The Lightning Key Read Free Page B

at Little.
    At that moment he was blinded by an intense flash that seemed to come straight from Silverpoint’s mouth. When his vision cleared he saw a streak of blue lightning arrowing toward the van below them. His hair stood out from his head and crackled with electricity. The lightning bolt sped toward the van, and a tree burst into flames by the side of the road. The van swerved dangerously before righting itself.
    â€œWhat happens if you hit them?” Miles yelled. The wind filled his mouth again, and he tucked his head down to take a breath before continuing.“You might destroy the Egg.”
    â€œI’m aiming for the tires,” said Silverpoint. “The Tiger’s Egg must be returned intact, and in any case I can’t risk killing the occupants. It’s not permitted for a Storm Angel to release a soul to the wind. That’s the job of the Sleep Angels.”
    There was another blinding flash, but this time it did not come from Silverpoint. A twisted rope of pure light split the darkness before them, and Silverpoint swerved suddenly to avoid it. Miles felt a tingle all down one side, and a blast of heat, as though they were flying past a furnace. Another bolt of lightning followed the first and Silverpoint dived steeply to the right, his exuberant dodging becoming a grim maneuver to avoid being burned to a crisp. Thunder blasted through the sky and Miles could feel it vibrating in his chest.
    â€œWho knows you’re here?” shouted Little as the rumble subsided.
    Silverpoint looked paler than usual, if that were possible. “Nobody except Rumblejack,” he said.
    â€œMaybe he told someone,” said Little.
    Silverpoint shook his head, veering to the left to avoid another streak of lightning. His face was strained with concentration, and for some time he said no more as he swooped and tacked through abuzzing, crackling thicket of lightning. Miles tried to keep sight of the van’s headlights below them, as much to distract himself from the prospect of being torched in midair as anything else. Sometimes he lost sight of them for a while, but Silverpoint seemed to have an uncanny ability to navigate their course even while performing acrobatics that would put a swift to shame.
    The lightning eased off after a while. Whether Silverpoint had succeeded in outrunning it or the Storm Angel who created it had changed his mind, it was impossible to tell. The air grew colder and they left the rain behind as they rose to cross the mountains. Miles could no longer see the van in the darkness.
    â€œI think we’ve lost them,” he said.
    â€œNo, we haven’t,” said Silverpoint. “Look, the trail is still there.” He pointed straight downward with his chin, but Miles could see nothing.
    â€œWhat am I looking for?” he asked.
    â€œThe vehicle uses tiny sparks of trapped lightning,” said Silverpoint. “That faint silvery line shows the path it took. It will be hours before it fades completely.”
    â€œHe can’t see it,” said Little.
    â€œCan you?” asked Miles.
    â€œI can’t see the trail,” said Little, “but the pattern it makes in the One Song remains for a while also, and I can hear that.”
    Miles tried to picture what the world might look like to a native of the Realm. He felt distinctly lacking in skills and abilities, and he wondered if Little’s own powers would fade in time, like the subtle whispers that the van left in its wake.
    They passed over a jagged mountain ridge and Silverpoint swooped downward as quickly as the slope would allow, in search—Miles hoped—of warmer air. Miles caught a glimpse of a circular lake reflecting the pinkish glow that was spreading from the far horizon, and recognized it at once.
    â€œLook!” he called to Little. “There’s the lake where we stopped with . . . with the tiger on the way to the Palace of Laughter.”
    â€œDo