The corpse fell—one single corpse out of hundreds. Panic and frustration boiled through me . . . yet this was the best I could do, so I had no choice but to keep going.
“Oliver!” My vocal cords snapped as I screamed for the demon. “Stop as many Dead as you can!
Sum veritas!”
His eyes flashed beside me, and then his voice took up with my own. “Dormi!”
“Sleep!” Blue light shot from my hand, and more Hungry toppled over. If I could only make a path and get the Spirit-Hunters out, then we could run.
Over and over, Oliver and I took aim one after the other and chanted, “Dormi, sleep , dormi!” And all the while, Joseph’s electricity never stopped blazing and Daniel’s pistols never stopped cracking.
But my magic was getting weaker—Oliver’s too. The light whipping from our hands was paler and our chanting fainter. Would he keep going until he was so drained he collapsed? “Stop,” I ordered him.
He didn’t stop. “They’re almost free! Dormi!” His eyes shone blue, and a final flicker of power pierced the nearest corpse.
And he was right: the Spirit-Hunters could get out.
“Come on!” I bellowed at them. “Come!” Then, grabbing Oliver’s arm, I wrenched him toward the tunnel in the right corner. If Madame Marineaux wanted to take it, it had to be the best way out. It was also our only choice.
I spared one glance back to check that the Spirit-Hunters followed. They did.
And so did the Hungry.
I could barely see—only the flash of Joseph’s electricity gave me any light—but Oliver held fast to my hand, and he seemed to know where to go.
And behind us, the corpses’ jaws did not stop chomping. The sound—that clattering and snapping of long-dead teeth—covered everything. Louder than my rasping breaths, than my thrashing pulse, than Daniel’s screams for me to run faster . . .
Then we reached the tunnel and were barreling through. Ahead was the faintest flicker of orange—
torchlight. But I could not spare a moment for relief. For the grating sound of the Hungry Dead had reached the tunnel too. The sound echoed, and at every bend in the passage, I expected to see a fresh army of corpses. But forward was the only way to go—one foot in front of the other—so forward we went.
Abruptly, the tunnel veered into a white archway, and before I could even process, we had run onto a tightly winding staircase with steep steps and no space. We were rising back up to the city. Though where we might come out, I had no idea.
Oliver rocketed up and out of sight. But I was tired. I could not seem to draw in enough breath, and my legs—they were as weak as pudding. I pumped all I could into each step, but . . . the stairs, and so much spinning . . .
“Don’t stop!” Daniel roared. He shoved me against the rounded wall, skittering in front, and then his hand was crushing mine. He wrenched me up the stairs. “Come on, Empress!”
Electricity flared behind me, thundering over the skeletal feet. How was Joseph still going? How could he battle so many Hungry and for so long?
I should help, I thought vaguely, instinctively pulling in the dregs of my magic.
And with the magic came a fresh spurt of energy. I straightened, pulled free from Daniel, and let
Joseph catch up. His bloodied head rounded the stairs. “Go!”
“Duck!” I threw out my hands and screamed, “Sleep!” The power lashed out like a whip . . . but I only connected with a single corpse—not even the closest.
Joseph heaved into me, forcing me up the stairs. “Run!”
“But I can help.”
“They are too close. Just run!”
So I did, because Joseph was right. The Hungry were so close, I could hear individual toes clattering on the stairs. Hear their fingers scraping the walls. They were just around the spiral, almost on us . . . almost on us. . . .
Then Oliver’s voice burst through the stairwell: “You’re at the top! Run!”
And that was all Joseph and I needed. With a final burst of power, we flew up the steps—two, three at a time—around and around . . . and then we tumbled through a doorway and into a dark cellar.
A heavy door slammed shut behind us. I fell to my knees, breath scalding my lungs and my bladder burning. I needed to vomit. Needed to catch my breath . . . but there was no time. Blinking, I lifted my head and tried to gauge where we were. . . . The tunnels had led us to a random entrance in someone’s wine cellar—Oliver had been right about the honeycomb of quarries.
Nearby, the demon held on to a wooden shelf, his head hanging and chest heaving. Beside him stood Daniel, a pulse pistol aimed at—
Bang!
I jerked around. The door shook dangerously, while the rasp of bone on bone vibrated through the stone floor. Joseph, who was somehow still on his feet, had his crystal clamp in hand and his eyes locked on the door. The hole where his ear had been still oozed blood, but most of it had crusted and scabbed down the side of his head.
Another dangerous slam against the door, and this time the wood groaned.
Oliver stalked to me. “Let’s go!” He yanked me to my feet. “That door’s going to break.”