In the time it takes me to decide, he takes out another guard, leaving only one remaining.
“I think you’ve got this,” I say, and I head for the alley behind the warehouse in pursuit of Marcella.
As I round the corner, an arm reaches out and grabs me.
“Too easy,” says Marcella. “Disappointing, really.”
I thrash against her. I drop my sword, which is useless in these close quarters, and go for my dagger.
“Let’s not,” she says. We struggle with it, but she manages to get it away from me. Then I jam my elbow back into her ribs, and she doubles over, letting me go. “Bitch!”
I hear the front doors open into the street and then the clash of steel as Soren fights what must be even more guards. I have a choice: back into the street to help him, or try to take Marcella on my own.
I know what I should do. If he dies now, if Ronan dies now, the plan fails. I should protect him.
But Marcella is right here. If she gets away, we may never find her again. And we may never find Vesper.
I retrieve my sword from the ground and hold it out at Marcella, keeping her at a distance.
She laughs at my hesitation. “Another one dumb enough to fall for Soren’s little game. You know what he’s really after, don’t you?”
I don’t, but I do want to know that. Would he tell me? I’m not sure. He’d said my name, so the rules had changed. But would he tell me the truth? Or would he go on keeping his secrets?
“No? Drop the sword, and I’ll tell you,” says Marcella.
“No, thanks,” I say. I’m notthatstupid. “Kick me the dagger, and I’ll let you live.”
She also declines. Fair enough.
She lunges for the dagger just as I sprint toward her, sword raised and ready. She makes it there first. I try to dive out of the way, but she’s too close for me to dodge.
The dagger flashes through the air, spinning toward me. My breath catches, expecting the cold bite of steel, but in the split second before it hits, something impossible happens. The dagger stops mid-flight, suspended just inches from my cheek. A tendril of darkness shooting out from my chest holds it there. The air hums with its power.
My shadow.
“What the fuck?” says Marcella, as shocked as I am.
The dagger hangs there in the air, and I realize I’m controlling it. I can feel it, just like it’s in my hand.
I could stab her with it. I could end this right here.
Instead, I let it clatter to the ground.
And I grab the vial of elixir with my shadow and shove it in her face.
Marcella’s knees buckle, and she collapses onto the cobblestone pavement as Soren rounds the corner.
“What the hell—what’s that?” he asks, seeing the tendrils of my shadow given form retract back into me.
“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. I have no idea what just happened.
I retrieve my sword and dagger from the ground. “The rest of them?”
“Dead,” says Soren. “Or near enough to it. A damn shame.” He shakes his head as he approaches me, hands out, “Sylvie, I—”
“Don’t,” I say, backing up with my weapons still drawn. “It’s time for you to tell me what the fuck is going on, Ronan.”
His hand flinches at the sound of his name. “As you wish,” he says with a sigh. He fires a burst of light into the air, a smaller version of the spectacle he created at the opening ceremony of the Festival of Sport.
