Stunned, Fiona watched her last hope dragged back through the crowd in the form of Munroe’s limp body.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Tobias. She wasn’t strong enough to watch his face as he burned. She shut her eyes. Why wasn’t he screaming? That fire goddess must give him strength in the flames. Thank God he picked the fire goddess and not the tree god.
But with that pendant around his neck leeching his power, he wouldn’t last forever. And she would come after, with no supernatural defense against the flames. She would watch her friends burn, and then they would light her legs on fire, roasting her from the bottom up. She tried to rein in the uncontrollable shaking of her limbs. I can’t give up. I won’t burn. This doesn’t happen to people anymore. This doesn’t happen to people anymore. She had her own mantra now.
She felt nearly crazed with fear. I need to get out of here. That disgusting guard had the keys in his pockets, but she had no way to get to them.
What she needed was a spell, though any magical aura would burn away with the Purgator dust. What about other magic? Her thoughts raced. Other magic, like Simon in Maremount, his dried bones and muddy bottles, the mortars and pestles, the bug wings and salves.
She opened her eyes again, briefly catching a glimpse of Tobias. The behemoth was back already. He must have dumped Munroe somewhere. He was stoking the flames with a pointed fire iron, licking his lips as he grinned at Tobias. Sweat ran down Tobias’s cheeks, and he looked nauseated, but he wasn’t shrieking, even though the flames reached his hips.
Her shaking hands created a cacophony of clanking iron. Think, Fiona. Other magic. Magic without Angelic, that doesn’t create an aura. Herbs and potions and salves. She let out a grunt of frustration. What does it matter if herbs and potions would be useful? I don’t have them. And yet the idea had taken hold in her mind, like an invasive weed.
An invasive weed. An image blossomed in her fevered mind of Pearl’s scrapbook—the pencil drawing of the conquerer root, its curled leaves and trumpet-shaped flowers. Hope blazed in her with the revelation that she’d seen it more recently—tonight, in fact.
She almost wanted to scream out with joy. John the Conquerer. It was the pink flower Alan had given her, and she’d tucked it into her tangles of curls. The drawing had been in pencil, so she hadn’t recognized it at first. But her memory had recorded its shape exactly. It was what the slaves had used to travel out of their bodies, and to plan their escape by the Underground Railroad.
Now I just need to get to it. If she couldn’t bring her hands down to her head, she’d have to bring her head up to her hands. She glanced around the room. Now that she’d stopped screaming, no one was looking at her. They all stared at Tobias, eager to watch him burn. Some of them nibbled on cheese and olives from the party, like she’d seen in the lynching postcards, but all of their eyes were riveted on the supposed commander of the demon hordes.
She used the shackles to pull herself up. It had been a few months since she’d done a pull-up, but if she strained her biceps, she was able to bring her hair to her hands. Tilting her head to the left, she groped around in her curls until she felt a leafy stem, and she unthreaded it from her hair before tilting her head back and dropping the pink blossom into her mouth. She bit off the whole flower, chewing the bitter petals.
She lowered herself to the ground again, looking around the room. No one had noticed her except Jack, who stared in fascination. As long as he doesn’t blow my cover, he can stare all he wants. She swallowed a mouthful of floral pulp.
As soon as she gulped it down, a wave of dizziness crashed down on her. If she concentrated hard, she almost felt as though she had a phantom body, separating from the real one. Drifting upward, she focused on floating toward the wall. When she touched the winding tree roots, she could feel their rough bark. They helped to anchor her. And if I can feel the wall, that means objects will be tangible.
She glanced down, catching a glimpse of her own body slumped over, as though she’d passed out from fear. With the straps torn away, her dress hung off her. Only Jack’s eyes seemed to follow her outside of her body. The rest of the crowd was oblivious in their enthusiasm for a night of canapés and medieval torture.
The flames rose higher around Tobias, and he moaned. Touching her fingers to the vines, she climbed higher. Acrid smoke filled the room. That’s not the smell of Tobias, is it? What am I supposed to do now? She hadn’t had time to plan this out.
The dust-releasing sprinkler—without it, Tobias could use Angelic. She concentrated on trying to move her ghostly fingers up the wall. She’d have to plug them somehow.
Jack’s eyes were wide, following her ascent. He was mouthing something to her. “I’ll help you.”