Nicole seemed to have little trouble keeping up with me. Maybe I’d guessed right about the running.
We were close enough to the palace that I could see there was one door in the most shadowed area. Panting, I grasped the thumb-lever handle, squeezed it, and yanked back. It didn’t budge. I forced more weight on the lever, but it stubbornly refused to release. Nicole continued on, looking for another way in.
“What about this?” Nicole asked. She pointed at a large grated vent about two feet square.
The guards would clear the tree line in a matter of seconds.
I knelt down in front of the metal grate, stuck my fingers through the lattice, and yanked back. Warm air blew across my face as the vent cover sprang from its frame.
“Get in,” I said, keeping the grate in one hand.
She ducked inside, and I tucked in after her, pulling the grate back in place. After making sure it was secure, I shouldered past her to try to look into the vent tunnel, but it was pitch black.
“Let’s go a little deeper, and then I’ll get us some light,” I whispered.
The shouts of the men outside had grown loud. They were passing right by where we’d escaped into the vent.
Moving in a crouch, I kept one hand lightly trailing the wall as I walked two dozen paces into almost complete darkness.
“Stay there,” I said. “I need a little space.”
I moved a few more steps away and then knelt on one knee so I had enough room to draw Mort. I pulled power and sent it into the sword to mingle with the blood magic it contained. A faint purple flame wrapped around the blade, giving us a bit of illumination.
Nicole was staring at Mort, blinking rapidly as if trying to be sure of what she saw. She sent a dazed look past me, peering deeper into the tunnel.
“Smells like the lint trap in my dryer,” she said faintly.
She was right.
“Laundry,” I said. “Good. We need to make it to the laundry room.”
We continued, turning left to follow the tunnel.
“Why did you say you were my sister back there?” Nicole’s whispered words floated up to me.
“Supposedly I am,” I said. “That’s one of the reasons I was picked to come get you.”
“Who sent you?”
“My father—our father—Oliver Maguire.”
“You said ‘supposedly.’ If you don’t believe I’m your sister, why did you come for me?” she asked.
I glanced back at her over my shoulder for a second, but she was hunched over with her eyes on the ground.
“I do believe it,” I said, realizing that it hadn’t seemed real before, but now it did. “It was just kind of a shock, is all.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said bluntly, her tone harder than before.
I snorted a rueful laugh. “I don’t blame you.”
“I’m not a Fae.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” I said.
The air grew warmer and more fragrant with the scent of clean laundry. The sheet metal under our feet was rumbling with the vibrations of machines nearby. We were moving past smaller inlets into the main venting artery, each of them blowing hot air against our legs as we passed.
I stopped and released my magic and angled my body so I could sheath Mort. There was light up ahead, enough to see by. The tunnel let out through a downward chute. We’d reached the end of the line.
I lay down on my stomach and peered over the edge. About three feet of conduit straight down and another grate below. Basement laundry facility. There were voices, but not many. Unfortunately, the grate was out of reach, so I couldn’t try to pry it up. It looked as if it was affixed to the outer lip, anyway, which would have made it impossible to pull it inward.
Directly under the grate, there was a table with stacks of folded linens. At least we’d have a soft landing.
I waited until the room below was quiet, then shifted so my legs were dangling over the edge, and pushed off. Keeping my knees stiff and my body straight, I busted out the grate and landed on top of it and the laundry below. I scrambled in the linens as the piles toppled over, trying to scan the entire room and keep from falling uncontrollably. I rolled off the edge of the table and landed on my feet in a defensive stance, Mort already in my hand.
There was a woman across the room, standing at a rack with a steamer in one hand, but her back was turned, and she hadn’t heard my descent over the loud hum of machinery. I looked up into the conduit to see Nicole’s face peering down at me. I beckoned her to come down, and a split second later the grate, which rested on a precariously tipping pile of towels, began to shift. My eyes popped wide as I dove for it, but I was too late. The heavy metal lattice slid off the other edge of the table and clattered to the floor—not loudly, but with enough noise to draw attention.
The woman at the steamer stiffened and spun around, and I ducked down behind the counter. The area below the countertop was all cabinetry, so I couldn’t see through to track her position. Footsteps approached, and then they stopped.
“What . . .” I heard her murmur, probably as she took in the upset piles of linens.
Some movement above caught my eye. Nicole was coming down. In the whooshing air of the duct, she probably hadn’t heard the noise the grate had made. I signaled frantically, but she was positioned feet-down, ready to drop.
“Hey, Clara, can you come and help me clean up this—” the laundry woman started to holler but cut off with a squeak as Nicole dropped from above and landed on the counter.
I popped up to my feet, and the woman squeaked again, her eyes going wide and her fingers flying to her mouth.
“Party game,” I said with a bright smile. Realizing I was still brandishing Mort, I lowered my sword to my side. “We’re playing hide-and-seek.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed.
Nicole jumped down to the floor, and I grabbed her wrist.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I muttered.
Pulling Nicole along, I skirted the counter, hurried past the woman, and ran for the doorway. It led to an adjoining room with more dryers and folding counters. Half a dozen workers were busy at their tasks. A few noticed us and paused in surprise. I stopped short. There were more doorways that appeared to lead to more laundry rooms.
“See an exit?” I asked Nicole.
She pointed. “There?”
A door was swinging open, and a man pushing a cart full of white sheets was halfway into the room.
I ran for the door, yanked his cart from his hands and out of the way, and burst past him and out into the corridor.
“Petra, guards!” Nicole said behind me.
I swung my gaze to the right. There were two men barreling at us.
“Guess we go this way,” I said, sprinting to the left.