Chapter 30

An insane ideaoccurs to me, and there's no time to figure out if it will work or not.

I unclasp my left hand from his wrist.

Now that it's his two arms against one of mine, the knife descends faster.

I regrasp, putting my left hand around his right.

His teeth audibly grind together. "No way you'll snatch my dagger."

If I had any breath left for trash talk, I'd tell him that I don't need to. Instead, I reach for his index finger with mine and tap out the Morse-code-like pattern I saw in the werewolf's dream.

At least, I hope it's the pattern. Stress could've messed with my memory, or for that matter, they could've already disabled the "don't get taken alive" device.

Behind his cracked mask, the elf's eyes widen—then go blank.

When he slumps, I roll him off me and extract the dagger from his grasp.

Sucking in shallow breaths, I sit up. My head spins, my vision spotty with black. Fighting not to faint, I struggle to my feet and nearly cry out at the pain in my knee.

My legs hold me, but just barely.

According to the countdown clock, we have five minutes left. Even if I knew how to disable the thing, I doubt I'd make it through the Icelus in time.

Then again, there are fewer Icelus alive, thanks to Kit. And another bit of good news is that the High Priest must be tired of generating all that lightning because instead of hurling another ball, he shouts, "Free the sacrifices! Some of them sleepwalk. Might keep that giant busy."

Puck him. It's a good plan. If other sleepers are anything like Gertrude, the last thing we want is for Kit to face them. Though… in their sleepwalking, they're just as likely to hurt the bad guys as they are us.

Hopefully.

A dwarf in a Pac-Man mask rushes to execute his leader's order. One by one he unbinds every sleeper, even Cadmael. Right away, some of them—Gertrude included—rise from the beds and start walking aimlessly.

Itzel's grandfather stays put. Unlike the others, he has no sleep disorders and is just drugged. In fact, I can still feel him in REM sleep.

Limping, I move forward, step after agonizing step. My vague plan is to somehow make it to that stage and force the High Priest to stop the bomb by holding my knife to his throat.

No idea how I'll make it so he doesn't fry me with his power, or what I'll do if he's willing to die for his beliefs—which is clearly the case.

"Cover me," I say to Kit as I close the distance between us.

In reply, she stomps and punches everyone near her, clearing me a path.

I limp farther.

Kit clears the path again.

We're a sprint away from the stage, only I can't sprint even to save all those millions of lives.

The High Priest must not think me a real threat because the next lightning ball he hurls flies at Kit. She does the turn-to-pixie trick again and remains unscathed.

I clench my teeth and stagger forward—only to realize Gertrude has wandered my way.

Arms flailing in random movements, she's nearly upon me.