three steps, shooting my hands forward. I officially detested stairs. Cinching my lids shut, I fell. My palms smacked into the concrete first and then my knees. Although my face didn’t suffer from my clumsiness, my elbow shrieked in pain all over again.
I yanked back my injured arm but remained hunched even though all I wanted was to crawl into a ball and lick my wounds.
“Amara?”
Slowly, breathing through my pain, I opened my lids.
Remo was crouched in front of me. “Are you okay?”
No, I was not okay. We’d figured out the code just to get hit by a freaking tornado?
He lifted my face.
I twisted my head so that it slid off his roughened palm, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in pain. “I’m fine.” I rocked back onto my heels and glared at the shiny concrete under my bent legs.
Remo’s concern clung to the air between us, charging it. Unless it wasn’t concern. Unless it was smugness that I was so damn weak without my powers.
Wood splintered somewhere above us, and Remo jumped to his feet, then lunged toward the basement’s entrance. A glance over my shoulder revealed a table tumbling down the stairs. I needed to get out of the way, but somehow, I couldn’t locate the willpower or strength to get up and save myself. What was the point?
Remo groaned, and I thought he’d gotten hit but found him shouldering the door. The hinges groaned as he leaned all of his weight against it. Either it was the heaviest door, or it was stuck. The wood tabletop screeched as it got stuck between the walls of the staircase. Sweat glistened on Remo’s brow as he pushed and pushed. I should’ve gotten up and helped him, but instead I sat there, my anger foaming like white caps. I wanted to scream like I’d done in the Cacti Desert, but all that had done was hurt my lungs.
A deafening crack sounded over the howling wind, and then the tabletop split in two like butterfly wings and flew straight at me. I squeezed my eyes shut, certain I was about to be struck, but the impact never came. And then the wind stopped blowing, and my hair stopped floating like Glade kelp around my face.
A latch clicked, followed by a booming thump.
I opened my eyes but could see nothing.
Either Remo had gotten the door shut, because there wasn’t the faintest trickle of light, or I was dead.
I heard heavy panting. Mine but also someone else’s.
I guessed I was still alive.
Something collided softly with my knee. I assumed it was Remo’s boot until he spoke, and I realized he wasn’t standing over me. “You think you can make a faelight out of wita?”
Swallowing, I pressed my palms together and extricated my dust. Its filaments glowed in the darkness as I stretched and weaved them into an orb which I tossed upward. It levitated toward the ceiling and spread light over the tight quarters, glinting against the shelves filled with stacked wine bottles and highlighting the edges of a countertop under which sat two large white boxes with portholes.
Remo was leaning against the door, breathing hard. His eyes ran over my still kneeling form. “Are you okay?”
No. I wasn’t okay. I was a mess. A broken, useless mess. I bit my lip and averted my watery gaze. When I caught sight of what had bumped into the side of my knee, my molars clicked together. It wasn’t pie, but it was almost as bad. I picked up the unblemished apple, and with my good arm, lobbed it against the wall of bottles. Its glossy red skin didn’t tear, its white flesh didn’t splatter. It simply bounced back down and rocked onto its side as though made of rubber.
I dragged my bad arm against my chest, trying to evaluate if the pain was the same as in Deception Central or if it felt different. Every inch of skin and bone hurt so damn badly that I imagined it was broken this time. How was I supposed to ascend a cliff with only one arm?
If we could even leave this basement, what with the windstorm raging outside.
“I thought I hated etiquette class, but faerie prison . . . it’s officially the worst,” I muttered.
“But it has soap and pie.” Remo’s voice nipped my nose.
I looked up so fast my neck cracked. He was again crouched before me.
“Show me your arm, Amara.”
“It’s fine,” I gritted out.
“You’re moodier than usual, so I’m guessing