Arcana Rising (The Arcana Chronicles #4)(22)

Sol nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Get the Empress and let’s go.” She hurried to the copter. “Come on, Sun, anda logo!”

When Sol waved his hand, one of the Bagmen grabbed my ankle and dragged me over the ground to the copter.

The Sun and Fortune were taking me to the Emperor.





14





As Sol strapped my limp body into a helicopter seat, he yelled to Zara, “We have to GO!” With another wave of his hand, he directed his pet Baggers into two more seats.

In the cockpit, Zara flipped switches and twisted dials. The engines roared louder. Wind swept through the open side door.

“Now, Zara!”

She answered with a spiel about “overtorque” and “max RPM” and “collective pitch,” ending with “*.”

She sounded like she knew what she was doing, and she certainly had Sol’s number. So this helicopter was a weapon for her. Part of Fortune’s Arcana arsenal.

Sol had just belted in Joe when she snapped, “Fuck it!” and pulled on some lever between her knees. We lurched into the air.

I slumped against my seat belt. Sol lunged to close the side door, but slipped over the metal-plated floor before he reached it. My blood and Bagger slime had slickened it.

He grabbed a handle for balance. Then his eyes went wide. “Oh, estoy jodido! Death’s riding for us!”

Aric? He was alive! With effort, I turned my lolling head. Death charged into the clearing on Thanatos. The warhorse had survived as well. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Thanatos bench-pressed three-eighty and swished his tail at floods.

Aric rode in with both swords raised, and my bullet-riddled heart wanted to beat for him.

But I’d led our enemies straight to him! I needed to warn him. Which meant escaping. Stay awake. Stay alert.

“Where’s the mounted gun?” Sol yelled to Zara, panic in his voice.

If a knight in black armor on a red-eyed steed charged for me, I’d be panicked too. In fact, I had been terrified when in his sights.

Now I was proud. Lark’s giant wolves sped forward to flank Aric.

“I told you,” Zara snapped. “The copter’s stripped!” Since the helicopter was Fortune’s weapon this game, she should’ve conserved her fuel.

The first law of an Arcana’s arsenal, Zara? Conserve, conserve, conserve.

She yelled, “Flare your rays!”

His eyes emitted light, a spotlight on Aric. I choked out: “Don’t.”

We seemed to hover in place for several moments. “Nada. Death’s still coming!” Sol’s beams faded. “I don’t think it works on him.”

“You’ve got Baggers nearby,” Zara said. “Use them.”

“On it.”

Damn it, I had to get off this helicopter. I could jump from the open door, if I could muster the strength to move my legs.

I summoned a single claw, nearly blacking out from the effort. When my vision cleared, Aric looked so far away on the ground. How high were we? I blinked—then again.

Behind him . . . thousands of Bagmen swarmed the field, sprinting after him.

Scarface charged ahead of Aric. With a spine-chilling growl, the wolf sprang for the copter . . . we were too high . . .

Caught us! We pitched sharply to the side. Another growl sounded from so close.

Zara screamed, “Porra!”

“The wolf’s latched onto the skids!” Sol was barely hanging on by that handle.

I clawed my seatbelt free. My body crumpled to the slimy floor. As the copter rolled sideways, I slid toward the open doorway, my head at the edge.

“No, peque?a!” Sol reached for me, struggling to keep his footing. “Estúpida!”

Scarface was just below me. I met gazes with him—and with Lark through her familiar. “Kill . . . them,” I choked out. “They’re coming . . . for you.”

The wolf thrashed its massive head, shaking the copter like a chew toy. Bea, never belted in, almost fell out of her seat. Sol scrambled for balance.

Lark had once explained why wolves thrashed their prey: to snap a creature’s neck instantly. Scarface was about to take this metal buzzard out.

If Death didn’t do it first; with a bellow, he hurled one of his swords right at me.

My lips curled.

The sword struck the helicopter. Sparks rained. Grinding sounded, like a giant lawn mower hitting a steel pipe. The engines whined. Alarms blared.

BEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP. BEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP. BEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP.

We spun like Fortune’s wheel. Dizziness and nausea surged.

“Fucker took out the tail rotor!” Zara fought that lever. “We’re going DOWN!”

BEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP. BEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP. BEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP.

Sol crawled toward me, just as Scarface thrashed again. Bea and Sol slammed into each other. I slid out farther and vomited blood; it spattered onto the snarling wolf’s muzzle.

Spinning, spinning. Like a whirlpool in a flood.

To my left: Scarface. To my right, Bea scrabbled at the edge.

Sol had a grip on one of my ankles and one of hers. But he was slipping over the slick floor. He had to make a choice: save me or Bea.

A last thrash from Scarface—the buzzard’s deathblow.

Sol chose.