Persie Merlin and the Door to Nowhere by Bella Forrest Page 0,77
on and so forth. I seemed to have found the utility underbelly of the Institute, which undoubtedly had a multitude of secluded spots for pixies to hide.
I tried some of the door handles, only to find them locked up tight—until I came to a door marked “Refuse.” It swung open with ease, the aroma of stagnant trash overwhelming my senses, sickly and rotten and foul. Pinching my nose to keep out the worst of it, I peered into the gloom… and my heart almost leapt out of my body. There in the corner, fighting over banana skins, a half-empty bag of candy, and what looked like the remains of someone’s fruit salad, was a small group of pixies. Five, to be exact.
Terrified they would bolt if they saw me, I used their intense argument to my advantage and I tiptoed off to the side, ducking behind a dumpster. I could hear their high-pitched chatter from where I was, and it didn’t sound friendly. Who knew banana skins could be such a hot commodity?
Okay, quietly does it. Painfully slowly, I unzipped my bag and took out a puzzle box and the little carton of milk. I placed the puzzle box on the ground and kept the lid firmly on, twisting it until the designs aligned. Still moving at a snail’s pace so I wouldn’t startle the pixies, I peered around the corner of the dumpster and set the puzzle box just in front of it. My fingertip hovered over the harp button for a second before I pressed down. However, another button, which looked like a bushel of leaves, caught my eye. I realized this wasn’t the time to get experimental, but something drew me toward it. An instinct, perhaps. Figuring I could use another box if I messed this one up, I pressed down on the symbol. Immediately, the puzzle box flattened out like a bear trap and the sea-green sides blended into the sticky vinyl floor, leaving it totally camouflaged.
I almost hissed in frustration. You could’ve told me about that, Naomi! Still, I had to admit, this was insanely smart and cool. All I had left to do was lay the bait.
Popping the carton open, I placed the milk in the center of the hidden box—at least, what I hoped was the center. That was the trouble with a successful camouflage. Part of me feared the milk carton would set off the trap, and all I’d get for my efforts was captured dairy. But the box stayed open, still invisible to the naked eye.
Now what? Do I just wait? I sat back against the dumpster and took out a mirror, angling it so I could see approaching pixies. Nerves pummeled through my chest, my heart racing a mile a minute. If they didn’t take the bait, they might escape, and I’d be back at square one. Basically, this had to work, or I’d start flipping dumpsters.
Sing, my Persephone… A voice slithered into my head, one I knew so very well.
What are you doing here?” I asked, my chest hot and horrified. He was an ocean away—he wasn’t supposed to be able to come near my mind.
Sing… he said again. But it didn’t feel the same as when Leviathan had spoken to me on my birthday. It sounded far away, like I’d dredged it up from the darkest corner of my mind. Even so, the violation wasn’t dissimilar. The idea that he’d embedded these words in me, somehow, made me want to pour mosquitoes into his glass box.
And what did he mean, sing? If he’d ever heard me at karaoke, he’d wish he’d never mentioned it. For me, singing was relegated to the shower, where I could have a private concert without anyone thinking someone was dying. And yet, the moment the thought involuntarily crept into my head, a tune began to form on my tongue. A song I didn’t recognize, in a language I didn’t understand, but my mind seemed to know every word.
“Thig a-mach às an dorchadas. Mo chlann, mo chlann. Èist ri mo ghuth mar a bhios mi a ’seinn do chridhe. Bu chòir dhut a bhith còmhla rium. Dannsa còmhla rium ann an solas na gealaich agus a ’faireachdainn gàirdeachas. Is e mo chridhe do chridhe. Tha sinn mar an ceudna. Tha ar spioradan ceangailte. Mo chlann, mo chlann. Èist ri mo ghuth mar a bhios mi a ’seinn do chridhe. Bheir mi dhut mo ghràdh. Lorg comhfhurtachd. Tha thu sàbhailte a-nis.”