Persie Merlin and the Door to Nowhere by Bella Forrest Page 0,76

We’d spent centuries hoarding our power—why not spread the love?

His eyes hardened. “Someone insulted you?”

“It’s not important.” I waved away his concern. “I’m a big bad Atlantean—I can fight my own battles. And we’ve got pixies to find, remember? How about we split up to cover more ground? Persie’s taking the South Wing, so I’ll take the North. You could take the East or the West, or both, if you’re feeling fiery?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m feeling fiery, but I’ll sweep as many areas as I can. Hopefully, the specterglass will come up with something this time.” He smiled, but some of that defensive glint still lingered in his eyes. It would give me a few warm-and-fuzzies to think about when I didn’t have pixies on the brain.

I had to have a final bit of fun before seriousness set in. “And sorry for spooking you before. I couldn’t resist.”

“You realize I’ll be watching my back from now on?” He chuckled. Humor suited him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go digging in your underwear drawer.” I turned and walked away, stifling a giggle. Halfway down the hall, I glanced back. He was staring at me, open-mouthed and utterly horrified. And then, to my surprise, he snapped out of it and moved his hands in a hula dance. Our laughter collided, echoing off the walls. And I could’ve sworn I heard a quieter, shriller laugh joining ours. The cackle of a pixie.

Oh, you are so getting caught tonight! I pressed on toward the North Wing, feeling fired up. I’d just reached the archway that led into it when I took out my phone to check for messages from Persie. The screen sat black and dead, the battery drained. It wasn’t ideal, but I’d make do without it. If I turned back now and waited to juice this puppy up, I’d lose precious time. And we couldn’t afford to waste a single second.

Seventeen

Persie

Alone in the South Wing, ducking out of the way of hunters on duty, I stole a glance at my phone from behind a dragon statue. Just one of its enormous, white marble legs was enough to shield me from any prying eyes.

Come on, Genie! My inbox had no new messages, though I’d texted and called my friend a handful of times since leaving my bedroom. Location updates, check-ins, that sort of thing. All I’d gotten in return was a Genie-less home screen and a voicemail recording. Now wasn’t the time for her to go radio silent on me. For all I knew, we could be covering the same ground without realizing, and it irked me that I couldn’t get through to her.

Taking my bag off my shoulders, I double-checked my inventory: three puzzle boxes, two Mason jars, and three little cartons of milk that I’d nabbed from the banquet hall. Something Genie said earlier had struck a curious nerve—I think it had been on bullet-point number two: leave out a cookie, and the creature will come running. But pixies didn’t like cookies, they liked milk. Maybe, just maybe, they’d take the bait. Meanwhile, Genie had two puzzle boxes and three Mason jars. As the magical one in our team, we’d figured she’d have better luck with the Mason jars than I would. And, Genie or no Genie, I planned to do better at catching something tonight.

Putting the bag back on, I waited until the nearest hunters passed by before darting out and sprinting down the hallway full pelt, on high alert for any sign of pixies. I raced past the bedrooms of visiting hunters, more studies, and private libraries for the invited guests to use at their leisure. I poked my head into the libraries, but they sat dark and empty, with no hint of a monster disturbance.

Eventually, having found an emergency stairwell between two studies and running all the way down into what appeared to be a basement, I breathed a much-needed sigh. There didn’t seem to be anyone down here. A long, stark corridor lay ahead, lit with unflattering strip lights that shone a cold blue hue on everything. A musty scent filled my nostrils, suggesting this part of the Institute didn’t get used often. That had to be a promising sign.

Listening for footsteps or wing flutters, I walked along the corridor, leaving footprints in the fine layer of grime that covered the plasticky floor. Black signs were pinned to the doorways that branched off the main hall: “boiler room,” “janitorial staff room,” “storage unit 1,” “storage unit 2,” and so