Dutch's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

Dutch ran. The tunnel vine had whipped across her forearm before she could duck, and the cut would not close. Poison, she guessed — her blood ran thin and fast down her wrist, painting the dark stone steps as she climbed. Each footfall left a red print. Behind her, deep in the stairwell, something began to drag itself awake at the smell. She took the steps two at a time. Her hand slid along the bannister and left a long smeared trail behind her, bright against the wood. The thing below was climbing now. She could hear stone shifting under weight that did not sound like feet. She burst through the door into the dorm foyer and slammed it shut. Her head spun. She tore a strip from her sleeve, pressed it to the cut, then peeled the soaked one free. Thinking fast, she carried the wet cloth to the grand staircase and dropped it over the rail. It hit the wall below and hung there, dripping steadily into a growing pool. A false trail. A lure pointed away from her door. She backed into the shadow of the landing and waited. The foyer went very still. Then the air changed — colder, closer, and not from the stairwell behind her. Something had risen through the floor itself and was standing near the dripping cloth, breathing in her scent like a name it already knew. A low voice spoke from the dark, steady and surprised. "You called me." Dutch's blood, still falling drop by drop, had answered a prince she had not meant to find.