You Make the Earth Shake Under My Feet…
and Everywhere Else, Too
Lia’s eyes go wide as the chandelier sways above us. “We need to get out of this room.”
“We need to get out of these tunnels!” I answer. “How sturdy do you think they are?”
“They won’t collapse,” she assures me, but she starts moving toward the tunnel that’s supposed to lead to the art studio pretty damn quickly.
Not that I blame her—Flint and I are moving fast, too.
It’s not a big earthquake, at least not the kind that Alaska is known for. But it’s not like the small tremors that I’ve felt since coming here, either. Based on what I’ve experienced back home, this one is an easy seven on the Richter scale.
Lia and Flint must realize that at the same time I do, because once we hit the new tunnel, our fast walk becomes a run.
“How far to the exit?” I demand. My phone is vibrating in my pocket, a series of texts coming in fast and furious. I ignore them as the ground continues to move.
“Maybe another couple hundred yards,” Flint tells me. “Are we going to make it?”
“Absolutely. We—” He breaks off as a loud rumbling sound comes from the ground, followed closely by a violent shift
that turns the quake from rolling to shaking.
My legs turn to rubber, and I start to stumble. Flint grabs me above the elbow to steady me, then uses his grip to propel me through the tunnel so fast that I’m not sure my feet are even touching the ground anymore. Unlike on the stairs a few days ago, this time I’m not complaining.
Lia’s in front of us, running even more quickly, though I don’t know how that’s possible, considering just how fast Flint has us moving.
Finally, the ground starts to slant upward, and relief sweeps through me. We’re almost there, almost out of this place, and so far the tunnels have held. Twenty more seconds and a door looms ahead of us. Unlike the one we originally came through, this one is covered in drawings of dragons and wolves and witches and what I’m pretty sure is a vampire on a snowboard.
It’s all done graffiti-style, using every color imaginable. And it is totally badass. Another day—when the earth isn’t literally moving under my feet—I’ll stop to admire the artwork. For now, I wait for Lia to punch in the code—59678 (I watch carefully this time)—and then the three of us burst through the door and into what is obviously a very large art supply closet.
The earthquake stops just as the door closes behind us. I exhale in relief as Flint drops my arm, then bend over and try to catch my breath. He might have been doing most of the work to get us here, but I was moving my legs as fast as I could.
Several seconds pass before I can breathe without feeling like my lungs are going to explode. When I can, I stand back
up—and notice a few things all at the same time. One, this closet is really well stocked. Two, the door into the art classroom is wide open. And three, Jaxon is standing in the doorway, face wiped completely blank of expression.
My stomach drops at my first glimpse of his clenched fists and the wild fury burning in the depths of his eyes—not because I’m afraid but because it’s obvious that he was.
For long seconds, no one says or does anything, except for Lia, who glances between Jaxon and me with a look that seems just a little bit sly. Then she tells him, “Don’t worry, Jaxon darling; I’m fine.” She pats him on his unscarred cheek as she walks right by him into the art classroom and closes the door behind her.
He doesn’t even glance her way. His eyes, flat and black, are pinned to Flint. Who rolls his own eyes as he says, “They’re both fine. You’re welcome.”
For long seconds, Jaxon doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even make a sound. But it turns out I only thought Jaxon was pissed before. Because after Flint’s comment, he looks like he’s one very small step away from an aneurysm. Or mass murder.
“Get out of here,” he growls.
“I wasn’t planning on sticking around.” Flint doesn’t move, though. Instead, he stays in front of me, staring Jaxon down.
And that’s it. That’s just it. “Move,” I order, and when Flint doesn’t move fast enough, I shove past him.
For a second, it looks like he’s going to stop me, but a low snarl from Jaxon has him stepping back. Which only pisses me off more. I get that he was afraid for me, but that doesn’t give him the right to act like a psychopath.
“Are you really okay?” Jaxon demands as I step forward. “I’m fine.” I try to shove past him, too, but unlike Flint,
Jaxon doesn’t move. He just stands there, in my way, eyes dark and still filled with anger…and something I can’t quite put my finger on as he stares down at me. Whatever it is, it makes me feel all fizzy inside, like a carbonated drink that’s been shaken way too much. Or it would if I let it. Right now, I’m too busy concentrating on the anger to get sidetracked by the rest of it.
“I tell you to stay away from Flint, so you go into the
tunnels with him?” he demands.
It’s the way wrong thing to say to me right now, when adrenaline is still coursing through me from the quake. And the run. And the terror. But just because I was scared out of my mind a few minutes ago doesn’t mean I’m going to put up with Jaxon demanding anything from me. Any more than I’m going to put up with him telling me what to do.
“I’m not talking to you about this right now,” I answer. “I’m late for a class that I really didn’t want to be late for, and the last thing I have time for is all this bizarre posturing from the two of you.” I include Flint in my anger.
“There’s no posturing, Grace.” Jaxon reaches for me, but I yank my hand away before he can take hold of it.
“Whatever you want to call it. It’s boring and annoying and I’m over it. So get out of my way and let me go to class before I forget I’m a pacifist and punch you in the face.”
I’m not sure which word shocks him more—the “punch” or the “pacifist.” Before either of us can figure it out, Flint jumps in with, “You go, Grace. Tell him to back the fuck off.”
Jaxon’s snarl is terrifying and loud enough to silence the class on the other side of the closet—even the teacher. Terrific. Just freaking terrific.
I whirl on Flint. “You shut up, or I’ll think of something really terrible to do to you, too.” Then I turn back to Jaxon. “As for you, get the hell out of my way, or I’m never talking to you again.”
At first, Jaxon doesn’t move. His face is a mask of astonishment, more stunned than resistant.
In the end, though, he lifts his hands and steps aside, just as I demanded.
“Thank you,” I tell him more quietly. “I appreciate your concern. I really do. But this is my first day of school, and I just want to go to class.”
Without waiting for a response, I sweep past him and into a classroom where everyone—even Lia and the teacher—is staring at me.
Big. Freaking. Surprise.
