Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer 9)

“They call it the Great Smog,” Jo’s voice came from somewhere nearby. It was full of laughter, and sounded clear; she could breathe, at least.

And she could fight.

A second later, a burst of spell fire came boiling through the air, barely missing me. And only because clawing anxiety is really good for the reflexes. I felt the static electricity of a spell raising the hair on my arms and flung myself to the side just in time to see a streak of red crash into something that sent brick-­like shards everywhere.

They peppered my body, but not for long. I’d already shifted before most of them hit me, although shifting when you can’t see is . . . not optimal. I fell into open air, then crashed down onto something soft and spongy. Mud, with bits of grass in it. A park? Somebody’s front lawn? I didn’t know.

And I didn’t have time to find out. Spell bolts slammed down all around me, throwing mud and burning grass into the air and lighting up the smog, but not dispelling it. Forcing me to shift blind again, and this time, I wasn’t so lucky. I hit down hard, stumbling into what felt like an iron fence, and smacked my head into a post. The world went swimmy for a second, and I cursed myself.

So much for taking the offense!

Because Jo might not be much of a duelist, but she knew how to give herself an advantage. My lungs were burning, I couldn’t see, and already I was injured.

This is going well, I thought, struggling to breathe and fumbling around the edge of the fence.

I was definitely in a park, and a waterlogged one at that, judging by the way my feet sank into the earth. That put paid to moving fast, but I couldn’t keep shifting. Pritkin was right; I was tired, and I wasn’t a ghost with a huge energy store to draw from.

I finished this soon, or not at all.

Another spell came sizzling past, hit the fence I was now on the other side of, and ran down it like red lightning. It kept glowing from the heat even after the spell’s magic was used up, the iron dripping down the posts like wax off a spent candle, the whole casting red shadows on the smog. Then Jo’s voice came again, in a singsong lilt that would have been creepy under any circumstances but right now was just macabre.

“Ten thousand people died, a hundred thousand were hospitalized. All from burning too much coal and having a stagnant weather pattern. Crazy, huh?”

Yeah, like you, I thought, and tried to shift her to me.

But the voice was echoing, maybe off of surrounding buildings, maybe through whatever shield she was using to be able to breathe, I didn’t know. But I couldn’t get a lock. Still, she must have felt something, because she laughed.

“No, no, no, not so easy. Have some fun with it!”

And the next thing I knew, reality was tilting, the world was shattering, and I was falling—­

Into a cyclone—­or at least that’s what it felt like. The yellow haze had abruptly changed into a storm-­tossed night, although the rain-­laced wind was so harsh it didn’t make much difference. All I could see was a lot of gray. And the chimney I’d just slammed into.

I staggered back, almost fell off a roof, and went to my knees, scrabbling at soaked wooden roof tiles. And not finding purchase, because it felt like I’d landed in a hurricane, with the winds trying their best to drag me into the night. Until a hand reached out from behind the tower of bricks and jerked me forward—­

Into Hilde’s gigantic bosom.

“Get down!” she yelled, and threw us both flat on the rooftop, right before the chimney exploded.

But this time, I didn’t get beaten up any further. Because the flying stone just puffed away, aged to dust in an instant. And the remains were scattered by the violent winds almost before I realized what was happening.

“Time shield,” Hilde said, puffing, as she crawled back to the peak of the roof, I guess to try to see over it.

“What are you doing here?” I said, because it was surreal. She was creeping around the roof like a ninja—­only ninjas didn’t wear support hose! Or have a bunch of similarly unlikely commandos with her.

Because two old women and three middle-­aged ones were arranged around the roofline, why, I had no idea. Until I noticed: one of the older gals had stuffed herself into a too-small, high-­necked, white lace dress that looked terribly familiar. Oh, no, I thought.

No, please.

“I saw you duel,” the tiny, rotund woman told me, rheumy eyes bright. “So many years ago now. Well, so many for me. You were the best I ever saw—­”

“You never saw me,” Hilde said, crawling back down to join us.

“No, you’d already left the court by then,” the tiny old woman agreed, like we were having a pleasant conversation over tea.

“No,” I told Hilde, before she could say anything. “No, get them out of here!”

“You said to bring them round for an interview—­”