Shit. How was she supposed to get out quietly now? This place was littered with CCTV cameras, and everyone would be looking for her. If she screwed this up, Emerazel was going to take pleasure in personally executing her, for reasons Ursula did not even understand.
Think, Ursula. If she ran through the door, she could make it past Hugo’s guard, but some well-meaning club patron would surely tackle her before she made it across the room. What about a diversion? If she used Emerazel’s fire, she could set off the sprinklers and the fire alarm. In the ensuing chaos, she might make it to the elevator, but likely not much further before a bouncer caught her. She tightened her fists. F.U., you bloody maniac, you dragged me into a hellish world I don’t even understand.
She needed to escape now—before anyone came in.
Outside the door someone shouted, “She’s still in there, right?”
Sodding hell. So much for working in the shadows. In a few moments, Hugo’s bodyguard and the bouncers would be in here. Her heart raced, heat blazing from her hand. If she didn’t control herself, she’d be lighting something on fire. Or worse—she’d be lighting someone on fire. She glanced down at her hands, at the black smoke curling from her fingertips.
Then it came to her. She rushed to the door, gripping the doorknob. She closed her eyes, willing the heat from her hand into the metal. It was just enough to warp the latch shut.
Someone banged on the door, shouting and trying to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t open.
Okay. I’ve locked myself in. But how was she supposed to get out? There were windows over the urinals, but they were sealed shut. And even if she could break one, she was fifteen stories up. She hadn’t exactly brought a parachute. Magic. I need to use magic.
She grabbed a bottle of cologne and a matchbook from the attendant’s tray. Gripping the bottle, she smashed off the top on the steel edge of the sink before pouring it on the floor in the shape of Emerazel’s sigil. She struck a match and dropped it. Flames blazed around her.
What was that transportation spell Kester had chanted? He hadn’t taught it to her. Bollocks bollocks bollocks.
An authoritative voice boomed through the door. “Is she still in there?”
She closed her eyes. It’s in my brain, somewhere. In her mind’s eye, she was back in the stone circle. Kester held her against his chest. She could almost feel his heartbeat next to her cheek. He’d intoned the strange magical words about a portal of fire, and Emerazel’s grace. She repeated after him, and the spell slipped from her tongue, as though she’d known it all her life—which, perhaps, she had.
The bodyguard pounded on the door, shouting. But the fire was raging all around her, and she dissolved into ash.
Chapter 17
Ursula blazed into the sigil room before doubling over with a coughing fit. Hot soot seared her lungs, and her body burned with preternatural pain. I really need to remember to hold my damn breath. At least she’d escaped the club in one piece. Granted, she didn’t have Hugo’s signature on the pact, and she’d left Zee behind, but neither was she in handcuffs in the back of a police cruiser.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Kester appeared at the doorway. “What happened? How did you get here?” He paused, sniffing. “Did you douse yourself in cologne?”
She’d never thought the sight of his strange green eyes would be a relief. “Sigil spell. Forgot to hold my breath.” She wiped tears from her smoke-stung eyes. “And I had to use Giorgio Armani as the accelerant.”
“You look gorgeous.” Candlelight danced in his eyes, and his gaze trailed over her short dress. “But I still don’t understand how you got here. I never taught you that spell.”
“I remembered what you said.”
He stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. “Impressive as that is, I’m a little alarmed that you felt the need to use it. You collected Hugo’s signature, right?”
Ursula brushed ash off her dress. “Things got messy. Hugo made a scene.”
A muscle clenched in his jaw. “You didn’t get his signature? Then why are you here?”
“I had to escape.” How do I explain this? “Hugo ran away and started shrieking that I wanted to stab him.” The truth again, I guess.
Kester moved closer, irises burning. Had she really found his face a welcome sight? He looked—terrifying. “We’re supposed to work in the shadows. If your face becomes known, Emerazel will destroy you. If you fail to get a target’s signature, as you have, Emerazel will destroy you. She hates you, for reasons I don’t understand, and she seemed very eager to reap your soul. I told you the importance of getting this right.”