With a shrug, Eamon answers, “You got Fritz out of Vankhala. Barely.”
“But how?” Fritz rubs his temples with the thumb and fingers of one hand.
“I guess now we know how the soul-bond works to keep you from getting stuck there,” Eamon says.
“Where’s the fucker who killed me?” he asks against my hair.
Caspian releases his hold a bit, pointing behind us. “There,” then pointing across the room to a misplaced arm, “and there,” and again pointing somewhere up above in the cage levels, “and there.”
“There’s some over there, too,” Isla adds, her eyes misty from where she stands a few feet away, directing us to look in another direction.
With a chuckle, Fritz says, “Thanks, Cas.” before trying to lay back down.
“I know this is not a great time, but we gotta move,” Eamon warns us. “These walls are going to come down. They should have already, and we need to get out of here.”
“We can’t go back the way we came,” one of Eamon’s men warns. “The walls were crumbling behind us.”
“We will escape the way the coward did. He definitely knew the best, fastest way out,” Eamon announces.
Fritz slowly makes his way to his feet right as some debris falls down around us.
Eamon barks, “Move. Now.”
Caspian stands, hefting Fritz up even though they’re both looking worse for wear right now. With a grunt, Eamon inserts himself between them, carrying most of the weight of both terrifying creatures like they’re nothing more than a sack of potatoes.
They drag themselves along toward the door Caspian says Alastor escaped through.Alastor. That’s a problem for a different day. Isla and I link hands for just a moment, blissfully relieved that her batshit crazy plan and my batshit crazy plan combined into one massive shitstorm for the hunters and a hard-fought victory for us.
As chunks begin to fall behind us, we sprint into the door, hoping it will be an easy enough escape.
It’s certainlynoteasy, the steep climb of the stairs taking us up probably five stories, all of us running up them as fast as possible to avoid the impending implosion of the torture temple behind us.
Isla spills into a deserted alley first, nearly falling to the ground in her haste to escape. I’m three steps behind her, followed by the demon trio, then the armed guards Eamon brought with him.
One of them slams the door shut behind him, and Eamon keeps telling us to keep moving. “We can’t be caught here. The Sanctum is in the cops’ pocket. They won’t hesitate to shoot if they spot us.”
Sirens fill the air as we peek around a corner, watching police cars surround the building holding what’s left of the Sanctum’s compound. A few of them exit their cars, slowly walking toward the building.
Before our eyes, the whole thing comes down in what can only be described as an utterly anticlimactic droop. Sure, a few chunks of debris make some noise, and there’s a big puff of dust that kicks up when it all falls down. But I was expecting more drama, more finality in the falling of the building that’s caused me such turmoil. In the back of my mind, I hope all the demons we let out of their cages made it somewhere safe before the collapse. I didn’t see where any of them went, but they were gone by the time we got out.
“Let’s go,” Eamon says finally, pushing Isla in the opposite direction of the officers. “I’ll drop you guys at home.”
“What about your firetruck?” Fritz asks.
“We’ll come back for it later,” one of the armed men answers. “Our back ups are only half a mile away.”
We walk in silence, Fritz and Cas because they’re still recovering, me and Isla because we must still be in shock. In absolute disbelief that we survived and managed to get out unscathed. Well, mostly. I mean, I did take a trip to hell. Sort of.
When we reach our destination, two giant black SUVs await us, looking far too sparkly and new for this neighborhood. The tacticians shake hands with all of us, making quick introductions and even quicker goodbyes before they pile into one of the vehicles and take off.
“Everybody in,” Eamon announces, all but shoving Fritz and Caspian into the rear door of the massive car.
Isla climbs into the back seat, and I follow shortly after. Eamon slams the rear door and gets behind the wheel, peeling out in complete silence. The lack of sound is stifling, all of us in recovery from the tumultuous week we’ve had.
Isla clears her throat, “Can we listen to some mu-”
“No.”
She whistles, “Ooookay. Forget I asked.”
