Liam called for them to retreat. The ferales would be waiting behind that burning wall of salambes.
Jonah eased Nim back a few steps. “Can you give them a little more incentive?”
Her elbow nudged into his ribs. “Should I swear this time, or just scream again?”
“You seem to have a knack for this. Your call.”
Her chest expanded against him as she took a breath. “Andre! You thieving spawn of a toothless whore. Come and get me!”
Jonah stilled. “Not quite what I had in mind.”
“What? I have all my teeth.”
“I meant the ‘come and get me’ part.”
“Oh. Well, he doesn’t stand a chance against you.”
Probably she meant Ecco and Archer, even Liam, standing stoic guard. And still her trust sent a rush of primitive pleasure through him, soothing the teshuva’s knotted energies. But he couldn’t stop to consider the implication, since the sensation was quickly swamped by fear. Because she could so easily be wrong about their chances.
Through the glare of oncoming salambes, a half dozen ferales jockeyed for position. A clawed foot, a vastly oversized pincer, a ratty wing. It was impossible to tell where one monstrosity left off and the next began.
The air in the tunnel crackled with conflicting energies as the demons—malevolent versus repentant—struggled for dominance. Concrete dust puffed from the walls. One-on-one, a teshuva easily mastered a bad demon, but with the fluctuating waves of malice, salambes, and ferales . . . The first row of tenebrae cleared the etheric fog, and behind them was a second rank.
And “rank” was exactly the right word. The stench in the corridor backed up in his throat like sewage. A third row jostled the second, and Jonah revised the talyan chances downward.
They edged toward the open junction, not to lure the horde to their doom but merely to breathe.
Jonah turned at a chill wafting across his shoulders. Jilly and Sera had come from behind. Sera rushed past him in a swirl of air too cold and dry to be merely the fresher air of the open corridor beyond. The teshuva inside him expanded and tensed, like a cat staring at ghosts in an open room. The female talya was cracking her way into the tenebraeternum, where she could banish the lesser demons. It was a skill only the women had, focused by the artifacts left during their possession. And it was heresy, if one read the league archives in the right paranoid mind-set.
Considering the way the army of tenebrae hesitated despite their superior numbers, the league, perhaps, had reason to be paranoid.
“Go.” Jilly paused next to him. Her eyes were solid amethyst, and the edges of her reven, visible above her décolletage, raced with answering violence. Her breath curled in an icy plume. “You can’t do anything here.” He stiffened, and she added, “Not when Nim doesn’t have the anklet. There are too many of them, and we can’t play nice, not if we want Andre.”
It was Nim’s turn to stiffen. Her fingers latched onto his shirt, tugging the material loose from its neat tuck. “We have to stay. It’s my fault I lost the anklet.”
“And I lost the boy who may have turned to this path. Who’s guiltier?” Jilly stared past them. “I need to be with Liam. You have your map and light. Get out of here.” She didn’t promise to call later.
Jonah took Nim’s hand in his. “We’re gone.”
Nim tugged at him. “But—”
Jilly strode past them. Without looking back, Liam reached out to her. His tall, almost too-thin form and her short, full-bodied stance blended together. One weapon.
Jonah dragged his gaze away, almost as difficult as dragging Nim with her stumbling feet.
“We can’t leave them.” Her flashlight swung toward the fight, adding a strobe to the clash of talyan against ferales. “They’re in trouble.”
“They’ll have less trouble without us.” The truth churned in his stomach, a sickening counterpoint to the riled teshuva.
In a dozen strides, they emerged in the open junction. Three lines of tracks led into the darkness beyond the reach of Nim’s light.
“Which way?” She fumbled for the satchel over her shoulder, where Sera had stuffed the map.
Jonah conjured up the diagrams in his mind. “The left leads toward the second team.”
“We can send them back here.” Suddenly, Nim was pulling him forward. “Reinforcements.”
He didn’t bother telling her the fight would be over—one way or another—long before they reached the next exit.
They sped down the corridor. With her mind focused on the task ahead—summoning help for the others—she moved with her natural grace plus the demon’s speed. It was he, half-unbalanced, who fell a step behind. The teshuva’s energy ripped through him, a warning.
“Slow down,” he said.
“Take my hand.” She reached for him, as Liam had reached for Jilly.
Anger flared. “I said, ‘slow down.’ There’s something blocking the path.”
She half turned. He grabbed her when she tripped and kept her from blundering right into the metal grate ahead of them, powder coated the same flat gray as the surrounding concrete and almost invisible in Nim’s jouncing light.
A padlock the size of his hand dangled at eye level from the door set into the blockade. He set Nim to one side and threaded his fingers through the thin wire. “Watch your eyes.”
He heaved back. The metal tore from its hinges with a rusted squeal.
She slipped through and waited for him. “Good catch. I would’ve grated myself like cheese.”
“I don’t like that the lock-off wasn’t marked on the map.”
“The tenebrae must’ve come down a different path.”
He propped the gate against the wall. “There’s no demon sign at all.”
“Hard to make you happy.”
“Hard to imagine that some tenebrae sometime hasn’t used these tunnels to get around the city. The gate wouldn’t stop the malice and salambes, but the ferales would’ve broken through.”
“Why would they? Not much down here to keep them happy. Or me, for that matter. Let’s go.” Her whole body canted toward the promise of the exit.
He followed, drawn along because they couldn’t go back.
They passed another junction, and he steered them toward where the second team would probably have come down by now. Hearing no word would be an irresistible invitation to join the fray.
Nim’s flashlight dimmed. “What?”
No, it hadn’t dimmed. The black-painted wall blocking their path had just swallowed the light.
“Watertight seal,” Jonah said. “No wonder there’s no demon sign. Even a malice couldn’t squeeze through.”
Nim stomped her foot. “What’s the point of having a map if it’s wrong?”
“Life’s funny that way.”
“Death, not so much,” she shot back. “Can’t you—?”
“Rip it open?” He touched the solid barrier. The teshuva didn’t twitch. “I don’t think so.”
He reared back and slammed his shoulder into the wall. Flakes of concrete drifted down. He rammed the wall again. Chunks of concrete the size of his clenched fist tumbled from the curve overhead, and Nim let out a startled cry.
When he drew back again, she grabbed his arm. “Don’t. The tunnel is too old to take the abuse.”
He let her draw him away. His body rang painfully with the force of the blows, the teshuva slow to respond to the damage it hadn’t authorized.
Everyone was disapproving these days.
“Back to the last junction,” he said. “According to the map . . .” He waited while she scoffed. “According to the map, there’s another exit. Farther and not as circumspect, but it’s our best option now.”