Suddenly, a blaze of purple magic zooms in our direction. Kalyan and I veer in opposite directions. But it’s not an arrow or another projectile; it’s a hiss of smoke that whirls into letters, and writes a clear message in the space between us.
My throat tightens. The wicker crates upon wicker crates of drugs in that warehouse pound to the surface of my mind with each heartbeat.
“He’s trying to keep his identity hidden,” Kalyan whispers.
“What?”
“He’s afraid.”
Before either of us can move, arrows soak the night sky in color. Kalyan shouts a warning, but I’m already swerving. Yelps and hollers of a fight surround us. The black-cloaked leader is no longer alone. Vencrin, a whole pack, rise from the streets of the East Village. Gods, where did these wizards come from?
Spells race through the air. I’m reduced to a bundle of instincts. Any flash of color and I jerk, dodge, and shield myself. Orange spears spiral toward me, and I duck. A red chain tries to ensnare Hubris, and I dip and twist. Block after block, the intricate alleyways of the East Village blur into peaked pillars, flat rooftops, and fluttering-curtained doorways.
Any and all possible backup are still fighting in the trading bazaar. Convenient timing on the Vencrins’ part or stupidity on mine?
I’m shooting spells off behind me erratically, when a Vencrin darts from the street ahead. I swivel in a new direction. I can’t even keep track of how many there are. Another Vencrin bursts into wild laughter as he shoots a boulder of purple magic at my face. Blood. I duck, and in a loud burst the spell hits the building over my left shoulder. An archway crumbles, mosaic tiles shatter, and dust plumes.
Kalyan flies in front of me with a shield and a spell aimed for the boulder thrower.
“We have to get out of here!” he shouts as both of us dodge streams of green and yellow curses. We zoom forward, one shielding as the other fires. Forget our ring strategy. This is speed and power and reflex smashing my heart into pieces. And I need Kalyan right next to me. Hubris is slick with sweat and I’m shaking. Finally, one spell hits a Vencrin in the chest and he falls with a soundless scream.
“Enough!” a voice roars. The horde halts and slowly the cloaked figure drops from above, hood pulled tight. Kalyan was right. He’s hiding his identity.
I catch my breath, hovering in our standstill, and count. Fourteen.
“Tell us where the firelight is!” I yell.
He laughs and the black cloak shifts unnaturally. “It’s all around us, girl.” Out of the corner of my eye, my light glows awake in a nearby window.
“Why have you stolen it? What do you want?”
“Maybe I want rebellion. Maybe I want to turn a profit. Maybe you have no idea what you are talking about.” He snorts. “I don’t have to answer to masked children, especially ones I properly warned.”
His skyglider wavers and finally I place why his cloak doesn’t fall right. Why more than half of these wizards are hooded and shrouded in black. Why that wizard didn’t scream.
“And I don’t answer to illusions.” Before I can even release a spell, the hooded figure puffs into smoke.“Agnierif!”I call to my goddess. Without hesitation an eruption of flames bursts into the air. The flesh-and-blood Vencrin shout and veer back as the bloodred fire roars through the alleyway. The others, the illusions, swoop, and when touched by flame they billow into smoke. Serious and complex black magic.
With a hiss, spikes of purple magic slice through the fire. Blood. I jerk, but Kalyan reacts faster. He pushes at my shoulder and I barrel to the left. As I right myself, the streaks of purple breeze past, their potential danger sizzling along my arm. I look to Kalyan to exchange a sigh of relief. But I’m greeted with more purple arrows. Impossibly more, coming from another alleyway. It’s a trap. This whole thing was a trap. Kalyan tries to move, to avoid the net they have caught us in. One, two, three bolts slash through the trail of magic glowing from the end of Kalyan’s skyglider. Number four hits his side. He cringes and slumps.
I see blood.
And Kalyan falls.
“No!” My body responds before I even think of twisting or diving. But I’m doing both, wind screaming against my face as I plummet. Hubris digs into my chest. My heart hammers against wood. Kalyan’s wide eyes find mine. We both reach out, our fingers stretching, shoulders straining. Our fingertips knock against one another, but I can’t grasp his.Come on, comeon!
A clap of contact. His hand grips my wrist. I yell as I pull against momentum and gravity. Wisps of red magic slide down my arm and wrap around his. Strengthening. Supporting.
Too late.
We tumble against a roof a second later. His skyglider splinters and snaps. The sound of pottery smashing and wood cracking erupts in a flare of noise. I tuck in naturally, but the roof cuts me open. Each clay shell tile bites into my arms, my shoulders, my legs. I roll three, four times and then, finally, stillness.
Lightning fractures the sky once again and flashes against my eyelids.
Groaning, I rise and search for Kalyan amid the strikes of lightning. One: a crater of shingles. Two: the shards of our skygliders. Three: his slumped body.
I open my mouth to call to him, but the whoosh and orange tail of a skyglider from above distracts me.He will keep hunting us.On instinct I cast out a sheet of black magic, whirling my hands in broad, clumsy strokes. A screen of red filters off my fingers, painting a picture of our mangled forms. An illusion glides close. Now, not having to convince anyone of its false humanity, the shadow creature wears a blank face, smoke unfurling at the edges. It looks as if it seeped out of a corpse.
It glides even closer. I freeze. If one curl of smoke, one tendril, touches the red wall, it will break my illusion. The thing sniffs.