Light floods the walls. The train rounds the bend. “We’re not going to make it,” I shout.
Joshua swerves and I follow. We hurdle left, my entire body seizing when I leap over the “death rail.” We duck into the alcove at the exact moment the train whooshes by. The backdraft nearly blows me off my feet. Joshua steadies me. Then I lose my footing. I’m falling. He’s falling. We greet the ground with the breath knocked out of us.
“Are you hurt?”
Not physically. “I’m fine. You?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead he gets up, grabs my hand, and helps me do the same. When I’m upright, he releases me.
To the right there’s a metal door with the word Maintenance posted on it in peeling white letters.
“Follow me.” Joshua pushes down on the handle, opens the door, and enters a narrow hallway. We follow it, Joshua in front, me behind.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Leaky pipes and wire webs encase us. A caged lightbulb flickers on the ceiling. Rap, rap, rap. We follow the path, Joshua’s flashlight beam guiding our way. We don’t speak. Minute shadows silent minute. The walls seem to close in. Is it hot in here? My chest constricts. Hard to breathe.
The hall turns a sharp left. A dead end. Now what?
Joshua crouches, removes a grate about the size of a doormat, and sets it to the side with a clang. “I’ll go down first to make sure the rungs are stable. Don’t follow until I say.”
I nod.
He rotates, descends backward into darkness.
I lean over the opening, waiting with breath on hold.
Squeak!
“Joshua?”
No response.
I swallow. One. Two. Three. “Joshua David, you answer me right now, or so help me—”
“I’m okay.”
Exhale.
“Just slipped. I’m fine. Almost there.”
Tick-tock, tick-tock. Hurry up. I can’t take it anymore.
“All right.” His voice is an echo in a canyon. Far. Small. How deep does this go?
I repeat his steps, turning first then climbing down. Narrow, round, and somewhat slippery, I take each bar with painstaking care. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. It’s just a ladder. No big deal.
At the bottom Joshua grasps my waist, helps me down. Fingers loiter for a millisecond too long.
Scratch that. It’s not hot in here. It’s sweltering.
“This way,” he says.
More long halls. Pipes. Railing. Stairs. Lightbulbs here and there. Who knew such a labyrinth existed below the city?
Finally, finally, we reach a padlocked door marked Restricted.
Now what? “Do you have a key?”
“Don’t need one.” He walks straight through as if it isn’t there.
My jaw goes slack. Now he’s showing off. After everything I’ve seen tonight, I don’t question it. I follow.
A chorus of rushing water echoes riotously. I’m standing on the shore of a crystal-clear pool nestled in an open cavern. Grass greener than any I’ve seen carpets the floor. The air is so clean and pure I want to capture it in a bottle and drink it in. A rainbow of wildflowers dots the scene. At the center of it all is a great and glorious waterfall, a curtain of foamy white cascading from an opening in the rocky ceiling.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Joshua leans against a boulder taller than he is.
I’m speechless—almost. “What is this place?”
He clasps his hands behind his back, like a tour guide at the Museum of Natural History. “This is a Threshold. It’s a gateway between Reflections, or alternate universes, as you might recognize them. You saw a door blocking our way because you didn’t know what to look for. You saw what you expected to see, not what was really here.”
“People only see what they want to see.” Ky’s words release on my own whisper.
“What?” Joshua cocks his head.
Three quick blinks. “Never mind. Please don’t tell me I have an alter ego floating around somewhere in there?” I gesture toward the water.
“No, no. Unlike worlds, souls cannot be duplicated.” He chuckles.
Phew.
“Each Reflection has a series of Thresholds leading into the next one. The world you know is the Third Reflection, from which you can pass to the Second or Fourth.” He speaks about it with ease. Has he given this speech before?
“How many are there?”
“Seven in all, but no one has ventured beyond the Fifth in years. Not since King Aidan was alive.”
I don’t even want to know.
“You almost passed through a Threshold last night.”
The glowing green light at the bottom of the Pond.
“If you had passed through it, you would’ve fallen right into Crowe’s hands. That Threshold leads into the Forest of Night—Shadow Territory.”
Ugh. I can’t keep up with him. Threshold. Reflection. Shadow Territory. “Where does this one lead?” If I wasn’t witnessing an underground Eden, I wouldn’t believe it.
“Lynbrook Province. It’s on the outskirts and overlooked enough, no one should notice our entrance.”
I face him. “Listen. Before we go any farther, I need to know a few things.”
“Okay.” His jaw bulges.
I step closer. “No more lies?”
“No more lies.”
“Ever?”
He looks me square in the eyes. “Eliyana Ember, on my honor as a Guardian, I swear to be as honest with you as possible from here on out.”
His use of my full name is so formal. Cold. I ignore the pinch in my chest and say, “I need to understand something. Mom said I’m not from here—the Third Reflection. You’re not either, are you?”
“No. I’m not.”
“The day we met . . .” I swallow, my courage gaining momentum with each word. “It wasn’t an accident, was it? Every encounter, every time you called or hung out with me, it was all part of your”—another swallow—“job. Is that right?”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “Yes.”
“You’re my best friend.” Or you were. “Was any of it real?” An enormous lump presses on my vocal cords.
He runs his fingers through his hair. Averts his gaze. “I care for you. I can’t deny that. But my duty comes first. Your safety comes first. You must understand—”
I lift a palm to stop him. “I got it, thanks. No need to elaborate.”
Lips pursed, he nods, turns toward the pool.
“One more thing.”
His body shifts, but he doesn’t meet my gaze.
“From now on, if it comes between saving my life or Mom’s, you’ll save her.”
No eye contact. No answer.
“Joshua?”
Nothing.
“Look. At. Me.” When he doesn’t, I add, “I’m not taking another step until you agree.” My feet plant, arms cross. He can be stubborn, but so can I.
“You have no idea what you’re asking.”
“Promise me.”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t be childish. You’ve no clue what’s at stake here.”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
He doesn’t move. “It’s not so simple.”
“You promised no more lies. Prove it. Fill me in on why my life is so much more valuable than Mom’s.”
Still he ignores me.
“Answer me!”
That does it. He zips over to me like a bullet train. I’ve pushed him over the edge. He raises an open hand. For the smallest, stupidest moment, I think he might hit me. But he doesn’t even come close to touching me. “I can’t tell you. I won’t put you in more danger than you’re already in.”