The Phoenix Charm by Helen Scott Taylor

door. Her tiny light hardly penetrated the thick darkness. But the beam was enough to illuminate Michael’s form, enough to see she wasn’t back in the limbo of in-between.
    “I’d better have the flashlight,” Michael said, his fingers closing around her hand.
    “No!” Panic gripped, her pulse skittering. She waited a moment for the dread to pass. “I’d rather hold the light.”
    His shoulders rose and fell. “Fair enough, lass. You’d better go up front then.”
    How considerate of him not to argue the point, or tease her about being afraid of the dark. She sidled past him, his warm hand on her back steadying her.
    With the weak beam of light aimed at the ground, she walked forward, one small step at a time, watching for looserocks or holes. The temperature plunged as the path angled down.
    “There’s magic at work in this tunnel. Feel the chill?” she asked over her shoulder.
    “Better be keeping a watch out for traps, then,” Michael answered.
    The murmur of trickling water accompanied their progress. Cold drips plopped on her head every few yards. Goose bumps rose on her arms, even beneath the layers of her sweater and jacket. With just a T-shirt, Thorn must be freezing.
    Cordelia stopped, felt inside her bag, and gently extracted Tamsy’s crocheted blanket from underneath her. The poor cat mewed indignantly, but she wouldn’t becold, snuggled against the bag’s fleece lining. She gave the blanket a shake, before reaching past Michael to press the woolen square into Thorn’s hands. “ Put this around you, and no arguments.”
    With mumbled thanks, he wrapped it over his shoulders. Proving, she supposed, that he must becold.
    In the faint beam of light, her breath formed a misty cloud as she moved forward again.
    “How much farther?” Thorn asked, his words fractured by a shiver.
    “Hang in there, lad,” Michael said. Then his fingers brushed her shoulder. “You doing all right, sugarplum?”
    She smiled at the name. A moment later, she realized he’d intended to raise her spirits. Intellectually, she already knew Michael was kind because he’d taken an interest in Thorn when her ward badly needed a man’s example. But because Michael always joked and teased, she’d dismissed his kindness as an affectation designed to win friends and gain attention. Strange how she’d got him so wrong.
    “There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.” Michael laughed, the rich deep sound of his voice echoing off the rocks. “Always wanted to say that.”
    Cordelia looked up, eyes wide with surprise. She’d beenso busy thinking about Michael, she hadn’t noticed the light, or the last few minutes of tramping along in the dark. “I wonder what ’s out there .”
    “Get moving and we might find out,” Nightshade snapped.
    Cordelia picked up the pace, her eyes flicking between the path and the growing arch of light ahead.
    “If you believe the tales, Gwyn lives in a glass castle on an island in the middle of an enchanted lake,” Michael said.
    “Enchanted how?” Thorn asked, his voice steadier, which made Cordelia realize the temperature had risen.
    “The tales vary, but ’tis usually full of water nymphs or sirens who entice travelers to a watery grave. And so they reach the Underworld, but not the way they planned.”
    Cordelia jerked to a halt. Michael crashed into her back, knocking the wind from her lungs for a few seconds. “Water nymphs?” she squeaked.
    “Aye, lass.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “ ’Tis just a tale. Don’t go worrying yet. We’ll probably find there’s not even a lake.”
    Nausea burned in her stomach. She didn’t want Thorn anywhere near a water nymph. She stepped away from the others and beckoned Michael. “Thorn might be traumatized. I don’t think he’s even slept with a female yet.”
    Michael laughed. “I doubt traumatized is the term he’d use. But don’t worry, I’ll keep him safe if need be.”
    Cordelia moved forward again, her sensible nonslip boots