Shine, Chapter Eight
Goddammit, I am so sorry it took so long.
Without further ado, a filler chapter leading up to the climax of the story. Yay.
previous chapter
When Blaine woke up, he was curled up against Kurt's back, one arm flung over the other man's waist. Kurt was still glowing softly, though his chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of sleep. He was so beautiful, it actually took a few moments before Blaine could force himself to look away.
When he finally wrenched his gaze from Kurt, it was to lift a knife from the bedside table and press it to the back of Kurt's neck.
He sliced off a lock of hair.
Just a small piece, but it still sort of hurt him, especially as he watched the glow fade from it once it was separated from its owner.
It physically pained him to crawl out of bed, leaving Kurt by himself.
He wrapped the hair in his handkerchief, slipped into his clothing, and left the room, locking the door behind him.
He rang the bell on the counter downstairs.
The innkeeper, lying sprawled across a chair, stirred and groaned. “What?”
“Sorry,” Blaine murmured, trying to keep his voice low. “Could I have a piece of paper and a pen?"
“Ask me again,” the innkeeper grumbled, “at a more reasonable hour."
“No, I can't, really, I have to go,” Blaine said, glancing over his shoulder. “Look, if my friend wakes up before I get back, please, could you give him a message?”
“Go on,” the innkeeper said.
The bed was cold when Kurt opened his eyes. That was the first thing he noticed, although it didn't seem to be a big deal, because Blaine's hands and feet were always cold. Poor circulation.
“You know, that's the first time I've ever actually slept at night,” Kurt murmured, unable to keep the drowsy content out of his voice. He shut his eyes once more, rolling over and snuggling into his pillow. “I can't believe it.”
He opened his eyes when Blaine didn't respond.
The bed was empty.
The guard at the wall was asleep.
Not that it mattered. He was there to stop people from leaving Wall, not from entering it.
It was much easier to cross over than it had been two weeks ago.
Kurt tripped down the stairs, the laces to one of his boots still untied.
The innkeeper raised a glass of whiskey in greeting.
“Have you seen my friend?” Kurt asked.
“He left absurdly early,” the innkeeper said, taking another sip of the glass.
“He left?” Kurt asked, a somewhat incredulous grin on his face.
“He told me, he's gone to see Rachel. Because he's sorry, but he's found his true love, and he wants to spend the rest of his life with... her."
“What?” the bottom dropped out of Kurt's stomach. His head reeled. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” the innkeeper said, and Kurt's life fell apart.
The walk was short for Blaine. Too short. He found himself clearing the woods just as the first rays of sunlight were bursting over the horizon.
Kurt left the inn in a daze. His boot was still untied. He couldn't be bothered to stoop down and untie it.
Blaine didn't love him.
Blaine loved Rachel.
So what was last night? A mistake?
He blinked away tears furiously.
Michael was setting up shop for the day, carrying things from the caravan to the stall set up outside. The witch was still asleep inside-she didn't have to wake at the crack of dawn to set up. Why would she, when she could have her servant do it for her?
A tall, beautiful boy passed him, his eyes vacant.
Mike recognized him.
A night ago, he'd found out he had a son. The boy with the dark, curly hair had been wearing the flower he'd given Tina so long ago, and the other one-the star-had said that it had been a gift from the father he'd never met. It didn't take much to put two and two together.
The boy-Blaine, the star had called him-was his son.
“Wait!” He called after the star, but the star didn't turn. He continued to walk slowly, the blank, heart-wrenchingly broken look in his eyes.
He tried to chase the boy, to grab his arm, but the tug on his ankle reminded him-he was a slave. He would be trapped by this god-forsaken enchanted for the rest of forever.
Blaine stopped.
It was strange, when he thought about it. He'd expected so much to have changed about Wall-after all, it felt as if he'd been gone for years, rather than weeks. He'd expected something different, but here was Rachel's house-quaint, ivy-draped, sunny-and it was the same as it had always been.
It was he who had changed, he realized.
He bent to wrap his hand around a stone, and twisted his shoulder back to throw it at the window-then changed his mind.
The stone fell to the ground as he made his way to the front door, and knocked once.
When Mike checked the window of the caravan, the witch was still slumbering, a lump of blankets and blond hair on the bed. He closed the door ever-so-gently, and snuck the pin through the lock.
He took the reigns in hand.
He was unsurprised when Rachel answered the door, her hair flowing down around her shoulders, clad in a white nightgown.
“Happy birthday,” he said, inclining his head.
Rachel's face registered nothing but shock. “Blaine."
It was strange, how he could have possibly thought that he was ever in love with her. Fond of her, still-yes. Despite her shortcomings (and there were many), he still enjoyed spending his time with her.
But after experiencing Kurt-being with Kurt, in every single way-he couldn't fathom feeling anything towards anyone else, much less her. He hadn't known what love meant until he'd met Kurt.
“What happened to you?” she asked, taking a step forward. He supposed he did look a fair bit different than he had when he'd left Wall two weeks previously.
“I found the star,” he offered with a slight smile.
“I can't believe you did it,” Rachel said, blinking. “I mean, I can, you were always the determined sort, but-where's my star? Can I see it? Is it beautiful?”
“Yes,” Blaine said, and he knew Rachel wouldn't be able to understand the fervor in his voice. He took the handkerchief from his pocket, and handed it to Rachel.
“It's small,” she said, surprised.
“Good things come in small packages,” he said, which wasn't always true, but it sounded good to him.
“It doesn't matter, anyway. It's not the star that I want,” Rachel said, taking another step forward.
His confusion must have shown on his face, because she smiled somewhat seductively before wrapping an arm around his neck. “You know what I want, Blaine.”
“Yes, I do,” Blaine said, and he dipped her back into what must have seemed to her like the perfect position for a fairytale kiss.
“And it's not me,” Blaine whispered, before dropping her. Her eyes snapped open as she fell to the ground with a little 'oof'.
“No hard feelings,” Blaine said, straightening up.
Something thudded to the ground a few feet away from them.
Jesse was standing there, a box on the ground beside his feet. He was staring at the two of them.
“Jesse!” Blaine said, happily, not bothering to question at all why he was so happy to see him. He'd changed a lot in the past two weeks.
“Anderson,” Jesse said, drawing his thin sword. Two weeks ago, it would have intimidated Blaine. “You must have a death wish.”
Blaine sighed, and drew his own sword. It was heavier, thicker than Jesse's.
Jesse's eyes widened.
“Ah,” he said, and sheathed his own sword, looking slightly discouraged and more than a little upset. His eyes flickered to Rachel, seated on the ground, and his shoulders slumped.
“Jesse. Jesse, it's all right,” Blaine said, lowering his sword. On the ground beside him, Rachel was unfolding the handkerchief, a perplexed look on her face. “She's all yours. You really are a perfect couple. The best of luck to you both.”
“I'm confused,” Rachel said, softly. “This is just-it's just stardust.”
“What?” Blaine asked.
She threw the wadded-up handkerchief at him. He caught it, and shook it open.
Sparkly gray and black powder sifted through his fingers.
“Kurt,” he said, the handkerchief falling from his hands. “He can't cross the wall.”
He ran.
Mike winced as he ran over another stall in his hurry to leave the market-town, but he couldn't do much else besides yell “sorry!” to the vendor, who shook an angry fist at him.
Karofsky could see the wall from the window of his carriage.
He was so close.
The horse wasn't as fast as Santana would've liked, but it was fast enough.
Because according to her runes, she was less than a mile away from the star and the stone.
The caravan protested loudly, tipping onto only two wheels, as it raced around another rocky corner. Mike winced, pressing all his weight to the airborne side until it slammed back to earth.
His safety was far less important than the star's.
Branches whipped his face, some drawing a sharp sting of blood. He kept going, even as his lungs burned and his legs ached.
He had to get to Kurt.
Kurt counted the steps as he walked. Fifteen steps to go. Then eleven. Then eight. Then six. Then three--
“Stop!” Mike called out, grabbing his arm. “Stop. If you go through there, you'll die."
Kurt looked torn between confusion and the desire to shake this strange man off his arm. “What?”
The back door of the caravan burst open. Mike ignored it. “If you set foot on human soil, you'll turn to rock.”
He was abruptly yanked off his feet, dragged along the ground by the chain wrapped around his ankle.
“Where have you taken me, you miserable little elf?” the witch growled. Kurt could only watch, his mouth hanging open in horror, as the man who had just saved him was tugged backwards across the rocky soil.
A carriage screeched to a halt beside them.
The door swung open.
“Planning to enter Wall, were you?” Karofsky asked, and Kurt's eyes widened in horror. “If death is what you really want, I'd be more than happy to help with that.”
“Are you talking to me?” Ditchwater Sue sneered.
“Oh, it's you,” Karofsky said, his lip curling. “Small world. Anyhow, no, I wasn't. I was talking to the star.”
“What star?” Sue asked, then glanced to the boy she had gripped by the arm. “My slave-boy's no star. Any fool can see that. If he was, I would've had his measly little heart out ages ago. Trust me.”
“Trust you?” Karofsky laughed, at last wrenching his eyes away from Kurt. “Not a mistake I'd be likely to make again.” He tilted his head, smiling. “What's it to be, Ditchwater Sue? Heads or tails?”
Sue had time for only a moment of confusion before the green flame engulfed her.
She tried to fight, she did, and she fought valiantly for a short amount of time.
Kurt gasped in horror, and Mike hurried towards him, flinging out an arm to protect him from the witch's fire.
In the end, when the fire cleared, all that was left was a body. The head had burned clean away.
Kurt was still shaking, his head turned into Mike's shoulder, but Mike was examining the chain that was wrapped around his ankle, hoping, waiting--
It fell free with an almost inaudible clink.
Karofsky was laughing, a horrible noise that made all the hair on Kurt's arms stand on end. He wiped his eyes. “Okay. Time to go.”
“He's not going anywhere,” Mike said, one arm still thrown protectively over the star.
Karofsky turned, an exasperated expression on his face. “I think you'll find he is. It's all right, you can come too.”
He flicked a finger, and a fine silvery chain wrapped itself around both their wrists.
Mike could almost weep at the unfairness of it all. He'd only just been freed from slavery, from that horrible woman. He'd been chained by the ankle for twenty-one very long years.
And now he was a slave once more.
“You can ride in the carriage, or be dragged behind it. Your choice,” Karofsky said, an awful smile curling across his face.
“What an offer,” Kurt said, wryly, his voice miraculously steady, and started for the carriage.
Mike held the door for him. It was the least he could do, now that he was about to get them both killed.
Kurt waited until the door was closed behind them to speak. “I'm sorry,” he murmured, his voice low. “I'm so sorry I've got you dragged into this. I don't even know who you are, and you tried to help me.”
“My name is Michael,” he said, quietly. “Mike. And don't be sorry. I wanted to help you. Where is Blaine?”
Kurt's brow furrowed. “How do you--”
Mike shook his head, quickly. “No. What's your name?”
“Kurt.”
“It's a pleasure, Kurt,” Mike said.
“I wish I could agree with you on that account,” Kurt said, and the carriage surged forward as Karofsky cracked his whip.
Blaine cleared the trees, his eyes already frantically sweeping along the wall for some sign that Kurt was alright.
A very familiar yellow caravan stood on the other side of the wall, a patient, weary-looking horse still tethered to it.
“Go ahead,” said the guard, swaying as she made her way away from the wall. “Be my guest. All these years I've stopped you people from going out, when what I should've been worrying about was the people from the other side.”
“Okay, all right, just tell me what happened,” Blaine said, desperately, his hands clinging to her arms.
“What happened?” she hiccuped. “Oh, where to start!”
He could only listen for a moment. As soon as the news of the warlock taking Kurt and the other man-whoever he was-with him in his caravan crossed the guards lips, Blaine had already taken off running again.
He swung around the corner of the caravan, hasty eyes darting around the inside. It was a wreck, broken objects and heaps of cloth everywhere, so it took a moment for his eyes to land upon what he was searching for.
His fingers seized around the tiny glass flower.
He took the horse.
There was nobody anywhere near the wall when Santana stopped there. She was momentarily confused until she saw the caravan, sitting innocuously just a few feet shy from the opening in the wall.
She tossed her runes.
Mouth set, she galloped on.
Both of them were led into a castle-old, spindly, diseased-looking. Mike kept his arm folded around Kurt's shoulder, protectively, even though it made the chain wrapped around his wrist tug painfully.
He wasn't about to let Kurt go.
“The star!” one of the warlocks said, the sun shining out of his ugly face. “And-who else?"
“A slave for us,” Karofsky said. “It'll be nice for us to have someone to mop up when we've finished with our little guest.” He grinned, yellow-toothed, at the two men.
“Good work, brother,” said the darker of the other two warlocks, rubbing his hands together. “Just in time, I see. You look awful!”
All three began to laugh, and Mike felt Kurt's face turn into his neck. He winced, covering his own ears.
“Now, now, none of that,” said one of the other warlocks, seizing his arm and cutting the chain that bound the two of them together. “Make yourself useful, slave-boy.”
Karofsky turned to Kurt, tucking one finger under his chin and lifting his face.
“Now,” he said, smiling gently at the star. “Why don't we get started?”
next chapter
Without further ado, a filler chapter leading up to the climax of the story. Yay.
previous chapter
When Blaine woke up, he was curled up against Kurt's back, one arm flung over the other man's waist. Kurt was still glowing softly, though his chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of sleep. He was so beautiful, it actually took a few moments before Blaine could force himself to look away.
When he finally wrenched his gaze from Kurt, it was to lift a knife from the bedside table and press it to the back of Kurt's neck.
He sliced off a lock of hair.
Just a small piece, but it still sort of hurt him, especially as he watched the glow fade from it once it was separated from its owner.
It physically pained him to crawl out of bed, leaving Kurt by himself.
He wrapped the hair in his handkerchief, slipped into his clothing, and left the room, locking the door behind him.
He rang the bell on the counter downstairs.
The innkeeper, lying sprawled across a chair, stirred and groaned. “What?”
“Sorry,” Blaine murmured, trying to keep his voice low. “Could I have a piece of paper and a pen?"
“Ask me again,” the innkeeper grumbled, “at a more reasonable hour."
“No, I can't, really, I have to go,” Blaine said, glancing over his shoulder. “Look, if my friend wakes up before I get back, please, could you give him a message?”
“Go on,” the innkeeper said.
The bed was cold when Kurt opened his eyes. That was the first thing he noticed, although it didn't seem to be a big deal, because Blaine's hands and feet were always cold. Poor circulation.
“You know, that's the first time I've ever actually slept at night,” Kurt murmured, unable to keep the drowsy content out of his voice. He shut his eyes once more, rolling over and snuggling into his pillow. “I can't believe it.”
He opened his eyes when Blaine didn't respond.
The bed was empty.
The guard at the wall was asleep.
Not that it mattered. He was there to stop people from leaving Wall, not from entering it.
It was much easier to cross over than it had been two weeks ago.
Kurt tripped down the stairs, the laces to one of his boots still untied.
The innkeeper raised a glass of whiskey in greeting.
“Have you seen my friend?” Kurt asked.
“He left absurdly early,” the innkeeper said, taking another sip of the glass.
“He left?” Kurt asked, a somewhat incredulous grin on his face.
“He told me, he's gone to see Rachel. Because he's sorry, but he's found his true love, and he wants to spend the rest of his life with... her."
“What?” the bottom dropped out of Kurt's stomach. His head reeled. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” the innkeeper said, and Kurt's life fell apart.
The walk was short for Blaine. Too short. He found himself clearing the woods just as the first rays of sunlight were bursting over the horizon.
Kurt left the inn in a daze. His boot was still untied. He couldn't be bothered to stoop down and untie it.
Blaine didn't love him.
Blaine loved Rachel.
So what was last night? A mistake?
He blinked away tears furiously.
Michael was setting up shop for the day, carrying things from the caravan to the stall set up outside. The witch was still asleep inside-she didn't have to wake at the crack of dawn to set up. Why would she, when she could have her servant do it for her?
A tall, beautiful boy passed him, his eyes vacant.
Mike recognized him.
A night ago, he'd found out he had a son. The boy with the dark, curly hair had been wearing the flower he'd given Tina so long ago, and the other one-the star-had said that it had been a gift from the father he'd never met. It didn't take much to put two and two together.
The boy-Blaine, the star had called him-was his son.
“Wait!” He called after the star, but the star didn't turn. He continued to walk slowly, the blank, heart-wrenchingly broken look in his eyes.
He tried to chase the boy, to grab his arm, but the tug on his ankle reminded him-he was a slave. He would be trapped by this god-forsaken enchanted for the rest of forever.
Blaine stopped.
It was strange, when he thought about it. He'd expected so much to have changed about Wall-after all, it felt as if he'd been gone for years, rather than weeks. He'd expected something different, but here was Rachel's house-quaint, ivy-draped, sunny-and it was the same as it had always been.
It was he who had changed, he realized.
He bent to wrap his hand around a stone, and twisted his shoulder back to throw it at the window-then changed his mind.
The stone fell to the ground as he made his way to the front door, and knocked once.
When Mike checked the window of the caravan, the witch was still slumbering, a lump of blankets and blond hair on the bed. He closed the door ever-so-gently, and snuck the pin through the lock.
He took the reigns in hand.
He was unsurprised when Rachel answered the door, her hair flowing down around her shoulders, clad in a white nightgown.
“Happy birthday,” he said, inclining his head.
Rachel's face registered nothing but shock. “Blaine."
It was strange, how he could have possibly thought that he was ever in love with her. Fond of her, still-yes. Despite her shortcomings (and there were many), he still enjoyed spending his time with her.
But after experiencing Kurt-being with Kurt, in every single way-he couldn't fathom feeling anything towards anyone else, much less her. He hadn't known what love meant until he'd met Kurt.
“What happened to you?” she asked, taking a step forward. He supposed he did look a fair bit different than he had when he'd left Wall two weeks previously.
“I found the star,” he offered with a slight smile.
“I can't believe you did it,” Rachel said, blinking. “I mean, I can, you were always the determined sort, but-where's my star? Can I see it? Is it beautiful?”
“Yes,” Blaine said, and he knew Rachel wouldn't be able to understand the fervor in his voice. He took the handkerchief from his pocket, and handed it to Rachel.
“It's small,” she said, surprised.
“Good things come in small packages,” he said, which wasn't always true, but it sounded good to him.
“It doesn't matter, anyway. It's not the star that I want,” Rachel said, taking another step forward.
His confusion must have shown on his face, because she smiled somewhat seductively before wrapping an arm around his neck. “You know what I want, Blaine.”
“Yes, I do,” Blaine said, and he dipped her back into what must have seemed to her like the perfect position for a fairytale kiss.
“And it's not me,” Blaine whispered, before dropping her. Her eyes snapped open as she fell to the ground with a little 'oof'.
“No hard feelings,” Blaine said, straightening up.
Something thudded to the ground a few feet away from them.
Jesse was standing there, a box on the ground beside his feet. He was staring at the two of them.
“Jesse!” Blaine said, happily, not bothering to question at all why he was so happy to see him. He'd changed a lot in the past two weeks.
“Anderson,” Jesse said, drawing his thin sword. Two weeks ago, it would have intimidated Blaine. “You must have a death wish.”
Blaine sighed, and drew his own sword. It was heavier, thicker than Jesse's.
Jesse's eyes widened.
“Ah,” he said, and sheathed his own sword, looking slightly discouraged and more than a little upset. His eyes flickered to Rachel, seated on the ground, and his shoulders slumped.
“Jesse. Jesse, it's all right,” Blaine said, lowering his sword. On the ground beside him, Rachel was unfolding the handkerchief, a perplexed look on her face. “She's all yours. You really are a perfect couple. The best of luck to you both.”
“I'm confused,” Rachel said, softly. “This is just-it's just stardust.”
“What?” Blaine asked.
She threw the wadded-up handkerchief at him. He caught it, and shook it open.
Sparkly gray and black powder sifted through his fingers.
“Kurt,” he said, the handkerchief falling from his hands. “He can't cross the wall.”
He ran.
Mike winced as he ran over another stall in his hurry to leave the market-town, but he couldn't do much else besides yell “sorry!” to the vendor, who shook an angry fist at him.
Karofsky could see the wall from the window of his carriage.
He was so close.
The horse wasn't as fast as Santana would've liked, but it was fast enough.
Because according to her runes, she was less than a mile away from the star and the stone.
The caravan protested loudly, tipping onto only two wheels, as it raced around another rocky corner. Mike winced, pressing all his weight to the airborne side until it slammed back to earth.
His safety was far less important than the star's.
Branches whipped his face, some drawing a sharp sting of blood. He kept going, even as his lungs burned and his legs ached.
He had to get to Kurt.
Kurt counted the steps as he walked. Fifteen steps to go. Then eleven. Then eight. Then six. Then three--
“Stop!” Mike called out, grabbing his arm. “Stop. If you go through there, you'll die."
Kurt looked torn between confusion and the desire to shake this strange man off his arm. “What?”
The back door of the caravan burst open. Mike ignored it. “If you set foot on human soil, you'll turn to rock.”
He was abruptly yanked off his feet, dragged along the ground by the chain wrapped around his ankle.
“Where have you taken me, you miserable little elf?” the witch growled. Kurt could only watch, his mouth hanging open in horror, as the man who had just saved him was tugged backwards across the rocky soil.
A carriage screeched to a halt beside them.
The door swung open.
“Planning to enter Wall, were you?” Karofsky asked, and Kurt's eyes widened in horror. “If death is what you really want, I'd be more than happy to help with that.”
“Are you talking to me?” Ditchwater Sue sneered.
“Oh, it's you,” Karofsky said, his lip curling. “Small world. Anyhow, no, I wasn't. I was talking to the star.”
“What star?” Sue asked, then glanced to the boy she had gripped by the arm. “My slave-boy's no star. Any fool can see that. If he was, I would've had his measly little heart out ages ago. Trust me.”
“Trust you?” Karofsky laughed, at last wrenching his eyes away from Kurt. “Not a mistake I'd be likely to make again.” He tilted his head, smiling. “What's it to be, Ditchwater Sue? Heads or tails?”
Sue had time for only a moment of confusion before the green flame engulfed her.
She tried to fight, she did, and she fought valiantly for a short amount of time.
Kurt gasped in horror, and Mike hurried towards him, flinging out an arm to protect him from the witch's fire.
In the end, when the fire cleared, all that was left was a body. The head had burned clean away.
Kurt was still shaking, his head turned into Mike's shoulder, but Mike was examining the chain that was wrapped around his ankle, hoping, waiting--
It fell free with an almost inaudible clink.
Karofsky was laughing, a horrible noise that made all the hair on Kurt's arms stand on end. He wiped his eyes. “Okay. Time to go.”
“He's not going anywhere,” Mike said, one arm still thrown protectively over the star.
Karofsky turned, an exasperated expression on his face. “I think you'll find he is. It's all right, you can come too.”
He flicked a finger, and a fine silvery chain wrapped itself around both their wrists.
Mike could almost weep at the unfairness of it all. He'd only just been freed from slavery, from that horrible woman. He'd been chained by the ankle for twenty-one very long years.
And now he was a slave once more.
“You can ride in the carriage, or be dragged behind it. Your choice,” Karofsky said, an awful smile curling across his face.
“What an offer,” Kurt said, wryly, his voice miraculously steady, and started for the carriage.
Mike held the door for him. It was the least he could do, now that he was about to get them both killed.
Kurt waited until the door was closed behind them to speak. “I'm sorry,” he murmured, his voice low. “I'm so sorry I've got you dragged into this. I don't even know who you are, and you tried to help me.”
“My name is Michael,” he said, quietly. “Mike. And don't be sorry. I wanted to help you. Where is Blaine?”
Kurt's brow furrowed. “How do you--”
Mike shook his head, quickly. “No. What's your name?”
“Kurt.”
“It's a pleasure, Kurt,” Mike said.
“I wish I could agree with you on that account,” Kurt said, and the carriage surged forward as Karofsky cracked his whip.
Blaine cleared the trees, his eyes already frantically sweeping along the wall for some sign that Kurt was alright.
A very familiar yellow caravan stood on the other side of the wall, a patient, weary-looking horse still tethered to it.
“Go ahead,” said the guard, swaying as she made her way away from the wall. “Be my guest. All these years I've stopped you people from going out, when what I should've been worrying about was the people from the other side.”
“Okay, all right, just tell me what happened,” Blaine said, desperately, his hands clinging to her arms.
“What happened?” she hiccuped. “Oh, where to start!”
He could only listen for a moment. As soon as the news of the warlock taking Kurt and the other man-whoever he was-with him in his caravan crossed the guards lips, Blaine had already taken off running again.
He swung around the corner of the caravan, hasty eyes darting around the inside. It was a wreck, broken objects and heaps of cloth everywhere, so it took a moment for his eyes to land upon what he was searching for.
His fingers seized around the tiny glass flower.
He took the horse.
There was nobody anywhere near the wall when Santana stopped there. She was momentarily confused until she saw the caravan, sitting innocuously just a few feet shy from the opening in the wall.
She tossed her runes.
Mouth set, she galloped on.
Both of them were led into a castle-old, spindly, diseased-looking. Mike kept his arm folded around Kurt's shoulder, protectively, even though it made the chain wrapped around his wrist tug painfully.
He wasn't about to let Kurt go.
“The star!” one of the warlocks said, the sun shining out of his ugly face. “And-who else?"
“A slave for us,” Karofsky said. “It'll be nice for us to have someone to mop up when we've finished with our little guest.” He grinned, yellow-toothed, at the two men.
“Good work, brother,” said the darker of the other two warlocks, rubbing his hands together. “Just in time, I see. You look awful!”
All three began to laugh, and Mike felt Kurt's face turn into his neck. He winced, covering his own ears.
“Now, now, none of that,” said one of the other warlocks, seizing his arm and cutting the chain that bound the two of them together. “Make yourself useful, slave-boy.”
Karofsky turned to Kurt, tucking one finger under his chin and lifting his face.
“Now,” he said, smiling gently at the star. “Why don't we get started?”
next chapter