Curse the Dawn (Cassandra Palmer 4)

But one thing was clear: I’d asked my power to show me what would happen if I changed time. I didn’t understand the message, but the general gist hadn’t seemed positive. And without some major confirmation, I didn’t dare meddle with anything.

“Can you describe it?” Marlowe asked, helping me to my feet. When I looked into his face, I saw only concern. The frightening glimpse behind the mask was gone, and the kind, genial man I’d always known was back.

Not that that meant anything.

“It . . . was a jumble. It happens like that sometimes.” I couldn’t change time, but I could use the time I had. I could do a lot with forty minutes, if I had help. But I wouldn’t get it from Marlowe. The Senate wasn’t likely to risk a useful tool to help a bunch of convicts.

“I think you were right,” I said. “We need to get out of here.”

Marlowe hoisted his prisoner like a sack of potatoes and took my hand. I shifted us back only to find Rafe, Pritkin and Caleb crowding the small stairwell. “What is this?” Caleb demanded, catching sight of Marlowe’s burden. His hand dropped to his weapon belt.

“A rescue,” I said, grabbing Pritkin’s shoulder. “The cells are full and the passage is blocked. Any ideas?”

“Yes.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” I said, and shifted.

We landed in the middle of a tremor and fell to our knees. The corridor shook, setting the industrial pendants overhead swinging and popping a block out of the wall like a shotgun shell. It exploded against one of the cells on the opposite side of the corridor. It didn’t faze the ward, but it peppered us with shards like minuscule hailstones and scattered gray dust over the floor. I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to curl into a ball and put my hands over my head.

When I looked again, Pritkin was regarding the exploded block with a scowl. “We don’t have much time,” I told him, getting back to my feet. “Marlowe said it’s a twenty-minute hike to the surface from here.”

“I know. Raphael showed us the schematics. Caleb is working on a faster alternative.” But he continued to kneel there, scowling fiercely.

“Pritkin! Come on! What are you waiting for?”

“Inspiration,” he said, gesturing at the cells. “It’s worse than I thought. If the outer wards had held, the walls would be stable. But they’re buckling under the weight from above. That means that the only thing keeping this place intact are the inner wards.”

“The inner wards?”

“The ones on the cells.”

I looked at the row of prisoners and my jaw dropped. “But . . . how are we going to get everyone out? If we disable the wards—”

“Then the weight from above will crush us all,” he finished grimly. “And once they go down, they aren’t going back up again. Not with this kind of damage.”

“Crap.”

“Exactly.” He stared at a cell for a few seconds. “If we can preserve the wards on at least half the cells, it should buy us enough time to get away.”

“Get away how? Because I can’t shift out this many!”

He glanced at me as if surprised that I’d be worried by a little thing like that. “I can get them out as long as enough wards remain to keep the roof up.”

His tone made it sound like getting through thirty-five yards of rockfall in roughly that many minutes was no big deal. I opened my mouth to ask for specifics and then realized we didn’t have time. Besides, if Pritkin said he had a plan, then he did, and it would probably work. But that didn’t mean I had to like it. “You’re talking about leaving half these people to die.”

“Not necessarily.” His gaze turned considering. “You could shift in.”

It took me a second to get it. “I could bypass the wards, and bring the people out with me!”

“If you can shift that precisely. There’s not much room for error.”

I glanced at the nearest cell, which held a large, hairy, tattooed man in a tank top. There was very little extra space that I could see around him. But in the next cell was a slim woman, and between her and the ward there was maybe two feet. “I can try,” I agreed.

I shifted past the ward and inside the woman’s cell. It was a tight fit, and there was some sort of energy field that wrapped around my limbs like a blanket, trying to paralyze me. I didn’t give it time, just grabbed her wrist and shifted out again.

“How much energy did that cost you?” Pritkin asked, catching her before she could collapse.

“Not much. But I won’t fit in all the cells.”