“Spoke too soon!” Jezebel yells. She nods behind her.
It’s so far away that at first I think it’s a bird. But it’s fast, really fast, and it’s not long before I can clearly see the veined wings of the dragon snapping up and down against the twilight sky.
“Oh hell!” Bishop shouts.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself!” Jezebel yells.
“What are we going to do?” Bishop asks.
No one speaks, the dragon’s flapping wings—growing louder and louder—reminding us that every second counts.
“Follow me.” Jezebel plunges down suddenly, like a pelican diving for fish. Bishop grips me tighter and follows suit. I’d always thought he didn’t hold back any of his power when flying with me in tow, but now I know that he did—a lot. Because the speed at which we descend toward the ground knocks the breath out of me. Yet, by the time we reach the ground, Jezebel is already lifting up a manhole cover. She tosses it aside like it weighs no more than a penny, and a dank, mildewy smell similar to wet clothes left to dry in a washing machine wafts up.
Reading my mind, Jezebel says “Ew” and pinches her nose. Then, without even crouching down, she drops into the dark hole, only a splashing noise to indicate that she’s landed.
“Jezebel.” My hair hangs around my face as I grip the sides of the hole and peer inside, but it’s too dark; I don’t see anything.
“Hurry up, it’s coming.” Bishop pushes my back.
I do a shoulder check and find the dragon fast approaching, cutting across the star-specked sky at an alarming rate. The fear that had gripped me earlier comes surging back like a jolt of electricity. I kick off my heels and take a leap.
The bottom is farther than I anticipated, and needles of pain shoot up my legs as I splash-land into calf-deep water. I buckle to my knees, hands braced against the gritty-yet-slimy bottom of the sewer for support, shuddering as I consider all the things that could be making the water slimy.
“Out of the way!”
Not a second later, there’s another splash as Bishop leaps into the hole after me, and then a quiet pop as the same taper candle we used for summoning lights up Bishop’s face and the faded redbrick walls behind him. “Come on.” He snags my arm, and we noisily slosh through the muddy water, the heavy, wet taffeta gown sucking against my legs, tripping up my steps despite its short length.
We make it only feet away from the hole we dropped through when a thundering boom shakes the walls. I scream and clutch Bishop’s arm, and he presses my head protectively against his chest. The echoes of the boom still resonate when it is replaced by a squealing roar so high-pitched it makes my ears ring. A taloned paw reaches into the sewer and angrily claws around left and right.
“Quit cuddling and run!” Jezebel yells, waving us toward her from her spot just inside the circle of light cast by the flickering candle.
Bishop pulls me farther into the narrow, snaking bowels of Los Angeles County. The dragon doesn’t follow—can’t follow—but I’m smart enough about the workings of the Priory to know that doesn’t mean we’re safe.
Almost as soon as I have this thought, I become aware that the cold, thick water that was licking my ankles not too long ago now reaches to my knees.
“The water’s rising!” Hysteria breaks my voice, thoughts of drowning in a sewer constricting my throat.
The others don’t respond, as if they noticed already and didn’t want to scare me.
Jezebel’s boots splash three feet ahead of us, leading the charge. “Just keep running,” she says between struggles for air. “We’ll get out at the next sewer cover.”
But it’s kind of hard to run underwater. The cold liquid rises up around the tops of my thighs, an awkward depth too high to run in and yet too shallow to swim in, and I have to lift my legs higher and higher to make any headway. Jezebel’s three-foot lead becomes twenty, and I gasp and struggle for air. Even tyrannical hellish cheerleading training under Bianca’s regime has left me unprepared for this task.
“I don’t get it.” Jezebel’s voice breaks up with obvious exhaustion. She slows to a jog, then stops, doubled over and panting. “Why wouldn’t the Family have helped? They promised. It doesn’t make sense. The Priory has the Bible. Why wouldn’t the Family send everyone they’ve got? It’s their own lives on the line.”
It doesn’t make any sense to me either, and I can tell by Bishop’s silence that he’s thinking about it too as he sucks in big gulps of air.
“Come on, we have to keep moving.” Jezebel pushes up and breaks into a sloppy jog again.
The water has slicked higher up my body in the time we’ve spent catching our breath, and though my lungs ache with exhaustion and my overworked heart pounds, I run after her.
Bishop stays at my side even though I know he could have lapped Jezebel twice over. “Take it off.” He gestures to my dress. “It’d be much easier.”