Okay, but where the hell is the exit?
Ahead of me, the corridor opens to a chamber full of shelves of what appear to be grimoires, judging by the hazy brown mixture of magic thickening the air.
The flagstones give way to more marble, and my feet slap across a solar image as I enter the chamber.
Almost immediately my head begins to pound at the conflicting magic.
I move to the far end of the room, where a set of stone lamassu guard a rounded archway. Beyond it looks to be another spiral staircase.
In the distance, I hear the pounding of footfalls.
Fuck.
Frantically, I look at the stone threshold protectors, an idea sparking. I move to the first step of the stairs, then turn back to look down at the statues that are part woman, part lion, part eagle.
“Lamassu,” I call to them, “I summon you to protect us. Let no one with wicked intent cross your threshold.”
In an instant, the stone guardians come to life. They rise from their haunches and prowl forward, away from the stairs, their gray tails flicking. It’s the oddest sight.
Magic, man. Don’t do drugs when you can do this.
I swivel forward and ascend the stairs, gritting my teeth against the strain of lifting the shifter.
I whisper another strengthening spell just as I hear the witches enter the grimoire room beneath me.
Go, go, go, I urge my body. My magic is reaching its limits. My arms and legs are still holding out, but the spell that was supposed to help has barely taken the edge off my strain.
Low, gravelly growls fill the chamber beneath me, the sound raising the hairs on the nape of my neck. I hear one of the lamassu snarl and a witch shriek.
An explosive spell shakes the ground, and I nearly lose my balance, wobbling with the shifter in my arms.
I’m more than halfway up the steps when I hear someone near the base of the staircase. I barely have time to process that they’ve managed to get past the lamassu when a spell slams into my back.
I scream, briefly collapsing against the railing as the same flesh-eating curse burns against my skin.
EMPRESS! Memnon roars in my head, and now there is no question about it: he is panicking on my behalf.
Keep going. Keep going.
Beneath me, I can hear the witch whispering another spell. I tense, but the hit never comes. Instead, one of the lamassu snarls.
A moment later, the witch screams, and I catch sight of her falling, the lamassu’s teeth piercing her leg. She and I make eye contact, and hers are full of terror as the beast drags her out of sight.
I take a shuddering breath, ashamed of the relief I feel, and I force my legs to keep going. As soon as I do so, I have to grit my teeth against the cry that wants to work its way out. I manage to bite it back, but I can’t seem to stop the tears from slipping down my cheeks.
Goddess, but the pain. It’s all-consuming.
I force myself up each step by sheer will, repeatedly banging the girl’s legs into the railing.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I gasp, even though I know she can’t hear me. She still hasn’t woken up.
Beneath me, there are prolonged screams.
I’m nearly to the top of the staircase when another spell ricochets against the wall and crashes into my calf, slicing it open. I scream as my leg gives out.
EMPRESS! Memnon bellows. HOLD FAST! I AM COMING!
Just before I hit the ground, I cover the shifter’s head, and it’s my own skull that cracks against the top stair.
Everything whites out for an instant.
Then I’m blinking the world back into focus, and I hear screams, and the scent of magic is pounding in my head, and above it all, fear that isn’t my own floods my system.
TAKE IT.
“Memnon?” I whisper out loud.
I’m still blinking, still trying to make sense of the world even as I’m forcing myself to my feet, dragging the shifter up with me. I can’t stop the cry I let out as I force my injured leg to bear our weight.
There are a dozen different spells I could use to alleviate the pain or help the wound mend itself, but between the fear and the pain and my growing exhaustion, I can’t seem to think of a single one.
Need to get the shifter to safety.
I stumble up the last of the stairs. My legs shake, my lungs and shoulder and back burn, and I can feel my hot blood running down my leg and warming my skin.
TAKE MY MAGIC. I wince at the sound of Memnon’s voice inside me.
Is that what he meant? Take his magic?
NOW, MATE.
Ugh, “mate.”
EST AMAGE. TAKE IT.
“Stop yelling at me,” I moan, staggering away from the stairs and toward a carved wooden door ahead of me. I’ve only taken two steps when the blood seeping from my calf wound begins to bubble and boil against my skin.
I cry out from the fresh new pain.
Now why would my wound do that…?
The spell must’ve been a curse. A really shitty one.
I stumble the last few feet to the door and awkwardly grab the knob, nearly dropping the limp girl in my arms. I just manage to twist it open, and then me and the shifter fall through it. I barely have time to twist my body so I’m the one who hits the wet earth and not the girl.
We’re outside.
I let out an exhausted huff. That feels like a win all on its own.
I smell the forest around us, and when I look back toward the open doorway, I see the door itself has been carved into the trunk of a tree, though the interior of the tree appears to be far larger than its exterior.
Magic, man…
I still hear the distant sounds of witches fighting and screaming inside, but I doubt the lamassu will hold them all off for much longer.
I try to get up, but my entire body is protesting. I whimper at my various wounds. My magic and my adrenaline are wearing away. I don’t know how much more I have in me.
By the love of all our gods, little witch, Memnon says, please—I am begging you—take what I am offering!
What you’re offering? I feel it then, through that magical river that seems to flow right to my heart.
Power. Endless power. More than anyone has any business handling.
I don’t understand how he’s siphoning it to me, and I don’t bother to consider the repercussions of using this sorcerer’s magic. I reach for it.
I gasp as it pours into me. The pain from my various injuries grows dull, and my fatigue vanishes entirely.
I rise to my feet, picking up the unconscious girl once more.
And then I run.
Need to get to shifter territory. That’s all I can think as I sprint.
I sense the boundary line ahead of me, but it feels like it might as well be in a different country.
I stumble over roots, and twigs and rocks cut into the soft pads of my feet. I clench my teeth against the sensation of blood dripping down my calf.
Later. I’ll deal with it all later.
I can’t hear the witches behind me anymore, and I’m starting to gain confidence when the girl in my arms begins to gag.
I don’t want to stop running, not when bloodthirsty witches who practice the dark arts want to enslave this girl’s will to another.