it’s not fine.”
“I have every right to be moody. I solved an impossible riddle, and for what? To activate a natural disaster?” The snort accompanying my pithy commentary froze on its way out of my nostrils, turning into a whimper when Remo tugged on my arm.
I tried to reel it in, but he held on firmly. His fingers climbed the length of it. Everywhere he touched elicited new whimpers.
Finally, he released it, his expression grim. “I don’t think I can fix it this time.”
I fluttered my lids, my lashes clumped with old and new tears.
He rose and walked around the cramped quarters, looking into one of the portholes before popping it open. He extricated a long length of fabric—a tablecloth or a bedsheet. As I wondered why it had been stored in the box, Remo twisted it, then looped it around my neck and knotted it.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making a sling. Hopefully, it’ll help.” He lifted my elbow and placed it inside the white hammock. “Better?”
Surprisingly, it was. After a beat, I said, “I really miss flying.”
Remo shot me a grim smile. “Think of how much you’ll appreciate it once you’re home.”
“If we ever get home.”
“We will.” He picked up one end of my makeshift sling and wiped my cheeks with it.
There he was being nice again.
“Can I suggest something?” He let the fabric flutter back down. “Once we get back, you should train using the spirals. I can give you some pointers if you want.”
I shook my head but smiled. “Oh . . . Remo.” And then I was laughing but mixed into the laughter were giant sobs.
Like earlier, Remo didn’t quite seem to know what to do with this insane version of me, but then his arms came around my back, and he pulled me against him, tucking my head under his chin, and even though his hug didn’t magically heal my wounded arm, shredded face, or chipped ego, it dimmed my pain.
“Why can’t we catch a break?” I murmured against his solid chest.
“Maybe because we’re in a supernatural jail.” His hand came up to the back of my head, and his fingers combed through my hair, causing a trail of worrisome goose bumps to strain against the compressive fabric of my suit.
Worrisome, not because he could feel them—the material was much too tight and thick—but because this wasn’t the first time my body reacted to his touch.
Something banged against the door, and I jumped. When the latch didn’t break, I asked, “Now what?”
“Now we wait out the tornado.”
I swung my attention back to him. “You think it’ll stop?”
He nodded as he climbed back up to his feet and walked over to the wall of wine. He scanned the labels, then selected one and blew dust off the dark glass. “What are your thoughts on Cabernet?”
“I’d be fine with moonshine at this point.”
“Can you make a bottle opener, Amara?”
I frowned. “Is it just for me, or are you planning on drinking?”
“Don’t feel like sharing?”
“I thought you didn’t drink.”
“I don’t.”
I touched my tattoo but remembered the dust was presently glowing on the ceiling. Tentatively, I stood up. My knees felt like they’d been stuffed with damp cotton, but surprisingly they held me upright. I directed my good arm toward the orb and snatched off a piece, then twisted it into a corkscrew that I handed over to Remo. He popped the cork out of the bottle, then tendered back the bottle opener, which I wadded up and tossed back toward the glowing orb.
He took a swig of the wine, then proffered it my way. The woodsy flavor coated my tongue and throat like velvet. I took another swig, then passed the wine back. We didn’t talk as we drank, just plopped down beside each other with our backs to one of the brick walls. Every so often, the ceiling and door would groan, and my dust orb would shudder, but then all would settle and grow still again.
Halfway through the bottle, my blood began to fizz, sweeping away the ache in my arm. I leaned my head back against the bricks and watched the orb I’d created. “I’m glad you followed me through the portal, whatever your reason for doing so.”
Remo coughed. He passed me the bottle and coughed some more.
I took a swig. “My grandfather was a really screwed-up man.”
He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and side-eyed me. Since he hated my parents, he probably admired Linus. After all, Gregor had been a fan of