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“But my power as Pythia is supposed to be inexhaustible. Even if they attacked me—”
“You’re confusing types of energy. Rakshasas feed off life energy, as do your vampires. Your magic doesn’t interest them.”
Marsden ran down the stairs with a basket draped over his arm but stopped short when he saw Pritkin on his feet. He nonetheless proffered a vial of viscous orange sludge that boiled with darker glints in it. Pritkin scowled but downed half of it anyway before I could ask what was in it.
“Energy potion,” Marsden said, catching my eye. “It’s harmless.”
And foul, judging by Pritkin’s expression. “If I take it, will it help me shift us out of here?” I asked as a ceramic water pitcher danced down a counter and crashed against the tiles.
“Oh, no. It isn’t that strong. Just adds a bit of pep, so to speak. But not to worry; I have another way out.”
Pritkin groaned. “Tell me you didn’t bring that damn thing with you!”
Marsden looked affronted. “That damn thing won me six titles, I’ll have you know!”
“And almost got you killed at least as many times!”
“A hazard of the sport.”
Pritkin grabbed his coat and weapons while appliances rattled in their places and the dishes chimed together in the cupboard. One glance out the window showed why: bolt after bolt of energy was exploding against a bubble of protection that began just beyond the garden. None got through, but every hit shuddered the foundations of the house.
Marsden threw open the back door and led us quickly across the garden. Beyond the cultivated area was a patch of weeds surrounding a small brick structure. He flicked on the lights and dragged a tarp off what turned out to be a gleaming red convertible. It was obviously a classic, with a long, low frame, high fenders and an odd arrangement of three headlights.
“An Alfa Romeo Spider,” he informed us, grinning. “Finest sports car ever made. Bought new in 1932.” He slid behind the wheel, and Orion, the demon-possessed dog, jumped into the passenger seat. That was a little creepy since I hadn’t even noticed him being there. “Get in, get in!” Marsden said impatiently.
“It only has two seats,” I pointed out, and Orion’s bulk pretty much filled his.
“We’ll all fit,” Marsden said with the confidence of a man who was already seated.
“You think we can outrun them?” I asked skeptically as Pritkin and I tried to squeeze two bodies into a negative amount of space.
“I know we can!” Marsden yelled, starting the engine.
And then the garage shuddered, and the door opened on a dozen mages all trying to fit through at once. Pritkin mumbled something, and I glimpsed several of them being plucked off their feet by vines as big around as my leg. But it didn’t matter because the rest came for us even as we started moving—straight at the garage wall.
“Marsden!” I screamed, but he just floored it. And the old car jumped ahead with a growl that shook the frame, leaping straight for the very solid-looking brick wall.
But instead of hitting brick, we sailed straight into the middle of a pulsing beam of white light. It was blindingly bright, shedding a killing radiance that made the sunny day look dark by comparison. The garage disappeared behind us, winking out of sight with a pop.
I slid into the seat, pushing devil dog onto the floor-boards between my legs. Pritkin found a perch behind me, his bottom on the trunk, his feet knotted into the seat belts to keep him from flying off. My eyes finally adjusted to the glow, allowing me to look out on a glimmering white landscape. Blazing but cold, it reflected diamond-brilliant off of the surface of the car.
We were in a ley line. But this one made the Chaco Canyon Line look like a backwoods road. I couldn’t even see an end to it on either side. But I could see dark shapes behind us, like tiny clouds obscuring the sun.
“You know, I think this is where I came in,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
“Don’t worry!” Marsden told me, flooring the gas pedal. “I won three world titles in this car!”
“Jonas is a former champion racer,” Pritkin explained.
“You race in the ley lines?”
“Used to. Gave it up a few years back.”
“You mean they made you quit,” Pritkin corrected.
“Why?” I asked fearfully.
“Jealousy,” Marsden said, hitting the dashboard. “Pure and simple.”
