To Best the Boys(45)

The sound of grating metal pricks the air and, with another clang, the gates swing shut.

I blink and glance around along with everyone else to see who made it in and who didn’t. Silence falls around our breathing—which becomes slower and heavier the longer we wait. One minute turns into an uncomfortable two.

Then into three.

“What is this?” a boy behind Seleni mutters.

“We’re like trapped cattle,” another says.

“Maybe he really does feed contestants to his beasts.”

“Not funny, Rubin,” Lawrence growls.

A movement shakes one of the hedges and is accompanied by what sounds like the hiss of a snake. It’s followed by a thump and then a scream, and Seleni and I jerk together just as I note an empty space where a boy to the left of us just stood. Another slithering noise emits on my right, and I look over just as another cry goes up. Then another. The rustling grows louder and suddenly it’s close and the boy next to me is plucked up and dragged through the air into the hedge. It closes around him like a mouth eating its prey, and the next second he’s disappeared.

“Duck!” someone yells just as a thin, trailing vine snaps out and grabs one of Will’s friends by his arms. Quick as lightning it drags him into the foliage.

My eyes widen. The vines are everywhere—hovering above and around us, slithering this way and that, as if tasting the air. In spite of the fact they’re a scientific impossibility.

I squeeze Seleni’s hand, shut my eyes, and wait for one to take us because we shouldn’t be here. But it doesn’t. And as quickly as it started, the rustling stops, the vines recede, and the hedge goes back to normal. Whatever normal is.

“What in Caldon’s name was that?” Lawrence yells.

“Tsk, tsk, the rules are clear—only first-time contestants are allowed. And no contraband.” Like the chimes of a clock, the words ripple on all sides, until they echo through my bones and skin. I frown.

“But now that we’ve dealt with them fairly—hurry, hurry, find your way. No stopping now, come what may.”

The tone and musical flow are unmistakable. It’s Mr. Kellen, the odd, elderly gentleman from my uncle’s party. One moment he’s speaking, and the next he’s standing in front of us, clapping amid a chorus of gasps and cursing. Except instead of his pipe, he now holds a cup of something steaming, which he lifts and sips as he waits for our silence.

I stare at him. Is Kellen Mr. Holm? I inch behind Beryll and Sam and tug Seleni to follow because I have no idea if he can see us or his magic can sense us. Why hasn’t it already?

“Good evening, gents,” he says, when the boys have calmed. “In the wall behind me you’ll find four doors.” He grins, then takes another sip of tea as the hedge he’s standing in front of rustles and four silver doors appear, each one three feet from the other.

An utterance of “ah” goes through the crowd.

“Behind those doors is the beginning of your future.” Kellen holds out one delicate hand—and from it falls a key attached to a chain that’s attached to his forefinger. “Follow the path and the voice of Mr. Holm, and you might make it through the first task.” He gives a sly smile that looks oddly mesmerizing on his merry face. “If you make it through, you’ll move on to the next obstacle. Fail, however, and you’ll be at my mercy.”

He swings the key out in front of him—like a hypnotist does with a watch. And for a moment I swear that’s exactly what he’s doing—hypnotizing us—because for the life of me I can’t look away. Can’t look anywhere but there—at Kellen, and his lavender eyes, and that precise pendulum-moving key.

“Your quest is a key. The first one who finds and uses it correctly will escape the Labyrinth. Alive.” He jerks the key up and into his palm in one swift motion, making me blink. Then steps back. “Find the key and open the door to your future,” he says again, as a mist begins seeping from the ground and rippling around his feet. Soon it’s swirling up his legs, then his arms and face and that silver hair, and a murmur picks up among the boys in front of us.

His voice cracks the air again. “Pick a door, any door—but those players you go in with will be the team you’re stuck with. Until they are whittled away one by one and the last person standing will be the one who won. But for now, the question becomes—how well do you know your maths?” His words fade and a swell of music tinkles and the mist surrounding him thickens. Until there’s a poof, and the space where he stood is empty.

“Here is your first clue.” His voice reverberates in my head. And in the spot where he’d been standing, four words are etched into the ground.

WHAT ARE YOUR FEARS?


The boys are blinking and looking around, same as Seleni and me.

“So . . . we pick a door?” someone whispers.

“But which door? How do we choose?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Who cares? He just said to hurry.” Germaine strides for the farthest door on the right, yanks the handle, and hurls himself through. Two seconds later, Rubin follows suit, and as if a spell has been broken, the place erupts into chaos.

I dodge to the side to avoid getting shoved and grab a handful of Beryll’s shirt to pull him and Seleni with me toward Will and Sam and Lute. If Beryll notices, he doesn’t seem to care—probably because everyone else in here is doing the same.