He collapsed to the floor, hitting it with a squawk.
A half-dozen boots came down on the bat, its aura of fear biting at the crowded room.
Mallory snarled. He tried to fight, but there were too many people holding him down. The bat was working against him now, his assailants feeling cornered and desperate.
Fear a metallic taste in the back of her mouth, Karina kicked at the man’s hand. The wood began to slip out from under his fingers and then it was gone into the sea of feet. The moment it left Mallory’s grip, the sense of fear began to dissipate.
Looking up, Karina peered through the portal just in time to see the back door finally give in, leaning like a drunk around its frame. She had the briefest sensation of the wind and rain, the impression of fear as the guards turned to look at her.
And the portal winked out.
‘They’ve done it,’ said Steph, blinking. ‘The curse just cut off the wards.’
‘You fucking fucks!’ shouted Mallory, jerking like a landed fish under the weight of the people holding him down. ‘You’re all fucking dead.’
‘Someone secure him,’ ordered Karina. ‘Have we any of those cuffs?’
‘Right here,’ said someone, bringing over the hard plastic hands.
‘Get those on him and stash him in a corner somewhere.’
‘You think we’re done here? Hey, I’m talking to you.’
‘And gag him,’ said Karina, walking away.
‘I don’t know if capturing him was a bonus or a mistake,’ said Steph.
‘Are you OK?’ Karina asked her, putting a hand to her shoulder. The girl looked dead on her feet.
‘I’ll be fine. I could feel the curse working against me. Holding it open was a lot of effort.’
‘OK. Let’s find you a place to sit down.’ For the first time, Karina looked around at her new surroundings.
This was the room where Harry and his people had had their secret meetings.
Amanda had called it right in suggesting it as the ideal place to take the prisoners. It was windowless, below ground, big enough that they could all fit, but small enough that they wouldn’t need to paint up as many storm wards. There was only one door to defend and it was likely one of the last places anyone would think to look for them.
Steph had already made progress on creating a few storm wards. There was a pile of paint cans and brushes on the table. They would have to get more people working on those as soon as possible.
There was a strange sensation, being inside. It took Karina a few moments to realise that it was the lack of wards. Karina had grown used to the drag of them under her feet, slowing and tiring her. She had begun to associate their hum and their pressure with being inside. She’d normalised it. She hadn’t noticed that until now, when she could no longer feel them.
The prisoners were quiet, all still terrified and shaking from the fight.
The only one making any real noise was Mallory, but Duncan and a few others were on him. They were keeping his hands apart, preventing him from using any magic, trying to pull the cuff’s glove over one hand.
‘OK,’ said Karina, taking a breath. ‘We’re all here. Let’s get this place secure for the storm.’
Even though they were underground, unexposed to the elements, in the hush they could still hear the storm raging above them.
‘Are we staying here?’ someone asked.
‘No. We just needed to get somewhere safe. This is a stop along the way. What happens next is going to be much, much harder.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Amanda was getting more and more nervous as the storm built up speed.
The White House was creaking more than ever, its old support beams beginning to bend and warp. Harry had called it too late. By the time the wards failed, the house might be nothing but a pile of rubble with three corpses and a safe at its centre.
It made the waiting interminable. She was working hard not to act. Doing something impetuous, hoping luck and surprise could replace planning and timing, might prove a disaster.
She was standing just down the hall from Fitzackley’s office, listening as Drummond and Andre descended into silence. Leaning back against the wall, she conserved her energy, giving her armour as little reason to leech her strength as possible.
There was no sound coming from the office except for the occasional squawk from Drummond’s radio. From his comments, Karina and Steph were keeping the guards more than occupied. It sounded like Mallory had got himself caught up in it too, which was a bonus. Violence attracted that man like shit brought flies.
Then it happened. She felt it in her muscles, an ache fading into her joints like sudden flu.
The wards in the suit were dying and now her body, cut off from that symbiotic feedback loop, was claiming its due. Stretching, her muscles protested. She limbered up, testing her capacity. She wasn’t in peak condition, but she was able to keep going.
And she was going to be a damn sight better than the opposition.
Putting a bit of swagger in her stride, she threw open the double doors to Fitzackley’s office. Drummond and Andre lay on the thick carpet before the desk, groaning and hissing with pain.
‘Well that worked out, didn’t it?’ she declared, stepping around Drummond as he writhed, trying to see her. She looked the two of them over, the pair staring back at her in shock, then she turned to the safe.
She grabbed the handle and pulled, letting it open with a satisfying clunk.
‘Did a little ward work of my own. You couldn’t see it. I took a leaf out of the playbook around here and put it under the floor. That girl you’ve been chasing gave me a souped-up version of the wards you have in the bunker, the ones that drag you down a bit. Had it working on you the past hour. You probably felt the wards in your armour working overtime and thought it was the storm, right? I was worried you’d notice and take the armour off, but…’ she shrugged. ‘Guess you didn’t like showing weakness in front of each other? Now the wards are down, looks like payback is a bitch. I’m aching and I’ve only worn this a fraction of the time you were.’
There were files in the safe, which Amanda tucked under her arm. Underneath, she found a small plastic case, filled with a stack of floppy disks like she hadn’t seen since childhood. She noted the wards scratched exactingly into their casings.
Satisfied, she turned back to the pair struggling to rise, the pain too much for them.
‘I’d say be seeing you, but, to be honest, I don’t think that’s going to happen.’
Ignoring their pleas, she walked away. Part of her worried about leaving enemies at her back. There was no telling when they’d recover, how leaving them might come back to bite her, but she had no time to tie them up and the thought of killing them made her stomach roll over.
There was a key in the lock on the inside of the door. Taking it, she locked it behind her.
She could feel the house shifting under her now, slight movements where the floor she stepped on wasn’t quite where she had been aiming for. It was like being drunk, only a thousand times more terrifying.
She rushed down the stairs, letting the fear take over.
There was the sound of shattering glass somewhere, of things falling to the floor. The helmet was just a helmet now, the armour just extra padding, but she was grateful for it as she felt water and glass rattle against the hard fibres.
She sprinted down each flight of steps. Wind sprayed in from open windows, curtains snapping, jerking, writhing, trying to escape the torrent.
The gale struck her as she stepped back outside, the visor of her helmet blurred in an instant by the rain, its wards no longer functioning.
A pair of jeeps had been left around the side of the building, keys in the ignition.
The gravel of the White House drive was becoming slush as the tyres skidded, sliding worryingly beneath her. The road beyond it was little better, an obstacle course of fallen branches and deep puddles.
Wind battered and shook the
little vehicle as she pressed the accelerator to the floor, holding the steering wheel so tight it hurt.
The storm clouds that had once been held at bay on the horizon were overhead now, the very sky boiling with them. The ring around the island had contracted, crushing the island in a huge fist. She couldn’t even see the ocean.
Her forehead hurt, she was scowling so hard, every fibre of her being fixated on getting to the prison entrance and praying for the car to stay on the ground.
To her relief, the tall, iron gates were wide open, leaning in the wind. The entrance bay was marbled with growing puddles, the wards etched into the fences fighting for life.
Water ran down the ramp towards the loading bay in a river, breaking against the tyres as she rolled the jeep as close as possible to the steps.
There wasn’t a single guard to stop her as she strode past the checkpoint, disks clutched to her chest. Reaching into the guards’ hut, she slammed the button to open the doors beyond and rushed down the stairs.
Her boots echoed down the empty halls. Mattresses and bedclothes were scattered in the corridors. Though they’d been stuck down here for years, the inmates had still put up a fight when the guards had dragged them to the town hall. Gravity played odd tricks as the suppressor wards sputtered under her feet; one foot suddenly heavy, like mud sucking at her soles, the other almost lighter than air.
She could still hear the wind above as she made her way through the deserted canteen.
Through Harry’s private residence, she found the meeting room and gave the door a thump. ‘It’s me.’
She strained her ears, trying to hear if there was anyone on the other side. Had they even made it?
Then there was a sound, something shifting, the huff of movement.
Amanda remembered to remove her helmet in the nick of time, fumbling to get the thing off and keep the stack of files under her arm. The door opened a crack, an eye peering out, taking her in.
‘It’s me. Karina’s expecting me.’ It wasn’t someone she recognised, but they recognised her and let her in.
Prisoners gave her wary looks. Hands were clutched and arms folded when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Some recognised her from her day with Harry and his crew, others responded to the uniform. The door was shut and locked behind her.
The room was crowded, the furniture pushed to the walls, people sitting knee to knee on the floor.
The walls were covered in storm wards, small groups working in shifts to keep them from sputtering out from Harry’s suppression spell.
Everyone in the room looked as though they’d been caught out in the storm. There was the smell of damp, hair thinned and frizzed. Amanda could see a few injuries as she picked her way through the crowd to where Karina was waving her over.
‘It all went OK?’ Amanda asked.
‘As well as could be expected,’ the other woman replied. ‘I don’t think they’ll ever find us here. You were right. We’d never have beaten them in a straight fight.’
‘They can be as strong as they like, but that doesn’t mean anything if they can’t find you.’
‘It’s good for now, but it can’t be forever.’
‘Well, that’s next on the list. Andre’s out of action, so that just leaves Harry and Mallory to take care of.’
Karina winced. ‘Actually, we have Mallory here.’
She pointed to a corner, where Mallory was huddled. They’d tied him as best they could, using whatever cables they’d found from the various bits of electrical equipment. Blindfolded and gagged with towel strips, he was more subdued than Amanda had thought capable, like a hooded bird.
‘How did you manage that?’ She began to smile as Karina told her, glad of the unexpected bonus.
‘These people get their power because we let them have it. That man,’ Karina pointed, raising her voice so everyone could hear, ‘is a symbol of what we can do together when we take decisive action.’
The group were too afraid of being overheard to give much response, but it was clear on every face that they took her words to heart.
Amanda nodded, getting a glimpse of the woman that Steph had been so drawn to.
Mallory renewed his struggle against his bonds.
‘What happened to his bat?’
Steph wasn’t looking great, pale and exhausted. The bat lay before her, its dirty, stained wood looking out of place on the pristine conference table. Undaunted by the wards, it continued to leak its ill feeling into the room, a gnawing fear and unease that set everyone’s teeth on edge.
Only Steph seemed unfazed, looking it over with furious concentration, running her hands across it without making contact.
‘Should you be doing that?’ asked Amanda.
‘I’m fine. The handle feels different to the rest. All this is from the victims.’ She waved a hand over the bloodstains. ‘But all this down here,’ she moved down to the handle, ‘it’s him. His sweat and stuff. It’s all just… anger.’
‘You can relate?’
Steph shot her a cold stare. ‘So are we getting on with it?’
‘Are your hands even working?’
Steph looked them over, the runes in her fingers shimmering, as though some luminescent eel was swimming beneath them. ‘The wards are doing their best to keep the curse out, but they’re not airtight. They keep coming in and out.’
‘How useful are you going to be out there?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Are you sure? Because if we have to come up with an alternative—’
‘I said it’ll be fine.’
Amanda let the girl be. She knew when nerves were working at a crew member and liked to think that she recognised when to give them a talk and when to leave them alone.
‘We’ll be fine here,’ said Karina. ‘I’ll tell them all the next stage of the plan after you’ve gone.’
‘Good. But if you don’t get the signal in half an hour then… well, I’m probably dead. You’ll be best off staying here and hoping that if help reaches you they’ll be lenient.’
‘Isn’t there anything else we can do? Anything we can do to help?’
‘I don’t know. Is there?’
Karina tried to think, her mouth hanging open, ready to provide an answer that didn’t come. Steph only scowled in that way she did when she was angry with herself for not thinking up a solution. The girl, so smart with her books and her arcane knowledge, wasn’t the best when it came to on-the-fly improvisation.
‘That’s OK. Take the disks.’ Amanda handed Karina the box with Fitzackley’s data. ‘Keep them safe.’
‘What did you mean “lenient”?’
‘I mean if this doesn’t work and you’re still alive, you’re going to take the blame. Look around. The storm hits, the island’s in ruins and here you all are safe and warded. You know how things work. If it’s the government who come knocking on that door, they’re going to settle for the prison revolt story over the blackmailing magical hit squad scandal every time. Even those disks won’t save you.’
She watched the information take root in Karina’s expression, the woman wrestling with it. ‘Then you’d best not fuck up.’
* * *
The wind was raging, mixing up the world so that nothing knew if it was meant to be earth or water. The rain was coming in sideways, so hard that it stung Amanda’s face.
She’d already had to tear off the helmet, the visor less than useless, the rain determined to blind her, the wind grabbing at her, threatening to throw her and crack her open.
They had left this too late.
The prison was already gone behind her. There was nothing in front, the rain so heavy that she could barely see ahead. The air was a thick soup of grey water and flying debris.
It was like walking through an explosion, the entire world a riotous assault on her senses.
But she hadn’t dared take a jeep, the thought of it tipping, sinking, stalling, too dreadful to imagine.
Every now and then there’
d be the impression of movement somewhere around her, a fresh surge in the rain and wind, and she knew that some flying piece of debris had missed her by inches.
The best she could do was hold her arms up around her head, shield her face, watch the water running off her sleeves, and pray that she didn’t wander off course. To get lost in this would be the end. She could walk straight into the sea.
She put one foot in front of the other, her muscles aching with the effort. Her heart was pounding and the taste of tin in her mouth kept being washed away by the rain.
She had done all this to herself, she realised, her daughter had been right. Everything since her family’s death, every decision she’d made, had been an attempt to punish herself. She’d made a career of getting away with things and she had done it again in Russia. Only she hadn’t wanted to. And so, when the universe had left her untouched, she had gone out looking for harm and now she had ended up here.
She could just let go, she knew. Just let the wind take her, toss her until she was broken. No one would ever find her. She’d be just another statistic, a victim of this terrible disaster, not even worth mentioning in the news. She would be back with Simon, with her two kids, Michaela would be fine. She didn’t need her mother any more.
But still one foot went ahead of the other. She didn’t want to roll over, she didn’t want Harry to win, she didn’t want her daughter to be alone and she didn’t want this to be how she ended. She wanted to take a step and a next step and one after that and she didn’t know where she was going or who she was going to be when she got there, but she was desperate to find out.
There was no way to measure the distance that she had travelled. There was only forward and hope, every step felt through gritted teeth and time measured in prayers.
Branches beat her and leaves ripped at her face. She longed for a landmark, but the best she could do was squint at the ground under her. So long as she stuck to tarmac, she would be fine.
A large ripple in the rain brought the sound of shouts for help. The guards were still fighting, struggling with the failing storm wards. She kept on going. There would be no sleep lost for any of those bastards.
Strange Ways Page 32