by Mary Fan
Tamerlane glanced away. “I… can’t go on any missions right now. There’s some stuff I need to figure out.”
“Oh?” Irritation gnawed at Aurelia, and she scowled. “What’s the matter? Too magical to free a bunch of Norms?”
Tamerlane looked as though Aurelia had punched him. “Of course not… How could you think that?”
“Then what?”
He pursed his lips then leaned closer. “Okay, so you know how Calhoun’s been ignoring the increased monster activity?”
Aurelia rolled her eyes. “Not this again. Not right now. Tamerlane, you know as well as I do that the Triumvirate uses that nonsense to keep people scared.”
“Listen, Firedragon—”
“For the last time, we’re not ignoring the supernaturals! We just can’t let them distract us when—forget it!” Too frustrated to waste any more time arguing, she marched away from him. People’s lives depended on the Rising, and yet he was refusing to help them. I don’t understand.
Tamerlane had been acting strange since they’d returned from the Augustine mission, obsessing over the supernaturals, avoiding people, and spending all his time in the basement. Between his weirdness and Flynn’s overconfidence, she had too much to worry about, and it had gotten her head all out of whack.
On top of it all, she’d finally heard from Connor—and it wasn’t good news. Seemed like her old friend had gotten himself in a world of trouble. She never should have left him behind at the Academy. She never should have listened when he’d insisted that she’d have a better chance of escaping the Triumvirate without him, that he’d only lead his tyrant of a father to the rebellion.
Bottom line is: guys suck. But she didn’t have time to fret about any of those jokers. If they wanted to suck, that was their problem. Meanwhile, Calhoun, Nossiter, Williams, and almost two dozen Risers were preparing to do something that really mattered. She scurried down the stairs, eager to finally right an injustice.
The decimated town where the prisoners had been sent used to be called Glasston. Aurelia could only guess that, once upon a time, the place had been known for making glass. According to Williams, it would have taken twelve hours in a vehicle to reach the flat Midwestern region. But with him and three other Enchanters around, goldlighting the Risers to this spot had taken a matter of minutes.
Williams handed her a crescent-shaped Lockpicker from the supply trunk, and she stuffed it into her pocket.
“Thought you usually sat missions out because of your whole double-agent thing,” she said. “What changed your mind?”
“I needed a break from chasing Storm’s shadow.” Williams tucked his wand into the pocket of his typical gray professor suit. “Also, it never hurts to have an extra goldlighter around.”
We’d have one more if Tamerlane were here. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of the dank concrete tunnel emptying into the shallow creek. “That’s our point of entry?”
“For you, yes. I’ll be waiting here to goldlight the prisoners to the Citadel and to keep any nearby Underworld creatures away.”
“Well, it’s really cool that you came out today.”
Aurelia stepped into the creek, and water splashed onto her ankles, soaking through her black boots. She was glad she’d chosen to wear shorts. Wet denim was one of the most unpleasant things in the world.
The tunnel wasn’t quite tall enough for her to stand in, so she bent forward at the waist and moved quickly on her toes. The thick, putrid air hardly seemed breathable, and it made her feel as if water droplets filled her lungs. Muddy water splashed onto her with every step, and the hilts of the double swords on her back scraped against the concrete. Annoyed by the sound, she bent forward a little farther.
Light from the drains above streaked across the concrete, and the puddles on the ground glistened. Recalling the map of the town and its underground that Nossiter had shown the Risers, she continued forward at an intersection.
She glanced back. Nossiter, the person closest behind her, was several yards back. The woman turned left at the intersection, heading for a different part of town. Since there was no way of knowing how the prisoners would scatter, the plan wasn’t exactly precise.
Deciding she’d gone far enough, Aurelia peeked through the rusty grate above her head, which sat in the alley between two brick buildings. The doors to both stood open, so there were probably people inside. An oval wooden sign hung above one of the doorways, with the word “Bistro” splashed across it in chipped gilt letters.
She scanned the overcast sky for Sentinel activity but didn’t see any. Satisfied that it was safe to emerge, she removed the Lockpicker from her belt and pressed it against the grate cover. “Activate.”
She pushed open the grate. After checking one more time to make sure the coast was clear, she grabbed the edge of the hole and pulled herself out.
A sharp female voice shot toward her. “You!”
Aurelia turned and saw a woman in the doorway to one of the buildings, which had apparently once been some kind of restaurant. Shards of white and blue dishes lay scattered among the overturned tables, and broken chairs littered the ground. Claw marks slashed through the wallpaper, which must have been quite pretty before dried blood turned the little white flowers brownish-red.
Aurelia recognized the brown-haired prisoner standing inside as the patrolwoman she’d handed a flyer to in Salvator City, except instead of a dignified black-and-gold uniform, she wore a dirty gray jumpsuit. Metal handcuffs clamped onto her pale wrists, which had a two-foot chain between them, and a brown sack lay on the floor beside her.
The woman strode toward her. “What are you doing here?”
“Getting you out.” Aurelia held up the Lockpicker. “Give me your hand.”
The woman furrowed her brow but complied. Aurelia pressed the blue-green device against the handcuffs. “Activate.” Azure light zapped out of the crescent, shooting into one cuff, down the chain, and into the other. With a clink, the handcuffs popped open. They clattered to the ground.
Aurelia surveyed the area. The run-down restaurant seemed as good as any place to gather people. “Go back inside, and wait there. I’m going to find a few more people, and then I’ll lead you out.” She nodded at the hole in the ground. “We’ve got a few Enchanters waiting on the other side of that tunnel, and they’ll goldlight you all to safety. Don’t leave without me, though. If you get lost underground, we’ll never find you.”
The woman stared at her newly freed wrists. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you came out to support us, and unlike the Triumvirate, we believe that people matter. We weren’t about to abandon you when things went wrong. Now, hang tight. I’ll back soon.”
Aurelia checked the skies again. A bright line of white zapped across the sky, no doubt from whatever anti-goldlighting force field the Sentinels set up, and gray clouds rolled toward the sun. I’d better hurry. If it rains, the sewers will flood, and we’ll drown!
She darted through the town. Glimpsing a gold cloak, she ducked into a doorway. A handcuffed man, passing through the street, caught her eye. He tilted his head in confusion. She motioned for him to approach.
The man complied. The contents of the loose sack he held, undoubtedly full of silver knickknacks, clanged against his leg. “Aren’t you the girl from the rally?”
“That’s me.” She gave a brief explanation of the plan then nodded at the Bistro sign behind her. “Wait for me there. I’m gonna gather a few others, then we can take off.”
“What about the supernaturals?” The man glanced up nervously. “The Sentinels said they’d kill us if we left their field.”
Aurelia reached back and flicked out one of her hilts. “They’re not the only ones who can fight monsters.”
The man nodded then ran toward the restaurant.
After darting around for several minutes and giving
the same spiel to three other prisoners, Aurelia decided it was time to lead the first group out. She returned to the restaurant with her last rescue, jumped into the hole leading to the underground tunnel, and motioned for the prisoners to follow.
Rushing back through the sewer was harder with five people in tow, since she had to make sure no one wandered off in the wrong direction. It was also harder to see, since the light streaming in from the grates wasn’t as bright as before.
She exited the tunnel with an excited leap, causing the ankle-deep creek water to splash high enough to hit her face. Seeing a group of ten prisoners linking arms with one of the Enchanters, she grinned. The plan seemed to be going well so far.
The prisoners disappeared in a flash of gold light. Williams motioned for those emerging from the tunnel behind Aurelia to approach. “Come, quickly.”
Several strands from her ponytail clung to her sweaty neck, and Aurelia brushed them off. “How are we doing so far?”
“We’ve freed thirty-six,” Williams said. “Plus your five—forty-one.”
“Sweet.” Aurelia headed back into the tunnel. Seemed like the other Risers were doing fine in their corners of Glasston.
Spotting Calhoun in the tunnel ahead, she backed up to an intersection and ducked to the side to get out of his way.
Calhoun nodded as he passed. “How many so far?”
“Forty-one.” Aurelia counted the prisoners following Calhoun. Seven—so we’re up to forty-eight. Wow, that’s more than half.
As soon as the last prisoner passed, she continued through the tunnel. She’d almost grown accustomed to the smell. The heat, on the other hand, filled her lungs with an icky, wet feeling. Ugh, why’d I choose the farthest corner of Glasston?
She reached the grate she’d opened earlier and climbed out to leave that stinking tunnel. She dashed down the abandoned alleys, looking for any sign of life. A feeling of unease came over her, and she froze.
A crackling sound boomed through the streets. Aurelia covered her ears and looked up to see bolts of white shooting across the sky. A Sentinel soared overhead, her gold cloak trailing behind her. Aurelia didn’t bother hiding. There was no point. She met the Sentinel’s gaze. The Sentinel gave her a disdainful look and waved her wand in an arc over her head. More crackling. More lightning.
The overcast sky seemed to split in half. Red light streamed through a jagged line across the atmosphere. The Sentinel disappeared in a burst of light. The air became still, but Aurelia’s unease grew. She knew what that red light meant.
They took down the force field! They’re letting the monsters in! She snatched her swords from their sheaths.
Running forward, she glanced around to see if anyone was around. A myriad of black braids caught her eye, and she waved. “Nossiter!”
Nossiter whirled. “Firedragon. Good, you’re armed. The Sentinels spotted us entering the sewers. I guess they figured they’d pass a death sentence down to all of us.”
Aurelia swung one of her swords. “We can handle the creatures, but someone’s gotta tell the Enchanters to get in here now that there’s no perimeter.”
“Already done, kid.” That voice was Calhoun’s.
Turning, Aurelia saw the leader approach from between two buildings. He held a long black rifle, and his pale eyes blazed. Old and thin as Calhoun was, he was by far the toughest guy she’d ever seen.
A cacophony of cawing and the noise of beating wings sounded in the distance, punctuated by distant howls. Alarmed cries and panicked screams reverberated through the streets.
“Metal fire.” Aurelia clanged her black blades. Here they come.
Chapter 22
To Freedom
Aurelia wished she’d brought a bow, or even a pistol. Her swords were handy, but they wouldn’t help her against that flock of razorbirds heading her way. Well, I couldn’t carry everything. Besides, the old folks have it taken care of.
She ducked into a doorway, watching Calhoun fire his rifle. Each shot hit one of the black creatures with deadly precision, and admiration swelled in her chest. This was the leader she’d chosen to follow—someone who’d never been above taking matters into his own hands and who was freaking good at what he did.
Nossiter, meanwhile, had whipped out a pistol. Using the corner of a building for cover, she pulled the trigger over and over. Aurelia was certain the two would get all six razorbirds without taking a hit, and less than a minute later, she was proven right. The creatures lay dead on the ground, which made her glad, but she found it strange that none of them had fired their knifelike feathers. Funny—they were definitely close enough.
A deep roar rumbled in the distance, interrupting her thoughts. Manticore, by the sounds of it. Unease gripped her insides. She’d once witnessed a champion monster-fighter lose his life to a manticore, and she’d never faced one herself. But she couldn’t let fear hold her back.
Screams peppered the air as a second roar rang out. Seeing the muscular yellow-brown body of the beast ahead, she ran at the creature and threw one of her swords. With a blade embedded in its side, the manticore howled and spun toward her. Its pale face looked almost like a person’s with its two round yellow eyes, prominent nose, and thin lips, which were curled back to bare its teeth. But its snarl crinkled its expression into something so grotesque it barely resembled a human.
Its first move would be to shoot poisoned spikes from its scorpion-like tail—she could sense it. If one hit her, she’d be paralyzed. She ducked into the space between two wooden buildings covered in faded blue paint. Sharp black barbs flew past her, inches from her face. Listening for its movements, she held her remaining glowing sword ready. Soft footsteps padded toward her; the creature was approaching. From what she knew of the lore, the blade she’d thrown at it would fall uselessly out of its side, and the wound would heal before it reached her. But provoking it had taken its attention away from the prisoners, giving them—along with Calhoun and Nossiter—a chance to escape.
The only way to kill a manticore was to chop off its head—no shortcuts like with bloodwolves or hellhorns. She took several steps back, moving deeper into the narrow space. The three feet between buildings could hardly be called an alley. If she could draw the creature in…
“Yooohoooo.” She purposely called in her most obnoxious, high-pitched voice. “Manticoooore… La, la, la, I’m waiting…”
A swarm of spikes shot her way. She blocked them with her sword, and they scattered onto the pavement. The manticore appeared at the end of the narrow space, glaring at her with yellow eyes. It trotted toward her, and Aurelia caught a hint of a gold flash behind it. Good. Someone goldlighted the prisoners out.
She ran backward, keeping her eyes on her enemy. No need to look. The street was only a yard behind her. The manticore shot its sharp tail over its head, sending another round of spikes her way. She ducked and glimpsed them passing over her head. With the creature still approaching, she rushed out into the street and flattened herself against a wall. A batch of barbs flew past her, one narrowly missing her shoulder. The manticore peered around the corner, searching for her. She sliced down, aiming for its neck. Fast as she was, it managed to retreat in time, and her shot missed.
Cursing, she dodged another volley of spikes. To her frustration, the manticore remained within the shelter of the two buildings. She backed up, figuring she’d make the manticore emerge. For several seconds, nothing happened.
The manticore leaped out from between the two buildings, heading right for her. Aurelia lunged, swinging her sword upward. Barbs flew over her head, and her blade caught its throat. The creature landed with a stumble. Before it had a chance to recover, Aurelia struck its neck, decapitating it in one swift blow.
The manticore’s body collapsed sideways, and its head tumbled to the ground, orange blood oozing out of its severed neck. Aurelia’s stomach turned at the sight of the humanlike face, sta
ring at her with lifeless yellow eyes.
Suddenly, the bloody head shot up from the ground, opening its mouth into a terrifying yawn and flying toward her as if aiming to bite her face off. A scream ripped from Aurelia’s throat. What the hell? She sliced at it. Her blade went right through it like it was made of air. What’s happening?
Something whooshed behind her, and she spun. A flock of shadowhawks swooped toward her. Where did they come from? She’d been too distracted by the manticore to watch for anything else. Though she swung her blade at the shadowy birds and hit every time, there were simply too many. Harsh wings beat against her back, and sharp beaks pecked at her arms.
She covered her eyes with the crook of her left elbow. With her sword in her right hand, she swung at random, hoping to hit as many as she could.
Images filled her head. The Lord—that red-eyed, sharp-toothed demon—soaring over a city. Beneath him, bodies lay piled in the streets. Fleshsnakes gnawed at their limbs. Razorbirds pecked out their eyes. Bloodwolves feasted on their guts.
Horror seized her heart. It’s not real. This is what shadowhawks do. They dredge up your fears and overwhelm your mind then feed off your terror. Nothing you see is real.
The scene faded into a dark field, featureless but for the blades of dead yellow grass. Everyone she knew sprawled side by side, their empty eyes staring at oblivion. Connor. Flynn. Tamerlane. The familiar faces of longtime Risers. Even Kylie, whom she’d barely met. The sight of each stabbed her in the heart, and she squeezed her eyes to hold back a sudden surge of tears.
The lifeless faces silently accused her. It was her fault that they were dead. She’d failed to protect them. The people she loved, the people she called her friends—even people she didn’t really know—haunted her. Whether she liked them or not, she couldn’t bear to lose anyone. She’d seen so many go down already, and each time, a little part of her died as well.
The grief weighed down on her, and coldness trickled across her skin. She was shaking—why was she shaking? Her arm still swung her sword, but she barely noticed her own movements. Her knees trembled, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could remain standing. Somewhere distant, the rational part of her mind told her again that she was only hallucinating, and the shadowhawks were weakening her, feeding on her life. But the images felt real. Too real—she couldn’t bear it. Her arm dropped by her side, and the sword slipped from her grip.
