Up close, he smelled like smoke, sweat, and the faint, sharp tang of Shadowick’s magic. Underneath that, something familiar like wolf and wind and the cheap soap from the Academy’s bathrooms, caught in the fabric from our last misadventure.
But he was no shifter…
“Hold on to something,” I said.
“The broom?” he said dryly. “Or your terrible life choices?”
“Whichever you think will keep us from dying,” I said.
He managed to hook his fingers around the handle.
I wrapped one arm around his waist on pure instinct, afraid he’d slide off, and used my free hand to slap the broom’s neck.
“Up,” I commanded. “And out. Back the way we came. No detours, no scenic routes, and if you bang his head on a wall, I swear I will snap you in half for kindling.”
The broom, apparently properly chastised or simply eager to leave, shot forward.
We rocketed toward the narrow doorway.
I ducked my head at the last second.
The bristles scratched against stone, showering us with dust, but somehow we squeezed through. The broom careened up the tight passage like it had been born in it, scraping once, twice, then bursting out the bookshelf gap into the hallway in a shower of dislodged books.
We hurtled into the corridor.
Candles blurred past on either side. Portrait eyes flashed. A gust of cold air slammed into us as the house reacted with shadows stirring and magic tightening.
“Too fast! Too fast!” Gideon gritted. “We are going to die in this hallway, and your little goblin is going to be insufferable about it.”
“Just don’t fall off,” I shouted into his shoulder. “I promised people you’d be alive when I dragged you into a circle.”
He craned his head enough to look back over his shoulder, eyes incredulous. “You what?”
“Later!” I yelled.
The house did not like this.
I felt it in the way the walls seemed to flex, the way the floor runner rippled like a carpet in a windstorm. Doors along the corridor snapped shut of their own accord, slamming one after another like angry punctuation.
The broom zigzagged around invisible obstacles, wobbling dangerously close to the walls.
Ever so helpfully, the house tried to lengthen the hall.
Ifeltit attempt to stretch the distance between us and the front, pulling the geometry like taffy.
“No,” I snapped, out loud and in my head. “You helped me find him. Don’t you dare trap us now. You don’t belong to her alone.”
The Hedge Magic that had nudged the bookshelf earlier flared.
For a second, the corridor wavered—long, longer,shorter—as competing rules warred. Then the stretch snapped back, leaving the same number of sconces between us and the great hall as before.
The broom bucked like a startled horse.
We shot out of the corridor into the vaulted entry.
Gargoyles snarled from their perches. The bluish candles in the chandeliers flared, then guttered, as the house’s main wards recognized something moving against their grain.
Cold pressure slammed into us from above.
