If Lehrer got loose before they got to the chancel—if he wasn’t exhausted, wasn’t fevermad enough when he finally caught up with them—
With every bit of magic they forced Lehrer to use, Noam got weaker.
Dara glanced down at Noam’s pallid face and steeled himself. He knew what choice Noam would’ve wanted him to make.
“Taye,” he said. “Can you make the debris ... bigger?”
Taye followed Dara’s gaze to the ruins of the tower. A beat later the stones were already multiplying in size, growing exponentially larger, heavier, requiring that much more magic to move.
Dara stopped short for a second, pressing his fingers to Noam’s neck, his heart twisting in his chest—
Noam had a pulse.
Noam had a pulse, and was breathing, and he—he didn’t actually look any worse than he had a moment ago.
A shudder ran through Dara’s entire body, and he squeezed his eyes shut.It worked.Lehrer had drawn as much power from Noam’s blood as he could, and now ...
Now, all the magic Lehrer used would be his own.
The chapel was still and empty when they crawled through the half-collapsed side door and into the cool interior. Shattered glass littered the floor like lethal jewels, those gorgeous stained glass windows in pieces now.
Dara and Taye carried Noam up to the chancel, Taye shoving open the small wooden door next to the iron grate barring off a smaller private chapel. A short flight of stone steps led them down into shadow, into the crypt.
The space was smaller than Dara remembered, claustrophobic under a heavy rounded ceiling and lit only by a single swinging lantern—the rest had gone dark, shattered as ricochets from the tower’s collapse echoed through the chapel.
Dara settled Noam on the floor, propping his head and shoulders up against the altar. Noam’s head tipped forward, chin slumped against his chest.
“What can I do?” Taye asked, crouched down next to them as Dara dug through Noam’s pockets, fumbling until his fingers closed around the second vial of suppressant.
“Go up there and hide,” Dara said, glancing at him as he tucked the syringe into his own pocket. “And—hold on, give me your phone.”
He entered his burner number into Taye’s contacts.
“Text me,” he said, pressing the phone back into Taye’s hand. “Stay out of sight, and tell me when Lehrer gets closer.”
“Closer?”
“He’ll look for us,” Dara said, and it came out sounding far braver than Dara felt. “He knows we’re here. And I’m pretty sure it won’t take long for him to find us.”
Not with this proximity. If there was anything left of that blood connection between Noam and Lehrer ...
They couldn’t hide.
“You got it,” Taye said, and he squeezed Dara’s shoulder once before pushing to his feet and disappearing back up the stairs and into the church.
Alone, Dara’s own breath was far too loud in this confined space—gasping on each inhale, like he was choking on his own air.
He was almost out of time.
The earplugs were in his back pocket; Dara fit them into his own ears and held them down while the foam expanded, the noise of the crowd outside retreating to a dull hum, and then silence.
He glanced down at his phone screen—still dark, for now.
Dara looked at Noam, sagging against the altar, motionless, like he belonged in the crypt already. Dara brushed a hand over Noam’s damp, fevered brow.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
He crawled up the steps, stone slippery and cold under his hands—but he had to stay low, in case something had happened to Taye, some lethal explanation for why he hadn’t texted yet. But when Dara emerged into the nave, it was still empty, still dark.
