Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

LYRE

There were Gaians everywhere. Two dozen of them were crowded in and around the entryway, half armed with guns and the other half carrying bags or boxes.

Even without a magic-dampening collar around his neck, Lyre might have had a bit of trouble fighting his way out through this many enemies. Jaw tight, he played the passive prisoner as his captors shoved him along.

“Mona,” a haemon called. “The daemons have regrouped and they’re coming back. We have to go now!”

Piper’s mother moved through the group to take the lead. Someone had given her a rag that she was using to blot the blood still running from her broken nose.

“The other prisoners have escaped,” she said. “We’ll head straight for the vehicles. Where’s the band of prefects?”

“We lured them to the back of the building.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

A Gaian shoved the door open, and the group raced out in a disorganized mass. Lyre’s two guards jabbed him with their guns, forcing him to follow the rest of the Gaians.

A cool breeze swept over Lyre, marred by the stench of burning things. The distinct, electric feeling of daemon magic hung in the air. One of the Gaians’ trucks was in flames, its windows shattered and a door hanging off, but the rest of their small fleet was intact. Unfortunately.

The Gaians rushed to climb into the jeeps and trucks. Piper’s mother was shouting orders, sending different haemons to different vehicles. A blast of magic hitting something solid echoed through the night from the other side of the house.

“The daemons are coming!” a Gaian yelled.

Piper’s mother pointed at the steel trailer ten yards away. “Open it.”

“What?” the Gaian sounded horrified. “But our other team is still?—”

“Do it!” Piper’s mother barked. “Everyone else, get in the vehicles!”

Lyre sidled away from his two guards, but one of them kicked him toward Piper’s mother.

“What about this one?” he asked.

Piper’s mother turned. Her eyes, so similar to Piper’s, flicked over Lyre, and her mouth pressed into an angry line. She lifted her hand—still holding that pistol.

Lyre had one heartbeat to realize her intent. The guards on either side of him scattered, but he had nowhere to go.

She pulled the trigger. The sound and impact struck him in the same instant. Two shots in the chest. Agony crushed his lungs as he hit the ground on his back.

Boots thudded past him. Vehicle doors slammed and engines coughed to life. Lyre clutched his sternum, and a breath finally scraped into his seized lungs. Tires rolled past him, dangerously close as the vehicles took off one after another.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “That hurts.”

An urgent chitter answered him. Zwi’s small head appeared in his line of sight as she reached his side. She trilled an unintelligible question.

“I…” Lyre dragged his hands down his torso, finding no holes or gushing blood. “I think I’m okay.”

He slowly sat up, his breathing fast and shallow. Everything seemed to be functional—painful, but functional. He squinted at his chest, bringing the delicate golden weave of his physical defense shield into focus.

“I guess it can stop bullets,” he muttered.

Zwi headbutted his side, and he took the hint, clambering to his feet with a wince. The Gaians’ vehicles were a line of red taillights racing away through the abandoned neighborhood.

A thundering crash shook the old Consulate. Lyre turned. Whoever was attacking the Gaians was amping up their magical assault. A haemon had mentioned another “team”—were they still fighting?

He didn’t know and really didn’t care. He just wanted to find Ash and Piper and get the hell out of here.

Lyre broke into a run, heading back toward the front door. Zwi bounded along beside him for a few feet, then jumped onto his back, her claws hooking on his shoulders.

An even louder explosion of magic shook the ground. The house quaked, a wall collapsing inward with a shuddering boom. Lyre’s heart jumped into his throat.

The crumbling wall settled and the earth stilled. Lyre started to exhale.

The house detonated.

For the second time, a terrible impact slammed Lyre off his feet. He crashed to the ground, Zwi tumbling onto the grass beside him. As a roaring fireball hurled shrapnel and debris in every direction, he rolled onto his stomach and pulled Zwi under him to shield her.

The thuds of rubble falling back to earth quieted, leaving only the crackle of flames. Lyre shoved himself up, holding Zwi with one arm.

The explosion had thrown them ten feet. Hunks of wood and concrete littered the grass around him, and a broken stud stuck out of the earth two feet from his elbow like a six-foot stake.

Saved by his defensive weaves again.

Breathing hard, he stared at the remains of the old Consulate—the roof collapsed, the walls obliterated, and fire spreading through the wreckage. His pulse pounded in his ears.

Had Ash and Piper made it out? Had there been enough time? Or had Ash still been trapped in that hole? Had he been deep enough underground to survive the blast?

Zwi let out a frantic squeak. She wiggled out of his hold, dropped to the ground, and sprinted full tilt toward the wreckage.

Lyre swore. He kept swearing as he ran around the perimeter of the destruction, searching for a sign of Ash. If he’d survived?—

Yellow light flashed in Lyre’s peripheral vision. He pivoted in time for a spell to collide with his chest. He fell again.

As the spell fizzled out against his defensive shield, Lyre shoved up with a snarl. The next person to knock him over would die a horrific death.

Three daemons encircled him, armed with long-handled halberds. Their blond hair was short, their eyes were a telltale yellow-green, and their precision movements all but declared they were well-trained soldiers. Griffin soldiers.

Unease curdled in Lyre’s gut. He raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t attack. I’m not with the Gaians. I was their prisoner.”

He lifted his chin to give them a good view of the collar around his neck. They exchanged a swift look between them, and unless Lyre was mistaken, it was heavily laden with suspicion— probably in no small part due to that spell bouncing right off him while he was collared and supposedly defenseless.

“The Gaians,” Lyre added quickly, “took off that way”—he canted his head in the direction of the haemons’ escape—“so if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just see myself out of here.”

Another quick, unfriendly glance passed between the soldiers.

“You’re coming with us,” the middle one said.

Of course he was. Captured for a third time. This night was getting better and better.

The middle soldier kept his weapon pointed at Lyre while another one pulled his arms behind his back and bound his wrists with a spell. The three griffins herded him away from the burning wreckage of the Consulate, and Lyre didn’t look back.

If Ash had survived, the last thing he needed was to be swarmed by griffin soldiers.

The daemons steered Lyre toward the back of the property, only a dozen feet away from the spot where he, Ash, and Piper had hidden in the trees. A soldier shoved a sapling aside, revealing a sheltered clearing.

Another dozen soldiers were gathered in the shadows, and several frightened, disarmed haemons were trussed up in binding spells at their feet. Standing in the midst of the soldiers was another blond, green-eyed griffin, but he wasn’t dressed in the dark, uniform-like garb of the soldiers. His red uniform was dirty and his hair tangled, but Lyre needed only a single glance to recognize him: Miysis Ra, eldest prince of griffins and one of the most powerful daemons in the Overworld.

The prince turned. Their eyes met, and Lyre knew his night was about to significantly improve—or get drastically worse.