The fire gutters in her eyes. “Too long,” she says in a weak voice.
“So that’s it, then?” Nathan says, looking between us. “Game over, we lose?”
I give him a wan smile. “No. There is an out, but it’s crazy-dangerous and it’ll mean pissing off the Graces. We’ll probably never be able to come back here.”
“Does it require us to violate guest rights?” Sekhmet asks, deadly serious.
“I don’t think so. We won’t be harming them or their charges, we’ll be leaving this place as requested, and we won’t be breaking any rules. Well, explicitly.”
“A technicality, then?” she asks with a snort.
I grin. “Something like that.”
“I’m in,” Nathan says. “How?”
“There are places in the world with enough spells, wards, and defenses to block the tracking magic they’re using,” I say. “Places we can hide.”
“Where?” Sekhmet asks. “And how can we reach them from here?”
“Well … that’s the problem,” I say, shifting nervously and picking at my dress. “We’ve been somewhere like that before. All of us.”
Nathan frowns. “I don’t—Oh,” he squeaks, the light dawning.
Sekhmet’s eyes widen and she stares at me, shock and pride on her face. “Bold,” she says.
“Desperate,” I correct. “Come on, follow me.”
Alexandra is waiting for us at the entrance to the baths. Smiling, she holds out an arm to direct us to the main hall. We follow at first, but when she turns to lead us back to the central dais, I veer to the left, picking up the pace. By the time she realizes we’ve gone off script, I’m already standing in front of the curtain-shrouded gateway, whipping the drapes to the side.
The door is just as I remember it: wounded, chained, and throbbing with angry magic. Magic I remember. These weaves tickled my memory for good reason, and now we’re going to follow them back to their source. “Miss!” Alexandra calls, hurrying to catch up. “Why are you—?”
I press my hands against the scarred wood, immersing myself in that haze of warring spells. Breaking permanent wards like these is child’s play for a spell-caster like myself; part of the reason Impulse Station ended up taking a lava bath is because I shattered all of their mystic defenses in one go. The challenge here is that I have to be selective in what I destroy. I don’t know precisely where the attack on the Graces began, and even if I wanted to travel there, the actual destination is probably covered in traps and cameras and other unpleasant crap.
Instead, I need to break the Graces’ spells to reestablish the connection, but also tweak the link to send us somewhere similar to the original target. As for the chains and physical barricades … well, Sekhmet can handle those.
“Miss?” Alexandra repeats, sounding panicked. “Please, step away from the door! Miss Freya!”
There’s a twang behind my eyes as I snap the first ward. The wood shimmers, the door seeming to bulge in its frame as though it’s just taken a deep breath.
“No! Stop!” Alexandra yells, then turns and begins running. “Help! Send help!”
“Better hurry,” Nathan says, watching her go.
“Impatient boy. Let a lady work,” I mutter, closing my eyes to concentrate. Another spell crumbles, and the door shudders in response.
More shouts reach my ears, followed by the sound of stamping feet and lots of movement. “Sekhmet, the chains,” I say, breaking the Graces’ penultimate ward.
“Happily.” Peach-gold claws slide from her fingertips, and she smiles at me before launching herself at the door with a battle cry. Silver links rattle to the floor as she tears into the barriers.
The commotion behind us gets closer, all angry yells and commands to stop what we’re doing. There’s a stirring in the back of my head as Nathan pulls on my gifts, then shouts of surprise and the sounds of tumbling bodies. I spare a glance over my shoulder to see a pack of heavyset security guards not ten feet away. Some are picking themselves off the ground, while others are pounding their fists against the air between us, making weird hollow sounds as they rebound off an invisible shield.
Nathan gives me a wink. “Just inspiring patience,” he says.
I smile, then return my attention to the mess of spells before me, trying to mangle them into something helpful. As I work, I realize why the Graces could never safely destroy this gate: The source of the invading magic is in some distant land, impossible to sever from afar. The best they could do is draw their own spells against it and seal things off. Luckily, I have no intention of breaking those energies—just altering them.
Imagine the spells here are threads of silk, looming over this refuge from some vile place far above. Every person, possession, and gust of air that moves between these portals is like a drop of water sliding along one of those strands, and thanks to magic, they can travel up as well as down. Instead of passengers, however, I’m sending a little spell of my own up the line. The Graces are powerful, true, but what they wield in mystic might, I more than make up with talent.
My spell reaches the top of the line, latching on to its source and ripping it out by the roots. I send new orders into the void, and in response, my magic begins to graft additions to the hostile spell like a spider remaking a web. The thread twitches in my mind’s eye, hungering for a new home, and for the briefest of moments, a global sense of awareness builds in my mind, dozens of compatible targets across the world offering themselves to me. This magic is made to anchor itself to certain places, certain strongholds, and it badly wants to be reunited with one.
I frown, trying to decide where to go, then settle on the one place I know might hold a friend. There’s a moment of reaching, an expectant pause as the magic streaks out to its new target, and then the link catches, holds, solidifies. This thread has all the appropriate credentials and weaves needed to pierce the intimidating wall of defenses around my choice, and as it burrows in and sets up shop, I try to direct it to a random place deep within those walls.
“Uh, Sara?” Nathan says, sounding worried.
I turn back to see the three Graces approaching his barrier, looking furious.
“Sekhmet?” I ask.
“The way is clear,” she says, opening her hand and letting pieces of wood and metal drop to the floor.
I shatter the final ward. Immediately, the doors fly open, knocking aside the small pile of debris Sekhmet created. A rippling portal beckons, showing me a hazy, unfocused view of what looks like a cramped room full of machinery and pipes.
“What have you done?” Thalia rages, smashing a fist against Nathan’s wall. The barrier melts from the force of her blow, fibers of magic tearing, fraying, drifting to the floor like cotton candy in a downpour. Nathan gasps, stumbling backward from the strength of the hit.
“I’m sorry!” I shout, pulling him toward the gate. “Truly!”
“You’ve put us all in danger!” Aglaea yells, youthful features twisted in anger. “We trusted you!”
“No! No, it’s going to be fine!” I say, backing up. “We’re using this to leave and then I’m breaking it from that end. You won’t have to worry about this portal ever again!”
That gets me some skeptical looks.
“I hope you can forgive me,” I say as the three of us reach the threshold. I crack a smile. “And honestly, do you think I’d knowingly endanger the greatest mani-pedis on earth?”
I take a step back through the swirling gateway before they can reply. My friends move with me, Sekhmet pulling the suitcase behind her. My new sandals scrape on grime-coated concrete as I back into the room, and as soon I’m certain we’re all through, I sever the threads of spellcraft that brought us here with a thought. The portal vanishes instantly, leaving us in vague darkness. The air is warm and carries a hint of sewage. I blink in the dimly lit gloom, trying to make out my surroundings as fear begins to rise in my chest.
Oh, Sara, you brilliant idiot. You actually got us here.
I knew the ri
sk in going to any of these strongholds was extreme, but I’ve chosen perhaps the most dire destination possible, all on the chance we’ll find a trusted friend within.
We’ve arrived in the bowels of Meridian One, Finemdi’s world headquarters in New York, and I’ve just destroyed our only way out.
18
HOME, SWEET HOME
NATHAN
The weight of calamity presses on Nathan like a physical force.
His awareness of all things mystical might be a hazy, far-flung thing, but even he can tell the place they’ve entered is practically rippling with spells, an overbearing riot of lethal defenses, curiosities, and utilitarian magicks lapping at the shores of reality like a rising tide. There’s more than enough here to protect and empower a hundred Impulse Stations, backups and countermeasures stacked so thickly it’s hard to tell where one layer of fortification ends and another begins.
It’s clear Finemdi learned a great deal from its past mistakes. Nathan’s goddess wasn’t taking this place down the same way she had the last. In fact, with this much crap in the way, he isn’t sure how you’d even go about denting it.
“Sara?” he says, calling into the shadows. A few dully glowing switches and readouts are the only source of light.
“Hey, Nate,” her voice says from somewhere to his left. “How’s it going?”
“I missed breakfast.”
She laughs at that. “And here I thought I was having a bad day.”
There’s a whisper of movement and then a click from the far side of the room. Fluorescents snap to life above them, illuminating some sort of maintenance stronghold. Metal pipes snake through the walls, ceiling, and floor from all angles, terminating in various control and monitoring stations. A handful of circular grates dot the poured concrete floor. Sekhmet is by the only door, her hand on the light switch.
“Somewhat less imposing than I imagined,” she says.
“I tried to aim the spell deep and out of the way,” Freya says, looking around. “I’m guessing we’re on a random sublevel.”
“In a Finemdi outpost, right?” Nathan says, hopeful. The dire touch to the magic in the air seems to promise otherwise.
“Worse—their headquarters,” she says, confirming his fears.
“What—? Why?” he asks with a horrified gasp. “Were we not in enough trouble?”
“Samantha’s here,” she replies. “Way things are going, I thought we might need a friend.”
“That’s it?” Nathan says, appalled. “This place feels like they dug it out of Mount Killdoom and you think she’s going to turn it around? Don’t get me wrong, Sam’s great and all, but if this place is a hurricane, she’s an umbrella.”
“I didn’t have a ton of time or options,” Freya says, sounding a little huffy. “It’s not like everything else was a bed of roses. At least this hole had something in its favor.”
Nathan looks at her, getting the impression that whatever magic she pulled to get them here was complicated, and she feels a little unappreciated.
“That was some pretty fancy spellwork,” he says, trying to placate his goddess. “Barely got a hint of what you were doing, and I … guess I should be grateful we got out of there at all—I certainly wouldn’t have been able to do it.”
She holds her frown a little longer, then relents. “Thanks,” she says with a half smile, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “You weren’t so bad, yourself. And sorry. I should’ve talked it over with you both.”
“Things were kinda rushed back there,” Nathan admits. “And Samantha is the sort of girl I’d want on our side. Probably would’ve ended up here anyway.”
“Allies are welcome,” Sekhmet says, walking back to them. “But is that the only reason?”
“What do you mean?” Nathan asks.
“Ares is here, as well,” she says, then turns Freya. “Do you intend to take your revenge?”
Freya blinks, and Nathan feels a stab of anxiety. Did some part of her actually pick this place for that? They weren’t even close to ready.
She shakes her head. “I’m not strong enough yet,” Freya says, though Nathan wonders if he can catch a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “If he recognizes me, it’ll go badly for all of us. We need to focus on finding a way out.”
“What are our options?” Nathan asks, hoping there’s a plan. Back at Impulse, her goal had been destroying the place, not escaping it … which became something of an issue once the lava started rising.
“Asking nicely?” Freya says with a helpless shrug.
Sekhmet winces, and Nathan palms his face. “So we’re trapped at Evil Inc.,” he says in a weary voice. “You can’t, like, teleport us out?”
She grimaces. “The gateway’s completely gone. I could probably whip up a spell to pull us somewhere with a day or two of preparation, but there’s no way it would ever get through their wards.”
“Can we break those?” Sekhmet asks.
“Not this time,” Freya says. “There are multiple sources and dozens of redundancies. The second I snap one, they’ll be on alert.”
“What about just punching a hole in the side of the building?” Nathan offers, hoping the Norse cure-all of “hit things, and hard” might work here.
Freya considers that for a moment, then sighs. “Maybe, but that’s dangerous—this place is hardened against assault, and even if we could weaken the wards enough in one spot to make an exit, that brings us right back to the whole ‘alarms go off, goons come running’ scenario.”
Nathan throws up his hands. “So … front door?”
She makes an errrt! noise, like he’s guessed wrong on a game show. “You remember how crazy Impulse’s security was? Even on the way out? We’ll be flagged and tackled the second we get within thirty feet of that gauntlet.”
“Geez, yeah,” he says, running a hand through his hair. Then an idea hits him, and he snaps his fingers. “Hang on, there’s gotta be another way. Think about those agents they kept piling on back in LA—wherever they started, I’ll bet they didn’t get out and walk. They need some sort of teleporter or slingshot or something to get people in place that fast.”
“That … isn’t bad, Nathan,” Freya says, and he feels his spirits start to lift at the glint of hope in his god’s eyes. “You’re right—they must have some kind of emergency exit for critical ops or disasters.”
“So we find this … ‘slingshot’ and use it to escape?” Sekhmet says. “That has merit. Though you will still be hunted.”
Freya groans. “Yeah, they won’t be able to pinpoint me after my blood craps out or whatever, but I’m still on their list.” She thinks it over for a moment, then nods. “Okay, two goals: Find their records and mess with them, then take the back door out.”
“Oh, good, our plan was sounding too easy at first,” Nathan says.
“Just keeping you on your toes.”
He sighs. “I’m not disagreeing: Even if we escape, we’re not getting far if they’ve got your number. The second your face pops up on a camera or the news or something … bam, it’s raining agents.”
Sekhmet nods, giving them both an undaunted look. “Great deeds are never easy,” she says, cool and eager, like she does this sort of thing all the time. Nathan finds himself grinning at his girlfriend, wishing he had anything close to that level of self-assurance. She gives him a sly look in return.
Freya turns to him, interrupting the moment. “We’re going to need Samantha for this. Can you work on finding her?”
“Sure, I’ll—Wait,” he says, stopping himself as he realizes what she’s just implied. “Are you saying we should split up?”
“Yeah. I need to track down servers and slingshots, and you and Sekhmet are going to find our friend. Why?”
“That’s pretty much how all horror movies start, is all.”
“Well, pretend we’re in an action comedy.”
“Oh!” he says, tapping the side of his head. “How obvious. It’s all better now, thanks!”
“Great!” she says, giving him an exaggerated smile. “Speaking of film, let’s make sure some random security camera doesn’t ruin my new career.” She closes her eyes and concentrates, letting the illusion of Sara Valen drip away to reveal her glossy golden hair.
“There,” she says, fluffing those tresses. “They shouldn’t have a reason to suspect me, even on tape, but if they do, I’d much rather they pin something on Freya. She can hide. Stars can’t.”
“Think we’ll need a similar treatment?” Nathan asks, wondering if she has enough mystic juice on hand to craft illusions for them both.
Freya considers it, then shakes her head. “I’d rather not risk them picking up on magic like that, especially if I’m not around to mask it. Besides, I’m the only one who should be doing something obviously wrong here. You’re just going to be hanging out with Sam, remember?”
She slips her bag off her shoulder and starts rummaging through it. “Sekhmet can stash the luggage here, but I have a few … party favors to hand out. Who wants a weird revolver with rune bullets?”
Nathan raises a hand. “Ooh!” He’s been joining Sekhmet on her trips to the shooting range for a few months now—this seems as good a time as any to put that into practice.
Freya gives him the holster and ammo belt. “Next up, god-poisoning syringe,” she says.
Sekhmet nods and walks over. Freya places the hypodermic in her hand, taking care to keep the needle’s tip away from her skin. “And that leaves me with the tranquilizer gun and a freaky tuning fork. Great. Everyone ready?”
“Will these artifacts be safe?” Sekhmet asks, pointing at the suitcase.
“Doesn’t seem like anyone comes here very often,” Nathan says, wiping a thick layer of grime from an old console.
“I don’t blame them,” Freya says, sniffing. “This place reeks.”
“Very well, then,” Sekhmet says, wheeling the case behind a pipe-covered conduit.
“Okay,” Freya says, adjusting her dress to hide the tranquilizer gun beneath its folds. “Hopefully this place will be like Impulse: death coming and going, but relatively safe once you’re inside. We won’t have keycards, so if you’re stopped by a locked door, try to get someone else to open it for you.”
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