The Tyrant's Tomb

“Let’s get you back to camp,” Lavinia said to me. “You’ve got a big day
tomorrow.”
We left Don behind with the other nature spirits, all deep in crisis-mode
conversation, and retraced our steps down Telegraph Avenue.
After a few blocks, I got up the courage to ask, “What will they do?”
Lavinia stirred as if she’d forgotten I was there. “You mean what will we
do. ’Cause I’m with them.”
A lump formed in my throat. “Lavinia, you’re scaring me. What are you
planning?”
“I tried to leave it alone,” she muttered. In the glow of the streetlamps,
the wisps of pink hair that had escaped her cap seemed to float around her
head like cotton candy. “After what we saw in the tomb—Bobby and the
others, after you described what we’re facing tomorrow—”
“Lavinia, please—”
“I can’t fall into line like a good soldier. Me locking shields and
marching off to die with everybody else? That’s not going to help anybody.”
“But—”
“It’s best you don’t ask.” Her growl was almost as intimidating as
Peaches’s. “And it’s definitely best that you not say anything to anybody
about tonight. Now, c’mon.”
The rest of the way back, she ignored my questions. She seemed to have
a dark bubble-gum-scented cloud hanging over her head. She got me safely
past the sentries, under the wall, and back to the coffee shop before she
slipped away into the dark without even a good-bye.
Perhaps I should have stopped her. Raised the alarm. Gotten her arrested.
But what good would that have done? It seemed to me Lavinia had never
been comfortable in the legion. After all, she spent much of her time looking
for secret exits and hidden trails out of the valley. Now she’d finally
snapped.
I had a sinking feeling that I would never see her again. She’d be on the
next bus to Portland with a few dozen fauns, and as much as I wanted to be
angry about that, I could only feel sad. In her place, would I have done any
differently?
When I got back to our guest room, Meg was passed out, snoring, her
glasses dangling from her fingers, bedsheets wadded around her feet. I
tucked her in as best I could. If she was having any bad dreams about her
peach spirit friend plotting with the local dryads only a few miles away, I