Spark - ARC (17 page)

Spark blinked, half blinded by the brightness. When her vision cleared she let out a small whoop of triumph.

There, on the weathered boards of the porch, sat the world’s most high-end grav-board. The shiny plas-metal and neon lettering looked glaringly out of place against the simple hut and wooded clearing. Out of place—and incredibly welcome.

“Thanks,” she said, giving the apple a kiss before tucking it back into her inventory.

Now for the hard part. She grabbed the board and strode back into the clearing, giving herself a good fifteen feet of lead-in to the doorway.

She hoped the board worked, here in the magic-laden world of Feyland.

Scratch that—belief was a powerful force. She
knew
the board would work. Refusing doubt, she flicked the grav switch. With a hum, the board rose six inches into the air.

Oh, yeah. She was about to take the ride of her life. Good thing she’d played a ton of games that utilized grav-board mechanics, as well as her real-world boarding experience. Surfing over and through a sea of swords was just another skill challenge.

Pushing away the knowledge that failure could be deadly, Spark hopped onto the board. She took a second to find her balance, then leaned forward, pointing the board at the illuminated doorway of the hut. The board kicked up speed—damn, it was even more powerful in-game than the actual model she owned—and the clearing blurred around her.

Speed, height, and maneuverability were the factors she had to juggle. She managed to cross over the first couple blades with inches to spare, but the next sword rose higher than she’d expected. She wasn’t going to make it.

Breath catching in her throat, she dropped into a crouch and heard the sing of metal as the blade swung just over her head. A strand of magenta hair fluttered down, quickly turned to pink dust by the razor-sharp swords. Spark gulped back her fear, trying not to imagine what would happen if she fell.

She banked hard to the right, aiming for an empty spot by one of the columns, and misjudged. The whole board shuddered as a blade hit it with a bone-jarring clang.

“Come on,” she said, under her breath. “Halfway across. You can do it.”

She didn’t know if she was talking to the grav-board or to herself.

The blades began to move faster, carving through the air in a series of deadly arcs. She only had a moment to catch her breath beside the column. Every sense alert, she pointed the board back into the center of that lethal flurry.

Dodge. Lean. Crest and plummet. One blade left a neat slice in her sleeve, just missing her skin. She tasted blood, but it was because she was biting the inside of her cheek in concentration. Instinct guided her, and a knowledge of attack patterns gleaned over playing thousands of games. Pause. Now race forward.

A sword loomed before her. No time to avoid it. Spark shifted back on the board, wincing as the blade cut down hard into the plas-metal deck. The lifters shrieked a protest as the board dipped unsteadily.

She kicked the sword away, then, sensing motion in her peripheral vision, flung herself flat on the board’s rough surface. Two blades cut the air overhead, meeting with a crash that made the whole room vibrate. In the second of quiet that followed, Spark nudged the board over the last set of blades. It settled safely on the marble floor with a quiet whine and the smell of scorched electronics.

Slowly, she climbed to her feet. Her legs trembled and cold sweat dampened her face. That had been the most harrowing ride ever.

“Thanks,” she said, picking up the grav-board.

She couldn’t tell if it was damaged beyond repair, but, regardless, she wasn’t going to leave it behind. There was plenty of room in her inventory. Giving the blade-nicked edge a last pat, she stowed the board away.

The swords still rose and fell between her and the doorway, though with much less vigor than before. That danger was behind her.

Now she only had to face whatever was ahead.

Spark scanned the marble hall. The silver apple shone temptingly from its niche, but she knew better than to just dash forward and try to grab it. Instead, she pulled her bow from her back and extended it in front of her.

With a whoosh, a thick wall of glass slid across the hall, nearly severing the tip of her bow—and blocking her from reaching the apple. She yanked her bow back, then, when nothing else happened, used the end to tap on the glass. The weapon didn’t burst into flames or start dissolving, so she stepped up and touched her fingers to the glass.

It was cool and smooth, and her fingertips left smudges on the surface. Spark strode the length of the wall and felt along the seam where the glass met marble. No gap. The other side was the same.

She leaned back, looking up the flat expanse. The ceiling was gone, which shouldn’t have surprised her. The glass wall extended up and up, into a pale sky filled with puffy clouds. It was impossible to tell if the wall ever ended.

There had to be some way to get through. She tried her dagger blade, but it didn’t scratch the surface. Banging the pommel against the glass didn’t do anything, either. Her close-range arrow bounced off, careening dangerously past Spark’s head before disappearing into the field of swords. And the wall seemed to absorb every spell she threw at it.

Well. Hoping she was right about the three wishes, she rubbed the copper apple again. For a second she considered asking for magic beans, but there was an easier way than climbing a vine and fighting a giant up in the clouds. Besides, that storyline had already been done.

“Laser cutter,” she said.

The apple opened, emitted its glitter and light, then snapped shut. At Spark’s feet lay a laser cutter, just like the kind her dad used in his contracting business. She put the apple back in her inventory, then picked up the laser.

It hummed when she turned it on, and it didn’t take long for her to cut a ragged oval in the glass wall. Mental fingers crossed, she set her palm in the center and pushed. For a second the glass resisted, and then the oval fell out. It hit the marble floor and shattered, crashing into long, glittering splinters. Clearly the fey folk hadn’t heard about safety glass.

Spark put the cutter away and ducked through the hole she’d made, careful to avoid treading on the shards of broken glass. She drew her boot dagger and took a cautious step down the hall, the words of her spells at the tip of her tongue, her senses alert.

One hard challenge, one easy one. These things usually went in threes, and she hoped the last challenge wouldn’t prove deadly.

With her next step, she heard music—a lilting melody backed by a swift-strumming rhythm. She glimpsed motion out of the corner of her eye, and whirled around. Nothing.

She turned back to face the end of the hall, and caught her breath at the light and energy before her. Graceful dancers turned and dipped on the floor, their faces strange and beautiful, their hair sheened with starlight. Most had wings sprouting from the backs of their elegant evening clothes: jewel-bright butterfly wings, gossamer wisps of light, the translucent panes of a dragonfly, and the dusty feathers of night moths.

Glowing orbs flickered and bobbed over the dancers, and the music was so strong it set her feet to tapping. She bent and tucked her knife back into its boot sheath. Beyond the throng of dancers, the silver apple shone.

Timing her steps to the music, Spark slipped between the nearest couple. Whenever she saw an opening, she darted through.
Yes!
She was getting closer and closer.

At last she gained the edge of the marble dance floor. She looked up in triumph—only to see that somehow she’d ended up back where she had begun. Instead of standing in front of the niche holding the silver apple, she faced the hole in the glass wall, the floor around her still sparkling and dangerous.

Dammit. She turned to face the dancers once more. Tapping her lip with one finger, she watched the swirls and patterns of the dance. Maybe she’d gotten turned around in there. One more try, and if that didn’t work, she’d have to change tactics.

This time, the dancers appeared to be more aware of her. She was jostled a number of times, and once a cat-eyed maiden hissed at her. When Spark reached the edge, she wasn’t too surprised to find herself before the glass wall once more.

Okay then.

If she couldn’t get through on her own, she’d have to find a partner and dance her way across. She tried stepping onto the floor and waving, but it seemed she was once again invisible to the dancers.

The gorgeously gowned and extravagantly suited dancers.

She glanced down at her clothing: the leggings tucked into rugged boots, the rustic vest and woolen cloak. Definitely not the thing to wear to a ball.

Taking a deep breath, she summoned the copper apple again. If she was wrong, she’d waste the final wish. Giving the fruit a rub, she whispered the words.

“I need a fancy ball gown.”

The apple did its glittery thing, though instead of closing it simply vanished. Her last wish, gone. She desperately hoped it had been the right one.

With a whoosh, a gown made of gauze and satin floated down out of the air. Its bodice was deepest rose, the skirts shading out to purple. The overskirt was a silver material that flowed and glimmered like water. It was gorgeous, though not exactly the best outfit for doing battle.

If this worked, though, she wouldn’t have to fight. Spark pulled off her cloak and placed it, and her bow and arrows, into her inventory. She tugged the gown over her vest and breeches, and kept her boots on, her dagger firmly tucked in place.

The gown settled about her like rays of sunset, the skirts just skimming the floor. Now all she needed was a partner.

As if the thought had summoned him, a tall faerie approached. He was clad in silken fabric that flowed from deep purple to midnight black. His long, pale hair hung unbound down his back, held away from his face by a circlet of braided ivy.

He was completely dreamy—if you counted nightmares in that description. His eyes were full of terrors, and Spark swallowed, hard, when he held out his hand.

“Dance, milady?” he asked, in a voice that sounded soft. The way a cat’s paw was soft, until it shot out its wickedly sharp claws.

But she didn’t have much choice if she wanted to get to the far end of the hall and snatch the silver apple.

She put her hand in his, trying not to flinch when his extra-long fingers closed over hers. His skin was cold and pale, as though he were crafted of the marble surrounding them. With a sharp smile, he drew her into the dance, one hand at the small of her back.

Spark gingerly set her hand on his shoulder. It hadn’t escaped her notice that his teeth ended in sharp points. The music rose about them, moving into a waltz tempo. Good—she kind of knew how to waltz, as opposed to the fancier moves she’d seen the dancers making earlier.

Despite her inexperience—did waltzing with her pillow when she was in middle school count?—she found herself gliding with ease. Her partner guided her surely about the floor, and there was probably some faerie magic in the air that helped. The hardest part was keeping track of where she was in relation to the apple.

Every time she got the location fixed, her partner would swirl her around and she’d lose sight of the silver apple again. His grip was firm and implacable, though he didn’t look at her as they waltzed. She was just as glad not to be the focus of those incredibly scary eyes.

Spark counted under her breath. Every twenty-four steps they’d circle back to the niche holding the apple. She counted twice more, to be sure.

The next pass around the hall, she was ready. At twenty-one, she braced herself. Twenty-two, lifted her arm. Twenty-three, ducked out into a twirl. Twenty-four, reached, ignoring the painful pull of the faerie’s grip.

She leaned out, stretching toward the shining silver fruit. Her fingertips brushed it, and it wobbled.

No—she’d missed.

In slow motion, the apple teetered and plummeted from its niche. The music slowed, and the dancers let out gasps of horror. Spark lunged, ripping free of her partner’s grasp, and hit the floor hard, one hand outstretched. Her other wrist bent too sharply, trapped between her and the marble, and she felt something give way with a snapping pain.

The apple fell into her palm, heavy and solid. Despite the agony in her left wrist, Spark smiled. Quest complete.

She looked up, expecting the fey dancers to rush her, demanding their prize back. But the hall was empty. She’d beaten all three challenges and won the silver apple.

With a whimper, she sat up. She tried to wiggle the fingers of her left hand, and hot fire flashed along her nerves, making her gasp.

Great. She’d won this round—but now she had a damaged wrist, and she hadn’t finished questing through to the Dark Court. Spark tucked the apple away, then rose to her feet, bracing herself against the smooth marble wall.

Now what? The idea of facing the queen one-handed wasn’t appealing. And if Jennet and Tam were right, her wrist would be injured in the real world, too. She had to log off and get medical attention. And somehow explain how she’d ended up getting hurt.

Before she could take a step forward, the air around her whirled with golden light. Everything lurched, the walls bowing inward, then out. Spark squeezed her eyes closed, fighting the sudden nausea. Now was not the best time for the game to decide to transport her to the next level. Though she could log out there, and hopefully return to the same place when she got another chance to play.

But when would that be? Vonda wouldn’t let her sneak another session on the FullD, and then there was the little problem of her wrist. Spark doubted VirtuMax would allow her to sim until it healed—which would thrill the Terabins. No, she had to finish this now.

Biting her lip hard to distract herself from the pain, Spark opened her eyes.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN