Aston’s solution flits through my mind, and I squeeze the thought away. “The less you use it, the safer you’ll be.”
She nods. “That’s why I’m letting you push me into a fan instead of using a command to stop the blades.”
“There’s a command to stop the blades?”
“That’s what the need is telling me. It senses what I want and comes up with a way to make it happen.”
Crap—now I’m tempted.
One more time isn’t going to make that big of a difference for her, right?
Except . . . the power sounds even creepier when I really think about it.
How can the need know what she wants—and what if she wants something bad?
My Westerly has gotten us this far. It’s safer to keep trusting it—even if nothing about this decision actually feels safe.
“You ready?” I ask.
Solana nods, but her shoulders are shaking.
Now! my Westerly orders.
Now!
NOW!
On the next repetition I close my eyes and shove Solana as hard as I can.
I’m fully expecting a sound like something squishy dropping into a blender. Instead there’s an excruciating silence before Solana calls out, “I’m okay! It’s not as bad as I thought. But there’s a pretty steep drop on the other side, so you’ll need to use the Southerly I gave you to stop your fall.”
I nod—which is stupid because it’s not like she can see me. Then I scoot closer to the fan and try to get a handle on the rhythm again.
Now.
Now.
Now—crap, I should’ve gone but I wasn’t ready!
Now!
Now—Audra’s waiting, come on, dude—NOW!
I leap through the blades, preparing to be smoothiefied. But all I feel is a buzz of rushing air. The drop hits me then, and it takes me several seconds to remember the right command, so I land a little harder than I want to—but I’m alive!
We’ve ended up on the ground floor of a tower, its round walls stretching at least five stories. And there are about a zillion fans covering the wall, alternating with round vents in a checkerboard pattern.
Streams of hot and cold air blast through the fans and vents and collide against a giant motor in the center, making all the cogs and springs spin like we’re inside some sort of giant steampunk clock tower.
The stones tremble beneath our feet, pulsing with the energy generated by the turbine.
“Okay,” I tell Solana. “Time to break this thing.”
CHAPTER 26
AUDRA
I can’t stop the spinning.
I can’t even slow us down.
Now I understand how a tumbleweed feels, caught in a sandstorm.
But this isn’t the desert.
We’re tangled in an indoor squall—blasting maximum velocity through a frosted funnel.
At least the wind seems to be reviving Gus’s strength. I wish I could say the same for myself. Instead, the cold sinks deep, smothering my consciousness in mental snow. The shivers shake away my reason, and when I beg my Westerly for guidance, it offers no solution.
Gus’s Easterly remains silent as well, and I sink deeper into the haze of cold. Sheer stubborn will helps me fight my way back, and I stretch out my senses, stunned when I feel a faint itch on the edge of my left thumb.
A brave Northerly reaches for me from somewhere high above.
I whisper its call, and the draft seeps through the cracks and coils around both of us.
Before I can celebrate, I catch the lyrics of its disjointed melody.
The Northerly sings only two words, repeating them with a thundering authority.
Not a suggestion.
A command.
Let go.
My Westerly joins the song.
So does the Easterly.
And when I chance a look at Gus, he’s mouthing, Trust the wind.
I tighten my grip, not sure I can risk his life again. He’s far too weak to brave these torrents on his own.
But we’d never have gotten this far if the wind wasn’t on our side. . . .
It takes five steadying breaths before I pull my fingers slowly from Gus’s and let the drafts rip us apart, slamming us into opposite walls. Pain screams through my back as the cuts Raiden gave me tear open.
But as the shock fades, I realize: We’re no longer moving.
Somehow, on our own, we’re able to stand against the relentless winds.
Leave it to Raiden to turn his fortress into a game of everyone for themselves.
“I’m pretty sure my insides have frozen,” Gus says, dropping to his knees and clutching his stomach.
“Mine too.” I press my ear against the stones, trying to get a read on our location. “The drafts are drowning out the Shredder. But if we walk against the wind, it should lead us back to where we entered.”
“The Stormers will be waiting for us there,” Gus reminds me.
“I’m sure they will. But it sounded like there’s only one way in or out of this place.”
“That doesn’t make sense. This wind has to go somewhere.”
My Westerly seems to agree, ending every verse of its song with Charge forward!
But when we try to get moving, Gus’s legs collapse beneath him.
“You need to rest,” I say, resisting the urge to help. If I draw close, it would only send us airborne again.