is usually concentrated, in a drink, or, or a tablet—’
‘Do you really want to take your chances?’ he asks, coughing again before crouching down like me. He begins shuffling through his pockets, muttering to himself, drawing out pieces of leaf, a hip flask, a scattering of tiny shredded petals …
I mean, he could be wrong. Or he could be playing me, trying to throw me off balance before revealing that he knows exactly how to get out of this room, and then leaving me sealed within.
Trapped. I continue shuffling around the edges of the room, spreading my hands over the wallpaper.
But as I reach the windows again, bricked up and useless as an escape, I have to admit that I’m running low on ideas.
If this is the entrance exam for a college of wielders, surely it’s a solution of magic?
But this smoke, still hissing from that grate in the ceiling, is not an illusion; it’s not something I can deal with. I’m a sitting duck.
‘Here, take my jacket,’ the man says as he shrugs it from his shoulders, eyeing the smog now curling its way just a foot above our heads.
‘What?’ I ask, confused, just as I taste the first of it.
The smoke lingers on the tip of my tongue, all spun sugar laced with a cloying bitterness before slithering unbidden down my throat.
My whole body begins to turn numb and I lean against the wall beside the window, feet skidding on the floor.
I cough, just like he did, but somehow, I can’t shake the quick effects of this poison.
I try to move my feet, try to inch my body towards the door, but it’s like my very bones are falling asleep.
He’s right, it is a damn immobilant.
‘That’s why,’ he mutters, thrusting his suit jacket at me. ‘Cover your nose and mouth with this.’
I do as he says, panic setting in, mentally leafing through my options and realising I’m out of them.
He stuffs the shredded petals and a single leaf into the hip flask, frowning as he holds it.
For a heartbeat, I’m sure it glows before he downs a mouthful and shoves it under my nose.
I back away, narrowing my eyes, even as I sink slowly to the ground.
I no longer have any feeling in my feet, my legs tingling and losing strength inch by inch.
The whole parlour is drenched in the smoke now.
I can barely see across to the fireplace and those unnatural flames.
If only I could get back to the door, maybe I could pick the lock, or if I could reach that grate, I could cover it with his jacket.
That immobilant is botanist-made. Has to be.
Something to disarm us, to make it harder for us to move —
‘Drink this or you’re going to die,’ he says, shaking the hip flask in my face. ‘I’m not messing around. That immobilant will soon stop you from being able to draw a breath. Get it down you.’
My voice comes out half-strangled, tongue thick behind my teeth as though I’m losing control of that too. ‘How do I know … how do I … can I trust you ?’
His eyes glitter as he drops to his knees beside me. ‘Of course you can’t trust me, and it’s very clear I can’t trust you either. But if you die now, where will the fun be in beating you?’
I gasp as his fingers rip the suit jacket from where I’m holding it against my mouth and clamp around my chin. ‘It’s … poison.’ I whisper. ‘I’m a … rival. Your rival.’
‘Or my partner. They might have placed us both in here for a reason,’ he says quietly.
‘Look, you’re already poisoned, and it’s an antidote ,’ he says impatiently, holding the hip flask to my lips.
‘I’ve just altered the properties of the liquid in the hip flask with my magic.
I’m a botanist and if you die on me in here, it would really ruin my day.
Could even ruin my chances in the Crucible.
Now you know my secret, you know what I wield, so drink this like you’re knocking back velvane. ’
I watch him, pinning my gaze to his. His eyes really are brown when they’re not darkened with desire. A deep, swirling mahogany with hints of burnt caramel.
‘ Drink ,’ he says again, as my arms fall slack at my sides.
I close my eyes briefly, wondering if these will be my final moments.
Wondering if I’ll die staring into this beautiful stranger’s eyes and fail before I’ve even started the bloody Crucible.
Die before even getting to Killmarth College, before crossing through those gates and tasting the first sip of true freedom as the contract’s grip shatters.
That’s all I want. My desire, no my need for freedom envelops me, my need for power over my own life, a choice, a chance to fully realise who I am, what I am …
I have to get through the Crucible. I have to trust this man, this stranger, and go against every inch of my training in order to get past this and truly live .
I have to take the risk and hope I’m not wrong.
Dolly would have wanted this for me. She would have wanted me to live.
A small sob escapes me, the thought of her gone, gone forever suddenly so real, so immediate that I can barely breathe. The man, this stranger, seems to soften, his grip on my chin loosening. ‘Whatever happened to you tonight after we met, don’t make it the last thing that happened.’
I nod to him, focusing on his eyes, softer now, like somehow he can see beyond my fear, see beyond the masks and armour I must wear. And I wonder if just maybe, I can trust him. I open my mouth, tilting back my chin—
And down it.
Then choke on the liquid within. The room swirls to darkness as my eyes fall closed and in that moment, I curse myself for a fool.
For trusting this stranger, this man I met in a bar, with my entire future, my hope.
The Collector wouldn’t have, I’m sure of it, and he’s trained me, moulded me to operate like him.
I can almost hear him tutting, shaking his head at how easily I have failed, features darkening and pinching.
‘How utterly pathetic,’ I mutter.
‘Oh good, you’re alive then,’ a voice responds in the dark.
My eyes fly open as I take a startled breath, scrambling away from his arms. My heart is a wild thing in my chest, leaping too hard, too fast.
‘What did you give me?’ I gasp.
He pushes off from the floor to stand, brushing off his immaculate shirt with a smirk, before shrugging back into his suit jacket.
I wonder if I imagined how his eyes softened, how his voice held a note of compassion, of care before I downed that concoction.
‘An antidote, like I said. Now you owe me.’
I snort, pulling myself up by gripping the wall.
My limbs are still weak and quivering, but I hide it as best I can as I lean against the back of an armchair, folding my arms across my chest. I lock it all away, the horror at how close to death I have danced not once, but twice tonight.
‘There’s still the small matter of actually escaping this room.
And by my count …’ I glance at the clock on the mantelpiece, gathering myself back together, as it marks each passing second with a firm tick.
‘We have two minutes, twenty-three seconds.’
The man’s smirk evaporates and he turns to the window. Tapping along the wall around the frame, he says from the corner of his mouth, ‘Then we better get on with it. Don’t let me regret saving you.’