Chapter Nine

If those bastards caught up to her, she'd die.

It wasn't like she wasn't trying to run across the desert in the middle of the night with the blistering heat still killing brain cells like a dominant virus. Time to kill the virus and get out of the body. They followed her like shadowy ninjas, quiet and silent like a soft breeze.

Slogging through the cold desert without any shoes would be hard for her. She didn't remember how she had gotten her shoes taken away from her, and it wasn't like she planned on it. Groaning and picking up the large, bound book she had tucked away in the sheets, she ran across the black desert, desperate, weary, and adamant on avoiding anything that was black and had eyes like a snake.

Something whistled past her ear. Pausing long enough to see that it was an arrow carved out of human bone, she booked it further into the desert.

Broken bones and soft Teeth

Seth was dying. Of thirst and broken bones and desert dust filling his esophagus. Not that the odd smirks of Warren's fried brain were helping any. They were trapped in the desert, and Seth did not feel like talking to anyone. He had spent the night lying on his back, trying to tell the stars to shut up and sing something other than "I'm a little Teapot," but they wouldn't listen, nor would they shut up.

Motley had the song, "Broken Record" (whatever that was) stuck in her head and it went something like this: I'm a broken/ broken/ broken record/ I'm a broken/ broken record/ I'm a broken/ broken record.

Maybe she came up with the lyrics by herself. So original, Motley. So original.

"I think it's official," Seth announced, looking tired and annoyed and angry at the world. "We are beyond lost. We are so beyond lost that even the Lost Idiots of Saint Regarding the Invisible couldn't find us."

Warren was eating a fruit-paper-jerky sandwich with ketchup. Seth made a face. Warren, his mouth still full, replied, "Who?"

Seth frowned. He wasn't going to help any. "You're a great guy and all, but I think the ketchup is going to your head."

Warren smiled. "I should hope so."

Going to my head. Ha ha.

Motley looked confused. "What?"

"Warren's being stupid again." Seth looked at Motley. "So, isn't there a way that you can, like, magic us out of here?"

"Why?"

Seth stopped and stared at her. "Are you serious? We've been in this blasted desert for—one, two—heck, I'm not even going to count any more—and I would like to get out!"

Edilyn looked at the ground, deciding what to say. "I didn't learn that type of magic."

"Okay. Okay, but you must know something like that, right? In your magic book or something?"

"Who said that I have a magic book?"

"Witches don't have magic books?"

"That's a stereotype and you know it."

Warren interrupted. "Actually, nobody besides you knew that."

Motley went to rebuke that, but stopped. "Okay, fine. Fair enough."

"So you can't get us out of here?"

"I never said that."

Seth frowned. "You never said that you could and you never said that you couldn't, you just said that your magic doesn't work like that."

Warren interrupted again. "What time is it?"

"Almost four o'clock," Seth replied without stopping, "What did you mean by that?"

Motley paused for a second. "My magic is more… offensive."

Seth pressed a palm to his face and felt like swearing, the temptation desperate. Finally he just groaned. "Okay. Okay. All right. What can you do?"

Motley shrugged.

Seth couldn't help it. "So here we are, stuck in a desert where nothing happens and we can't even get out!"

"Like you can say anything." Motley was looking annoyed. Like she had the right.

"Because you're totally qualified, you little minx!"

Motley looked hurt. "Oh, now you're falling down to insulting?"

"It's never stopped me before!"

"Calling girls flirtatious!"

"The other definition of minx, you sardine!"

"Now you are lower than dirt!"

"You've been lower than the ocean floor, Ms. Satire!"

"The government called—they're looking for their clones!"

"I hope your ice cream melts before you can eat it!"

Warren grimaced. "That was a terrible insult."

Seth curled his fingers until the knuckles were white. Gritting his teeth, he made an angry grunting noise and stormed away.

Broken bones and few teeth

It was almost dark when Seth finally realized what was going on. The darkness surrounded him, and his anger was eating away at the light. Trying to calm himself down, he breathed in and out and finally sat on the ground, throwing the dark sand on the ground.

I should just get myself out.