They streaked across the sky, red and orange and purple, strangely beautiful as they parted the mist, sending it rolling up on either side. Like vertical fireworks or colorful torpedoes tearing through the sea. Which would have been a lot more impressive if we weren’t on the ship they were about to sink.
“Get low!” I told the panicked women. “Now, now, now!”
I pushed them down, the ones I could reach, but had to break it off a moment later and dive for the floor myself. But it looked like the idea had been conveyed. We ended up clinging to the grimy planks, as flat as we could get, but thanks to the open bars of the cage, that still gave us a perfect view—
Of the rain.
Out of nowhere, the storm that had started slacking off turned violent, and in the clear night sky ahead clouds blew up. I watched as the mist in the valley congealed into boiling, purplish gray masses and rain began to fall, above us, below us, everywhere all at once. Drenching sheets that tore into the spells, shearing off their power, causing them to sputter and crackle and spit—
And die.
My heart hammered as I watched one dissipate right before it reached the bars. Another made it but had been blown off course, exploding in the air just above us, raining a cascade of bright red sparks down on all sides. But a third was still coming, lashed at by rain and storm, buffeted by wind, but somehow still on course. Like some magic heat-seeking missile that adjusted its path as we did, as we all but flew with no springs and no brakes, our eyes glued to the steadily approaching power ball that was getting smaller and smaller but was still coming—
And then it hit, like a massive hammerblow, sending us slamming into the horses, which screamed and grew wings, or so it seemed. Or maybe that was because the different parts of the storm had just become one massive torrent, the main core of its power driving down on us—and the road. Which went from dangerous, overgrown goat trail to something a whole lot worse.
I looked down at the flowing river of mud, at the trodden-down, slick-as-glass weeds, at a set of wheels no longer turning, because they were no longer in contact with the road, and thought, Oh.
And then we were over.
The next few seconds were a heart-stopping mass of confused images: the cage sliding and dipping and falling, and then flipping when we hit open air. All of us strangely silent as we tumbled around, because our hearts were in our throats. The rain, almost a solid sheet outside the bars. One of the horses, its mane streaming, its eyes wide and white-rimmed as it fell alongside us, pawing the air as it continued trying to run.
And the ground, speeding toward us like a green bullet, trees spearing up like daggers, huge boulders everywhere, death in a hundred forms waiting with open arms—
And continuing to wait as we froze midair, a huge rush of my power halting our fall midtumble.
Leaving me to yo-yo to a stop between the hard oak boards of the ceiling and floor, panting and shaking and screaming as I hadn’t been able to before, the ones trapped behind my teeth by utter terror breaking loose with a vengeance.
“Ahh! Ahhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!”
And then something hit me in the face.
It took me a second to realize that it was Rosier, who I’d knocked loose from his death grip on the bar, sliming the side of my head before I managed to throw him off. And to scream some more. And to beat the ceiling of the cage, which was now the floor, not for any reason I could name, just because the massive surge of adrenaline had to come out somehow.
I collapsed back against the old boards, gasping and exhausted. Scatterings of rain sparkled in the moonlight above my face; women’s shifts flowed out everywhere, like angels’ wings; the slaver stayed suspended, caught halfway through a fall on the opposite side of the wagon from his horses, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping. Like the terrified faces that stared down into mine, all of them mirroring the way I felt, because I hadn’t saved us yet.
I’d frozen us too soon.
There was no doubt about it. I lay there, staring past the merchant’s motionless body, at what looked like the view from my penthouse in Vegas. Actually, the overgrown, windswept ground was the exact opposite of it, but the angle was similar. Because we were still dozens of stories high.
I reached over and pulled Rosier back into real time, and watched him flail around for a minute, screaming bloody murder.
And then clutching the ceiling-turned-floorboards, webbed hands spread wide. “I . . . I think I wet myself,” he whispered.
I didn’t answer. I slowly got to my knees, wincing when I put weight on my sore one, and pushed a floating girl out of the way. And crawled over to the bars, squashing my face against the rusting metal until I grabbed hold of the merchant’s tunic. And jerked him over.
I found the key for the lock on his belt, and got it open after a minute of frustrated swearing. And swung the cage door wide, allowing me to look down. And then just stayed there, as still as everyone else.
Except for Rosier, who crawled up alongside. “What is it? Are we too high up for . . . for it to be survivable?”
“Yep.”
“Then . . . can you do it again?” He swallowed. “Can you let us fall for another few seconds, and catch us when we’re about to . . . hit down?”
“No.”
“No?” He looked at me, a little of the new, scared-shitless Rosier giving way to the old full-of-it variety. “Don’t you think we need a little more than ‘no’ in this instance?”
“No.”
“And why not?”
I pointed down. “That’s why.”
Rosier finally, very carefully, peered over the edge and into the void. And saw what I just had—namely, a glittering golden web, like from the butt of the world’s biggest spider, billowing out below us. Or no, I guessed, not exactly a web.
“Is that . . . is that . . . is that a net?” he demanded.
“Looks like it.”
“Why is it there?” He turned to me, looking almost indignant. And then he scowled some more, because yeah. The old Rosier was definitely back in charge now. “What are you doing?”
“Biting my nails.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have a clipper.”
“You—” He stopped, and the scowl became a glare. “Stop. It.”
“Why?”
“Because we have to get out of here, that’s why!” Only it was more like “Becausewehavetogetoutofherethat’swhy,” and now he was shaking me.
“Why?”
“Stop saying that!”
I sighed and left my hangnail alone. Mainly because I needed the finger to make a point. “One: a time stoppage doesn’t last long. In a few minutes, we’re going to finish that plunge anyway. Two: the only way for me to hurry that up is to use more power, which I don’t have because I just did a time stoppage. Three: The only way for me to override that would be to take more potion, and do I have to explain why I don’t want to take more potion?”
He sat there for a moment, vibrating, then leaned back over for another look.
It didn’t appear to improve his mood.
“How much do you have left?” he asked abruptly.
“Two-thirds of a bottle.”