“I don’t care what the commander said!” I told him furiously. “I’m Pythia. Are you sworn to my service or not?”
Tremaine looked torn. War mages were required to swear an oath to obey the reigning Pythia. Of course, since the Circle didn’t recognize me as legitimate, that didn’t actually apply in my case. But he was in no position to know that. He pulled me aside and motioned for the people behind us to go ahead. Another three prisoners were swallowed up as he showed me his wrist.
“The time,” Tremaine hissed in my ear. I blinked at the dial of his watch. We had fourteen minutes before the wards on this level failed entirely.
I looked back at the line of remaining prisoners and did a few swift calculations. “We can do it. There should be enough time.”
“To get off this level, yes. But to get away?” His face remained impassive; I suppose to avoid panicking the crowd. But his eyes were anything but calm. “Everyone isn’t going to make it.”
“But . . . Pritkin—”
“The commander is staying behind to control the crowd. Otherwise, no one would get out.”
I looked up and met Pritkin’s eyes. He was watching me narrowly, and I knew that expression. It meant he was about two seconds from coming over, grabbing me and dropping me down the hole headfirst.
“Okay. Let’s go.” I didn’t give Tremaine time to say anything. I turned and, as soon as the people who had just entered dropped out of sight, I followed.
The hastily constructed tunnel dropped straight down for about eight feet but was navigable because of all the sharp, shattered rock lining the sides, providing both handholds and opportunities for sliced palms. I managed to make it to the small ledge at the bottom of the first tunnel with a minimum of blood loss, only to see another sloping downward at a steep forty-five-degree angle. I assumed that was where the second spell had hit.
I had to wait until the previous spelunkers cleared the way, and then took their place. A few seconds after I entered the second tunnel, I saw Caleb’s face peering up at me out of the dark. “About time,” he rumbled. I scrambled forward and took his hand.
He helped me out, but a rock slid under my foot, sending me stumbling into a bulbous green fender. Caleb set me on my feet, and I quickly moved out of the way so he could help the next person to exit. That turned out to be Tremaine, who joined me along the wall. For a moment, we stared at the very odd sight of a corridor filled as far as the eye could see with cars.
And not any old cars. I didn’t know the names of most of them, but a couple Bentleys and a silver Rolls-Royce sparkled under the emergency lights not too far away. Buttery leather, gleaming chrome and a rainbow of custom colors marched away from us in a long line.
“What is this?” Tremaine asked softly.
“Our way out,” Caleb threw over his shoulder. “The Consul generously donated her antique car collection when I pointed out that having convicts drive it out of here was the only way to save it.”
“But I thought MAGIC’s garage was on the surface,” I said. I clearly remembered stealing a car from there once.
“Yeah, for your common Porsches, Jaguars or Ferraris,” Caleb said sardonically. “The junk they keep around for the servants. Apparently, it isn’t good enough for Her Highness.”
“Lucky for us,” Tremaine murmured. He looked at me. “We need to get you a place in one of the cars.”
“The vampire Raphael is holding one for her in the black Bentley,” Caleb told him. “Better hurry. They’re starting to move out now.” And sure enough, I could hear the growl of powerful engines starting up from the front of the line and smell the exhaust of unfiltered emissions permeating the air.
“Which car are you taking?” I asked Caleb.
“Whatever one leaves last.”
“Then I’ll go with you,” I said, folding my arms and leaning against the wall.
“You said you were leaving!” Tremaine reminded me, putting a hand under my elbow.
“I never said anything of the kind. And get your hand off me.”
Tremaine looked at me helplessly and then at Caleb. “Take over for me here,” the older war mage instructed him. Tremaine moved to the tunnel in time to help out a middle-aged woman who sent him a luminous smile through the tears running down her face. Caleb led me down the line of cars and into the shadow of a doorway. “What the fuck?” he demanded.
“I’ll leave with you and Pritkin,” I repeated, deliberately keeping my voice even. It wasn’t easy. I felt like I wanted to jump up and down and scream at everyone to move, damn it! To stop creeping and start flying out of here. I knew that wouldn’t help, that they were already moving as fast as they could, and that starting a panic would only slow things down even more. But it still wasn’t easy to simply stand there.
“You’re the Pythia,” Caleb told me. “You can’t die in here.”
“I’m Pythia?” I did a slow blink. “Since when? The last time I checked, I was a rogue initiate you were trying to hunt down.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No,” I told him honestly. “I don’t.”