Marlow screamed.
It was the only thing he was capable of doing. The girl’s shrieking howl ripped up the floor of the cathedral, marble and stone rising like a vast wave. The vibrations threatened to shatter his bones, the noise unbearable. He had time to see Pan throw herself to one side, a slab of brick crunching off her skull, then it was on him, a tsunami of dust and debris that thundered forward.
Something thumped into his side, the tackle sending him skidding across the floor. He covered his face with his hands.
“It’s easier to fight with your eyes open,” said Night, and he looked to see her there, crouched beside him. Behind her the wave of debris rolled into the wall where he’d been standing, making the whole building tremble. A groaning howl rose up above the crash and it took Marlow a moment to realize the church organ was collapsing, the pipes blowing out curdled notes as they clanged to the ground.
Night helped him to his feet and he had to clamp another scream in his throat. In the middle of the cathedral, Brianna was a statue of fire, burning from head to toe. She didn’t seem to notice, taking a step forward and thrusting out her arms. A jet of blue flame tore out, engulfing the first few rows of pews in an explosion of wood. A shock wave of heat burned through the air, hot enough that Marlow could feel his hair sizzle even from thirty feet away. He lifted his hand over his face, blinking away tears.
When he looked again he saw Pan crawling away from the fire, her clothes singed, her head bleeding. She rolled onto her back and shot something at the girl, a bolt of forked white lightning that crackled upward, missing its target and shattering one of the windows in a rain of stained glass. The building shook again, moaned in protest, a crack of thunder almost splitting Marlow’s skull open. Brianna reached out, another fountain of liquid fire shooting from her hands. Something slapped into her, a streak of light that could only be Night. The impact knocked the burning girl back, her flames spitting and spluttering like napalm, so hot that it was setting fire to the stone.
Marlow started to run, time crawling into silence, the fire burning in slow motion, almost beautiful as it curled upward, dancing on its own heat. He dodged pieces of plaster and mortar that hung suspended in midair, sprinting down the center aisle and stopping when he reached Pan. Time snapped back with a sickening punch, the sound and fury blasting back on.
The heat here was insane, blistering his skin as he grabbed her under the arms. There was something electric in her, like holding on to a live wire, but he clung on, dragging her back. She fired off another deafening pulse of lightning, this one hitting Brianna in the chest and sending her cartwheeling back through the cathedral.
“No!” Patrick yelled, vanishing with a soft pop.
“Watch—” was all he heard Pan say before the air ruptured next to Marlow and Patrick appeared. He threw a punch that connected with Marlow’s gut, launching him up. The world spun and he landed on a pew hard enough to crush it to splinters. It was like Patrick had reached in and grabbed his lungs because when he tried to breathe he found he couldn’t. He whined like a beaten dog, clawing at the air until his solar plexus started working again.
What the hell was he doing? He was going to die.
Hands on him, wrenching him off the ground like he was a toddler. Then he was airborne again, slamming into one of the stone columns and dropping to the floor. The pain was like nothing he had ever felt, carving through him like a circular saw in his spine. He pushed himself to his feet just as Patrick ’ported back into the world, the boy’s teeth bared, his eyes full of a madness that made Marlow want to scream again.
“Got you,” Patrick said, wrapping a hand around Marlow’s throat. Marlow swung his fist but Patrick dodged the punch. He tried again, squirming in the iron grip, darkness starting to creep in at the edge of his vision.
Something exploded against Patrick’s head and he released his grip, staggering away. Truck was there, the big guy holding a twenty-foot pew like it was a baseball bat. He swung it again and it broke in half against Patrick’s back, sending him tumbling down the aisle like a bag of bones. Marlow didn’t hesitate, grabbing a pew of his own. It was solid oak but as light as a feather and he swung it in a wild arc toward Patrick. It was longer than he’d thought, glancing off the side of a pillar, jarring his spine so hard he thought it had been ripped out of his back.
He lifted the pew again for another strike but Patrick ’ported. Marlow spun around, waiting for him to appear. The cathedral was ablaze, a curtain of fire almost hitting the ceiling. Brianna was back, striding through the flame, her whole body shimmering in its burning shroud. A black hole opened up in the furnace of her face and she screamed again, a physical force that blasted through the church, lifting pews from the ground and scattering them.
Marlow couldn’t see Pan anywhere in the ocean of smoke and was halfway to calling her name when a forked branch of lightning exploded from the far end of the building, hitting Brianna and knocking her back. She lay on the floor, writhing and twitching. Pan was striding out of the coiling smoke, a face like murder. She pulled back her hand like she was going to pitch a baseball, then thrust it forward, grimacing. The whole cathedral lit up like it was dawn, Marlow shielding his eyes with his hands to stop from going blind. The noise was incredible, a million firecrackers going off at once.
“Come on!”
Truck grabbed his arm, dragging him across the church to where Brianna squirmed. Marlow coughed smoke out of his lungs, blinking tears and light from his vision, trying to see where he was going.
“Take that one!” Truck yelled, pointing to a column. He ran to the next one along, charging it like a defensive tackle bringing down a quarterback. It split on contact, a crack running all the way up to the ceiling. Marlow jogged to his and punched it, his fist blasting through the stone, sending shrapnel flying. The ceiling above them groaned, sagging. He punched again and the column broke, crumbling earthward and bringing half the roof with it. Truck barged his way through the wall to avoid the falling stone. Marlow ran too, the world spinning slower. He dodged falling rocks as he sprinted across the cathedral, tripping on a broken pew and sprawling back into real time. Dust and dirt rained down on him, the ceiling disintegrating overhead.
A chunk of wood and stone the size of a car broke free and crashed earthward. Pan aimed her power up, lightning tearing off a second piece, even bigger, which landed on Brianna with a dull crunch. Smaller pieces followed, burying the girl alive—or dead, or whatever the hell she was. Pan stopped firing, shaking her hands like they were hot, her face a mask of pain. There was a cry from across the aisle and Marlow looked to see Patrick, his expression so full of hate and anger that he looked demonic.
“Not again!” he screamed. “Not again! Not again!”
Then Night was there, blocking the view, saying, “We should go, whole place is gonna collapse.”
Marlow took her hand and pulled himself up, every cell in his body aching. Pan stumbled to them, her hands so black she might have had them on the barbecue. She smelled of summer storms and Marlow reached out, propping her up, her skin hot against his own. She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped, staring at the pile of rubble where Brianna had fallen.
It was moving.
Something pushed up from the mess, a thin, red stalk that could have been a plant. It stretched farther and Marlow saw that it was an arm, stripped to the bone, scraps of flesh hanging off it. Five mangled fingers extended like petals, swaying back and forth almost as if they were waving. Patrick’s sobs had become something else, a lunatic laughter that rose above the roaring flames, above the ringing in Marlow’s ears.
“Not good,” said Pan.
That was an understatement. The mountain of debris was shaking, and with a bone-jarring crack it split in two. Brianna appeared in the gap, her body broken beyond recognition. Her skin had split in a dozen different places, slick purple organs poking out and swinging gently as she moved. Her head had been crushed, the top of her skull missing, hollowed out. But that didn’t stop her scuttling out on all fours. Her toothless jaw hung like a broken branch and she gargled through it, a single bloody word that might have been her brother’s name.
Pan stretched out her fingers and a bolt of cold light ripped out, but Brianna was faster, scampering spider-like to the side as the ground blasted into dust behind her. She vanished into the smoke but Marlow could still hear her hands and feet pattering wetly on the rock, moving fast, circling them.
“You’re all dead!” yelled Patrick, still laughing. “You’re finished!”
“You guys, go shut him up,” said Pan, wiping her face and smearing soot over it. Her voice trembled but her eyes were clear. “I’ve got the wormbag.”
Marlow nodded, taking a deep breath and walking toward Patrick. He’d never felt this tired in his life, never been in so much pain. Death was stalking him, hovering over his shoulder, just out of sight. And death was the least of his worries, too. Because where he was going the fires burned way hotter than this.
“You’re finished!” Patrick screamed, filling the air with lunatic howls. “You’re finished!”
Yeah.
Marlow had a bad feeling he was right.