“We find our chosen one, yet somehow you’re the one who faces R’hlem.” He sighed. “Why is that?”
“I’ll tell you if we survive.” Before he could ask more questions, I harnessed the wind once more. He caught up and did not speak again until we’d reached the outskirts of London.
We landed by the river, while across from us clouds of dust and smoke stained the sky. Bells tolled at random, like the screams of madmen. Even from this distance, I could see the flicker of orange light as buildings burned.
London was on fire. The Ancients had come to town.
Ash covered the streets like a sinister snow as we walked through what had once been Whitechapel. Blackwood and I followed the shouts for help and the distant, bestial cries. Figures darted out of the clouds of rubble, racing for the river. The men and women and children who ran didn’t even glance at us as we calmly made our way deeper into the city. Before too long, we’d gone up Fish Street to the Monument, a column memorializing the Great Fire of London. High above us, the fat black shape of On-Tez the Vulture Lady landed atop the pillar, spread her wings, and cawed.
Fitting.
God only knew how long the Ancients had been here. Blackwood had kept close to me since we landed, his arm before me like a shield. I would have told him off, but as we turned onto Monument Street, we stumbled upon a collection of bodies. There must have been thirty of them all told, rich and poor together. Familiars knelt over the dead and gorged themselves, tearing flesh in leathery strips.
From the scaled appearance of their skin and the clawed hands that sliced open the corpses to get at the more tender organs, I could tell these Familiars were Zem’s. One looked up, its serpentine eyes frenzied with bloodlust. It wiped a sleeved arm across its gory mouth, a chillingly human action.
When the creature charged, I summoned as much water as possible from the ground beneath and created a long, sharp blade of ice. Together, Blackwood and I shot it right through the lizard’s heart. The thing took two jerking steps and fell over, the ice dissolving quickly as the thing’s fiery blood ate at it.
Blackwood ripped stones from the street and formed a cage around the other two lizards. Inside, we could hear them pounding and bellowing; they began to breathe fire, turning the stones to powder.
R’hlem was here. I knew it in my bones. I had to find him, wherever he might be, but every time I moved so much as a foot away from Blackwood, he shadowed me. There was no way in hell he’d let me go alone.
My moment to run came when a stampede of people erupted out of the haze of dust and blood. Forty or fifty people pounded up the street toward us—they’d seen our magic and were clamoring for help. A woman with a ripped gown and a bloodied forehead stumbled sobbing into Blackwood. As the crowd swallowed him, I stole away into the darkening streets. Blackwood shouted my name but couldn’t immediately follow without hurting someone.
It was cruel to leave him like that, but it would be crueler still to take him with me. My hands gripped Porridge on one hip, the hilt of the dagger on the other. I wished to hell and back I had that bone whistle.
Coughing, I quickly made my way through the streets, stopping dead when I heard a man’s scream. Dimly, I spotted a louse Familiar attacking someone on the ground as the man cried out for help.
“Get off!” I threw warded force, knocking the creature onto its back. Its bright green underbelly flashed and its legs writhed as it tried to right itself. Grabbing the dagger from my belt, I plunged the blade into the monster’s chest. Black blood coated my hand, warm and thick as tar. The beast curled its legs into itself and died. Wiping my hand on my skirt, I went to help the gentleman on the ground. “You’re all right now, sir.”
“Late, as always,” Mickelmas said, taking my offered hand and getting to his feet. He smoothed his impossibly messy hair. “Impeccable timing to save my life, though. Your army seems to have got away from me.” He looked about, as if they might be hiding in an alley.
“What, all nine of them?” My astonishment gave way to anger. Even with England falling down about our ears, the sight of him made me want to scream.
“Ten, now. At least, there are ten if Shanley made it. I lost track of him when Molochoron attacked.” He shuddered, tugging at his coat. “Poor bastard.”
“The army probably ran, if I know anything about magicians.” I shoved past him.
“Well, I don’t think your darling father is running, chickpea. Certain you’d like him as a role model?” Mickelmas stalked beside me, kicking away bits of debris and a dented pail.
“Go to hell.” I walked faster.
“Very winning argument,” he called as I pulled ahead. “Speaking of dear Papa, I imagine you’d like to find him?”
I slowed. “Do you know where he is?”
“Buckingham Palace, I shouldn’t wonder. Fortunately, Her Majesty has an awful lot of rooms to destroy. He’ll be so preoccupied she might even escape.”
I knew that the queen had a plan in place in case of attack, so secret only her closest advisors knew where she’d be. But R’hlem wouldn’t stop hunting her, and his patience was great—he’d find her eventually. “Then I need to go to the palace.” Straightening my shoulders, I pressed on.
“You could walk. Or?” Mickelmas dodged in front of me, holding out his arms. Much as I hated him, I’d be an idiot to ignore the offer. Grudgingly, I let him wrap me in his coat. One heartbeat later we stood before the palace.
The iron gates had been pulled down, the bars twisted and discarded like pieces of straw. Bodies of red-liveried guards had been left to rot in the open. Some of their faces resembled raw meat; R’hlem had skinned them where they stood. Black flies dotted the corpses. Shuddering, I barreled toward the entrance.
“Come on, then,” I called, but Mickelmas stayed put. “The queen needs us.”
“I’m afraid I have to get back to it.” Mickelmas didn’t even attempt to look ashamed. “I, er, don’t think he’d be terribly pleased to see me.”
I’d no energy to argue.
“Goodbye, then,” I said. What more could I expect?
He vanished, and I hurried to the entrance. The doors had been smashed open, allowing me easy access.
God, I could feel him here. The tension in my stomach would not ease, like a tightening thread tied to my gut, pulling me along now-deserted corridors and out into the courtyard.
Of course R’hlem would go to the obsidian cathedral. I should have known.
His power settled on my skin like a fine dust, something both foreign and intensely familiar about it. Both sensations were equally horrifying.
Boom. Boom. Boom. I followed the sound, the growing sense of his magic a bad taste in my mouth, and entered the cathedral.
R’hlem stood atop the dais, studying his reflection in the walls. He’d worn clothes again, an impressive suit of rich green and brown. Fire burst from his hands and flooded the room. Shards of black volcanic glass rained onto the floor. The glass crunched beneath his boots as he ambled to the elemental pit. Muttering a few words, he created a fireball so powerful that it smashed the sacred thing, destroying it thoroughly. It felt like the deepest kind of profanity. R’hlem kicked shards of the ruined glass.
His laughter grew, and my stomach turned to hear it.
“Pardon me!” I shouted.
R’hlem turned, one hand raised and ready for attack. When he recognized me, he lowered his arm.
“Henrietta?” His eye widened in shock. “The devil are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Mab?” It was such an ordinary way to respond, as if he were scolding me.