Substance SX. I knew exactly what that was. It had left a scar on everyone it had ever greeted, if it hadn’t choked them where they stood. ‘It’s the blue hand!’ Voices screamed its name. ‘Let us out!’
Ahead of me, I could just make out Maria climbing over the ticket barrier. Eliza looked over her shoulder at me as she followed.
‘Paige, come on,’ she gasped. ‘Stay with us.’ Nick clung to my hand so tightly it hurt as the knot of warm bodies tightened around us. Shoulders closed together; heads banged; backs clapped against chests. More Vigiles were moving towards us – and black stallions, each bearing the weight of a military commandant. Their body armour, combat helmets and heavy weapons made the Vigiles seem like toys. Even their horses wore armour, as they had in Dublin.
In Dublin . . .
A thought pierced the panic.
All of this has already happened.
I saw the ruined Gothic monument. The bitter-sweet, chemical smell of the blue hand had already spiked the air, making my head spin – but it was already spinning, like a lathe, turning over the realisation, fashioning it into an idea. Above the street, two ScionIDE helicopters were circling us all like birds of prey. White light beamed down, blinding me for an instant. If they saw me, they would take me to Nashira – to the Archon . . .
Martial law will be effective in the Scion Citadel of London until Paige Mahoney is in Inquisitorial custody.
All of this has already happened.
An airless crush of bodies, pressing in on me from all sides.
Mouths that scream, hands that shove.
Mercy.
Everything she does will be aimed at you.
In that moment of not seeing, I saw it all as if from a great distance. I knew what I had to do. It was the only way to save us all. The only way I could rise from the ashes.
Nick still held my hand, but he wasn’t prepared for what I did next.
I broke his grip with one brutal tug, cut through a line of people, and ran. He roared my name, but I didn’t stop.
Sweat and rain dropped melting crystals on my skin. The people nearest to the conflagration would boil in their own body heat before the soldiers reached them. I was near the thickest part of the crowd when I sensed Warden in pursuit. He was too fast – the only one, apart from Nick, who could certainly outrun me. I dislocated my spirit with violent force, throwing pressure through the ?ther.
The golden cord sent harsh vibrations through my bones, my flesh, through the whole of my being. My nose leaked blood.
‘Get back, Warden,’ I called.
He didn’t. I turned fully to face him, grasped my revolver, and took aim at his chest, stopping him. The tang of metal seeped down my throat.
‘Don’t try to stop me. I mean it – I will put a bullet in your heart.’ My voice shook. ‘And I don’t care if it doesn’t kill you. It will give me enough time.’
‘You cannot stop this, Paige,’ Warden said. ‘No matter what you do.’
I jerked the gun higher. ‘One more step.’
‘Nashira will not let you go once you are in her clutches.’ As he spoke, I could have sworn I heard . . . some echo of emotion, of fear, in the very depths of his voice – I might have thought it was on the verge of breaking, if he hadn’t been a Rephaite. If he had been human. ‘She will chain you in the darkness, and she will drain the life and hope from you. Your screams will be her music.’ He held out a hand, his eyes blazing. ‘Paige.’
Something in the way he said my name almost disarmed me.
‘Please,’ he said.
I stepped away from him. ‘I have to.’
‘If you expect me to stand and watch you hand yourself to the Sargas, you will have to empty that gun into me,’ he said softer. ‘Do it.’
Blood ribboned from my chin to the hollow of my throat. Slowly, I drew back the hammer.
‘Shoot, Paige.’
My lips trembled. I steeled myself. A bullet would only slow him down; it wouldn’t kill him.
It didn’t matter.
I lowered the gun, and Warden nodded, just slightly – but I didn’t go to him. Instead, I pulled off the necklace he had given me, the one that had protected me from the poltergeist at the scrimmage – a Ranthen heirloom – and threw it towards him.
Then I ran.
The golden cord throbbed as I sprinted away from him, moving faster than I ever had, a stitch gnawing into one side of my waist. Warden came straight after me. Just as his footsteps caught up, I threw myself headlong into the welter, ducking under arms, shoving past shoulders and hips with all my strength, crawling between legs when there was no other way through. I was more agile than any Rephaite, and even with his talent for blending in, it would take him time to whittle a path through this nightmare without creating another swell of panic.
He didn’t understand. He couldn’t see what I was going to do.
There were too many people around me. Gasping for breath, I wrenched up my revolver and fired.
Although the soldiers were close, mine was the first gunfire this street had heard tonight. Screams and pleas were offered up like prayers. My palms pushed against sweat-soaked backs. I forced my way through, suffocated by the heat, crying ‘move’ into the storm of human voices. When I fired again, the weight of bodies tilted. Suddenly there was a path to the front – and just like that, I found myself on the transmission screens.
The cameras were tracking me: the woman with the gun, the violent protestor. Flashes blinded me, stripping people to nothing but silhouettes, searing rings of white on to my eyelids. Faces were contorted, monstrous in their fear.
‘I’M PAIGE MAHONEY! DO YOU HEAR ME?’ I shouted. ‘I AM PAIGE MAHONEY! I’M THE ONE YOU WANT!’
The golden cord rang like a bell. The first gas shell soared towards us and ruptured.
‘STOP!’
Cobalt mist swirled from the cracked egg of metal. Howls of agony ripped through the din as the blue hand clawed towards us. It bruised the night air, stinking of peroxide and decaying blossoms, a smell that made bile well in my gorge. I tore the cravat from my face, letting it flutter to the ground, and threw down my hood.
My hair flew around my face as I broke through the front of the crowd and thrust up my arms before the burning Guildhall, clenching my hands into fists.
‘I AM PAIGE MAHONEY!’
This time, I heard myself. Rain drenched my clothes, dripped from my hair.
Smoke drifted, dream-like, between the people and the soldiers, and everything grew still; all screaming ceased, all cries ebbed away. The chemical reek poisoned my senses. Dull pain pounded at the base of my skull as silence descended. The commandants kept their weapons pointed at us.
And there was Vance astride her horse, leading them. Her eyes locked on to mine. Beside her, Tj?der raised a hand, and one soldier dismounted.
This had to work.
It had to, or everything would end.
The commandant was little more than a silhouette. A helmet gleamed in the light of the inferno. There was burning red where eyes should be, and a gas mask covering the rest. I was shaking uncontrollably, but I didn’t lower my arms. I was small and I was endless. I was hope and I was fading.
I would not show fear.