He yells in pain and swings back his other foot to kick me—which is when Kit’s giant fist smashes into his jaw.
The devastating punch causes the High Priest to fly up into the air, and as he lands, I make sure my knife is waiting for his heart.
His body jerks on top of me, a wheezing gasp exploding from his lips, and then he slumps, moving no more.
Kit rushes forward and yanks the bleeding gnome off my body.
For once, I’m not bothered by the bodily fluids on my skin.
Barely conscious, I glance at the stage.
Cadmael is on his feet again, but it’s too late.
The countdown has reached zero.
Sucking in a breath, I brace for the explosion.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The bomb keeps on beeping but doesn’t explode.
I lock eyes with Kit, who looks as confused as I feel.
Then I recall my own question to Valerian: I wasn’t sure if the countdown was to the explosion or to the moment the Icelus should leave to escape via the gates. Valerian thought it was the former, but it looks like the Icelus cult isn’t suicidal.
The countdown was there to let them know when to bolt.
Which means we have time.
Some time. It’s unclear how much.
Luckily, Cadmael isn’t looking a gift centaur in the mouth. As soon as he realizes we’re alive, he sprints over to the bomb and fiddles with it.
The longest minute of my life passes.
Twenty thousand gray hairs and a pint of my blood later, the reactor-bomb stops beeping. At the same exact moment, the elevator doors open, and a squadron of Senate Guard rushes into the room.
Weakly, I look up at Kit, who’s turned into herself. “We’re going to live?”
“Hush now.” Kit crouches next to me and plants a soft kiss to my forehead. “All will be well.”
Good, because I don’t think I can hold on much longer.
Exhaling what I hope isn’t my last breath, I pass out.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I come to.
Well, that’s a relief. I half expected the afterlife, but I doubt this is it. I can hear familiar voices arguing in the distance—not something I’d expect after passing on.
I open my eyes. The hospital room is too bright, so I shut them again.
“Guys,” Felix says. “I think she woke up.”
I attempt Project Open Eyes once more. The faces of Ariel, Kit, Felix, Itzel, and Valerian are all within sneezing distance from my face, and all are speaking at the same time.
“You’re okay.” My voice is hoarse as I force out the words. “I was wor—”
“Here.” Valerian grabs a glass of water from a table by my bed and places the straw sticking out of it into my mouth.
I take a small sip.
My throat feels better, and I realize I have an IV in my arm, along with tubes in other places and monitoring equipment attached to my chest.
How bad was my condition for me to need all this?
“You’re going to be fine,” Valerian says as if reading my mind. “You had a nano surgery on your knee, and you should be able to walk on it, no problem. They didn’t use any vampire blood during treatment, just pumped you with fluids. You lost so much blood you’re bound to be weak.”
“What about you?” I croak out, indeed feeling so weak the question takes an effort.
“All fine,” he says, his sensual lips curved in a warm smile.
“The doctors here rely on vamp blood too much,” Ariel grumbles. “I had to tell them repeatedly not to use it on me.”
“Same,” Felix says.
“I didn’t need medical help.” Kit winks at me. “Unlike some, I can handle myself in a fight.”
Ariel and Felix object loudly, but I miss what they say due to a bout of dizziness. Breathing deeper, I crane my neck forward to catch the straw and suck in another sip. The cool water makes me feel a little better—until I accidentally spill some.
“You made her wet,” Kit says to Valerian and pantomimes lasciviously with her eyebrows.
“Seriously?” Itzel asks at the same time as Ariel rolls her eyes and Felix slowly shakes his head.
“Did I hear you arguing earlier?” I ask, my voice finally my own. “You were loud.”
Valerian gives everyone a narrow-eyed stare. “We don’t want to worry her.”
I feel all the blood drain from my face. “Is it Mom?”
Itzel shakes her head. “She’s in the room next door, next to my grandfather.”
Her grandfather, of course. I almost forgot. “Is he okay?” I ask.
“Fine, tell her,” Valerian snaps. “All this guessing is worse.”
“It’s not Gramps,” Itzel says. “Check any media feed. You’ll understand.”
I enable the VR and skim the headlines. “Oh. They know about the bomb.”
Know is an understatement. The news outlets are reporting every tiny detail, and I soon learn why. Wrakar, the necromancer, scheduled a message to go out. In what they’ve dubbed the Necromancer Manifesto, he lamented that his kind were second-class citizens on Gomorrah and waxed poetic about how the bomb was justice for his people.