I scramble forward, toward where Karl is pinned on the ground underneath a distorting Elder. Another, the one who’d missed me by too much yet too little, circles around my friend’s body, fashioning a brutal tail I’ve seen pulverize bones more than once. “Run!” Karl growls, his fist trying desperately to connect with the intangible, but I won’t. Can’t. I refuse to leave behind the man that I view as my brother, my mentor, the one who’s been more of a father figure than my own sad example for nearly two decades.
Fire and hydrogen lick above my bloody palms, swirling into tight, glowing balls. I hurl them at the Elders, not caring one iota that these were the first Magicals. That some might believe them worth appreciation and devotion, since they’ve managed to persevere for millennia even after a long-dead Creator stripped them of almost everything.
Because, in reality, they’re nothing more than monsters.
When my mini-suns make contact, the Elders detonate a cacophony of agonized, eardrum shattering wailing that leaves me nearly deaf. But they’ve retreated long enough for Karl and me to get to our feet.
He mouths something—I think it’s let’s go already, but bells are ringing throughout my skull. My brain jiggles as I run, my feet pounding and skidding against the earth, dirt and wind batter my face, and all I can think of is: Emily cannot lose her daddy. I’ll be damned if another person sent out to protect me gets hurt.
And then . . . I run smack into Karl, who’s stopped suddenly. Relief tingles my toes: there’s a thin pair of twisters in front of us.
Raul was never good at estimating time. Forty minutes my foot!
Karl grabs me and folds me into his arms, tight against his chest, his head coming down over mine. My already ringing ears pop a second time when the tornadoes skirt around us; the only reason I stay on my feet is thanks to Karl’s strength.
Karl lifts my chin skyward; Raul’s helicopter is in the distance.
Behind us, the Elders are dodging between the tornadoes. I hope they’re scared shitless. I chase after Karl, yelling about how we will get to the helicopter, as there isn’t enough flat ground to land on, but he mouths ladder.
It’s just Raul up there, and I don’t want to risk a moment more on the ground than we have to. A ladder of my making rappels down, dragging on the dirt. Karl shoves me forward first, and terror fills me as I grip onto the heavily swaying rope, but I climb. He’s inches below my feet, and I feel, more than hear, his encouragements to keep going-going-going as Raul lifts us higher into the air.
I refuse to look down. Nothing would be more embarrassing then passing out, moments before safety is achieved.
I slide head and belly first onto the floor of the chopper. Karl shoves me forward as he climbs in after me. He somehow manages to rip my ladder off the doorway and tosses it into the blue.
I scramble towards the open doorway. The Elders are below, still trapped between the tornadoes. And because I’m pissed off, my bow and arrow set I’d made last year in the dash to San Francisco materializes in my hands so I can send off a series of supercharged, concentrated bombs in their direction.
Karl forces me to look at him. It’s over, he mouths. Let’s go home.
As I watch the tornadoes dissipate in the distance, I can’t help but think he’s wrong. Because it’s not over. Not by a long shot.
Not until I fulfill my promise to Earle.
Cora is reveling in what she considers to be a great victory as she locks me into a bear hug. “See?” she says to Raul. “I told you she’d come. I’m irresistible when I want to be.”
I squeak from a general lack of air and she lets go only to grab my hand and pull me through the crowd. She hollers something, but I cannot hear her. The pulsing music makes my recently repaired yet still tender eardrums throb. My head aches more than normal.
Being here, in the same hotel ballroom as last year, is surreal. Very little has changed—the same twinkle lights consume the ceiling, the same black suede couches litter the floor, the same trays of saké grace the hands of servers. Images float through my head, fuzzy ones that seem more like dreams I can’t quite grasp in daylight.
It’s different now, Caleb tells me when my anxiety spikes. Jonah’s here with you this time. Everything is different.
At a circular bar in the middle of the room, Cora orders us two virgin margaritas. Being a Shaman, Cora shies away from alcohol, saying it does too many funky things to a body. “You are going to enjoy yourself tonight or else,” she warns, swiping a finger-full of salt to lick.
Jonah and Raul catch up with us just as the bartender sets a bowl of Gnomish nuts near us. Cora shoves it back; bowls of nuts are germ factories, she insists. “No Mai Tai?” my boyfriend teases, and I groan, because I know I won’t be living that episode down anytime soon.
“You’re evil.” He laughs. Gods, he’s hot tonight. He’s not even dressed up—Jonah doesn’t do dressed up often—just a simple royal blue t-shirt that fits him like a dream and jeans frayed at the hems. He’s totally oblivious to the hungry stares of the girls around us, which both exasperates and delights me.