Beth and Deva shoved in on either side, the four of us mashed together with only a thin, wobbly shell between us and the black, burning haze outside.
Amazing.
I could actually see again. The bubble’s surface gave everything a slightly warped, fishbowl effect, but that was a small price to pay for not dying of smoke inhalation in the corner of a discount herbal remedies shop.
“Move!” Carol called, and we let her lead the way, bubble and all.
The hardest part was that we had to shuffle in tandem, crab-walking through fallen cardboard boxes and over streaks of rainbow goop. My foot rammed something, and a candle with “Renewal” on the label bounced off the tile and tumbled into the distance.
We must have looked utterly deranged.
We zig-zagged for the front, but Carol veered suddenly left. I smashed up against Beth, who elbowed me in the side but didn’t complain.
I realized why Carol had changed course as soon as I saw the old woman sprawled near the endcap of herbs.
She was probably seventy-five, tiny and hunched, dressed in a pink jogger set and clutching her bag in one hand. Her legs splayed out awkwardly, shoes flailing on the glitter-slick floor, making her look like a turtle stranded on its back.
The worst part was that she was crying.
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Deva muttered. “Steer left, get her in with us!”
Beth leaned into the bubble, and the surface bent outward, stretching enough for Deva to reach through and grab the woman’s free arm. Deva’s hands were already streaked with purple, but she managed to latch on and haul the woman’s head inside the bubble. She inhaled like someone coming up from deep water. Her face was the color of a boiled beet.
“Who—what—” the lady stammered.
“Shopping’s fun, right?” I told her, as if this was just Black Friday at Target.
We kept moving, bubble wobbling and squeaking along the shelves, black smoke boiling behind us. Somewhere deeper in the store a shelf collapsed, sending boxes tumbling.
Out of nowhere, two more customers staggered into view, eyes wet and streaming. Both women, one in a flowered skirt, the other rocking a Mystic Hollow real estate agent blazer, looked ready to pass out.
“Stick your faces in here!” Beth hollered, shoving the bubble toward them.
They needed no convincing. In a moment they’d wriggled halfway through with us, arms and purses tangled. We had tobe some sort of world-record attempt at how many people you could fit inside a magical air pocket.
Carol aimed the bubble for the side door, which was closer than the front. The bubble tensed, then squished, folding us in tighter.
“On three,” Carol hissed.
“One,” I managed, with a mouthful of Beth’s bangle pressed into my cheek.
“Two!” Beth grunted.
“Three!” Deva roared, and the four of us hit the door at once.
For a second, nothing happened. The rubbery bubble shell pressed against the door like a balloon against a dartboard.
Then, with a wet pop that sounded like a champagne cork in a disaster movie, the bubble shot the whole lot of us out onto the alley beside Vale Provisions.
We hit the concrete in a heap.
The bubble burst in a flurry of air and a spray of purple droplets, leaving us sprawled in the alley, lungs gulping at real oxygen. I coughed until my ribs ached.
The three women we’d rescued barely paused. They scrambled to their feet and ran. Not a backward glance, not a thanks, just hair streaming behind them, and noses running.
We barely had time to process our own survival before the air behind us vibrated with the mother of all detonations. It rattled the glass in the alley, ringing in my ears like a dinner bell.
The side door flew open.
