She slid her fingers through his hair and discovered he had horns of some kind. Desperate for something to focus on, she traced their shape. Three curved spines on each side, halfway back on his head. She wondered if they would look striking or frightening. She wanted to touch his wings but doubted he would tolerate it. So she kept stroking his hair as he fought for a semblance of calm. He wasn’t having much success.
“Ash, you can do it,” she encouraged softly, trying not to sound petrified. “Imagine you’re somewhere else.”
A violent quiver shook him. “I can’t,” he whispered. She shuddered as his voice slid over her, alien and sensual even roughened with panic. “I can feel it.”
“Feel what?” she asked, hoping him talking was a good sign. Shaded daemons tended not to do humany things like conversation.
“No space,” he rasped. “No open space. I can sense open spaces for flying in the dark. I can’t sense anything around us. Nothing—”
“Shh,” she whispered quickly, cutting him off as his shaking increased. She wrapped her arms around his head and neck, holding him tight to her, not knowing what else to do. Hysterical laughter tickled her throat, trying to escape. She was hugging a panicking, fully shaded, un-glamoured daemon. On purpose. His teeth were inches from her jugular, his claws one flex away from internal organs. But what did it matter? They didn’t have long left anyway. The oxygen dwindled with each minute.
Even if they could dig through the dirt and stone, which she doubted, there was nowhere to go if Ash’s senses were to be trusted. No spaces near them. No way to dig straight up.
“So there’s no hope then?” she finally asked, barely able to force the words out.
He concentrated on breathing before answering. “There’s at least fifteen feet of solidity above us, then some tiny gaps. Part of the house collapsed above us. I can sense another small space, some sort of tunnel, eight feet to the south, about our level.” A long pause. “There’s no way to reach it. It’s solid earth between here and there.”
She fought not to cry. What a stupid way to die for both of them. She hoped Lyre hadn’t been caught in the explosion. Maybe he and Zwi were safe. At least she got Uncle Calder out first.
Tears pooled in her eyes. It wasn’t fair. After everything she’d struggled for, she would die without achieving anything. She’d never get to clear her name. No one would ever find them. The Sahar was buried with them, lost to the world.
The Sahar.
Piper grabbed Ash, digging her fingers into his shoulders. “Ash, the Sahar! Could you use the Sahar to blast our way out?”
He shook his head, killing her hope before it had barely budded. “I can’t use the Sahar . . . I already tried. It’s not attuned to me. And I can’t do anything with this damn collar on.”
“But . . . you destroyed the prefects’ magic depressor.”
“It requires a huge amount of concentration . . . I don’t think I could . . .”
She understood. He couldn’t do it because he couldn’t calm down. Even their short conversation wasn’t helping him; she doubted his thoughts were as coherent as his speech. His muscles quivered, his breath came in desperate pants, and his voice shook. He would probably rather die by torture than this fate.
She choked back a sob. That was it then. The air was starting to feel wrong in her lungs, thin and hot. Time was almost up.
“If I thought it could save us,” Ash whispered, “I would try. But I can’t blast a way to the surface without the whole house falling in on us.”
She nodded, touching the back of his neck to let him know she didn’t blame him. She tried to slow her breath but it was difficult to face death calmly. No other option but to accept the inevitable . . .
“What about the tunnel on our level?” she asked abruptly. “Could you blast an opening to it with magic?”
“Everything would cave in, and the force would probably kill you.”
Her hands trembled. She balled them up. “What about a series of small blasts? What if you punched a bunch of little holes and tunneled over to the opening?”
He sucked in a breath. “It still might cave in.”
“We’re dead anyway.”
He pressed his face against her throat. His fear was so bad he would rather die where he was than chance being even more buried.
“Ash . . . please. Let’s try.”
He nodded silently. He shifted his arms until he was propped on his elbows, both hands gripping the collar around his neck. The air began to heat. He muttered under his breath, using words to control and funnel his magic toward the collar.
He broke off mid-word, breathing fast. “I can’t get it out of my head. I can’t think,” he choked.
“You can do it.” She reached up and found his face. She stroked her fingertips across his cheeks, finding a pattern of scales across the tops of his cheekbones. “You’re stronger than anyone I know. You’re tougher than everyone. I know you can do this.”
She gripped his face in her hands, offering strength and steady calm through the surety of her touch. He stilled. After a moment, he started again, whispering the spell in words she couldn’t understand. The air heated, sizzled. His muscles bunched with effort, his body tensing.
The collar broke apart with a hiss of dying magic and disintegrating steel.
“You did it.” She threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. “I knew you could!”
He sagged on top of her, breathing hard, this time from exertion. He slid his arms around her and his wings curled down too, doubling the hug.
“That made me dizzy,” he said weakly. “I hate those damn collars.”
Piper let herself go limp, head lolling with relief and hope. Fear pounded beneath both. “I feel dizzy too.”
Ash stiffened. “We need to hurry.”
Their oxygen was almost gone.
“What first?” she demanded.
He nudged her as far over as possible in the tight space. She pressed into the rough dirt and he curled over her, shielding her with his body. She bit her lip, moved by his courage in the face of his worst fears. In spite of his own terror, he was still protecting her. A tear slipped down her cheek. He’d protected her life at every turn, and she’d been determined to hate him for the one selfish thing he’d done? No wonder Lyre had been angrier with her than with Ash.
With a deep breath, Ash stretched one hand toward the south wall of their hole. A shiver ran through him.
“This is it,” he whispered.
She found his other hand and squeezed it hard. Her heart pounded in her throat.
The air crackled. The blast hit the wall.
Dirt rushed over them in a wave. Ash hooked an arm under her and scooped her up as he half rose, pulling her out of the loose earth. She choked back a scream as she realized their hole hadn’t caved in—entirely. It was a lot smaller now.
Ash took a couple deep breaths. “If we push the loose dirt into the back corner, I can try again.”
“Right,” she agreed, grateful to disentangle herself. Her head spun. It was getting harder to breathe.
Together, with a lot of awkward collisions, they shoveled the loose dirt out of the way until they had a three-foot deep burrow leading out of their hole. Escape was only five feet away.
Ash blasted the wall a second time, strictly controlling the power. Again, the loosened earth tumbled down. They had farther to shovel and it took longer. Piper couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs hurt and her head spun. There was no air.
The tunnel was smaller this time. Ash had to lie flat, Piper crouched behind him, as he stretched his hand toward the end. Neither of them wasted air speaking. The atmosphere crackled as he prepared for the last blast. If this one didn’t break through, they wouldn’t have enough air to try again.
The air rippled with the concussion. Dirt flew.
A breeze touched her face. Piper gasped it in and crawled desperately after Ash. The air grew cooler and fresher with each desperate breath. The exit t
o their rough tunnel was tiny, barely large enough for Ash to squeeze through. She shoved forward and the dirt under her hands dropped away. She fell out and landed on top of him. He grunted as her elbow dug into his stomach.
The stale, damp air of the tunnel never tasted sweeter. She breathed like she’d been drowning all her life. Ash lay on his back, chest heaving as he sucked in air. She flopped on him, resting her ear on his chest and listening to his heart pounding.
“I . . .” she panted, “am never . . . going . . . in a cellar . . . again.”
He grunted in agreement.
She huffed a laugh of pure relief, glad she wasn’t bawling. She really felt like bawling. Instead, she lifted her head and squinted in the general direction of his face. The darkness was absolute.
“Can we go now?”
“Fuck yes. I thought you’d never ask.”
She rolled her eyes and warily clambered to her feet, one hand stretched upward in expectation of a ceiling. She found it a foot above her head. “What is this place?”
“Probably an old escape tunnel from the Consulate’s original construction,” he answered. “Old houses like these often had a few tunnels and escape exits.”
She glanced blindly in his direction, surprised to hear his usual voice. Sounded like he was back in control and in glamour. “Which way is out?”
“This way,” he said without hesitation. Before she could ask, his hand touched hers. She curled her fingers trustingly around his and let him guide her. He walked with unerring confidence, able to sense their path.
The tunnel went on for at least a hundred yards. Time had no meaning in the blackness. She concentrated on each step, trying not to trip on the slimy, uneven stone floor. Ash was a patient guide even though she knew he was dying to get out into the open air.
She knew they were close when a breeze touched her face. Ash led her to another trapdoor, set in the ceiling above their heads. Piper stared greedily at the dim shape as Ash shoved the door up and hauled himself out before reaching back in to pull her up.
The trapdoor opened into a dirty, cluttered tool shed. Before she could make out any identifiable outlines in the darkness, Ash broke the locked door and rushed out into the night. She dove out after him, surprised to step out into steady rain. Cold water peppered her face, the most refreshing thing she’d ever felt. Trees surrounded them; the tunnel had brought them some distance from the house.
Ash dropped onto the wet grass, sat for a second, then flopped onto his back. He closed his eyes, letting the rain wash his face clean. Piper looked at herself, unsurprised to discover she was covered in dirt that was fast turning to mud. Beyond caring, she slumped beside Ash. He was still shockingly pale.
“You were amazing,” she told him. “You saved my life. Again.”
“You saved mine,” he murmured. “The only way I would’ve gotten that collar off without you was if I had broken my own jaw trying to tear if off.” He was quiet for a second. “I was nearly out of my mind enough to try.”
“At least you didn’t scream,” she offered. “I screamed with the spider.”
His mouth quirked in a tired smile.
She sighed and leaned back. “If the asshole Gaians hadn’t put that stupid collar on you in the first place, we could’ve been out of there in no time.”
He gave her a strange look, his irises still dangerously dark. “Piper, that collar saved your life.”
She blinked. “Huh?”
He sat up and rubbed both hands over his face and into his hair. “Piper . . . when the cellar first came down, I was so fucking crazy with fear that I would’ve blown up half the house myself to keep from being buried. I wouldn’t have realized my mistake until I calmed down enough to recognize whatever pieces of you were left. If I hadn’t had the collar on.”
She stared at him. “But you protected me. I remember.”
He hesitated. “Even as I was pushing you down, I was already grabbing for every bit of magic I had. I would’ve killed you by accident. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“That’s not what happened,” she said firmly. “Let’s not play the ‘what if’ game. I want to find Lyre and get the hell out of here.”
Ash looked away, but not before fear lanced his expression. She knew what he was thinking: chances were, Lyre hadn’t been as lucky as them when that explosion went off. Gritting her teeth, she got to her feet and stepped up to him. He blinked at her, his expression puzzled.
She forgot what she’d been planning to say. That boyishly questioning expression on his face was just like the badass draconian in her kitchen with a pink can of cream soda in his hand. It was so absurdly out of place that it was charming. She had to clench her hands to keep from dropping into his lap and kissing him until all her shaky, lingering fear was burned away.
She gave herself a mental slap. Get a grip. It was the survivor’s high. She’d already vowed never to kiss him again. Ever.
“We will find Lyre and leave,” she told him fiercely. “That is exactly what’s going to happen, got it?”
He blinked again. His lips curved. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you laughing at me?” she demanded.
“No, ma’am.”
She narrowed her eyes to slits. His mouth twitched as he worked for a neutral expression. She wondered if she could make him laugh. She’d never heard him laugh.
Oh God. What was she thinking? It was survivor’s syndrome. And possibly a bit of Damsel-in-Distress syndrome. So he’d saved her—again. That was no reason to start swooning. He’d just admitted to having almost killed her.
“Let’s go,” she said abruptly.
He finally got up and they started into the trees. The rain was lightening a little, but the sound of it on the leafy canopy above was loud enough to drown out all other noise until they got close enough to see orange light flickering through the dark tree trunks. This light wasn’t from any electric bulb. They stopped at the edge of the trees and stared.
The front lawn of the Consulate stretched before them. Half the house was a pile of broken, twisted rubble. The other half was on fire. Prefect cruisers and vans formed a barrier at the far edge of the lawn, their flashing lights adding to the chaos. Guns fired randomly from both sides. Flashes and booms from magic attacks burst into being and died just as fast as over fifty prefects, haemons, and daemons battled on the burning Consulate’s front lawn.
Piper pressed both hands to her mouth. Ash shifted closer, his shoulder brushing hers. She could feel his tension. The sight before them was horrifying. Unmoving bodies were scattered across the lawn like discarded toys. The prefects hunkered behind their vehicles, firing indiscriminately with mundane and magical ammo. The daemon group was tucked into the rubble of the collapsed side of the Consulate, launching their own attacks as they sheltered amidst the bones of the house.
The haemons, she wasn’t surprised to see, were caught in the middle, trapped in the lethal crossfire. Her heart pounded in her throat as she scanned the rain-obscured profiles for a familiar one. Had her mother escaped?
“We’ll never find Lyre in this,” she whispered. Her throat closed as she realized they would have to leave him. She wouldn’t allow herself to consider the chances of him being alive to find. What if he was hurt? What if he needed them?
Ash glanced at her. “That’s not what you said would happen.”
She swallowed, not in the mood to be teased. “That was before—”
Fingers tickled her sides and ran down her hips. Lips brushed her ear.
“Hello gorgeous.”
Piper spun around and met exhausted but still mischievous gold eyes.
“Lyre!” She threw her arms around him and crushed him in the tightest hug she could manage.
“Owww,” he complained even as he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed back. He disentangled and stepped back to examine her. “You don’t look too worse for wear, considering you were buried under half a house.”
“We got out okay,” she
told him, examining him at the same time. His shirt was burned and his face bloodied, but he had no serious injuries. “How did you make it out?”
“I had to book it across the house to get away from some daemons, so I was at the other end when the bomb went off.” A long pause. “I thought you were both dead,” he admitted in a whisper. He flicked a glance at Ash, then pulled Piper closer. She thought he wanted another hug—until his hand cupped her cheek. Then his lips were against hers, brief but urgent. The kiss was over almost as soon as it began, leaving her reeling as Lyre turned to Ash and gave him a friendly slap on the back.
“Glad to see you alive, man,” he congratulated Ash. “I never would’ve found you if not for Zwi. She led me straight to you.”
Piper quit staring at the spot where Lyre had been standing—and kissing her! Why did he keep choosing the worst times ever to kiss her?—and turned to Ash, surprised to see Zwi perched on his shoulder, frantically nuzzling his cheek.
“Did you know Zwi can turn big?” she blurted.
Ash didn’t quite look at her as he nodded. He said nothing.
Lyre cleared his throat and flashed her a half-smile. “By the way, Piper. I like the mud-wrestling look. I think it would work better without clothes though.”
“Lyre—” she began warningly.
“Quiet,” Ash hissed. “Something is wrong.”
“What?”
Ash stepped back to the edge of the trees. Piper faced the battlefield again. It was quiet. Still. No one was moving, daemons, haemons, and prefects alike crouched in readiness, watching, waiting.
“No,” Ash whispered. “No fucking way.”
Piper sank slowly into a crouch, caught in the spell of silence even as she wanted to demand answers. Everyone out on the lawn was staring toward the corner of the lawn furthest from Piper, Ash, and Lyre. What were they all looking at, waiting for?
The answer came too soon.
In unreal silence, a prefect cruiser flew into the air like a toy thrown by an angry child. It dropped into the middle of the lawn with a terrible metallic crash, skidded comically on its nose in the mud, then toppled over onto its roof. A second car followed, lights still flashing, before landing on its side and rolling into the ruins of the house.