by Ashia Monet
Jay, meanwhile, flashes her a winning smile. “I accept all sorts of payment in return for these rescue missions, just so you know.”
Blythe can’t even think of a witty reply. Not after the places her mind has been—the death of so many innocent people, the knowledge of how her own family could be next on the list if she doesn’t…if she doesn’t do whatever Walden Oliver expects her to.
Jay hurries up. “Hey, you alright? Did he hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine,” Blythe insists. She doesn’t want to talk about it, anyway. “They didn’t put you in a cell?”
He rips the restrain over her left wrist straight from the wall. “No. Told me to stay put until they figured out what to do with me. It just took me a minute to get away and find my way around. The others should be up here soon, I already got them out.”
He snatches off the other handcuff and, for a moment, Blythe’s shooting toward the ground.
Jay grabs her by the waist. He smells of warmth, honey, and something divine.
“Gotcha,” he smiles.
Blythe laughs as he sets her down, but the sound is hollow. “Thanks. But, um, I don’t…” She’s not even sure how to say this. “I-I don’t think I can leave. Should leave.”
Jay leans back a bit, raising an eyebrow. “Explain.”
“She’s cooperating, Mr. Hoffman,” says a voice behind him.
Jay turns around, pushing Blythe further behind him.
Whiteclaw rises to his feet. His mouth and chin are soaked in blood, all pouring from his nose.
Anger burns in his eyes. “I’m not supposed to hurt you, so you better get out of here before you make me do something I shouldn’t.”
Jay’s muscles go taught. He outstretches his hand and the Bloodsword slips into it.
Whiteclaw barks a laugh. “You think you’re gonna fight me? That I’m gonna get my ass kicked by some spoiled rich boy who left his house for the first time? You learned two things about magic and now you wanna play white knight and get the girl.”
Wind kicks up around them as Whiteclaw’s bronze cuffs begin to glow. “Well, let me tell you something,” Whiteclaw growls. “Out here in the real world, there are no heroes. There are only winners…and those who drop off the face of the earth.”
A wind tunnel breaks into the room, shattering the glass. The metal tables groan as they sweep across the floor.
“Blythe,” Jay speaks without tearing his glare from Whiteclaw’s face. “Run.”
“I can’t,” Blythe insists. “The only way they’ll let my family live is if I stay here.”
“You better listen to her,” Whiteclaw warns. “This is no place for a sheltered boy who’s never felt pain before. Go ahead. Glare at me. But you don’t know what suffering is.”
Jay screams, a reckless, enraged scream. He charges forward, sword raised.
The wind grows into a vortex, a palpable force that forces Blythe to the ground. Her ears pop as she pulls herself into a ball, tucking her nose against her knees to hold in a pocket of oxygen.
But Jay? He is running. A table flies toward him and he slices through it with a perfect swing of his arm. The Bloodsword moves through the metal like a knife through butter.
The tip of the blade races across Whiteclaw’s face next, a sound that is sharp and sudden.
When Jay raises it again, Whiteclaw screams. Not out of fear, or because of his injury, but some otherworldly, twisting pain that Blythe cannot see.
Whiteclaw grasps his head as he sinks to his knees, blood waterfalling down his nose and his cheek.
The air goes still. The winds vanish. His body goes limp against the floor.
In the doorway is Cordelia Deleon. “Oh my,” she says, watching Jay. “I can’t believe I ruined my chance to watch you swing that sword again.”
“Cordelia!” Blythe yells.
The girl’s dark eyes find her and she runs over. “Are you alright?” she asks. She holds out a hand to help Blythe up, and Blythe takes it—though considering it’s Cordelia, it’s more of a nice gesture than an actual physical benefit.
But who cares? Cordelia is here. If anyone can help make sense of this mess, it’s her.
“I am now,” Blythe says.
“Then let’s go. We need to search this building—”
“Actually,” Blythe’s voice makes Cordelia stop in her tracks. “I’m…I can’t…leave.”
“Excuse me?”
A dark, echoing shadow floats into the room. Caspian. Daniel and Antonio are behind him, both wearing almost identical expressions of confusion.
“W-What do you mean you can’t leave?” Daniel echoes.
With all of them focused on her, silently demanding answers, Blythe tries her best. She explains what she can, the bits she can put into words—it is a ruse, and it has been from the beginning. Her family is not in any current danger, but they could be if Blythe does not obey.
To make matters worse, Walden Oliver himself is coming. She doesn’t know when, or what he is capable of, or even what he looks like, but she can’t risk defying him. Even Katia is wary of him. So Blythe needs to stay put.
Cordelia shakes her head. “Nonsense.”
She rushes up to the monitors, pointing a long, slender finger at the screens.
“You saw them here, you said?” she asks. “I’ll see if I can find where these cameras are stationed. I’ve got a good bit of information on Electric City’s major facilities; as long as this isn’t a feed from some secret underground bunker—which I doubt, because the Trident Republic certainly doesn’t have the resources or money for that—I should be able to find where they’ve taken your family.”
Cordelia whips out her phone, scrolling through and glancing, occasionally, up at the screen.
Antonio comes to Blythe’s side. “She’ll get it,” he assures her. “And we’ll go find your family, wherever they are. The Trident Republic’s not going to make you do anything. I mean, we got this far, didn’t we?”
Blythe is too afraid to agree. If Cordelia can’t do this, Blythe will have to face Walden Oliver herself. She doesn’t even know what to expect, or what he might ask of her, or—
“I found it,” Cordelia interrupts. “It’s the transport tower, the tall building we saw when we got here. Second floor of private miniature jets.”
A long, long exhale leaves Blythe. If she were alone right now, she would not have stood a chance. But she is not alone. And, as long as she has the other Guardians, she will never be alone.
“Cordelia,” Blythe says. “I really do love you.”
Cordelia smiles sweetly. “I love me too,” she says. “Now let’s hurry, there’s an exit just down this staircase.”
Blythe leads the way down the stairs; the sounds of the Guardians behind her are like a chorus of reassuring blankets. She is not alone.
They push past a massive set of emergency exit doors and reappear into a world with a dark, black sky. It has to be every bit of three A.M.
The Guardians shoot past the prison’s grounds, running shoulder to shoulder.
“The transport tower isn’t far, but we need to hurry!” Cordelia says. “I’m almost certain they placed your family in automated flying jets with preset coordinates, which mans they can be sent out at any moment. Whiteclaw isn’t out for the count just yet, and if Walden Oliver gets here before we find your family—”
“Do we always have to review every way things could go wrong?” Daniel interrupts.
Cordelia sneers at him. “Do you always have to speak?”
Something about their bickering is reassuring. Maybe the familiarity of it, unchanged even from their time in the San Diego mall.
Blythe can see the transport tower from here. It is a spire of a building, the tallest structure left in the Electric City skyline, piercing the sky like a needle.
Their final destination.
Footsteps and shouting race after them. A whole group of Trident Republic militia are hot on their trail.
Limping
behind them, bloodied and injured and unstoppable, is Whiteclaw.
Well.
This’ll be interesting.
Twenty-Six
The Guardians have perfected the art of holding a conversation while running at top speed through a neon city that may or may not be out to destroy them.
“The transport tower is basically a discombobulated mix of an airport, a hotel, and Lord knows whatever else,” Cordelia explains.
“So they got private jets and planes inside the building?” Storm scoffs. “What, the twelfth floor got a landing strip too?”
“It’d make for an interesting visual,” Caspian says. Blythe doubts he is completely present. Or sober.
Cordelia raises her phone, checking the details. “Seems to be someone’s idea of an interesting invention. At the very least, it probably brings in some tourism, but it’s not our job to be concerned with the building’s history. We’re fast approaching its parking garage entrance, so we’ll enter through there and work our way up to the top floor.”
Blythe rolls her eyes. Of course they need to reach the top floor. Any other floor would be far too relaxing and anti-climactic.
“You guys know we still have company, right?” Jay asks.
Blythe does know. With the Trident Republic militia making as much of a ruckus as they are, it’s impossible not to know. The Guardians may have lost them a couple streets back, but that doesn’t mean they’ve given up the chase. And it can’t take a genius to decipher where they’re going.
“Dude, there’s nothing we can do,” Antonio says. “There’s like, fifty of them at this point.”
“We can’t just let them follow us into the transport tower,” Jay says. “By the time we get to the doors, they’ll haul us back outside.”
“Well, what do you want to do?” Blythe asks. “Take on all of them? They’re all magicians. They can all do the same freaky ass shit we can.”
Jay gives an impatient snort. Out of all of them, he’s taking this whole “talking while sprinting” thing the easiest. “Can we separate?” he asks.
“I can communicate with everyone via telepathy, so I’d assume, yes,” Cordelia answers.
Jay draws his head back. “Wait, you could read minds this whole time?”
“Never without permission.”
“Lie detector determined that was a lie,” Blythe mutters.
Jay holds up a hand, stilling the conversation. “Alright. Anyway. You guys get into the transport tower. I’ll hold the militia off.”
“On your own?” Blythe asks. “You know Whiteclaw is with them, right?”
“Trust me, I can take them. I’ve got really good stamina,” he says—then smiles.
“As much as I’d like to leave you to die, I don’t think I should,” Blythe teases. “Caspian, watch his back.”
Caspian says, “No thanks.”
“Caspian.”
Jay eyes her. “I don’t need your imaginary friend. Trust me. I’ll be fine.”
Antonio shakes his head. “Dude, no, I’ll stay with you.”
“Antonio, you’re limping as it is—and even if you weren’t, all you do is fly. I love you, but you need to go. All of you.”
“No, nope, I hate this—”
“Blythe,” Cordelia interrupts. “We don’t have time. And he can heal. He’ll be fine.”
Jay smiles, gesturing at himself. “Look at me. I’m eye candy, I can’t die.”
When they reach the transport tower’s parking garage, everyone charges forward except for Jay. “Don’t die, bro!” Antonio shouts.
“What he means is: be careful,” Cordelia translates.
“Will do,” Jay promises. He watches them go for a moment before he calls, “Hey, Blythe.”
Blythe looks back at him. With his sword in-hand and his shoulders set, brown skin gleaming in Electric City’s hard fluorescent lights, he looks all the part of a hero.
“I think I might be one of you guys,” Jay says. “A Guardian, I mean.”
Blythe feels herself smile. “I think so too.”
As she hurries after the others, Blythe says a silent prayer to all of the forces of the universe to protect that valiant, dumb, rich boy.
The entrance gates to the parking garage have been roped off with yellow caution tape. The smeared glass of the booth reveals an empty leather chair; no one is on duty and every parking space is achingly empty, leaving only a quiet dripping and the smell of spilled oil.
“Sorry, tourists,” Blythe teases as they hop the tape. “Electric City’s closed.”
“I assume the whole transport tower is closed,” Cordelia replies. “They’ve got more important places to funnel their tax dollars.”
“Who’d want to come to Electric City anyway?” Daniel mutters.
“Daniel!” Blythe gasps while Antonio chastens, “Bro, don’t be rude!”
Cordelia mutters to her phone as they step into the elevator. “Diverted the security cameras…alright. I’ve worked it out from here. This elevator will take us up to the first-class lobby, but we’ll have to navigate the rest of the way.”
Thankfully, the elevator does not attempt to serenade them with smooth jazz, and their ascent is mostly silent. Through the glass of the back wall, Electric City lies before them, half-standing and half-desecrated.
She can even see Jay. The militia outnumbers him, but he is effortless and unstoppable, like Achilles sawing through the Trojans. He’ll be alright.
The elevator doors open, revealing a gaudy lobby embellished with bronze: the Trident Republic’s signature metal. Large potted plants adorn the corners of the overstuffed seating area. The receptionist desk is unsurprisingly deserted.
Cordelia wasn’t lying when she said this transport tower was an odd amalgamation of a hotel and an airport. Beyond the lobby is a vast space resembling an airport’s check in, with rows of seating and a baggage check.
Cordelia’s wedges click against the tile. “Do you remember when we first met, and I was always on my phone because I thought I’d infiltrate Electric City?” she asks Blythe.
“You said you weren’t even doing anything half the time,” Blythe says.
“Well, yes. But for the other half, I was working on this.”
The whole city seems to groan. Blythe’s gaze flies to the windows behind them. At the edge of the city, where the buildings meet the desert, every light dies. Signs go black and whole streets disappear. The power failure spreads as darkness sweeps toward them like a wave, blackening every source of light until even the transport tower has gone dark.
Daniel gasps. “Oh my god,” Blythe says. “You just shut Electric City down.”
Cordelia isn’t even phased. “The power’s been knocked out in almost every buildings, which leaves most of the doors unlocked and opens all of the emergency exits and staircases without sounding alarms which, obviously, works in our favor.” she pauses. “But yes, I just shut Electric City down.”
“Dude,” Antonio breathes. “All my friends are so cool.”
Cordelia sweeps her hair from her face with a dramatic, haughty grace. “Anyway,” she says, pretending she isn’t blushing with pride from that comment. “This is the hotel area. It’ll probably be spotty with security investigating what caused the power shortage, but we can easily avoid them. The first thing we’ll have to do is—”
The lights blink back on.
“Is that supposed to happen?” Blythe asks.
Cordelia is frozen, staring above. “…no.”
“Shit,” Daniel says.
“Daniel!” Blythe yells. “Watch your mouth!”
Cordelia rushes for the receptionist desk, the others hurrying in her wake. A touch screen is imbedded in the marble behind the counter, and her fingers fly across the screen. She inputs numbers and access screens that Blythe’s never even seen on a computer before.
“They’ve connected to a power reserve,” Cordelia finally says. “I didn’t realize they had one of those. Damn it.”
&nb
sp; “Can you fix it?” Daniel asks.
“Yes, I just…” Cordelia’s voice trails off. “I need time.”
The floor shakes. Footsteps. Something is coming.
“We don’t have time,” Caspian says.
Blythe pushes everyone behind the desk, where they crowd together on the floor. Cordelia drops to her knees, low enough to keep the top of her head from sight, but high enough to still tap silently on the touchscreen.
Antonio peeks over the countertop. “Oh that’s…” his voice trails off. “Not good.”
Blythe sits up straighter, following his gaze. Coming down the hallway is a suit of heavy metal armor, clanging with every heavy footstep. The sword at its side is long enough to scrape into the tile as it moves and its body is large enough for its helmet to brush the ceiling.
Blythe can’t see any signs of a living body inside of it. Judging from the two, piercing orbs of blue light spearing through its helmet like eyes, it is powered, solely, through magic.
“Please tell me that isn’t the building security system,” Blythe whispers.
“Oh, it definitely is,” Cordelia says. “This code suggests it’s…magic based? I can’t find any traces of it here so it’s definitely not technological.”
Daniel, their resident thaumologist, wrinkles his nose. “It’s probably Learned Magic,” he says. “Which means it’s powered by an external power source. If we shut down the source, we can shut down the security system. But we’d have to find it first.”
“We don’t have the time,” Caspian repeats. “Not if we want to get to Blythe’s family before their jet disappears—”
“Forget about the security system,” Cordelia interrupts. Her eyes blaze on Blythe. “You won’t even be able to reach the jets while the power is on. I have to work on shutting it off, but there’s more you need to do in the meantime.”
“Oh no,” Blythe says.
“I’m going to stay here. You all will go on without me, but you must follow my instructions to the letter.”
“Oh no, we’re bad at that.”
“First, find the security office. It should be somewhere within the airport sector. Inside, you’ll find a keycard. Next, travel east to the airport gates. You’ll see a glass bridge. Cross that and you’ll enter the area for exclusive flyers. There you’ll find a security door. When the power goes out, get through that door. With the power on, the door is locked unless you flash an ID badge—which we do not have. Once the power off, it unlocks, so you need to be through it by that time. Past the doors lie a staircase. Take it all the way to the top. Then, use the keycard to access the loading dock for the private jets. Your family will be inside one of them.”
