“We need to get out of here!” His voice teetered on the brink of panic. “Can Widge fetch your door key for you?”

Twelve blinked at the suggestion. She’d never trained Widge, but he came with her everywhere and she always thought he understood most of what was going on. She hated that the idea had come from Five, but it was worth a try.

“Maybe,” she whispered back.

She climbed to her feet, feeling the ground juddering through the soles of her boots, and turned toward the candle in the alcove, burning low but still alight. She saw immediately that the squirrel was small enough to fit through the bars of the cell.

“The key, Widge,” she whispered, pointing. “Can you get it?”

She gave him a little push and he sprang lightly between the bars, vanishing to the ground. A moment later, he reappeared triumphantly with the package she’d accidentally knocked away gripped in his teeth.

Forcing her voice to stay calm, Twelve took it from him—heavier than she expected—and dropped it into her pocket.

“The key,” she whispered as more earth fell. “Hurry!” Once more, he bounded out of the cell and this time, in the glow from the candle, she saw him scrambling up the opposite wall until he was in the alcove, his eyes bright and determined. He circled the candle warily, the flame flickering as he moved, and picked up the key.

Twelve swallowed a howl of pride and delight as he deposited it in her palm. She hugged him as hard as he would allow and kissed the top of his head.

“Genius squirrel,” she whispered as he chirped happily. And then to Five, “I have it!”

Before he could reply, an explosion rocked the passage. A gust of foul, stinking air rushed past. Her candle guttered, nearly going out. The temperature dropped dramatically, and an ominous crack sounded above her.

With her heart in her mouth and the key in her hand, Twelve fumbled with the lock until it clicked open. She had barely taken a step when something made her freeze: an otherworldly green glow bled into the dank corridor between her and the spiral staircase. And, where there had been a muted whispering, now there was clear speech.

“Excellent work,” said a low, rasping voice.

A small figure stepped into the pool of strange light, looking over its shoulder so it didn’t see her, a ball of green fire in its hand. The glare blinded Twelve and she stumbled back, her thoughts spinning wildly. The lodge’s walls had never been breached in their thousand years of history, but somehow, impossibly, a goblin stood only a few feet from her.

A goblin.

In the lodge.

And, based on the gleaming sword she’d glimpsed in his other hand, she had a strong suspicion they were under attack.

Chapter

Six