PART II

Chris moved as fast he could manage in complete darkness and along a surface that had to be pure ice. He was using his hands almost as often as his feet. On a straightaway, he could see a torch bobbing in the distance. He could at least see the outline of his feet, so he began to run. When he caught up to Cassie, he took the torch from her and led the way at his pace.

"How. . . ?" she asked, stumbling to keep up. "How did you stop her?"

"Broke a key in the lock," he said between breaths. "It'll probably only buy us a few extra minutes."

"You"—she slowed down and then stopped—"saved my life."

He glanced back and swept his arm forward to urge her to hurry. "I guess that makes us even," he said, but it came out with a little too much bite. "I wouldn't worry," he added, softening. "I'm sure you'll get a chance to pull ahead."

He couldn't tell if Cassie smiled at that, but her presence seemed to become less dark and cumbersome.

They trudged on for what felt like a very long time. Since they lost their swords to Andromeda's magic, they paused once more to rummage in the knapsack for an extra weapon, expecting the need for one within moments.

Cassie explained that there were few who knew about this particular exit from Pyxis. It led to an inconspicuous rock crevice. But there was no way of knowing what they might encounter once they emerged into the night. Regardless, the best remaining fairy weapon in their possession, a knife, wouldn't do anyone much good once Chris Modified back to his human size.

At last, the tunnel forked and on the right, it melded into a bluish path that curved upward. Before long, he felt a breeze and then a full-fledged wind. It moaned on its way to greet them and stung his exposed skin. Soon they saw trees, the bright moon, and the starriest sky he had ever seen. And suddenly there was a burst of green—the Aurora Borealis, not the tavern, but the real thing, the Northern Lights. Its natural beauty had a valid, scientific explanation and was such a strange and timely contradiction to the unnatural turn his life had taken.

As they exited the mouth of the tunnel, a blast of wind nearly knocked over their tiny bodies. They had another enemy to contend with, one they couldn't outwit or overpower. Within moments, he felt as if he had been standing in the cold for hours. Aside from the small clearing where they stood, the snow was over their heads. Joe and the twins were nowhere in sight; a set of fairy-sized footprints ended at what was to Chris a sheer cliff of snow.

Chris knew that he had to Modify as quickly as he could, and that he would have to clear his mind to make the transformation work. But before he could even consider the logistics, a pair of yellow eyes, high in the bare branches above, glinted in the moonlight and bore down on the patch where he and Cassie stood. Not more than a breath and a blink later, the snowy white body of an owl, wings outstretched, plunged toward them.

Chris pushed Cassie behind him. The owl's talons snapped open, and Chris positioned the knife for a hopeless fight. But the sudden whir of a machine startled the great bird, which changed course mid-dive. The owl soared out of sight as skis of a human-sized snowmobile crested the snowy embankment and slid to a halt.

The driver swung a leg off the machine and removed his helmet. It was Joe. He had somehow managed to Modify to his normal size, make his way through the frozen world, find clothes and transportation, and return to the mouth of the tunnel.

If there was ever an opportunity, Joe had a knack for being in the right place at the right time, and would be the first to seize it, sometimes without thinking it through. It was the same old story. Chris didn't typically begrudge Joe for his impulsivity—a tendency he admittedly shared with his brother—but rather his luck and then his inability to turn anything into an actual success.

In this case, Chris wasn't going to comment on this "bad" habit of his. He just shook his head, baffled and grateful they were all lucky by association—for now—and placed the knife back in Cassie's knapsack. "We're gonna have company very soon."

"All right." Joe patted the oversized pocket at his waist. "The children are safe in here." And he lowered a gloved hand. "Plus, I have a plan and car keys."

"Perfect," Chris said. "Good job."

Joe collected Chris into the same hand as Cassie. "See? I'm not as useless as you make me out to be."

"I never said you were—"

Before Chris could say more, Joe added him and Cassie to the snowsuit pocket Joe had indicated and secured the flap. Then Joe revved the engine and launched the machine into a half circle.

"Daddy? Are you there?" Morgan asked from within the pitch-black folds of the pocket. "Ryan and me are going fast with Uncle Joe!"

"I'm here. Are you two holding on tight?"

"Yep."

"Yep."

Chris crawled through the shifting fabric and cramped space to find them. Cassie followed him there. He didn't even have to ask. Then, with hands, limbs, and any linty strands they could find, they secured themselves and the children to the pocket's base.

It was a bumpy ride and a challenge to stay put. The flap keeping them in wasn't something Chris would have called secure.

After a series of lurches that swelled in severity, their path seemed to smooth out. They picked up speed as if they were on a groomed trail going downhill.

Chris's nerves calmed a bit until Joe's snowmobile suddenly banked a hard left and went airborne for a moment. They popped up and jumbled together when the machine landed on rock or ice. When the drone of progress resumed, Chris counted heads, all still present. Then there was a different kind of motion—a scramble, a twist, and then a rhythmic jarring. Joe had disembarked from the snowmobile and was running.

More twisting followed, and then a drop and a leap. A door opened and slammed at the moment gunfire erupted, sounding to Chris's fairy ears like a thousand bombs. And then a different engine kicked to life. With squealing wheels, they were in motion once again.

Chris jumped, pulled the side of Joe's pocket down, and lifted an edge of the flap. Cold air rushed in, and so did some light from the vehicle's dashboard. The needles, gauges, the quiver of the wheels, and the whine of the SUV's engine were in agreement—they were accelerating like mad on a road that wasn't designed for fast travel.

Chris fought his way clear of the saggy, uncooperative fabric of the snowsuit pocket.

"Sorry," Joe said as Chris leaped from Joe's right leg to his left. "I didn't forget about you. I'm just a little preoccupied with the company we've got behind us."

Chris jumped to the armrest and climbed up to the door handle. Wedging his small fairy fingers between the window and its rubber trim, he pulled himself to a position where he could see out the window and use the side-view mirror.

There were two snowmobiles chasing them, one on each side of the snowbound road, and headlights from what appeared to be another SUV closing in on them from behind.

"They're gaining on us!" Chris felt the need to say.

"You don't think I know that?" Joe yelled back. "We can't go any faster without flying off the road!"

Joe had nabbed a black Range Rover—sleek, shiny, low mileage, practically straight from the factory. They were driving the best of the best. Even so, Joe was pushing the vehicle's limits. The narrow road had tight turns, only gravel or dirt at the base, and was covered in at least six inches of snow, more in places with snowdrifts. And the snow kept drifting in the blizzard-level wind. Most of their light was reflected back into their eyes, including the other vehicle's high beams, getting brighter by the second in the SUV's mirrors.

"He's going to hit—"

The other vehicle crashed into them, and Chris was launched into the air. He smacked against the steering wheel, grabbed it, and dangled there while Joe turned it back and forth, fighting for control.

Before Joe could steady the wheel, they were hit from behind again. Joe lost his grip but Chris held tight. As the vehicle went into a spin, brakes squealed, and the backside of the Range Rover bounced off a tree on the side of the road.

Their vehicle teetered to a stop in a ditch, the front wheels tilted up at an angle that wasn't promising. Joe revved the engine, redlining surely. Despite the smoke and the earsplitting shriek of the wheels, the vehicle did little more than shimmy side to side.

Joe paused, reversed, and tried again. The next time, they made it farther. By the third attempt, they kept inching until they were back on the road. Then Joe stomped on the gas and, after checking the rearview mirror, hit the steering wheel with his palm. "Just so you know, we lost them," he said with a wink. "They ain't getting out of that mess anytime soon!"

Chris, dizzy with relief, dropped onto Joe's hand and from there, slid onto the passenger seat. They weren't entirely out of trouble, but he had to admit their escape so far had been pretty spectacular. And now they were barreling ahead in a top-of-the-line human machine with heat, gas, and no pursuers. It was almost too good to be true.

"I can see why the Range Rover is the vehicle of choice," Joe said. "This road, if you can call it that, is a mess."

Chris stood back up and looked over all the buttons and gadgets on the dashboard. "This thing is worth over ninety grand." Chris shook his head in wonder. "Joe, how did we just pull all that off? I'm confused."

"There was a Gray Coat on guard not too far off," Joe explained, "sleeping, the idiot. A few others were on watch nearby. Luckily they didn't notice the surprise attack and the whole switch-a-roo, not at first. Then I headed to lower ground and found a few parked SUVs."

"And where'd you learn to drive like that? I know you were always bold behind the wheel, but a snowmobile?"

"Aspen," he answered.

"Colorado?"

"Yeah, Rebecca's family owned a ski lodge out there."

Chris narrowed his eyes as he attempted to pull the name Rebecca from his memory bank. "Is that the rich ex-girlfriend with the daddy issues?"

Joe replied with a side-eyed glower.

"Hey. . ." Chris put his hands up to free himself from blame. "I'm just repeating what you said. I never had the pleasure of meeting her."

"Probably a good thing. She would have been all over you."

"Whatever," Chris grumbled with an eye flutter. "So who taught you?"

"Her brother, a cool guy. A crazy you-know-what, though. There was this one long weekend when we were out most of the day attempting these idiotic stunts. When we got back, Becca was finishing World War III with her father. I missed most of it, and of course that meant I didn't love her and never defended her. Beginning of the end, really."

"Was she the reason you left med school?"

"Definitely a contributing factor." Joe checked the rearview mirror and glanced over his shoulder. "Why the sudden interest?"

"I've always been interested."

Joe gave Chris another look. This time it clearly meant "liar."

"Okay," Chris conceded. "Maybe 'always' is a strong word. Can't you just tell me? It's a good distraction. Hearing about ordinary stuff makes me feel like we could return to a normal life . . . once our, uh, little adventure is over."

"I hate to break it to you, Chris, but you were never normal."

"That's not true."

"Oh, please. You grew up in your room with your door locked, all alone with your crybaby rock. Mom and I sat downstairs making fun of you and your music."

Chris shrugged, neither confirming nor denying the accusation. "I was just misunderstood."

"Yeah, I'd say. Well, that's enough about us," Joe said, opening the flap of his snowsuit pocket. "Cassie, how are the kids doing? Everyone okay? If so, we'd like you to come out and tell us the rest of your story while the peril is at a relative lull."

The dark-haired fairy poked out her head and allowed Joe to lift her. He set her down on the seat beside Chris. "They're fine. I think all that motion rocked them to sleep." She stretched to loosen her cramped limbs. "As for my story, it's not that interesting."

"Oh, sure. When you were a kid, you played in dungeons and frolicked over mass graves. It sounds terribly boring."

"God, Joe!" Chris said to spare Cassie from the inquisition. "Maybe she doesn't want to talk about it!"

Protecting her was the right thing to do. She still hadn't recovered from her encounter with her mother, it seemed. Joe had no way of knowing about their narrow escape, and if Cassie wasn't going to mention it, Chris wasn't going to either. There was obviously a bitter history, and one Cassie would probably want to keep in the deep-dark-secrets category for now.

Or forever.

"What you might find interesting I don't feel is relevant to the task at hand," she added, her voice cool. The flick of her hand would have been dismissive, too, had it not trembled before and after.

"How is your background irrelevant?" Joe persisted, glancing over at them, but he was too big, far away, dense, and late to see what Chris saw from mere inches away and with his fairy-sized eyes adjusted and ready. "The same queen of darkness is trying to kill us all. Couldn't you give us a few more details so we have a better idea of what we're up against?"

"Would you let it go already?" Chris chimed in again.

Joe sighed audibly. "Fine. I'll drop it for now, Princess, but I still think we should know."

With Chris and Cassie unable to see out the windows, Joe went into a travel narration as they began to pass signs of human civilization. They were gloomy and desolate signs but signs, nonetheless. A shack here, an oil drum on the side of the road, the rusty shell of a pickup truck over there, and an upcoming route marker. Joe squinted at it and then slowed to a stop in front of the sign. "Hey, Cassie, how's your French?"

"Je parle très bien français," she said with melodic fluency.

"Good, much better than mine. Do you mind?" He lowered his hand in front of her; she stepped onto his palm, and he lifted her to the dashboard.

"Avec plaisir."

She directed them to the town of Chibougamau. As they drove, Chris and Joe spun out a plan to ditch the Range Rover and use some fairy tricks to acquire a car that was less conspicuous.

Once in town, Joe was about to turn into a church parking lot when he abruptly straightened out the wheel. He sped forward instead with his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.

"What? What's wrong?" Chris stood on tiptoe, cursing under his breath because he couldn't see anything from any angle, and he nearly went flying from the passenger seat when the vehicle switched gears.

"Shhh! Hold up!" Joe made a few turns at a ridiculous speed. "Yeah, we're being followed. It's another black Range Rover."

"What do you mean we're being followed? When did this—"

"Get in my pocket, now!" Joe shouted in response, scooping up both Cassie and Chris before they could protest. He tucked them beneath the same flap as the sleeping children. "Hold on for your life. . . ." 

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