The blood drained from Okane’s face.
“Were - - - looking for me?” he whispered.
“Don’t flatter - - -rself,” the Sweeper sneered. “Filth won’t be needed when Rex finishes its march. We’re already on the brink of victory.”
“This is what you call victory, huh? Crawling around underground like a worm?” Laura gripped his arm tighter and twisted, just enough for his expression to twitch in pain. “Rex was marching south. What are you doing here?”
“Nothing a weak mind could comprehend.”
“So you don’t even know what you’re doing?”
“A pawn doesn’t need to question the king.”
“Where are your handlers?” Laura demanded. In my experience they move in odd numbers, typically multiples of three. Two more Sweepers had to be lurking somewhere nearby.
“The voices are with the body.”
“Where’s the ‘body’ then? How many Sweepers did you bring?”
The Sweeper laughed again. “Weaklings have no room in Rex’s glorious future. Amicae will burn.”
That wasn’t a number, but it gave a good idea: enough Sweepers to attack the city and expect victory. Had the entire march turned around?
“Keep hold of him,” she hissed, jumping up.
“Where are - - - going?”
“There are telephones by the elevators. We have to warn someone.”
“Ha! It won’t make a difference.”
Laura scoffed as she looked around, judging the fastest route to take. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because they’re already here.”
Okane barely had time to look up and dive out of the way. A bullet hit the ground where he’d been, sending up a puff of dirt. The shot echoed around the barricaded walls, followed by a rain of bullets. Laura and Okane tumbled around the corner again.
“Shit! Were those more Sweepers?” Laura winced as a chunk of wood blasted free of the wall.
“A whole pack of them, from one of the other passages. This one must’ve been a scout,” Okane wheezed, pulling back the safety on the gun.
Said scout hauled himself up, but before he could get far a bullet smashed into his skull. Laura jolted back at the spatter of blood.
“Whatever information you got out of him, it’ll do you no good,” someone called. The “you” remained prominent in his speech. It must be a handler. “Come out where we can see you. Give up and we won’t hurt you.”
After they willingly killed one of their own?
“Not a chance in hell!” Laura yelled.
The handler obviously hadn’t expected otherwise, but he sounded amused as he replied, “If you insist on impeding us, I’m afraid there will be consequences.”
“Bring it on, ugly!”
“Laura!” Okane hissed. “We have one kin gun, an Egg, and maybe three Bijou. We are not equipped to deal with this!”
“All we have to do is make a big enough commotion,” said Laura.
“In a mine? Who’ll hear us?”
“Miners, obviously!”
Okane swore and raised the gun. During their bickering a Sweeper had snuck up on them. He rounded the corner with a glowing blade. Laura jumped aside while Okane reeled back. The blade collided with the wall and stuck deep in the wood as two more Sweepers rounded the bend. The kin gun fired, lodging two rounds in the first man’s abdomen before the bullets burst with a sizzling yellow light and the smell of burning flesh. More blood splattered; the Sweeper staggered back with a yowl, bowling into more reinforcements. A woman sidestepped him, swiping with her own blade. A hazy reddish afterglow arced in its path. Okane jerked away, tried to aim the gun again, but she moved too fast, closing in and forcing him to retreat.
Laura tried to get in under her swing, but hadn’t so much as twitched before the next Sweeper charged. This one carried no blade, but her left arm was encased in a bulky gauntlet, not unlike the ones Laura had glimpsed in the armory. That alone made her retreat. The Sweeper roared loud enough to make her hair stand on end. Light flared up the gauntlet’s sides and knuckles, twisting pictographs of blazing red that blurred as it hit the ground. Her fist dug into the earth up to her wrist. Shots of light branched into the surrounding ground before dirt erupted into the air with a bang.
Laura stepped back from the resulting cloud, narrowing her eyes against the grit. A blur of red was her only warning before the Sweeper bulled out of the dust, swinging her arm again. Laura ducked. The gauntlet whistled overhead. Laura could feel heat radiating from it, felt the resulting breeze tug at her hair. Gritting her teeth, she lunged and tackled the other woman at the stomach. The Sweeper was sturdier than Laura expected. She staggered only two steps before snarling and swatting. It wasn’t even a good hit, but Laura screeched in pain. The smell of burning was almost overwhelming. She let go before a heavier blow could come. The Sweeper followed her movement, one strong step and another swing of the glove creating another crater in the floor. Laura rolled out of reach and back to her feet.
Debris bounced off her coat as she dug into her bag. The Sweeper was incoming again. She grabbed the first thing her fingers touched and brought it up as she moved to block. Basic, Clae had told her once, walking her through the motions as if it was obvious that someone would one day go after her in a fistfight. Step to the outside. Deflect. Once they’re off balance and open, strike. Hand one knocked the punch aside so the crackling fingers missed her entirely, driven still farther with a strike of her right forearm. But as she blocked, she jammed the item—Bijou, she realized belatedly—into one of the glowing grooves by the elbow. This was a bad idea. She knew it the moment she saw the Bijou changing color, from gold to something bronzy.
“Oh, hell,” she muttered, and fled.
The Sweeper moved to follow, but the Bijou activated and she went no farther. The bead went off with such a shrill noise the entire tunnel shook. Sparks burst into existence, shooting out at high speed to scorch anything close. One caught the Sweeper full in the face while others blackened the walls and snapped at incoming reinforcements. The grooves of the gauntlet went white hot, metal shuddering about it before the whole thing exploded. The tunnel lit up like a firework. The blast shook everything, snapping and burning wood, scorching dirt, a blinding cacophony that drowned out any sight or sound of the Rexians.
Laura retreated further toward the elevators, looking around wildly. Okane hugged the wall to her left; the flashing light illuminated his torn coat. He took another Bijou from his bag and threw it into the blaze before them. Another crack and this activated too, lending the haze a yellowish luster and spewing sparks to such an extent the light cables on the ceiling snapped. The bulbs closest to the fray went out, while the others rattled so hard some swung loose from their holders. The temperature fluctuated with the sudden rush of heat, carrying with it dirt, splinters, and debris.
“Somebody had to have heard that,” said Laura, muffled now as she pulled her bandana up. “Let’s start retreating.”
“How far?” Okane walked sideways, keeping his back to the wall and watchful eyes on the clearing smoke.
“Far enough for help to reach us. Not far enough that these goons can get to the elevators.”
“Something tells me that’s a very fine line.”
Even before the cloud settled, Rexians came running out. The residual energy caught a few, who collapsed as kin zapped by their legs, but they made no sound of distress and ten more trampled over them with no remorse.
The closest Sweeper jerked back as if wrenched by the shoulder. Ka-clack, came a sound from up the tunnel. Had another Rexian circled from behind? Laura whipped around. Another figure advanced toward them, rifle in his hands. His pale eyes narrowed and he pulled the trigger again; this time the crack of the bullet echoed loudly, and the Sweeper fell entirely. Laura’s heart beat in her throat. Holy shit. That couldn’t be—
“Grim?” she spluttered.
“Laura!”
At Okane’s shout she ducked. Good thing too, because the Rexians hadn’t reacted at all to the new addition beyond spreading their attack. A blade clanged into the wall where she’d been. She pulled an Egg from her bag, clacked it, and swung. It rolled into the Rexians’ midst before blowing. Few had bothered getting out of the way—Rex’s Eggs mustn’t burn half as harsh, but this one sizzled angrily. The blast engulfed three Sweepers and seared any close to it, crackling up toward the ceiling. Screams echoed off the walls. A few fell flailing, skin wrecked and peeling off the bone. Laura fought to keep down her breakfast, hands shaking as she felt for another Egg.
Better them than me, she thought desperately, willing it to be true. Them before me!
A Sweeper lifted a gun at her, only for a rifle blast to catch him in the side; his bullet hit the lightbulb instead. The bulb died at once, as did all the others branching down their tunnel. Wires sparked, casting them all in sharp relief. Grim was almost upon them now. Another gun surfaced among the Rexians. Two sharp cracks and he staggered, but he didn’t fall. The bullets hit with a screech, more like metal on metal than any flesh sound. Grim kept on as if uninjured, raised the rifle again. One, two more Sweepers went down. At last the Rexians paused. They milled, some hesitating while others charged into their backs. The handler swore loudly over the din.
“Around the bend,” Grim barked.
Laura and Okane ducked around the next corner and he backed in after them.
“What are you doing down here?” he asked.
“Us? What are we—” Laura sputtered. “You died! You fell in the river and—I saw you in a coffin! You were dead! Oh my god, no wonder Cherry and Mateo were—That was a fucking burial shroud! How are you even down here?”
Grim pulled back on the rifle’s bolt so the spent shell popped out, and twisted the lever back down. He patted at his coat, found nothing, and frowned. “That’s not important right now.”
“Of course it’s important! Did you fake being dead this whole time?”
“No, and that’s not relevant to this situation.”
They didn’t have any further time to argue. He gripped the gun tight and swung it like a bat. It collided with a Rexian’s nose as she rounded the corner. The victim dropped her blade and fell but more pressed in, streaming around their fallen comrade. Okane shot two more but they barely slowed before Grim swiped at them with the bent rifle. The lights flickered before cutting out here too. All that could be seen clearly was the glow of kin weapons, the flash of eyes reflecting it like a cat’s. Laura groped at the walls, narrowly avoiding the chaos. The dropped blade still gave off a faint glow, easy to pinpoint and easy to grab. It felt awkward in her hand, but this weapon wouldn’t run out the same way her Eggs did. Even if she couldn’t fight with any skill, it could at least force them to keep a distance.
A scream echoed off the walls and her hair stood on end.
“Okane?” she yelled.
The only answer was another cry and a thud, metal clanking hard against the track. Three gunshots went off in succession, the kin light just barely illuminating a Rexian on the ground with Okane under her. The Rexian’s lip curled, her arm lifting in another glowing gauntlet as the gun clattered uselessly, bullets spent.
“Get off of him!” Laura snarled.
She planted a foot on the Sweeper’s side and shoved. The Sweeper twisted, bloodied gauntlet flashing, but Laura swiped with the blade this time and forced her off balance. This was enough for Okane to get his legs up and kick her away. He rolled out, scrambled up behind Laura. She could hear him cursing, weirdly high-pitched, and the clatter of dropped equipment.
“Are you okay?” she demanded, stepping back and forcing him with her; his shoulder bumped into her back, giving away the tremors racking his body.
“Bloody,” he replied, high-pitched. “Can’t see out one eye but I think it’s just blood. I’ll—I’ll be okay.”
Laura bared her teeth, put all her strength into deflecting another blade. Really, that was a lucky swing—the Sweeper stumbled with the momentum.
“Bijou! Do you have any handy?”
“Dropped ’em.”
She rapped her amulet. Warmth flared in her boots and she brought a foot down on the nearest Bijou. She caught it just enough to light the Bijou and send it screaming up the tunnel. It hit another on the way, squalling and spouting sparks to light the walls again. Grim hurried out of the way, but the Rexians packed the tunnels too tightly. Another wail started up. Laura turned, looking for more Bijou, and caught sight of Okane’s face again. The right side was mottled, scratched and burned and slick with blood—only one eye remained visible, narrowed against the pain. He dug through his bag, blinking through more blood as he unearthed a wire. He glanced up at Laura before giving a jolt. The wire crackled in his hands and he threw it past her, right into the face of another Rexian. The man cried out. The wire fell. Laura wasted no time in kicking it toward the rest of the fallen items, then grabbed Okane by the sleeve and ran as it began to spark.
She didn’t know how many Bijou he’d dropped. Light seared through the tunnel in a rattle of liquid flame. Wooden panels snapped and flew; they had to dodge down another passage to keep from being hit by one. Grim flung himself after them and pressed against the wall, eyes wide. Maybe three Bijou was a definite understatement.
“Did you have to light that so close to us?”
“I didn’t have much choice,” Laura snapped.
Something else glinted in the main tunnel, coming from the opposite side from the Rexians.
“Oh, great, we’ve got company. I swear, if that’s another group of Rexians…” Laura dug through her pockets, but nothing there seemed like a viable solution. “Do you think we can break the elevator? Keep them from getting into the city proper.” This group had many times the number of that tiny invasion force of last year, and the one man had both evaded police and gained a foothold through a corrupt citizen. If a Sweeper could be tempted by Rex, she had no doubt others could be, too. If all the Rexians in this tunnel made it into Amicae, the consequences could be dire. “The miners must have radioed in by now, so that could buy enough time for help to come.”
“Time where intruders could destroy your very foundations,” said Grim. “It doesn’t matter so much now. That’s the first wave.”
“The first wave of what?”
Laura could finally see that the glinting came from more guns. The people running toward them weren’t Rexians, but they wore no uniforms. They looked like—
“Rangers?” Laura gasped.
Cherry ran near the front; she gestured angrily for Laura’s group to back into a side passage, and once that was done, she screamed, “Give them hell!”
The Rangers aimed, and the crack of gunfire echoed all around them.
Cherry ducked into the side passage to look them over. “What’s your status?”
“Injured,” said Laura, gesturing at Okane. “You have no idea how happy we are to see you, but—How did you even get down here? I thought Rangers weren’t allowed in the city.”
“We got in the same way as your uninvited guests,” said Cherry. “There are vents to the mines further out in the agricultural grounds. The Rangers were all hanging out there to see if Amicae would let up on the ban, and radioed in when they saw suspicious activity. Since I’d been in contact with them yesterday, they went straight to me. And when I talked about Rex invaders in front of the coffin, someone finally got interested enough to wake up.” She punched Grim’s shoulder. “You owe me, you asshole.”
“I owe you for not dying?” he said dryly.
“Yes,” she spat. She turned back to Laura. “As far as I can tell, the Rexians are pissed because you took the reason for their big crusade. Most of their forces are moving south anyway, but this is a renegade unit sent for recovery.”
“- - -’d think they’d know they can’t handle Clae in the first place,” Okane grumbled.
“Information on the crystal’s tendencies probably wasn’t relayed,” said Grim. “Besides, Rexians seem to think they can force anything to bow to them.”
Laura coughed out a laugh. “They think they can force their way in and out with a massive set of rocks and crystals?”
“Or it could be a mission of vengeance,” said Grim. “As you can see, they’re sore losers.”
Sore enough to get their Sweepers killed? The whole experience in Rex showed their Sweepers as disposable assets, but wasting so many of them on the eve of their greatest crusade had to be stupidity. There had to be a good reason for their return here; a significant trade-off.
Meanwhile, the two forces clashed in the still-sparking tunnel. Maybe some people would realize their plan had gone awry and pull back, or at least change tactics, but the handler kept calling for advance. The Rexians didn’t even flinch, just kept coming. They came without fear, with full knowledge they would be mowed down, but they pressed on with no hesitation. They charged over their comrades’ corpses, kept running even while riddled with bullets, and flung themselves at the defenders. Each wave came fast on the other’s heels, and while the Rangers had firepower, they didn’t have that kind of determination. The first line fell to half-dead Sweepers, knocked down and crushed as the second line rushed to reload their weapons, and by the time they did it was too late. No space remained between their sides now; the tunnel became a mess of bullets and twisting bodies. Soon the chaos moved to this tunnel’s entrance. Cherry pulled a knife of her own and jumped out into the fray. Grim pulled Okane farther from the conflict, and Laura stood between them, brandishing her stolen blade for lack of anything else; any Bijou or Eggs would hurt their defenders as easily as the enemy.
Three Rexian Sweepers dodged into the tunnel. Cherry yanked one back and Laura swung at the second, but the third circled around her. She had a moment of horror, completely convinced that she’d be stabbed in the back, but the Sweeper passed her by entirely. He’d definitely seen her—the lingering eyes proved that—but he had another target. He ran past Okane and Grim to duck into the next tunnel, heading west. That tunnel entrance bore an arrow and a bold black “X.” He was after the Pits.
Laura swore. Still more people flooded into the tunnel but she couldn’t just let him get away.
“Take care of Okane!” she shouted at Grim, and took off.
The clamor echoed but ahead the Sweeper was alone. The din covered her footfalls for a long stretch, but it didn’t last forever. The Sweeper whirled around and shot. The bullet hit the wall near her head and she stumbled. Two more shots landed just off the mark and she dove behind a mining cart. Bullets ricocheted off its metal side with a warped noise.
“Give up!” Laura shouted, even as she cringed. “You can’t run forever!”
“Rex does not run,” said the Sweeper.
“You’re at a disadvantage,” said Laura. Ivo and Zelda had seemed logical. Maybe this Rexian would listen, too. “You’ve already run into the first wave of resistance, and that’s not even Amicae’s real forces. You think they’ll stop here? Soon you’ll be entirely surrounded. They’ll trap you, maybe kill you. The only way out for you is to escape now.”
The gun remained silent. Had she struck a nerve? Slowly she leaned to peer around the corner. A bullet ricocheted just below her chin. The heat seared her skin and she fell back with a screech.
“It doesn’t matter if we’re trapped,” said the Sweeper. “All that matters is victory. Amicae will be eradicated.”
“Not if I get you first,” she snarled, and threw her weight against the cart.
Despite being made of metal it held no cargo; after a few seconds of straining it moved, and once it got going it coasted fast on momentum. She ran with it in front of her like a battering ram. This served as a shield well enough, hopefully serving as a good bluff in the same way. She gripped the blade in one hand, ready to pounce as soon as the Sweeper came in sight. But nothing appeared. No bullets bounced off the cart. No sound reached her beyond that of the wheels. She stopped short and straightened, letting the cart rattle on without her. The hall was empty. He’d left while she’d been distracted.
“Of course he did,” she grumbled, tapping her amulet and ordering speed. She had to get there first. No matter what, she had to keep the Pit safe.
Right. Right. Left. She tore around “X”-marked corners without any heed for the Sweeper ahead and his gun. She could hear an awful noise ahead: straining amulets. He had to be running full out. So long as the noise didn’t stop, he hadn’t found it. She had a chance. Exactly as she thought this, the screeching hit a higher pitch. A dull boom echoed through the mine, making the floor tremble. Lights swung merrily and the boarded walls creaked. Laura rounded the corner. This passage ended in a door, a reinforced piece of metal that had bent under massive strain, lock and hinges warped and useless.
Her father once told her that miners left pillars in their carved-out rooms, thick and strong to preserve the structure and prevent cave-ins. In the middle of this room stood a pillar, but it wasn’t stone. It stood out stark against the rock, as if a black metal chimney had been painstakingly unearthed from the ground itself. At its base, enormous Gin stones piled up about it like tinder for a fire. Their subtle sparkle had leached into patches of the ground; for five feet around its base the earth had gone eerily pale. A few colorful amulets lay against the Gin, mismatched and charging.
The Rexian Sweeper staggered for it. He wrenched a ruined gauntlet off, ripping flesh with it before throwing it at the Pit. It glanced off the black metal, leaving an ugly gouge. The Gin glowed brighter, flaring with a rattle and hiss like boiling water. The fallen gauntlet leapt and snapped as its circuitry overloaded.
Silence descended for a moment; then the Gin’s glow spiked. A surging wave of heat swept out in an ugly haze. Laura futilely threw her hands in front of her face. Her ring smarted and her last Egg burned in her hip holster. The air went dry. The Sweeper cried out and she squinted through her fingers at him. His skin burned, red and peeling as if from horrible sunburn. Why wasn’t she affected?
The Sweeper ring glowed like Gin itself. Slowly, it dawned on her: the rings linked into the same magic system governing the jewelry box, the armory, all meant to signify their own link into the system and protect the wearer from magical backlash. Where the Gin of their magic production remained on rotation, the Pit’s base stayed forever—a permanent addition to the system, able to send and receive alerts if anything went wrong. This magic must’ve recognized her through the ring and diverted itself.
The Gin wave dissipated, but before its haze could fade she heard the rasp of a blade.
“Give me that ring,” said the Sweeper.
Laura took a step back. “Not a chance.”
“Then I’ll cut it off - - -r corpse.”
He lunged. For all the power behind the attack, he was very predictable. Laura backed up fast, so his attack missed entirely. She gritted her teeth and swung, but the Sweeper recovered fast and blocked easily before retaliating. Laura ducked and scrambled for the Pit. If she could get close enough to the Gin, the energy would shield her, keep him from getting close. Then she could attack. He followed. She could hear Gin groaning behind her, feel the tingle of magic in the air, but he paid it no mind. Clang, crash, shriek! He caught her blade and she stumbled. The edge snagged her sleeve and cut through to the skin from biceps to elbow. She hissed in pain. If she didn’t throw him off now she’d never have a chance. She kicked a rock on the floor, and it clanged into the Pit’s side. The magic there rattled and pulsed, readying another wave. A clatter from behind alerted her just in time to whirl about. The Sweeper caught her with one hand this time, squeezing her injured arm. The pain caught her off guard. She gasped; her knees buckled. The Sweeper kept leaning, pressing closer, eyes gleaming.
With a breathy, garbled sound, the golden wave surged again. Laura felt a jolt of elation, but it died fast. Sure enough, the ring glowed, but the protective current around her had extended. The Rexian got caught halfway into the protective radius; it wasn’t pushing him away now. He bared his teeth and lurched forward. Laura reeled. As she threw him off, regaining her balance, he grabbed at her belt. An Egg scraped past her amulet, flashing red as he threw it. He didn’t have to aim. They were already close enough. She never should’ve backed up in the first place. She squeezed her eyes shut.
The Egg detonated, throwing both of them back. Metal screeched, accompanied by crackling and short bursts of blinding white light. Laura couldn’t see details amid the too-bright flashes. Tiny amulets tumbled past her, their magic wavering with nonsentient confusion.
Whatever remained of the Pit wasn’t metal. The chimney had split and warped, but beyond the Gin’s golden haze Laura couldn’t make out any details. Rock and debris clattered down past the tangled shape and piled on the floor with the Gin. For a long while, they both lay stunned. Debris kept shifting, but Laura couldn’t hear it. Her ears rang. Eventually, the Sweeper propped himself up: slowly, on arms, on knees, and finally, shakily, to his feet. He looked at the Pit’s wreckage with a savage expression.
“So much work,” he spat, “for one weak city.”
Laura forced herself up off the ground. She wavered, but gritted her teeth and spoke as strongly as she could. “Is that all you wanted to do? Fantastic. Get lost.”
The Sweeper didn’t bother to look at her. He pulled something from his belt, round and white. He peeled away the outer layer. Chip after chip fell, revealing something glassy and red.
“The handlers should’ve ordered this in the first place,” he said. “But no, they wanted an ‘easy’ route. They wanted the satisfaction of Amicae handing over its lifeblood freely. The handlers are the ones who teach us not to be greedy. They should learn the lessons themselves.”
He seemed to be talking to himself. Laura’s eyes stayed fixed on the item in his hands. Rexian red. Not an Egg, not kin, but something terrible. Maybe she hadn’t seen it, but she’d heard of it. What had Zelda said, before?
“What are you doing?” she said sharply.
“The clearest and most secure method of attaining Amicae’s power source is by destroying all of its defenders. Plant an infestation inside an unreachable place, a place where no one would suspect. A place with access into the interior.” He looked at her now, sneered. “I don’t know who planted - - -r ‘Falling Infestation,’ but they had a good plan. Ours, on the other hand, is perfect.”
The last of the white casing fell away, revealing a glass float. Something darker swam inside it, not bloodred or any kin variety. It was black as night, black as an abyss. An infestation, stirring after forced hibernation.
“Once this enters the Pit, it will be invulnerable,” said the Sweeper. “- - - cannot stop it. It will consume us both for fuel, and it will consume everyone in the mine before rising to the surface. Amicae will die, and Rex will take - - -r magic from its ashes.”
“Wait a second,” she gasped. “You can’t be serious! You’ll die here, too!”
“I’m aware,” he replied, and walked for the Pit.
Laura pushed herself up and stumbled into his path. She had to stop this. He kept walking, unconcerned. She held up her blade and he batted it hard enough to knock it to the ground. Laura stumbled, half momentum and half trying to keep a distance. She bumped into the Pit. She groped at the pillar, trying to find a new weapon. Her boot clinked against a slab of Gin. A chance. She stomped, giving the same order she had on the train back in November.
“Wake up!”
The magic didn’t come from below. Her hand against the pillar burned. Light flared at her back, bigger and brighter than the explosion before. The Sweeper paused. Laura barely had time to take in his confusion before she gasped. Searing pain arched up her arm and shoulder. It branched into her chest, hot and prickling, all the way down to her guts. Her lungs seized up. Her eyes stung.
Is this how I die? she wondered. Was this the pain of an old, infected amulet? She bared her teeth. If it ate her, she sure as hell wasn’t going alone. She made a grab for the Sweeper’s arm.
At once the burn in her chest redirected. The pain formed a solid bridge across both arms, up the one and straight out the fingertips of the other. The Sweeper’s hand convulsed. He tottered, dropped the grenade. Was he screaming or was that the blood boiling in her ears? No. His mouth was open. Definitely screaming. He fell back, landed on his knees, and groped at his chest and throat. He gurgled, blood pouring out his nose and ears as eyes turned red. His chest gave stunted heaves. Laura struggled to turn away, to stop looking. She forced herself away from the Pit. The pain stopped as soon as she parted with it, and all the strength left her. She fell to her hands and knees. Her vision swam. The Sweeper wheezed. He fell with a thud. She couldn’t read his number but she saw his still eyes, his bloodied teeth. He didn’t speak or move again.
The room listed left and right, but maybe that was just her. Her arms screamed agony, shaking to hold her weight. Vanilla scent clogged her throat. She could hardly breathe. She wheezed, distantly aware of tears filling up her goggles.
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.
More red wobbled past her fingers. Blood? Was she—? No. Glass. What killed the Sweeper had left the infestation unscathed. It headed for the Pit. If it infected the other amulets, Amicae was dead. Okane would die. Morgan, Cheryl, the Keedlers, Brecht. All gone, just like Clae.
Damn it.
Damn it.
Damn it.
She hardly realized she spoke aloud, curses falling from her lips as she forced her limbs to move.
“Not this time. Not them too.”
All she had to do was break the amulet. Destruction of the amulet meant destruction of the inhabitant. Clae had done it with the mask. She’d done it at Sundown Hills. She could do it now. If she was dying, she could do this much.
She grabbed for it, planning to smash it against the ground. As she reached, a spark started at her other hand. It zipped like a light up a fuse, up, over, and down that arm again. Light streaked from her fingers, crackling about the glass. The infestation writhed and screamed, the sound tinny through its prison before the glass shattered. The creature shuddered and dissolved into smoke, eaten up by more crackling energy. The world spun faster, colors sliding together. Laura crumpled. While she felt a stab of pain in her hand, it gave her glorious relief; the rest of her arms became cool and painless.
What felt like seconds later she blinked open her eyes. The floor remained as dark and dusty as ever. Cold, too. She shifted and groaned. Her body stiffened as if she’d been there for hours. Her outstretched hand smarted badly. Suddenly it seemed very quiet, and she realized someone had been speaking. A shuffle of clothes came from her other side.
“Careful. Take it very slowly. You’re fragile in this state.”
“What?” Her tongue felt like lead. She worked at it awhile, frowning.
“That was more magic than a body should take. I’m surprised you survived it.”
Something white leaned into her vision. She squinted through the bleariness.
“Grim? Am I dead?”
“Miraculously, no.”
Grim focused on her bloodied hand. He turned it over gingerly and she realized glass chunks stuck out of it. That should hurt. She winced more out of obligation than real feeling as he pried the pieces out.
“What happened?”
“You channeled Gin energy through yourself. It’s like electrocution in most cases, but you appear to be an anomaly.”
“Gin can’t hurt other strains,” she mumbled. If she crossed her eyes and squinted she could pretend it was Clae in that coat, listing facts. It hurt to imagine. “It recognizes you. Can’t or won’t hurt you.”
“With airborne mist, yes. Treating you as an amulet, however, has consequences.” He nodded at the fallen Sweeper. “You only survived by being a conductor. Expelled the magic as soon as you received it.”
Memories were a little foggy, but that sounded right.
“I channeled it into him.”
“He couldn’t redirect it, so it ruined him.”
The glass was out. Grim dug through his pockets again before producing a small jar and a roll of bandages. He yanked off a glove with his teeth, scooped something from the jar, and mashed it into her cuts. This time she gave a full-body shudder, straining her jaw to keep from making a sound. Whatever it was stung, and coldness seeped through her hand. He wrapped it all up in the bandage, tying lopsidedly.
“I’m no medic, but that should tide you over until we see a professional. Give me your other hand.”
“Why, so you can put more of that nasty stuff on me?”
“We need to regulate your energy. That Gin threw off your natural balance.”
Laura frowned but didn’t protest as he pulled her into a sitting position. He propped her up, then took her other hand in both of his and closed his eyes. His hands felt cold and rough as if covered in calluses. He didn’t seem willing to do anything else.
“What are you doing?”
“Stabilizing. The process is slow with a small point of contact.”
She looked pointedly at their hands. “So you want to hug instead?”
“That may be detrimental to both of us.”
She wrinkled her nose and regarded him. “Are you a Magi?”
His pale, pale eyes flicked open. “Why do you think that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Strange-eyed guy practicing magic, somehow able to get shot and live? Closest thing I’ve ever heard to that is Magi ability.”
“I suppose so, but I’m not one of them.”
“Then what are you?”
“Thracis.”
“From Thrax?” She laughed. Her ribs ached so she stopped quickly. “Thrax is a ruin.”
“So it is.”
“Is it Ranger territory now?”
“No. Just mine.” He frowned, dropping her hand. “Is it all right if I roll up your sleeve?”
“Sure.”
The cloth bunched weirdly at her elbow but she didn’t think of that—she was too preoccupied with the state of her arm. The discolored skin had a thin branching pattern, as if a phantom tree spread its limbs to overtake her arm.
“What the—”
“Rangers call them ‘lightning flowers.’ I imagine it hurts.”
Grim shrugged off his coat, rolled up his own sleeves, and pressed his forearms against hers. More chill. Laura hissed and gripped his elbow to ground herself. But this wasn’t the same minty zap as the medicine. A feeling spread up, like a soothing autumn breeze swirling under her skin. The last of the burning quieted, smoothed out in a graceful instant. The stress eased out of her muscles as the feeling filled her. Warm, cold, neither, both. A perfect balance. Harmony. The room no longer swam but lay before her in perfect clarity.
“Are you the one doing this?”
He nodded and pulled his arms away. The feeling eased out into nothing and Laura felt empty in its wake. She was relieved when he gestured for her other arm and did the same procedure.
“I was afraid to do it earlier,” he admitted. “It would balance, but it can soothe too much. I’ve accidentally lulled a heart into stopping before. The Gin magic ripped your energy out too. You were drained enough that I couldn’t risk it.”
Laura turned her free hand over, sickened by the color but grateful that it all moved properly.
“I don’t understand. You don’t have an amulet. Not even Magi can do this, as far as I know. Balance, or whatever.”
“I’m special.” He pulled away and held out his arms again. Where they’d touched her, something akin to a burn marred the pasty skin, but instead of raised welts and discoloration it gleamed and sparkled, like the surface of Gin but paler, harsher. “I suppose with some crystal, you have to break it open for it to shine.”
Crystal? Wait. The breath froze in her lungs. “You’re like Clae and Anselm?”
“I take it you mean the child in the river? Not exactly. He was once a normal human. This is how I was born. You could say we crystals are opposites.”
“Like opposite magnets? So you don’t get along well?”
He nodded. “He has become Gin, which produces magic. His variety of crystal has a different potency, though. It’s not a pure stone, but tainted by humanity and the residual emotions. I am not Gin. I am Niveus.”
“Like the stone they use to make amulets?”
“Correct.” He folded his arms, hiding the glittering patches. “Niveus creates nothing but holds magic in check. Too much magic is a terrible thing. It can destroy the mind, cause mutations, diseases, death. Niveus streamlines and refines it. Niveus is everywhere in the soil, diluting enough for energy to be safely used.”
“It calms people down,” she murmured.
“It dilutes stress-related energies if someone wears a piece,” Grim agreed. “Although—” He nodded at her hand. She looked down, and found only one ring. The Sweeper one rested where it always had, but the Niveus ring from Clae had gone. She looked around frantically, and paused when Grim reached out to pluck something off the floor: a fragment of white. “In contact with large amounts of magic, it becomes overwhelmed and shatters.”
The Falling Infestation flickered back to mind: Marshall dipping his hands into the fountain, his frown, Only one variety broke. It’s all the Niveus amulets. Understanding dawned.
“That’s why you looked like you died.”
Grim rolled the Niveus piece between his fingers. “Usually there are enough Niveus traces in the soil to outweigh effects of Gin. There must be a balance with Gin and Niveus if you want them to work. That child is smaller than me, but his magic is strong. I didn’t have enough mass to cancel it out. He sapped my strength. I almost broke.”
“And when he came in contact with you, he calmed down. That’s why he’d changed and looked so odd. Crystal doesn’t reshape or move on its own, after—Wait. You. You’re a talking rock?”
“I thought we’d covered that.”
“You’re a walking, talking rock.”
“Cherry believes I’m an earth spirit,” he said, slightly offended. “As a dryad is to a tree, as a sylph is to wind, I am to this stone.”
“Are you pulling the religion card on me?”
“Not really. As far as I’m aware, I’m the only one there is.”
“Then where did you come from?”
“I woke up in Thrax a little over a hundred and fifty years ago. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how. I just woke. No one was there. I’ve tried to find someone to explain it to me, but most of my findings stem from Ranger lore. It’s not the most reliable source.”
“All alone for that long? Sounds awful.”
“Not always. There are many interesting people in the wilds. Rangers like Cherry. Couriers like Okane.”
“Rexians, you mean.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?” said Laura. “They’re the ones out hunting Rangers and razing satellite towns, and they’re descendants of Magi, too.”
“Couriers are Magi.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps it would’ve been easier to tell you this before, but they are dangerous to speak of. They need to ensure no news of them or their home reaches Rex. They’d sooner murder a Rexian Sweeper than help him. But that isn’t our current problem. How do you feel? Ill at all?”
Laura had to snap out of her daze. “What? No. Sore, definitely, but better. Thank you.”
“Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
Grim held his hands out and she grasped them (fingers of rock, she marveled) to help pull herself up. Her legs wavered and she had a little vertigo, but her head cleared quickly. She looked back to take stock of the damage.
The Pit’s metal had definitely warped. What little metal remained curled like a wrapper peeled to reveal its contents. A solid pillar of crystal, fusing directly onto a floor of solid Gin, emerged from this wreckage. Old amulets could be glimpsed inside: broken ceramics, figures, sections of larger machines jumbled tight together. Kin treatments were meant to wash out infestations, but Laura never considered what kin did once it arrived at the bottom: evaporate, perhaps, or sink into the ground. The magic must’ve soaked into the amulets themselves, over and over until the pieces could absorb no more, and then hardened around them. Over 150 years of kin treatments had sent supercharged liquid gold between them, molding the Pit and its contents into a massive magic strain, the purest form of magic that could be found. It shimmered bright, echoing all the colors of sunrise.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“It’s powerful,” said Grim. “But more than that, it’s become its own strain, self-sufficiently. No amulets in there are susceptible to infestation.”
Laura choked out a laugh. No wonder there had been such a big effect. No wonder there had been so much light. Grim turned and pulled her uninjured arm over his shoulder.
“Let’s leave. This area is secure, and it wouldn’t do well to linger. I might break after all.”
Laura nodded and let him help her back into the mining area. They stumbled back to the battle site. The signs began gradually, some discolored walls and spots of blood giving way to bodies, dropped weapons, craters, and buckling ceilings. A few Rangers lay amid the dead, but the Rexian bodies outnumbered them. The living stepped between corpses, checking this or that in exaggerated silence. All wore drab Ranger gear.
“We won,” Laura murmured. Her eyes roved over the crowd. Rangers upon Rangers upon Rexian dead. “Where’s Okane?”
“I lost track of him earlier,” said Grim.
“He has to be here somewhere. You don’t think—”
With a rush of horror she wondered if someone saw his eyes and shot before thinking. Was he lying here among the dead?
“Calm,” Grim said evenly.
“We have to find him.”
“We will.”
“But what if he—”
“Grim!” Cherry leaned out of another passage, waving. “There you are. We’ve been looking for you.”
“I take it everything’s been settled?” said Grim.
“What Rexians aren’t dead ran away. We’ve called the upper levels, so the authorities will be here soon. In the meantime, we’re treating some of our own.”
“Maybe this will get it through their heads,” said a passing Ranger, carrying a kit of medical supplies. “Rangers aren’t mobs.”
“Have you seen Okane?” said Laura. “I haven’t seen him anywhere yet, and—”
“Sure I have.” Cherry jerked her head at the passage. “He’s right over here. Hear that, Okane? She was worried about you, too.”
Laura ran to the corner. Okane sat on the floor, arms linked around bent knees while another Ranger squatted to tend to his injuries. Bandages completely hid the right half of his face, but the visible eye was wide and bright.
“Laura!” he yelped, making to stand, but the medic shoved him right back down.
Laura let out a single bark of laughter before her knees buckled. Grim and Cherry steadied her and helped maneuver so she could sit next to him. His eye blinked at her, silver, beautiful as ever. Her own expression probably unnerved him, but she didn’t care. She was too busy drinking in a sight she’d been afraid to lose.
“Are - - - okay?” he asked.
“Me? What about you? Please tell me that doesn’t feel as bad as it looks.”
“It’s … bad. But they gave me pills.” Sure enough, as he spoke his visible skin seemed to pinch.
“That’s something at least.” She sighed, shaky. “What happened?”
“Someone brought in a machine gun.” Okane shuddered.
“It was like shooting fish in a barrel,” said Cherry, shaking her head. “We almost thought we’d hit you somewhere in the mix. Good thing you’re safe, or I’d never forgive myself. Where did you two run off to?”
“One of them went after the Pit,” said Laura.
Okane started. The medic chided him but he whirled about, paler than ever. “They didn’t reach it, did they? What’s the damage? Is it—”
“I don’t think we need to worry about anything.”
“Laura killed the invader,” said Grim.
“And the Pit?”
“He hit it, but it didn’t do him any good,” said Laura. “It turns out there aren’t any more amulets in there. They all fused. All the washes of kin over the years stuck and made it a strain.”
“Wait. We have an entire Pit’s worth of Gin?”
“Pseudo-Gin, anyway. It packs a hell of a punch.” She raised her hands so he could see the discoloration. “It’s so pretty, though! And the Gin won’t affect you. The magic flows right around. Clae always said it was because we’re strains, but I think it’s actually hooked up to the Sweeper rings, like the armory. I have no idea what we could do with it, but—Okane?”
Okane had tuned out the moment he saw her hands. His chest rose in nervous half breaths.
“Laura,” he said again, absolutely wretched.
“I’m okay, you don’t have to cry!”
“For god’s sake, don’t force me to change this bandage,” said the medic.
“Laura,” he whispered. She threw an arm around his shoulders and leaned closer, rubbing his biceps.
“I’m good! I promise. I’m not in such bad shape as you.”
He shook his head and bowed over, shoulders shaking. Laura glanced up at the others for help.
“Don’t look at me,” said Cherry. “I don’t know how to handle heartfelt reunions.”
“Please check on her injuries too,” Grim told the medic, before straightening and tugging Cherry along with him. “We’ll give you privacy. Call for us if you need any help. We won’t be far.”
They retreated into the main tunnel. The medic offered no advice in their stead, just rolled her eyes and dug through her kit for more supplies. Laura pulled Okane back and forth in a slow rocking motion, the way Morgan had held her years ago when she’d been sorted into the wrong class.
“What’s wrong? You seemed okay a minute ago.”
“I’m just—I was waiting. Now I don’t have to wonder. I was afraid.”
“Don’t worry. Clae didn’t teach any pushovers.”
“He died. If he was so great, how could anyone be safe? Especially someone who hasn’t worked the job for a year yet?”
“Are you trying to bring me down?”
“- - - disappeared! One minute - - - were there, and the next I looked and - - - were gone!” He sucked in a breath that rattled in his lungs like an animal’s snarl. “I thought, I was afraid, maybe, what if, where could - - - go in such a small space except down with them?” He kicked one leg. A rock bounced all the way to the closest Rexian, her silver eyes locked on them even in death. “I almost lost it when they pulled out the gun!” Now he sobbed, breathing haggard and voice breaking. “I thought - - - were still in there! I never want to be like that again! I don’t want to lose anyone else! Not the haven, not Clae, not - - -! Never, never do that again!”
“I thought you saw me going,” she mumbled.
“But where to? And when would - - - have come back? The tunnels are a mess if - - -’re not paying attention. - - - could’ve walked right back into it.”
“I’m sorry.”
She rested her head on his, at a loss. She’d never seen anyone so upset over her before. Morgan wailed about the future and Clae had hovered relentlessly, but this was uncharted territory. It frightened her. She had to swallow a lump in her throat before speaking again.
“You’re going to be stuck with me for a long time yet. And I promise I’ll be more obvious about what I’m doing next time. But you have to promise me something too. No more of this ‘I’m lucky’ bullshit. No jumping off buildings, no making yourself a target. You really scare me when you do that.”
He scoffed. “That’s different. I’m replaceable.”
“Says who?”
“Says my sister.” He glared at the dead Rexian.
Laura’s stomach twisted. “That’s not your sister.”
“How would - - - know? How many Sweepers have my blood in their veins because of that paragon? We’re gears. We’re tiny things in the machine, ready to be swapped out by Rex or Sullivans or—”
She reached with both arms to cradle his head, blocking his view.
“You are completely irreplaceable.” Her words were muffled against his head but he stopped struggling. “No one in the world is like you, and that’s amazing and it’s terrifying. I’m so glad I met you, but if you die I’m never going to find you again, and that’s one of the worst things I can imagine. If you want me to take care of myself, you have to do the same.”
After a moment, he leaned against her. “I know that, but it’s one thing to think it and another to feel it. I just … I need more time to believe that.”