Shadows still clung to his skin, faint bruises of magic, but the direct connection to the floor, her control, was broken.
He sagged forward, free arm coming up instinctively to brace himself.
“That,” he said hoarsely, “was a very stupid risk.”
“Hi, pot,” I said. “I’m kettle.”
He huffed again, sound catching in his chest.
I slid my arm under his, bracing my shoulder against his side. He was heavier than he looked and all bone and tension.
“On three,” I said. “One. Two—”
He lurched, trying to help.
We got him halfway up before his leg buckled.
White-hot pain flashed across his face.
He bit down on his lip so hard his jaw spasmed.
“Okay,” I said quickly, tightening my grip under his armpits to keep him from slamming back onto the marble. “That’s… some walking. We’re halfway to shambling corpse. Progress.”
“Don’t,” he rasped, fingers digging into my forearm. “Don’t do this. You shouldn’t be here. She’ll feel—”
“She already did,” I said. “If she knew exactly where we were, we’d be dead. So either she’s too busy, or the house is playing favorites.”
His head tipped toward mine, eyes narrowing.
“You talked the house into helping you,” he said slowly. “Of course you did.”
“I am very persuasive,” I said. “Especially with real estate.”
He made a noise that might’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded so wrecked.
We stood there for a second in a weird little stalemate with me trying not to collapse under his weight, and him trying not to collapse under his own. And both of us painfully aware that if the priestess decided to focus on this room, we were done.
“Is there any universe,” I said, “in which you can walk even a little?”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“Not one you’d want to live in,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s what I thought.”
I looked around the room, wildly, as if a wheelchair or a magical gurney might spontaneously appear. Stone. Torches. Sigils. No convenient escape portals.
The secret passage upstairs felt very far away.
“Okay,” I said, shifting my grip. “New plan. I fireman-carry you.”
His eyes flew open, alarmed.
“No,” he said. “You’ll—”
“Die, yes, I know,” I said. “But hear me out, we—”
A familiar scraping sound interrupted me.
