39. AURORA
Thud, thud, thud.
Footsteps sound close.
We’re nearly at the exit, but so are they. The rapid response team, whatever that means. I can hear the rhythmic tread of tactical boots on the floor above and the crackle of their radios.
London is crouched beside me, balanced on the balls of his bare feet like a gargoyle.
His head is constantly cocking to the side, nostrils flaring as if he can “taste” the air.
Beside us, Tally has his back bowed under the weight of Imran. The boy is a skeletal ghost, his breathing a wet, terrifying rattle that seems loud enough to bring the ceiling down on us. Francois and Tally are both frozen, eyes locked as they calculate our next move.
I feel completely fucking useless, and reliant on the men around me.
Tally raises a hand as the footsteps above retreat. “They’re moving to a different section. We need to move.”
“What kind of move?” London asks, suddenly springing to his full height with fluid grace. “A chess move? A dance move? Please say it’s a dance move.”
He leans in close to my face, his green eyes swirling like whirlpools. “Can I have the honor of this dance, Kitten?”
“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Tally hisses, as at the same time Francois snaps, “Quiet!”
I think about what Peek told us. “The infirmary annex.”
But as we reach a gate at the end of the corridor, the key card we took will no longer register. A red light blinks a stubborn, electronic no.
“System’s on lockdown,” Tally announces, his frustration radiating off him in hot waves. “Can you do anything, de Vaux?”
“I could force it, but the Null-Wards would scream. We’d be swarmed before the lock turned.”
Shit.
A pointy elbow jabs Taliesin in the ribs. “Out of the way, Your growliness. I’ve got this.” London doesn’t take the card. He eyes the gap between the gate and the ceiling—a six-inch crawlspace clogged with rusted piping and jagged wire.
In a movement so fast it makes my vision blur, he launches himself up the bars, rebounds off a pipe, and somehow squeezes his lanky, matted frame through that impossible gap like a cat made of liquid.
A metallic clack-shhh echoes from the other side. The gate swings open.
London stands there, dusting off his rags and grinning. “Automatic release from this side! Always think backward, Kitten. Sometimes that makes you the first to arrive.”
I grin widely as Francois and Tally scowl. “Good job, London. That was brilliant.”
He gives a bow. “And for my next trick.”
The loon does a standing back tuck—and gets a serious amount of air. I blink off my awe and remember we’re breaking out of a top security prison. No time to be wowed by gymnastics.
Suddenly, my fucking heart decides to freak out again, worse than normal. I turn away and suck in a breath. It’s like a cramp pulling my chest in three. Ugh.
“Aurora? Are you alright?” Francois hisses, losing some of his usual cool.
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave a hand and paste on my mask.
Just focus on the task ahead, Rory.
The narrow service staircase leads us to the abandoned sick bay. The ward smells of burning rubber, but a faint salt air also tickles my nose. It smells like the coast. It smells like escape.
The vibration of the wards is coming through the floor now—a low, teeth-rattling hum, but the exit at the end of the room draws me like a beacon of hope.
“Wait.” Francois puts up a hand. “Outside that door, the Null-Wards are at triple strength. If you step through as you are, the feedback will stop your hearts before you take a second breath.”
“So what’s the fucking plan then, Frank?" Tally grunts. I feel him take my hand, his grip almost crushing.
Wump—ppp.
“I am the plan,” Francois answers. “My body thrives on toxicity. Poison swims in my veins. The Conclave’s finest scientists could not dream that someone like I would ever exist. These wards can’t stop me.”
“That geezer is proper boasty, just saying,” London grumbles in my ear.
“For you to pass,” Francois continues, his voice uncharacteristically strained. “I must coat you in my shadow so the wards see only a ghost. It will be… unpleasant. The process taxes my reservoir severely. If I fail, I am trapped here with the rest of you.”
Taliesin freezes, his jaw clenching. “Fuck. How do I know you won’t just lock my mind up again and leave me here.”
I look between them. Francois has done nothing to hurt me since his revelation, and he’s actively dismantling his own life to get us out.
Imran, London, and Tally included. I squeeze Tally’s hand.
“Do it,” I tell him softly. “I believe him. I’m placing my life in his hands, Tally. Trust my judgment.”
On Tally’s back, Imran lets out a thready gasp, his forehead resting weakly against Tally’s neck. “I just want to see my brother again,” he croaks. “I just want to go home.”
There is a heavy, profound beat of silence as the air hums with the terrifying proximity of the Null-field.
Then, London shrugs his shoulders. “In the Hole, I realized that if you lick the concrete floor long enough, it tastes exactly like salt and vinegar crisps.”
What?
Everyone freezes, staring at the Brit in absolute, stunned silence.
He shrugs again, completely unfazed. “What? Aren’t we sharing right now? I only managed a small packet’s worth, bee-tee-dubs. It’s all about the tongue-endurance and imagination, you see.”
Francois shudders, a look of profound revulsion crossing his features. “We must do this immediately. Bevan—are you first?”
“Yeah,” Tally growls. Carefully, he slides Imran’s frail body off his shoulders, letting London support the boy’s weight.
Then he steps directly into my space, his thumb grazing my knuckles.
“I’ll go first. I want you to see how bad it is before you step into it.
If it’s too awful, Rory… if you can’t take it, you run back to the block and hide.
” His golden-brown eyes fix on mine. “I’ll get Sky. I’ll find another way.”
I look up at him, my heart aching in a way I don’t understand. “Just go dive into Frank’s slime, Tally. We’ve got this.”
He nods and moves so Francois can press his thumb hard against the center of Tally’s forehead.
Tally’s body snaps rigid. He doesn’t scream—he can’t. I watch in horror as his face contorts, his skin turning a sickly, ashen gray. It seems to go on forever. That painting by Munch? The Scream?
Nothing on this.
Finally, Francois releases him, and Tally falls to his knees hitting the concrete with a thud. “The boy next,” he says.
“Will he survive it?” I whisper.
“I cannot say.”
Fuck.
“He has to try,” Tally wheezes from the floor, his arm moving like it’s made of lead. “We can’t leave him.”
“Be gentle,” I warn Francois as he presses his palm to Imran’s hot forehead. His touch is delicate, almost caring. A beat later Francois nods. “It is done, he needed the barest amount. And now you, my dear.”
I meet his dark gaze and nod. His fingers cup my jaw, a touch far more gentle than he was with Taliesin. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, then presses his thumb to my brow.
Instantly, a clinging, black film wraps around my mind, suffocating my memories, my very name.
His poison slides down my spine, a cold, oily slick that turns my blood to sludge.
I’m freezing and boiling alive at the same time.
I can feel the toxins invading my veins.
I’m drowning in ink, and fall to my knees as the suffocating pressure eases a little.
My lungs forget how to pull air; they only know how to swallow the dark.
Every cell in my body feels like it’s being rewritten in a language I don’t understand.
And my heart.
Wump—ppp. Wump—ppp.
I feel it hit that patch of scar tissue. I want to scream but my jaws are clamped shut. But my mind wails out into the darkness begging for help.
Tally reaches a shaky hand to me. As I regain my equilibrium, I focus on London.
How is he going to cope with this?
The man has a crazy grin on his face, like the thought of being filled with black magic is the most exciting thing he can imagine.
I don’t know what’s happened through his life, but whatever it is has him responding in ways a usual human…just wouldn’t.
Francois is not looking too great. I remember how healing Tally took it out of him. This “process” is doing the same.
The Brit’s head snaps back, and for a second, the constant twitching of his body stops. He looks…almost at peace.
After another minute, London is released.
“We have to go, now.” Francois’s face is gaunt, the shadows under his eyes deepening into bruised pits. He shoves the exterior door open, and the Null-Wards hit like a physical wall of static, but the magic just… slides past, allowing me to stumble into the midnight air.
The freezing rain hits me, mixed with the acrid bite of the perimeter. Lights from the patrol towers sweep the yard—long fingers of white searching for life.
“Move,” Tally rasps.
We run, then cower in the lee of a steel wall, topped with glinting coils of razor wire.
Now what?
“Transmutation.” Francois answers my unspoken question, his voice more strained than I’ve ever heard it. “But it will alert the wards, be prepared to run.”
The green light erupts from his palms and he presses them against the thick metal. I watch, nauseated, as the air begins to warp and the solid steel ripples like water. Under his touch, the metal looks like it’s softening, turning into something brittle and porous.
Francois groans, sweat standing out on his forehead, and his palms are fucking peeling, like black decayed skin is shriveling off his hands.
“Can you do this?” I whisper. My hand hovers near his shoulder but I’m afraid to touch him. Every sense I have is screaming “Danger Toxic.”
He doesn’t reply, just keeps forcing his magic into the structure, swaying slightly on his feet. After another minute he lets out a hiss of pain, sweat slicking his forehead, then stumbles back. “Break it down.”