Page 51 of Avalon Tower

The carriage moves ahead. I’ve got four more cars before I’ve lost it.

I manage to grip the next one, but my feet catch in the stirrups. I lurch free and nearly fall off the horse. I’ve almost lost my chance now, and Dickinson is spooked. He veers sideways, distancing us from the train.

“No, no, no, come on, Dickinson,” I yell, pulling him toward the train again.

Two more carriages. But I don’t reach out. I let the penultimate carriage go ahead as I free my right foot from the stirrup. Then the left. I’m gripping the saddle with one hand, wondering if I’m about to die.

Last carriage. I swing my hand and grab a rung. The force of the train yanks me off my mount.

My breath stops as for a few seconds, I dangle above the ground. Then I manage to grab the rung with my free hand and put my feet on the bottom rung. Clinging, shaking, I look back. Adrenaline courses through me.

Dickinson is already dozens of yards away, staring after me.

And I’m on the train of Gobannos, hurtling deep into Fey France.

Exactly as Raphael told me not to do.

CHAPTER 16

The wind shrieks in my ears and yanks at my hair. As I cling for dear life to the ladder, the train pistons chug beneath me.

I can’t stay like this, hanging off the train. If the Fey spot me, I’ll instantly be recognized as a spy. I glance down at the earth speeding beneath my feet. I need to force myself to climb up.

In the whipping wind, it’s hard to convince myself to let go. My muscles agree and are locked rigid. Finally, I force myself to unclench my left fist. Almost instantly, I feel myself veering off to the right, buffeted by the wind and the train’s rattling pace.

I grasp at the next rung on the ladder, and then, with a quick upward shift, move my right hand as well. Fear cascades through me as I climb one rung at a time. From above, a burst of hot steam washes over me, taking my breath away.

At the bookshop, I often climbed the ladder to reach shelves all the way at the top. But the ladder wasn’t juddering in a windstorm like this, assailed by bursts of hot steam. And I didn’t have to worry about certain death if I fell.

Fear rakes at my chest.

Another rung. And another. At last, I reach the top of the carriage, clinging to the metal bars to steady myself. Beneath me, the train rattles over the tracks, churning fast. Desperately, I search for a way inside the carriage. There’s nothing—the carriage’s roof is solidly shut—but then I notice a trapdoor.

Unfortunately, it’s on the next car over.

I grip the rungs on the roof tightly as the train races through a darkened village.

With a hammering heart, I crawl across the carriage roof, flattening myself on the smooth surface. Then, on my hands and knees, I shift forward, grabbing for any handholds I can find—metal braces and brackets on the roof to stop me from falling.

The train tracks turns before I can grip a bracket, an almost insignificant bend, but for me, gravity shifts, and I tumble to the side, hands scraping desperately for purchase. I start to slide off the left side of the train, and then my fingertips brush something solid, a bar jutting from the roof. Grunting, I pull myself to the center of the carriage again, and the train chugs on.

Gritting my teeth, I crawl a few feet more to the edge of the carriage.

My stomach swoops at the sight of the gap between the cars and the ground racing by beneath the train. The chasm yawns before me. Between the carriages, the rails flash by with impossible speed. There’s only one way across—I have to jump. And if I fall, I’ll be crushed to a pulp beneath the train. My pulse thunders.

Steam billows around me. I gasp, inhaling it, and the acrid taste fills my mouth. The steam drenches my clothes, mingling with my sweat.

When it clears up, I force myself to crouch at the edge, and then I shuffle back a few steps. Before I can second-guess the wisdom of my decision, I take a running leap.

Time seems to slow as I hurtle through the air, the wind rushing over me. I’m certain I’ve made a terrible mistake, but I land with a jarring thump on the next carriage, my jaws snapping at the impact. The train whistle blows, the sound so loud that it rattles through my bones.

Reaching for one handhold at a time, I make my way to the trap door. When I get to it, I yank the handle. The trapdoor is metal, and ridiculously heavy. Groaning, I heave it open a crack and peer inside. Not a passenger carriage, thank the gods. Just cargo. Moonlight streams onto piles of crates around the edges of the carriage.

I let out a huff of frustration. There’s no ladder. I’ll have to jump, but the carriage floor looks far away. I open the hatch further and hang my feet over the edge. I inch inside and let go, then plummet to the floor of the cargo car, pain shooting through my ankle and up my leg.

“Shit,” I hiss, stumbling to the side. I’ve twisted my ankle badly.

I roll onto my butt and grip my leg. If only Raphael were here to work his healing magic. I can almost picture him cradling my ankle in his hands, stroking his fingertips over exactly where it hurts, the heat from his magic pulsing over my skin. But when I stop imagining it, the pain races back through my leg.