Instead of causing the clock hands to rotate, turning the key made the whole face of the clock turn. It revolved with a grinding, grating noise and came to rest upside down, with the twelve at the bottom and the six at the top, before swinging open like a door.
The winds of the Crossroad waited, almost comforting in contrast to where they were now. Corinthe stood gasping at the vision of serene turquoise light and the smell of clouds, of sky.
A deafening groan sounded above them, and the tower began to collapse into itself. Kinesthesia was falling apart. Corinthe had no idea what that meant for the rest of the universe, but she knew it was bad. Very bad.
She pulled the key from the lock just as the floor shifted underneath them. The key went tumbling downward, disappearing in the smoke.
“Go!” Luc shouted.
This is all my fault.
It was her last thought before the entire tower collapsed over them.
16
Luc gave Corinthe a push and threw himself out of the tower behind her just before it collapsed.
And then, suddenly, the tower wasn’t there anymore; they were surrounded by swirling nothingness, by winds and currents. He found her hand and gripped it tightly. Although it seemed there was no ground beneath their feet, they didn’t fall.
Luc opened his eyes. They were in a world of mist. Everything was a wash of gray. It was impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. They could be on a mountain or deep in a canyon and they’d never even know it.
Corinthe squeezed his hand, as if to say she’d heard his thoughts. And despite everything, Luc was grateful she had found him. More than grateful.
In that freakish world of two suns, he had slept with his body wrapped around Corinthe’s, his face buried in her hair. She had seemed surprised—and unhappy, he thought—by her exhaustion, by her desire to sleep. But soon she had relaxed, and they lay together, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder, until the first streaks of dawn lightened the sky. Waking with her in his arms had felt too good—right, almost, as if she’d been made to sleep in the hollow of his body. He’d never felt that with Karen—or with anyone.
Corinthe was a virtual stranger and he’d told her things he’d never told another soul. He and Karen had been together for three months. But he’d never been able to open up to her about his family. He’d never wanted to.
With Corinthe, it felt right.
Which was exactly why he’d decided to leave.
But with Corinthe near him, he was not so afraid—and not so alone.
A wispy finger of mist detached from the nothingness and slid toward them. Like the vines on a plant, tendrils of mist wrapped around their feet, climbed their legs. Luc’s legs tingled; it felt almost as if he were being coaxed or pulled somewhere.
Luc kicked out and the mist dissolved.
“What the hell is this place?” he said.
“I don’t know,” Corinthe said. “I’ve never seen it in a marble.”
Luc was about to ask what she meant, but Corinthe pointed. “Look.”
The mist in front of them had cleared slightly, and a rocky pathway had appeared, extending into the distance. As they advanced along it, the ground behind them silently crumbled away to more nothingness.
The path was narrow, and they had to walk single file. He could feel the heat of Corinthe’s breath on the back of his neck, a sharp contrast to the coolness of the mist.
Each step made Luc more panicked. They were lost, and Jasmine was dying. But the only choice was to keep going forward, into the unknown. There could be no turning back; the mist ate up the space behind them, and the path disappeared.
Corinthe put a hand on his back to stop him. “Wait.”
The hair on the back of his neck pricked up. He turned to face her. “What is it?”
Her eyes were wide. “Listen.”
Luc closed his eyes and concentrated. At first, he thought he was just hearing the wind rustling through unseen trees. But as he listened, he began to make out individual words. Whispers. Voices.
The thousands of voices that wafted up from the fog were talking, some loud, some soft, some angry, some happy.
“Hello?” he called out.
Laughter, almost directly in front of them, echoed back to them. Luc reached back for Corinthe’s hand and pulled her forward along the path. Now he could see shadows passing through the fog around them.
“Hello?” he called again.
“Luc!” Corinthe called out.
He hadn’t felt her pull away, hadn’t seen her wander off. But she had left the path. Her outline was barely visible in the fog. He turned once in a circle. The path behind them was gone, completely obscured by the thick mist.
Goose bumps popped up along his arms.
“Luc!” Corinthe called again.
Her voice sounded fainter.
“Corinthe!” If he didn’t hurry, if he didn’t follow her, he’d lose her in this mess. He took a tentative step off the path, feeling ice-cold tongues of mist lapping around his ankles. The ground was soft and springy underneath him, as though he were walking on moss, but the fog was so thick, he could barely make out his own feet. He nearly collided with Corinthe before she materialized, suddenly, in the mist.
He exhaled. He felt better just standing next to her.
The fog in front of them was somewhat less dense, and he saw several sickly-looking trees. Their branches dipped down toward the earth like long fingers waiting to grab them both. Luc had a sudden image of being trapped in this world forever, of circling through the dark and the damp, of listening to the whispers of those terrible voices.
“How do we get out of here?” Luc couldn’t stop himself from shivering. “What about the locket thingy? Can’t you use it?”
Corinthe shook her head. “It’s no use to us here.”
Something occurred to Luc then—something that made his stomach seize up with dread. “You don’t know how it works, either, do you?”
Corinthe looked uneasy for a moment. Then she tossed her hair, almost defiantly. “It doesn’t matter how it works. I’m supposed to follow it. That’s all.”
Luc rubbed his head, where he could feel pressure building. “Don’t you ever get tired of doing what you’re told to do? Blindly? Like—like an animal?”
Corinthe jerked backward an inch, as though she’d been slapped.
“I’m sorry,” Luc said quickly. “I didn’t mean—”
“Come on.” Corinthe’s voice was cold, and, he thought, hurt. “There’s no point in arguing. We have to keep going, that’s all.”
“Where?” As if in answer to his question, the fog retreated and a new path appeared, between the trees: a series of moss-covered stones and tamped-down earth, winding off into the distance.
The whispers grew louder as they walked, and Luc had the uncomfortable feeling that he used to get when he’d first switched schools in sixth grade—when, walking into the cafeteria at lunchtime, there had been a brief moment where everyone stared at him, assessing, giggling behind cupped hands. When Corinthe paused to rest momentarily, he unconsciously reached out for her hand. He was glad she let him take it.
Up ahead, he noticed a shape moving just beyond the curtain of fog. A person? Something else? He couldn’t tell. His throat was dry. The voices rose; he could hear tinkling laughter now, and the distant sound of music.
“What is it?” Corinthe asked.
“Come on,” Luc whispered, tightening his hold on her hand. His heart rammed in his chest. They moved toward the shape he had seen, toward the voices, and suddenly the fog rose all around them, thicker than ever. It swept into Luc’s throat, clotted his nostrils, made him dizzy.