M. MUIN: VINE
“Why?”
It was all I could stammer out. I was shaking, furious. “I saw Rob! He was there through the trees! Why are you keeping me here!”
He slammed the bar across the shutters. Snapped ends of vines curled on the floor.
“I’m sorry, Chloe,” he gasped, “but it’s for your own good, believe me. The forest is a terrible thing, relentless. It might destroy us both.”
“Rubbish!”
He grabbed my arms. The secret stairway was in the wall; as he pulled me toward it, I shoved him, and he fell against the wall.
I was so angry I screamed. Then I tore off his mask.
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