Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(24)

I watched it fly in an arc—a glittery rock surrounded by copper. A crystal clamp. Without a thought, my hands swung up and snatched it from the air.

I rounded on Marcus; my fingers squeezed. Electricity exploded in my veins—a burning buzz that set my brain on fire. But it gave me no time to dwell, no time to think how this device might fail me once more. I would have to let my instincts guide me. My hand shot up, and instantly, lines of blue sizzled out.

For a moment I felt every Dead in my way—ten, fifteen, twenty corpses all animated by slivers of soul. Then, in a crashing burn that scorched through my vision, the souls shattered into a million pieces. The fragments slammed into the spirit curtain . . . then melted through. Gone forever.

Bodies toppled. Marcus ducked. By the time I could attack again, he had slithered into his army.

“Coward!” I screamed, launching after him. “Coward!”

Hands grabbed my waist. “No!” Oliver’s voice bellowed in my ear, his grip unrelenting. He wrenched me around and toward the leftmost street. “This way, El. Come on!”

I threw a final glance after Marcus. I didn’t understand why he fled when he obviously had enough power to fight us and to keep his army going. . . . But he was leaving.

And I would have to let him go.

So with a nod at Oliver, I shoved onward. Together, we pounded over the cobblestones . . . and directly toward the Dead.

“Duck!” Daniel’s voice thundered from above. Then a glowing red pulse bomb arced through the rain.

Oliver and I dropped to our knees in the street.

Boom!

Flesh, bone, and congealed blood slapped the cobblestones, our backs, our heads. Then we were on our feet once more. The explosion echoed in my ears—but it faded fast as we sprinted ahead.

Daniel’s pulse bomb had emptied the street. Yet each slam of my heels brought the smell of sewage and fish into sharper focus. We were almost to the harbor.

A jolt of acknowledgment burst in my gut—Oliver’s emotions. He knew we were near too.

Then we hit a new street, and the airship—huge and white—appeared before us. It swayed and twirled, fighting the wind. The ladder dangled down; Allison must have lowered it.

We passed intersections and alleyways. Rotting flesh streamed along the corners of my eyes. My breath burned in my chest, and even as I pumped my legs harder, I knew the Dead would pour into our path at any moment.

But if I had thought there were too many Dead before, it was worse once we hit the quai. They came at us from all angles, and those that did not fit simply toppled into the water.

I pulled up short, and before Oliver could notice, I squeezed the clamp. For half a moment the world seemed to hold its breath—or perhaps I held my breath.

Then electricity burst from my fingertips to blaze over the nearest Dead. They toppled . . . but were instantly replaced by hundreds more. Ahead, behind, and beside, the corpses shambled into the street. They separated me from Oliver.

“Eleanor!” Oliver shouted. Waves of panic coursed through our bond. “Where are you? Eleanor! Don’t stop!”

My heels punched through waxy flesh; my toes tripped over skulls. Yet my legs could go no faster. I had no magic left inside me at this point, and not even the explosive power of electricity could carry me the rest of the way to the pier.

Fingers clawed at me. Teeth chomped. My hair ripped from my skull in chunks.

But on I went, forcing one leg in front of the other and simply trying to shove the bodies aside.

Oliver’s magic snaked out. The nearest Dead crashed back, and for a brief moment I had a clear path to him . . . and to the balloon. Down the pier, a mere twenty paces away, was the airship ladder.

“Come on!” Oliver roared. Then he charged to the ladder and began to climb.

I tried to run faster, but to my horror, the rope holding the airship snapped free. I blinked, my footsteps stumbling. Were they leaving?

Oliver paused midclimb and spun toward me, his eyes bulging.

Then fingers—human and alive—grabbed my arm.

“Go!” Daniel’s voice ripped into my ears. He dashed in front of me—dragging me. And when he yelled “You’re gonna have to jump, Empress,” I nodded.

Rain fell into my open lips. My body had lost all feeling. The world was a haze of gray corpses and churning harbor. An orchestra of gasping breaths and scraping feet.

And shouts—Oliver, now at the top of the ladder, was screaming at me to go faster. But why the devil was the airship moving away from us? How would I ever reach it at this rate?

Daniel’s fingers released me. His feet kicked up, and as his heels lifted toward the ladder, I shoved all my strength into my own legs and jumped.

Air whipped past my ears. I rose as if underwater: slow, heavy. Daniel grabbed hold of the rising ladder rungs.

But I did not.

I wasn’t even close—I had not jumped hard enough. Hadn’t gauged the distance properly. The final rung of the ladder slid through my grasp and flew away.

Yet Daniel would never let me fall. His knees sank, his arm swung down. He reached; I reached.

Our hands clasped, and he tugged me with more power than I ever thought he might have.

Then I flew up the final inches and slammed against the ladder beside him.

As we stood there, clinging for our lives and shaking with exhaustion, the Old Port of Marseille and Marcus’s army shrank away beneath us.