Chapter 51
Fifty-One
Jasper
My heart is thundering out of my chest as I chase Pierce’s sister through the Library. Anthea was always the kind to power-walk everywhere, and she hasn’t lost that stride as she barrels down Kinetic Hall. Then she takes a left, heading for the wee closet Kyrith calls her office.
The undead Mathias brought with him are tearing through the building, hunting us.
So it would be nice if Anthea let me into the well-protected office with her.
She doesn’t.
The door slams behind her, shimmering slightly as the wards activate. They won’t stop Mathias tracking the thing, but maybe they can buy her some time.
I glance at the door that Anthea disappeared behind, then at the other three that connect to this hall. That’s three different directions they can come at us from, and only one of me.
With a silent apology to the building, I use some of what little magic I have left to conjure a handful of deadbolts on each. They’re pathetic, but I dinnae have the power to do anything bigger. What I do have needs to be rationed.
Thankfully, the revenants don’t exactly have magic either. They’re just freakishly strong.
“Hurry up,” I yell. I can already hear the shuffling footsteps coming from the hall beyond.
No response. Either she’s too focused to hear me or the room is warded for sound as well.
The creatures chasing after us hit the door to my left in a wave of deafening thumps. The knob rattles, and the wood creaks.
The door to my right bows inward as they reach that one too. We’re already surrounded.
Those locks aren’t going to hold them for long. Fuck.
My brain is racing, but all my ideas are useless. I’ve got to think like an inept, but short of conjuring a shotgun—
Wait.
I’m no marksman, but I’m not bad with a sword.
I conjure a sabre, grimacing at the burn in my chest that warns me I’m running on empty, then tuck my grimoire back into its holster. I dinnae have enough magic to keep it hovering next to me anyway.
The first lock splinters in minutes, and three of them spill in from the direction of Conjurer’s Hall. I cut one down, the tip of my sword striking into its heart.
It doesnae try to dodge, or even flinch in pain, just keeps shambling towards me.
Fuck.
I give it another shot, my next thrust landing in the eye of the old man to my right.
Blood spurts, and he collapses.
Okay. Aim for the head.
The other door groans as it’s forced open. They’re everywhere.
The tremor hits without warning. Fuck. Has Dakari struck up another quake? He can’t have. We have no power. The rocking of the building sends the revenants stumbling closer. Shit.
My hand falls on the office door handle behind me. Anthea might not like it, but she’s about to have company. I’d rather watch some dark magic than get turned into zombie food.
She didn’t lock it, so I burst into the room, slamming the door in the face of the hoard and bracing my shoulder against it.
I wait for her to curse me out for interrupting. It doesnae happen. I scan the tiny room, tense. Did she run off with the phylactery?
Kyrith’s office is empty except for a pile of red shimmering dust on top of her paperwork-covered desk.
A blackened hand rests on the floor just beyond, the arm disappearing behind the drawers.
I crane my neck, wincing when I catch sight of the rest of Anthea’s charred body.
She’s unrecognisable. All of her blonde hair and makeup have burned away.
I cannae check her pulse without letting in the undead, but her chest isn’t moving.
Dead.
Another quake hits. I curse. It’s not Dakari. She destroyed the phylactery, Mathias knows, and now he’s pissed.
A smidgen of guilt hits me at the loss of Anthea. Aye, she was a necromancer, and a wee bit of a cunt, but she was still Pierce’s sister. I promised to keep an eye on her.
On top of the pile of red sand is a glowing triangle of metal. The dagger tip.
By some miracle, it’s still intact—barely.
It’s covered in cracks. I didn’t know it was possible for metal to look more fragile than glass.
Mathias can’t get his hands on it, but I cannae leave the door without the revenants breaking in.
They rush the barrier again, jarring the wood so it slams into my back. It’s a small office, but it’s not that small. I cannae reach over and grab it.
I raise the sword. This is the worst idea I’ve ever had, but it’s also the only one I’ve got.
Gently, ever so gently, I reach out.
The point of the sabre brushes over the remains of the phylactery and settles behind it, sending red glitter falling as I manipulate the metal tip across the desk towards me. Fuck, with my arm extended like this, the blade is heavier than before.
Still, it’s working.
Inch by inch, the metal draws closer…
Another shove at the door jolts me. Hard. The impact travels up my arm, making the blade lurch. The fragment is knocked aside.
My breath catches.
No. Damn it.
It skitters across the polished surface, spinning as it teeters towards the edge.
It’s half off the table. Gravity is going to win any second now.
There’s no way I can reach it if it falls.
I don’t get to finish that thought. There’s another enormous blow to the door, followed by another of those quakes. The dagger tip doesnae stand a chance.
The gold glimmers as it topples in slow motion towards the hardwood floor. I open my mouth, like I can conjure a cushion or something in the nanosecond before it hits.
Stars, if that thing breaks…
Please let it bounce. Roll away. Anything.
It hits. Shatters.
“Fuck.”
My breath catches. Holds.
Something in my chest relaxes, the sensation alien when my body is primed for fight or flight.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I wait for the moment my magic is sucked from my bones.
Nothing.
I peek at the carpet.
Is that it? The phylactery is destroyed, and we’re not part of the Library hive mind. I don’t feel myself being drawn to the Arcanaeum anymore.
This is…good?
That explains why my chest feels lighter. There’s no drain.
Thank magic. It’ll take time and rest for my reserves to refill, but we can kill the lich now. He’s not invulnerable anymore.
More force slams into my back, the hinges protesting as the revenants throw themselves against the door again.
What happened, happened. I cannae stay here.
I should check to see if Anthea’s still alive, but given how shrivelled her arm is, I doubt it. Besides, there’s no time.
With my free hand, I knock on the door behind me.
Please let this work.
“Restoration Tower.”
I turn the handle and yank it open, raising my sword at the same time, only to lower it immediately. Thank fuck. My whole body sags in relief at the sight of the alchemy laboratory.
“Are you lot done yet?” I demand, panting, as the door closes behind me.
Lambert looks up from the cauldron in front of him, pausing midway through ladling out bright pink liquid into a bomb flask.
He’s wearing goggles that magnify his eyes to scary proportions, a bandage over his burnt arm, and an apron.
“Is that a sword?” North asks as I sheathe the weapon at my belt. “Now there’s an idea.”
Lambert grins. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Nearly done,” Eddy interrupts, screwing the lids onto the flasks on the bench beside him and carefully adding them to a crate on the floor. North is on her other side, stirring something brown that reeks of burning. “Is everyone…?”
“Anthea is dead.” I wince as I say it. “She broke the phylactery. So maybe some magic was channelled into the building? But the spell did something…”
I’ve never seen someone get burnt to a crisp by their own magic before. Is it a necromancy thing?
“Oh.” Lambert’s face falls. “Man, that’s so sad. Pierce is going to—”
“Not the time.” North cuts through the moment with the subtlety of a club.
“The last piece of the dagger broke. I tried to stop it, but—yeah. It’s gone.”
There’s a pause. A beat where I watch them all go through the same panic that I experienced. It doesnae take them long. Obviously, none of us have been absorbed into the building.
“Dude, it’s not like you did it on purpose,” Lambert eventually says. “Cut yourself some slack.”
North scoops out more potion, expression dark as he mutters, “Explains why the drain stopped.”
“That’s good, right?” Eddy says, screwing another lid into place. “That was the plan?”
With a sigh, I grab one of the bomb casings and start copying her. “No. The plan was to use it to funnel the rest of the power Mathias stole during his lifetime to the Arcanaeum. It broke too soon. Whatever magic was in his soul vessel probably wasnae enough to refill the building.”
There’s a very real chance we’re all now stuck in the Library for life. The heavy silence tells me we’re all aware of that. I dinnae want to be the first to test it.
Lambert tries for optimism. “At least we haven’t all been absorbed by the Arcanaeum.”
“Small mercies,” North says.
He sighs. “I just hope the boss is okay.”