The Tyrant's Tomb

trunk of the tree. The root chute spiraled shut, submerging under the grass.
Hazel swayed on her feet. “Where are we?”
“This way,” Lavinia announced.
She shouldered my weight again, despite my protestations that I was
fine. Really, I was only dying a little bit. We staggered down a trail among
the looming redwoods. I couldn’t see the stars or discern any landmarks. I
had no idea which direction we were heading, but Lavinia seemed
undeterred.
“How do you know where we are?” I asked.
“Told you,” she said. “I like to explore.”
She must really like Poison Oak, I thought for the umpteenth time. Then
I wondered if Lavinia simply felt more at home in the wild than she did at
camp. She and my sister would get along fine.
“Are any of you hurt?” I asked. “Did the ghouls scratch you?”
The girls all shook their heads.
“What about you?” Meg scowled and pointed at my gut. “I thought you
were getting better.”
“I guess I was too optimistic.” I wanted to scold her for jumping into
combat and nearly getting us all killed, but I didn’t have the energy. Also,
the way she was looking at me, I got the feeling that her grumpy facade
might collapse into tears faster than Tarquin’s ceilings had crumbled.
Hazel eyed me warily. “You should have healed. I don’t understand.”
“Lavinia, can I have some gum?” I asked.
“Seriously?” She dug in her pocket and handed me a piece.
“You’re a corrupting influence.” With leaden fingers, I managed to
unwrap the gum and stick it in my mouth. The flavor was sickly sweet. It
tasted pink. Still, it was better than the sour ghoul poison welling up in my
throat. I chewed, glad for something to focus on beside the memory of
Tarquin’s skeletal fingers curling and sending scythes of fire through my
intestines. And what he had said about the Sibyl…? No. I couldn’t process
that right now.
After a few hundred yards of torturous hiking, we reached a small
stream.
“We’re close,” Lavinia said.
Hazel glanced behind us. “I’m sensing maybe a dozen behind us, closing
fast.”