She doesn’t reply, so I push harder.
“Do you know what they say about you in the pubs and taverns when you’re not around? They say you’re a frightened girl who hides behind a fierce name. They say that the Javelins aren’t really a crew—they’re just people you chose to play house with. They say that your crew is tired of being your surrogate family.”
Silence follows. I think I hurt her, and the knowledge causes me an uncomfortable pang. It takes me a moment to identify that pang as guilt, something I don’t usually feel.
What I said to her is true—I’ve heard people sneer about her behind her back. I took the gossip and used it as a weapon, hoping it will draw her out and make her careless. The sooner we catch her, the sooner we can secure possession of the Doras Álainn. I want my way out of here to be a sure thing, not a theory. I don’t care for the idea of getting stuck here and having to start my thieving career all over again, this time in Faerie.
With renewed determination, I stumble and slip down the hall toward the front door. I’m nearly within reach of the handle when Devilry yells from behind me.
This time, her voice has no echo. It’s hot and vicious, and I can tell instantly that it’s not being channeled through a magical device.
“Hey dipshit!” she bellows.
I turn, boots sliding, palms pressed to the wall to keep myself steady.
She’s standing on the main staircase, about halfway up, holding something bulky behind her back. Belligerence gleams in her eyes. “Come and get me.”
“Not likely,” I say. “What’s that you’ve got?”
She brings it around to her front. The object is a threatening contraption that’s nearly as large as she is. Looks like some sort of hand-held cannon. And it must be heavy—she’s struggling to manage it.
“I don’t know what this does,” she croons, blinking her lashes at me. “Want to find out?”
She stomps down the stairs, lifting the cannon, a malevolent grin spreading across her face. The gleeful death in her eyes makes my stomach drop, and I unsling my pack as fast as I can, plunging my hand inside and coming out with my final pair of detonators, two miniature versions which I like to call the Devil’s Balls.
I fling them, and she fires.
Time slows to a menacing, heart-pounding crawl as I dive to the side behind a large urn. She’s jumping to the side as well, swinging over the banister, trying to avoid the two detonators whizzing toward her.
The pulse of white-hot energy from her cannon slams into the front door of the fortress, rebounds, and bursts in a concussive wave that slices through most of the walls in the front half of the first floor.
At the same moment, the Devil’s Balls hit the steps where she was standing and explode, obliterating half the stairs and blowing a giant hole in the floor.
The thunder of cracking stone and the patter of falling bits of rubble fill my ears, while a haze of dust clouds the air, interspersed with flickers of broken magic. Devilry is clingingone-handed to the end of the broken banister, dangling over the gap where there used to be a floor. I scramble to my feet and race toward her, dodging debris while the walls and ceiling topple towards me, split in half by the power of the weapon Devilry still holds in her other hand. Its weight is a strain she won’t be able to handle for long.
“Drop the fucking thing!” I bellow as I run. “Drop it!”
She looks at me, her face red with strain. Then she screams, “Fuck!” and lets the weapon fall into the darkness of the hole beneath her. There’s light down there, so it must be a basement. I didn’t even realize there was a subterranean floor.
As the rooms behind me collapse or implode, more flashes of magic burst forth, bathing the crumbling hallway in violent shades of magenta, orange, crimson, and green. The shields around the objects in some of the rooms are failing, releasing whatever they were meant to hold. A storm of small, winged things erupt from one collapsing doorway. They whizz past me, the edges of their sharp wings slicing my arms as I try to protect my head.
“Fucking hell!” I roar.
I’m on the brink of the pit now. If I jump high enough, I can grab what’s left of the central stairs and climb up to the second floor, to the part that hasn’t yet collapsed. It’s a difficult jump, though. Not sure I’ll make it. And Devilry is there, pulling herself up over the banister with a groan of effort. She’s bound to kill me instantly if she gets the chance.
Casting a glance backward, I’m horrified to see bulbous, shimmering green ooze seeping from beneath a broken door. I think it’s the same room that emitted that cloud of razor-winged creatures. The ooze is thick, gelatinous, and almost sentient in the way it moves, like a flat, shiny slug coating what remains of the hallway, squeezing over or around the debris, headingpurposefully toward me. I don’t want to know what it will do once it reaches me.
Obviously, the chaos we caused has unleashed some nasty things. With the sentient ooze behind me and the angry woman standing on what’s left of the stairs, I’m starting to think my chances are better if I jump into the dark hole.
But as I peer into it, something moves. Something gigantic. A cacophony of human voices burst from the darkness, shrieking and begging and gibbering, all coming from the same point of origin. There’s a beast down there, a monster of a million terrible screams. Plus I think the swarm of razor-winged creatures went into the hole.
My decision is made. I have to goup.
The ooze is slurping greedily toward my boot heels, so I jump, straining, my body fully extended. My fingers catch the lowest step, and I grab hold of it—but with a sickening crack the wood splits, and I’m falling—
Strong fingers close around my wrist, and I’m yanked mercilessly upward. I kick and scramble, ungracefully hauling myself onto the upper portion of the stairs.
Once I’m on relatively stable ground, I gasp out, “Thank y—”
