Doors and shutters were slammed down and manned by burly guards, each one brandishing a rifle or a custom-made Moroccan nimcha sword with rhino grips, which Kronski had made for the security team.
The spooked Extinctionists bolted toward bathrooms or alcoves, anywhere that might have a window. They frantically punched numbers into their phones, screaming for help from anyone, anywhere.
A few were more resourceful. Tommy Kirkenhazard pulled out a ceramic handgun he had smuggled in under his hat and took a few potshots at the upper terrace from behind a heavy teak bar. He was answered by a volley from above with shattered bottles, mirrors, and glasses sending slivers flying like arrowheads.
With a straight-fingered jab to the solar plexus, a tall Asian man quickly disarmed a door guard.
“This way!” he called, flinging the fire door wide. The portal was quickly jammed with Extinctionist torsos.
Artemis and Holly sheltered behind the cage, watching for a way out.
“Can you shield?”
Holly twisted her chin, and one arm rippled out of sight. “I’m low on juice. I have just about enough for a minute or two. I’ve been saving it.”
Artemis scowled. “You are always low on juice. Didn’t No1 fill you up with his signature magic?”
“Maybe if your bodyguard hadn’t plugged me with a dart—twice. Maybe if I hadn’t had to heal you at Rathdown Park. And maybe if I hadn’t been shielding in the souk, trying to find your monkey.”
“Lemur,” said Artemis. “At least we saved Jayjay.”
Holly ducked as a hail of glass shot over her head. “My goodness, Artemis. You sound like you actually care about an animal. Nice beard, by the way.”
“Thank you. Now, do you think you could shield for long enough to disarm those two guards on the kitchen door behind us?”
Holly sized the two men up. Both had shotguns and were radiating enough malevolence to ripple the air. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good. Do it quietly. We don’t want another bottleneck. If we do get separated, let’s meet somewhere close. At the souk.”
“Okay,” said Holly, vibrating into invisibility.
A second later Artemis felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a disembodied voice in his ear.
“You came for me,” whispered Holly. “Thank you.”
Then the hand was gone.
All magic has a price. When fairies shield, they sacrifice fine motor skills and clear thought. It is infinitely more difficult to do a jigsaw when your body is vibrating faster than a hummingbird’s wings, even if your brain could stop rattling for long enough to focus on the puzzle.
In the LEP Academy, Holly had picked up a tip from an Atlantean gym coach. It really helped to beat the shield-shakes if you sucked your lower abdominals in and up, strengthening your core. It gave you something to focus on and held your torso a little tighter.
Holly practiced the exercise as she crossed the banquet floor toward the kitchen. As a frantic butter-knife-wielding Extinctionist missed her by a shade, she thought that sometimes being invisible was more dangerous than being in plain sight.
The two guards at the door were actually growling at anyone who ventured too close. They were big, even for humans, and Holly was glad that no fine motor skill would be called for. Two quick jabs into the nerve cluster above the knee should be plenty to bring these guys down.
Simple, thought Holly, then: I shouldn’t have thought that. Whenever you think that, something goes wrong.
Of course she was dead right.
Someone started firing on Kronski’s guards. Silver darts streaked through the air, then punctured skin with a sickening thunk.
Holly knew instinctively who the shooter was, and her suspicions were confirmed when she spotted a familiar silhouette anchored in the roof beams.
Butler!
The bodyguard was draped in a desert blanket, but Holly identified him from the shape of his head and also from his unmistakable shooting position: left elbow cocked out a little more than most marksmen preferred.
Young Artemis sent him back to clear a path for us, she realized. Or maybe Butler made the decision himself.
Whichever it was, Butler was not helping as much as he’d hoped. With the guards dropping, the Extinctionists were piling over their fallen captors, desperate to be free of this building.
Caged Extinctionists, thought Holly. I’m sure Artemis appreciates that irony.
Just as Holly drew back her fists, the two guards at the kitchen door clutched their necks and pitched forward, unconscious before they hit the floor.
Nice shooting. Two shots in under a second from eighty yards out. With darts too, which are about as accurate as wet sponges.
She was not the only one to notice the unguarded door. A dozen hysterical Extinctionists rushed the portal, screaming like rock-band fans.
We need to exit this building. Now.
Holly turned toward Artemis, but he was lost in a clump of advancing Extinctionists.
He must be somewhere in there, she thought; then she was pinned by the mob, borne aloft and into the kitchen.