Reap the Wind (Cassandra Palmer 7)

“I am listening!” And then I lunged.

Which might have worked out okay, because Pritkin was backed against the edge of the roof and had nowhere to go. Although, knowing him, he might have figured something out. Only he didn’t have to.

Because the fey did.

The damned creature moved with liquid speed, tripping me up and sending me thudding into the roof thatch. And then through it, as the rotten stuff gave way under my weight, plunging a leg through. And then my whole body, as Pritkin tried to grab me and the fey tried to kick me, or, no, I guess he was kicking at the roof.

Which promptly fell the rest of the way in.

Which was bad enough already, but then the damned spear fell, too. And I thought mills were supposed to contain grain, not TNT. But we were halfway to the floor when the whole place ignited in billowing red-gold clouds that burst into being everywhere, like the very air was on fire.

And, just as suddenly, froze.

I had been falling butt first, so all I could see was Pritkin’s unmoving, desperate face staring down at me, hand still extended, debris from the roof that was in the process of flaring up, and fiery sparks everywhere, like glowing rain.

That began to move, sluggishly, in the air around me as I fought and twisted.

“The grain’s on fire,” someone said. “Get out!”

“No! She’s fighting it off. Grab her!”

But whoever was talking wasn’t fast enough. I tore myself out of the spell a second later, landing in a panting heap on some sacks of grain, before rolling off onto a dirt floor. Only to be almost incinerated when the air around me went up like a firestorm.

It was full of floating yellowish dust, the grain in question, I guessed, which ignited like gunpowder. But it didn’t burn me, because I’d never stopped moving. I rolled out of the way just as a new time spell boiled through the old one, taking another section of the room back into real time. And sending it up in a boiling column of fire.

And then another one, and another, flared to life all around me, as I ducked and dodged and rolled and looked frantically around for Rosier. And found three different Pythias instead, the power emanating off them almost blinding. There was Gertie, the old one from Amsterdam she’d called Lydia, still all in black, and some young girl in elaborate robes.

And then I spied Rosier, over by the door, frozen among half a dozen acolytes, still staring upward at the Cassie-shaped void in the sparks. The one right beside a stack of grain bags piled up like a pyramid—

Or a staircase.

I grabbed an almost-empty flour bag off the floor and slung it through the mass of sparks in front of me, sending a wave of them flowing at the crowd by the door. And while they were blinded, I ran, weaving through the boiling columns of air, scrambling up the makeshift stairs, my hand reaching out because I had to touch Pritkin to shift him out of someone else’s spell. But it wouldn’t take much, just a single touch, and then to Rosier, and then we’d be gone and let’s see them catch me!

But I’d forgotten about the golden fey, who had remained in place, as still as a statue. But who had apparently shrugged off Gertie’s spell as easily as he had mine. And whose hand now moved in a gesture so small I’m not sure the others even saw it, but that sent me flying—

Straight into a time portal that the old Pythia had just opened up.

It was the same kind that she’d used on me in Amsterdam, which had sent me back to my own time before I had a chance to realize what was happening. But I had more experience now, and a whole bottle of Tears under my belt, and this time I fought it, tearing and clawing in front of a swirling black maw that jerked and pulled and twisted, leaving me caught between earth and sky, between two different times, between hope and utter failure.

“Demmed girl’s stubborn,” she told Gertie, who narrowed blue eyes at me.

“Please,” I begged her. “I’m not trying to hurt anything! I’m just trying to remove a spell—”

“There’s no spell here that concerns you, girl.”

The young Pythia stepped forward, gold-chased robes sending a swirl of sparks into the air. And threw out a hand glinting with jewels. And, immediately, the pull from behind became exponentially stronger.

“No! You don’t understand!” I panted, trying to concentrate while putting everything I had into staying put. “I don’t want to change time—”

“Then you should be glad to know that you haven’t,” Gertie told me. “You may have led those fey on a merry chase, but in the end, you only brought them back to where they would have been in any case. Those you killed would have died in the battle anyway.”

Lydia nodded. “Time’s not so easily undone as all that.”

“I don’t want to undo it! I want to save him!” I tried to look up at Pritkin, but I couldn’t see him anymore. The portal was pulling me back, and all I saw was darkness.

“Save yourself,” Gertie advised. “Let go. Or let it rip you apart.”

“No—please—just listen for a minute—”