by Anne Zoelle
“Red Colonel,” the voice was far more tense this time. “Correction! Thirty seconds. And two terrorist cells coming in from the north, intercepting the same transmissions. You need to move.”
“We have to hurry, Liv,” I said, dragging her into the solarium where Constantine and Marsgrove were looking out windows with varying degrees of grimness. The vine was still fat and full in the middle of the floor.
“No! Ren—there are—”
“Seriously doesn't matter. Tell me at home.” I headed for the vine. I didn't know what we were going to do with it. I turned to Marsgrove to ask while trying to ignore Olivia frantically shaking her head.
“No, Ren, home is too lat—”
The entire building rocked, making all of us lurch.
Marsgrove had an intense look on his face, and his head was cocked as if he was waiting for something.
He turned to me. “What's the plan?”
Olivia looked at him, brows furrowed like she was wondering what he was doing here. I was killing Raphael myself if he had whammied her permanently.
Constantine answered him. “We need the Justice Magic extinguished and thirty seconds to get everything set, but we have to be closer to the earth. Any height between the disk and the earth gets multiplied by the vortex on the other end,” Constantine said grimly. Combat troops were streaming into the building at all access points four floors below.
We weren't getting to the ground floor without fighting the Legion. And the praetorians were likely still lurking somewhere. Marsgrove might be able to hold his own against a good number of them, but with all of them focused on the four of us in the halls or stairwells? Our odds were really bad.
The smell of ozone and wood permeated the space for a strange instant, almost seeming to come through the floor. It was a familiar smell, but one I couldn't immediately pinpoint.
“We have—”
Constantine's eyes went wide, and he threw himself at me, magic flashing.
He didn't make it to me before the floor dropped out from beneath our feet.
Chapter Forty-six: Chaos
When the dust cleared, we were four floors down, surrounded by rubble in the marble atrium and in the midst of a battle that had already begun without us. Olivia was lying on top of me, but I couldn't see the others.
Spells were impacting and being shielded, and impacting again. Colored lights and percussive blasts were ricocheting back-and-forth like a psychotic pinball game where the ball had become stuck between two obstacles. Only, there were a hundred balls.
I crawled behind a pile of debris, pulling Olivia with me. Magic whizzed everywhere and three bolts got me before I managed to activate my small chaos field and pull it over us, hunching beneath it and making sure Olivia was completely covered. Magic battered against it, ricocheting from the ceiling, like fireworks that had misfired on the launcher.
God, where was Constantine? Marsgrove?
I had no idea how we'd survived the fall. Someone had to have done magic to cushion us before we'd hit the floor. Very likely Constantine, as he'd been calling magic.
Olivia was alive next to me. I closed my eyes and hoped for the other two.
On the positive side of things, whatever had happened with the explosion had destroyed the Justice Magic, I could move freely again, and we were on the ground floor. On the negative side, we were separated, and in the midst of all-out warfare.
The field protected Olivia and me from stray blows, but didn't allow us to shoot off our own magic. We were bystanders, and if we remained as such, in this conflict we would be taken—or killed—by whoever was the last one standing.
We were in the atrium, and though debris was semi-hiding us, we needed to get out of here before anyone noticed us as anything other than cannon fodder troops.
But something was wrong with Olivia. Her eyes were closed tightly and she was whispering something to herself over and over. It sounded terrifyingly like, “I won't kill, I won't kill.”
I framed her cheeks in my hands. “Less Shining, more Mary Poppins. We have to get out of here.”
She nodded frenetically at me. In one of her hands, the butterfly I had given her was clutched tight.
I touched it, then looked back at her and cupped the back of her neck like Axer sometimes did to me when he wanted to stress a point or strengthen fellowship. “It's going to be fine. Remember? Breathe. There you go.”
I channeled everything I had learned through the panic attacks on Tuesday and sent the feelings into her—with one of my hands wrapped around her clutching the butterfly and the other against the skin of her neck.
Eventually she nodded. She even managed a shaky smile. “No blonde to resurrect.”
“I'm sure we can find one,” I said, only half joking. Bodies littered the debris around us.
I quickly withdrew the containers and ouroboros I had brought for her. She ran a finger along the metal of the infinite snake, then attached it around her neck. “You've been busy.”
“Trick has all the reports. It looks like all current business ventures are in the black. The deep black,” I said. “Lots of business for the suppliers of paranoia right now.”
She faintly smiled.
When I tried to hand her the containers, though, she shook her head. “Better not.”
“Ren,” a very familiar voice shouted.
Mouth dropping, I looked over a massive chunk of broken marble to see Axer motioning with his hand.
“In five,” he said.
Without waiting to second guess it, I shoved the containers into Olivia's hands on the count of five, grabbed her and ran. The field didn't fully cover us, and I took two shots to the leg.
But, in military precision, cover fire took down five targets shooting at us. Maybe it was Nicholas Dare, somewhere far away at the top of the hill.
Axer reached out and pulled us both around the wall as something exploded where we had just stood.
I stared at him, heart racing from adrenaline, and not quite believing my eyes. He was supposed to be at the competition. Right now. “You are missing Freespar.”
He raised a brow and shot off another bolt of charcoal, making it curve around the corner. “I wouldn't say I'm missing it.”
Constantine and Marsgrove, thank God, were further down the hall. We made eye contact. They both were sending their own spells into the atrium. Olivia and I quickly joined in.
But again, there was something wrong with Olivia. I could see it on her face whenever I could catch a glimpse. There was a strain there, and strangely, she was attacking the Legion with far more fervor and precision than the terrorists.
And it looked like she was trying to close her eyes whenever she didn't feel the three of us to be in immediate mortal peril.
Down the hall, Marsgrove seemed to be taking special delight in killing Legion troops as well. But whereas Olivia flinched each time she threw a spell, Marsgrove was fiercely invested.
It was...not right. Yes, the Legion was actively against us, but they were the security force for the Second Layer, and Marsgrove and Olivia, while they didn't wear a magicist hat, were darn close.
In the middle of the chaos, the praetorians appeared. Kaine and Tarei looked far worse for wear, but still functional. I wondered if in the fall, the vine had hit the ground and barfed them out.
All we needed was for Raphael to appear and we'd have the whole band back together.
The vine, looking far more raggedy, shot through the atrium, launching itself from the piles of debris and from the walls and flying like a deadly arrow through the air. I tried not to pay attention as it swallowed people. Nope, nope, nope.
“What happened?” I asked Axer. “How did you get here?”
Axer flinched. “When we exited the port, one of the people with me targeted the Justice Magic immediately, to give us an advantage. It worked, but there was a failsafe in the Justice Magic and the port exploded with all of you directly above it.”
He said it like we had p
ositioned ourselves that way on purpose.
But...porting explained a lot.
Port magic was singular, smelling like ozone and minerals and freshly cut wood, as magic split two places at the same time, then joined the two together.
“How did you port here,” I demanded.
“Constantine set it up. Illegal vortex.”
That explained the gem and his reply to the demon bargain.
Grimly, I looked around. “You shouldn't be here.”
“None of us should. But you aren't surprised that I am.”
I wasn't. Though we had left his attendance in the “dire circumstances only” category, I had figured he would pop up if we got into massive trouble.
I chanced another glance down the hall. Constantine was a bundle of emotion and rage. Normal.
“There's an opening. Go.” Axer pushed Olivia and me down the corridor of columns toward Constantine and Marsgrove.
We were all edging toward a broken window that was large enough to exit when someone, somewhere, decided to end it all.
An explosion rocked the world and a gaping hole appeared in the ground, then rapidly expanded outward. It was like a sinkhole that reached to hell.
Marsgrove grabbed me by the back of my cloak, plucking me out of range, and magically sending us sliding back across the marble that was crumbling in front of our backsliding feet.
Constantine pitched himself forward and grabbed a long cord hanging from the ceiling, when the ground gave way beneath his feet. It was a long mass of braided wire that had probably extended up multiple levels, until the first explosion had occurred and ripped it from its moorings. He twirled wildly, gripping the cord about halfway up, dangling over a vast expanse of nothing
Axer pushed Olivia to the side with a thrust of magic that shot her twenty feet, past the rim of the gaping hole, saving her, but the rocks beneath his feet gave way, and he pitched forward toward the center.
I threw my hands forward to call up the earth, but Marsgrove yanked me back, some foreign magic clamping down on me.
Constantine released the cord, letting it slide in one palm as he reached out into space, fingertips hooking into Axer's at the last possible moment. I could see him using magic, attempting to get a better grip, but the slipping shriek of world-ending magic—the maelstrom someone had unleashed that had caused the sinkhole—had a grip on everything and was pulling downward. Bodies were falling, being dragged inside.
“Let go of me,” I said to Marsgrove, who was staring at them as they swung and slipped, with only a faintly strange smile on his lips. He was doing nothing.
“Magic will kill them faster,” he said, like he was watching a semi-interesting sport.
“Are you that angry with Axer for the Midlands' visit and the vine?” I said furiously.
Marsgrove said nothing, but he was right about one thing—all magic in the room seemed to be sucking into the gaping hole, causing it to increase its pull.
Bolts of offensive and defensive magic were still shooting everywhere. Olivia was still fighting, working her way back toward us, still shooting magic at Legion members like she had been made to.
The hole was growing increasingly larger with every shot. I yelled at her to stop, but she just shook her head, looking as if she might cry.
A jet of black from a praetorian hit Constantine in the leg. Another struck Axer in the back. Their shields held, but the hits caused them to spin wildly on the line. They slipped again.
“I hate you,” Constantine spit, fingernails clawing into Axer's hands.
“It's shiving mutual,” Axer yelled back.
They slid down another inch, and Constantine's expression grew more pained. His blood was slicked along the cord, a visual representation of the length of their slide.
I tried to yank free from Marsgrove.
“You're going to have to let go,” Axer said, in a voice that was eerily calm. “Get them out of here.”
Constantine’s gaze met mine, just for the moment the violently twisting spin allowed. Something darted across his face, and he looked down at his roommate. “If you let go, I'll kill you myself,” Constantine said, and I could hear the strain.
I ripped free of Marsgrove, and swiped my hand downward, ripping a piece of my cloak away, yelling at the magic within it to give me wind.
“Hold,” I yelled and flung the magic like a Frisbee toward them. It hit them solidly, sending them careening to the other side of the room on the pendulum, then back toward us. The magic of the sinkhole increased, pulling them downward with the swing—like a string pulled past its elasticity.
But the cord held just enough to make it over our edge. They let go and tumbled at our feet.
Constantine's palms were ripped and bloody, the slices from the cord deep.
Our gazes met for an instant in silent communication, then we all ran.
The five of us emerged into the light, and immediately ducked into a narrow alley where Axer quickly took down two terrorists. The alley opened into an overgrown field. The Legion, terrorist cells, praetorians, and unknown hooded figures were engaged in open combat. We needed a secured spot and thirty seconds of time.
“That way.” Axer pointed.
I glanced at Marsgrove again as we hurried toward the indicated spot, trying to figure out why he hadn't let me help the boys immediately and what was nagging at me. I saw the slight curl of his lips, and I turned suddenly and blasted Marsgrove against the wall of a building.
“Ren,” Axer demanded. “What are you—?”
“That's not Marsgrove,” I spit. No, I wasn't going to be fooled by this again.
To his credit, Axer immediately turned and stepped between all of us and Marsgrove, ultramarine magic gathering in his palm.
Marsgrove laughed, slumped against the wall, then his body rippled. A moment later, Raphael was standing in his place, shaking free of the remnants of magic like a dog shaking after a bath. He deflected Axer's magic, then Constantine's, pulling a shield between us out of thin air and pulling me neatly next to him. Their magic pinged against his shield, until Axer held out a ceasefire hand to Constantine.
Once again, I was on Raphael's side of a barrier. Just as I had been under the dome. I moved my fingertips, just an inch, signaling the others. Wait.
“Such a shame this didn't work out,” Raphael said, mischievous smile curling his lips. It looked far more natural on him than on Marsgrove's face. “It was going to be a delightful excursion too. To live in Philly's shoes for a bit.”
“You would have sucked at it,” I said, tight-lipped. “Where is Marsgrove?”
“The praetorians have him. Such a shame.” His smile didn't dim, but his eyes darkened savagely. “Though maybe dear Phillip will have a change of heart after a few months in their care. Perhaps even join the side of glory.”
“How long have they had him?”
“Since the night you set Kaine upon us,” he said, smiling at my reaction.
I flinched. “But why?”
“He's too dangerous to them if he's free,” Axer answered. “He showed that politically Tuesday. And it will be easy to lay his ruin at his old roommate's feet.”
“What your little friend said,” Raphael said, eyes cold. As my golem wearing Emrys Norr's face, Raphael had not gotten along well with Axer.
“Was it you in the hall upstairs when the praetorians attacked?” I demanded.
“One of your lovely lifelike dolls, Butterfly. With a very handy bomb stitched inside. So useful.”
I flinched. Thank god I had never put life into the dolls. They had been empty husks waiting to be filled. The golem had been something far more and it had hurt when it was destroyed.
“Fine,” I said, lifting my chin. “This has been a fantastic reunion, but we are at a stalemate and all of us need to disappear. We go our way, you go yours.”
“I did let you go, Butterfly. For a moment there. I fulfilled our bargain through the eyes of the doll.” His fingers curled up and around,
a completed slip of a contract fluttering around his fingers. “So, now, we can speak of new games to be had.”
I could see Axer moving, and I could see Constantine holding up his palm. All of Constantine's container magic was sweeping into Axer's hand.
Everything in my vision slowed as, behind them, Kaine and Tarei leaped—one moment shadows on the wall, the next corporeal machines of death.
I didn't think. With one palm I shot the entire contents of the container given to me by the members of Plan Fifty-two into Kaine and Tarei's faces, and with the other hand, I thrust a single finger at Raphael. The tattoo shot from my finger as if it had been attached to a hair trigger the whole time. It zipped into Raphael's skin, and shock painted his features.
His shield dropped, as if staring at the tattoo required the entirety of his being and he couldn't handle performing a second task.
Axer grabbed me, Constantine grabbed Olivia, and then we were hauling down the street.
That Constantine hadn't tried to end Raphael when he'd finally been standing open on the field of battle was just one more shock in a street full of them.
Raphael was never surprised. He was always so far ahead of the games he played, that it was almost as if he was playing on a different board than the rest of his competitors. Of anyone I knew, only Axer seemed to plan so far in advance.
That I would get help from Stevens was something Raphael would have planned for.
That I would get help from Greyskull, was not.
I looked over my shoulder as we ran.
Raphael smiled, a real smile that transformed his features into something almost ethereal—he'd always been very much a devil in an angel's guise, but for once it nearly seemed the opposite—and I was caught for a moment staring at him, jaw hanging. But I also remembered Greyskull's words, and as Raphael started to glow, I yelled at my friends.
“Take cover!”
They did—all in opposite directions. I chanced a single look back.
Raphael was still looking down at his skin and Tarei and Kaine were closing in on him, seeing his shield down, seeing opportunity. The euphoria on Raphael's face morphed suddenly into sadistic glee.
