"It’s just pitch," he yells over the rising roar of the turbine. "Pull up to go up. Push down to go down. Twist for throttle. It’s like the pedals on the piano. Sensitivity, Elodie! Feel the machine!"
CRACK.A spiderweb fracture appears on the windshield right in front of Alaric. A bullet.
I look out. Three men are running across the tarmac. They are firing as they run. Muzzle flashes sparkle in the floodlights. "They're shooting at us!"
"Pull!" Alaric roars. "Pull the collective! NOW!"
I grab the lever with both hands. I yank it up. Too hard. The helicopter lurches into the air violently, jumping twenty feet in a second. My stomach drops into my shoes. The G-force slams me into the seat. The machine screams, the low-RPM warning horn blaring.
"Gently!" Alaric corrects, fighting the cyclic stick with his left hand to keep us stable. "Smoothly! You're strangling it! Ease off!"
I lower the lever slightly. The ascent slows. Alaric banks the chopper hard to the right, swinging the tail around. Bullets ping off the fuselage beneath us.Ping. Ping. Thud.We are a massive, white target in the spotlight.
"Go! Go! Go!" I scream.
Alaric pushes the stick forward. The nose dips. The helicopter bites into the air and surges forward. We skim over the rose garden. The landing skids clip the top of a stone statue, shattering its head. We clear the perimeter wall by inches.
And then we are out. The ground drops away. The trees become a black carpet beneath us. The sirens fade. The fire becomes a small orange dot in the rearview mirror.
We are flying. But it isn't smooth. The helicopter shudders in the wind. Alaric is slumped to the side, his head resting against the glass, his left hand white-knuckled on the control stick. He is flying on instinct alone.
"Altitude?" he whispers.
I look at the screens. Numbers are flashing everywhere. "Three thousand feet!" I guess.
"Good. heading... one-eight-zero. South."
"Where are we going?"
"The Eyrie," he breathes. "City center. Thorne won't... expect us... to come to him."
He coughs. Blood splatters the inside of the windshield. The stick jerks in his hand. The helicopter dips sharply to the left. "Alaric!" I grab his arm. "Stay with me! You have to fly!"
"I'm slipping," he admits, his voice terrifyingly calm. "The blood loss... I’m losing the horizon."
I look out the window. Ahead of us, the glow of the city is rising like a false dawn. Skyscrapers piercing the clouds. Millions of lights. It looks like a galaxy of electric stars. And somewhere in that grid is the man who bought me.
"I can't land this," I say, panic clawing at my throat. "Alaric, if you pass out, we crash. We die."
"Then don't let me pass out," he says. "Talk to me. Keep me... anchored."
"Talk about what?"
" The music," he murmurs. His eyes are closing. "Tell me... about the cadence."
I reach out and place my hand over his on the control stick. My skin on his skin. "We are playing a duet," I say, my voice steadying. "You provide the structure. I provide the soul. Remember?"
"I remember."
"We are in the Adagio," I lie. We are in the Presto Agitato, chaotic and fast, but I need him calm. "Slow. Steady. We are floating."
I modulate my voice. I make it soft, hypnotic. I use the tone I used on Charon the horse. "Focus on the lights, Alaric. They are notes. Follow the melody line. Don't rush the tempo."
He breathes in.Shudder.He breathes out. His hand steadies on the stick. "You have... a beautiful voice," he whispers. "I always hated... that you didn't sing."
"I'm singing now," I say. "I'm singing you home."
We fly toward the city. The lights get brighter. The buildings get taller. We are entering the belly of the beast. And for the first time in my life, I am not afraid of the height. I am afraid of the landing.
