Page 71 of Stealing Tink

The Nomad wrenches the door open, the wind whipping me in the face. When he opens the door to the faerie’s car, he throws me inside, jumping inside himself and slamming the door shut behind him.

The door has only just closed when…BOOM.

The entire car shudders. I’m launched forward, my neck snapping as I realize this car and the one ahead of it have been severed from the rest of the train.

But the explosions don’t stop.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

That’s when it hits me—the entire train is carrying faerie dust.

I look at the Nomad. Regret floods his face; he says nothing.

I run to the door and wrench it open. The next car is still connected to ours, but only barely, half of it blown away, leaving a gaping hole through which I get the perfect view of what’s unfolding on the rest of the tracks.

The front of the train still speeds forward, but it’s as if it’s being chased by explosion after explosion.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

I watch as the world’s supply of faerie dust is blown to smithereens.

CHAPTER 30

The rendezvous point is less of a safe house and more of a safe cave. It’s also not the cave the Nomad originally told us about when we planned the train robbery.

I’d asked him when we arrived why we were hiding out on this mountain and not the one directly east of it, where he’d told the rest of the crew to meet up. He’d simply told me that it’s never wise, as the conductor of an operation, to be the first to arrive at the rendezvous point. Better to have a vantage point to overlook the actual meeting place in case the other members of your team happen to bring company.

I can’t argue with that. I’m not sure exactly what the Nomad’s stakes in this heist are, but I know that—except for maybe Acel—mine are much higher than any of the other crew. Lars is in it for curiosity’s sake. Venus already has her magic back, so really she’s just fulfilling a debt. Sure, we haven’t figured out how to get Phoenix’s power from her painting, but I can’t get a read on whether she actually wants it. So who knows how committed the muses are to fulfilling their bargain? They already have a bounty on their heads, after all. What’s one more?

So the Nomad and I trek up the wrong mountain. The path is winding, but it’s not the most treacherous I’ve ever taken. The cliff sides in Neverland were considerably worse. We’re both quiet on the way up. For the Nomad, I have to assume the silence is a by-product of our failed mission. I’d shown him the clump of faerie dust that I’d salvaged, and he’d pretended to be hopeful before slipping it into an empty coin purse, but there’s no denying we failed. But at the moment, that’s not what’s bothering me. It’s not that the loss of faerie dust isn’t also on my mind—after all, it was my one hope for getting my wings back. And my voice. But I don’t want to confront that reality quite yet.

For now, I allow thoughts of the escaped faeries to assail me. We’d parted ways with them in the wilderness, after the Nomad had insisted on cleaning and bandaging my arm. I’d wanted to lead them to the mountains where they could hide out in the caves for a while. The Nomad hadn’t exactly taken to that plan. Something about not wanting to lead a host of hunted faeries directly to our rendezvous point. We had argued, but in the end, it wasn’t the Nomad who convinced me to split up, but the first faerie we’d freed.

“You didn’t come here for us,” she’d told me after pulling me aside. “And besides, we’re not helpless. Otherwise they wouldn’t have bothered with the chains. You of all people should know that.”

When we reach the cave, the Nomad allows his satchel to slip from his back. It thuds as it hits the cave floor.

“I’ll be a gentleman and let you choose your bed,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.

I scan the rather barren cave, then point toward the cave mouth before writing, I want the one closest to the door.

“I thought you might say that,” he says, glancing down at my sheet of paper. “Afraid I’m going to kill you in the night?”

One can never be too sure.

“Fair point.” He perches himself on an indentation in the cave wall as if it’s a bench. When he pats the place next to him, I simply glare.

“Are we ever going to get past your refusal to sit when I ask you to?” he says.

I shake my head.

“Fine. Well, there’s a seat here if you want it. See? I’m not asking. Not telling you what to do. Just offering you information. Rather obvious information, but information nonetheless.”

The corner of my lip twitches of its own accord, and so does his when I slowly make my way across the cave and take the seat next to him.

“Any ideas on how to pass the time? Until the others do or do not come?” he asks, that same twinkle in his eye as his gaze dips toward my mouth.

I simultaneously feel a tingle at my spine and the inclination to shove him, but I suppress the urge. I need to learn more signs. Back on the train, me being unable to communicate almost got us in trouble.