Elayra’s brows rose when Ghent said a farewell, but remained for a short, awkward moment.
	Drust gave a stiff nod, his head jerking slightly toward the door in encouragement for him to leave.
	She watched Ghent go, her stare hard, before he closed the door, leaving her and Drust in complete darkness. Elayra hastily placed her milkshake on the floor, the cup nearly toppling over, and summoned another lick of flame.
	A small sense of relief settled over her when the world’s magic again met her willingly, and the soft, golden light of a flame ignited above her palm at her whispered command. She blew on it gently, and the flame fluttered away, its shape morphing and pulsating slightly as it moved, floating in the air near her.
	The two of them finished what was left of their meal in silence, the flame flickering in a dance that made shadows lengthen and shrink with its rhythm. The silence seemed to stretch on, Elayra’s objections about letting Ghent leave mulling and stewing until, with most of their food finished, she could remain silent no longer.
	“You do realize that you let our best chance of killing the Sorceress walk out the door, right?” Elayra grumbled, using her straw to play with what little remained of her melting milk shake. She jabbed at the substance as if it was the cause of all their problems.
	Drust looked to her, his withering stare icier than the drinks Ghent had graciously brought them. “Would you have had me hold him prisoner?” His voice matched his gaze. He tossed his empty box of fries into the paper bag. “Dragged him with us? Unwilling? Unprepared?”
	“I’d have you do whatever’s necessary!” Elayra put her own trash into the paper bag none too gently, her fingers slightly greasy from the fries. “He has a [i]family[/i] here. A mother who cares for him,” she snapped with a twinge of jealousy. “He seems rather fickle as it is; he’s already changed his mind once about coming with us. You sent him home, Drust. How do you think the reminder of what he’d be leaving will affect that?”
	“Elayra,” Drust hissed with a dark warning, his head twitching. But she did not notice, her mind consumed by suppressed worry, disappointment, and even fear that burst forth in an angered rant.
	Elayra crumpled the bag, then stood with an irritated shake of her head. “I’d bet my bow we won’t see him come sunrise.” She strode over to their packs and tossed the paper bag down near their stuff, the flame following her. “[i]Then[/i] what’re we going to do? I hope you have a backup plan for [i]that![/i] Because even that,” she gestured to the flame, which flared as the magic picked up on her emotions and desire for emphasis, “is at best impossible for either of us in Wonderland.”
	“Elayra,” Drust growled again, enunciating each syllable of her name as his head twitched dangerously once more. He turned to face her, crouched, the lines at the corner of his eyes pulsating familiarly as his chin lowered. 
	“Without his magic,” she continued, kneeling in front of her pack, his warning going unheeded and the words that had built up refusing to stop now that they had begun to flow, “which we don’t even know he can use, I might add,” she snorted as she moved the dagger from the bag and opened her pack, “we may as well just hand ourselves over to that wannabe queen and put our heads on the chopping block for her!”
	There was a quiet shuffle behind her. She had just enough time to grab her dagger before Drust gripped her shoulder firmly, and forced her to turn so her back was against the garage wall beside their packs.
	Elayra used the movement to unsheathe her dagger, and placed the tip of the blade lightly, yet firmly against his stomach as he pressed his forearm across her chest, keeping her back. With his knees on either side of her legs to pin them down despite her efforts at freeing them, he leaned in toward her so his face was inches from hers, a snarl pulling at his pale lips. The Curse's black-veined red in his irises fought aggressively with his pupils, making it impossible to gauge which would claim victory.
	“To think I was worried you actually had faith in me,” he spat, his voice somewhere between a gravely growl and an airy hiss. 
	“Faith has nothing to do with it!” She knew she was walking on ice, one slip and she would plunge into the icy depths beneath, but her tongue itched to be heard. The flame flickered and dimmed with her concentration split between it and Drust, threatening to go out. “We haven’t exactly given him much incentive to come back with us, have we? We knew him hardly ten minutes, and you two went at it! You can’t try to break someone and expect there to not be consequences for—”
	Drust slid his arm from her chest to her neck, cutting her words off.  “I’ve spent [i]fourteen years[/i],” he snarled through clenched teeth, “thinking about tonight’s consequences, girl.” His neck made a cracking sound as it twitched, and Elayra grip tightened on her dagger. “Don’t you [i]dare[/i] doubt that.” He pressed against her as hard as he could without completely blocking her airway.
	“Drust,” she breathed, reaching up with her free hand and grasping his arm. “You [i]know[/i] I didn’t mean—”
	“Silence!” he snapped, adding a pulse of extra pressure behind his hold to cut her off again. He paid no attention as Elayra pressed the point of her dagger a bit harder into him in a warning to back off. 
 	She swallowed as she realized the Curse had consumed all but a pinprick of his pupils, both pulsating with the effort of gaining chaotic control.
 	“Should he abandon us,” he continued, a gravely undertone toying in his voice, “I guarantee it would be for more than my actions alone, you audacious ingrate.” He gave another pressured pulse as he said the last.
	Elayra dug her nails into his arm and tried to pull it away, saving her dagger as a last resort. 
	Her efforts paused when, with a snarl, Drust closed his eyes and turned his head away from her. Though her grip on her dagger did not slacken, her expression was cautiously hopeful that what remained of her guardian would push the Curse back. 
	They stayed like that for a short second that felt like minutes. At last, with visible effort, Drust forced himself to release her, and stood. He turned his back to her and pinched the bridge of his nose, his chest heaving slightly.
	“You’ve clearly recovered enough to mouth off,” he said between his teeth as Elayra jumped to her feet. “Collect your sword.” He went to retrieve his katana, and slid it from its sheath without looking to her. “If you have the strength for such impudence, you have plenty for a sparring round.”
	Elayra inhaled softly. “But shouldn’t we—”
	“Wait. For. Me. Outside.” Drust swinging his katana to point to the door silenced her and made her step away and raise her dagger.
	Not daring to further disobey, she dipped her head in a half nod, quickly and silently collected her sword, belt, and dagger’s sheath, and headed to the door. She glanced back as Drust summoned his own flame. The magic seemed to hesitate, as if fearful of him, but a darker, almost sickly red flame burst to life beside him as he knelt at his pack.
	The effects of the Curse on him seemed to be growing slowly more unstable than usual. And he knew magic. Not much as far as Elayra knew, sure, but enough, especially in a world where the Wonderlanders could use it.
	With that thought on her mind and silently scolding herself, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped out into the night.