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“Layering spells isn’t easy under the best of terms,” Pritkin told him. “Which these are not!”
“What layering? Just move this thing!”
“Levitation spell—one,” Caleb said, holding a finger in front of his face. “Keeping the damned carpet stiff and level—two.” Another finger. “And now you want a propulsion spell, which is three, and which ain’t happening.”
Casanova stared from him to Pritkin and back again. “You mean, you threw us off the balcony and you didn’t have a plan for getting us down?”
“Someone once said, if you’re in a burning building, you jump out a window. You figure everything else out on the way to the ground.”
“It’s the ground I’m worried about!”
And I didn’t blame him. A drop like that was one of the few things that could kill a master vampire. But it wasn’t like we could go any lower. The red lightning balls seemed to have a range, and we had drifted too high for them to reach.
We’d also started moving forward a little, barely fast enough to ruffle my hair, although that would have been an improvement—if the guards hadn’t just switched to other spells. These looked different, with long tails and a wider dispersion; I guess because they were harder to aim at this distance. But the result was a sky full of what looked a lot like fireworks, red and pink and yellow and orange, and would have been really beautiful . . .
If we hadn’t been flying through the middle of them.
Casanova shrieked as another spell burned past, shedding yellow sparks that ate tiny holes in his robe before something Caleb muttered put them out. I was more worried about the shock waves from the explosions, which were rocking us every which way, like a boat on the high seas.
I’d just had the thought when another wave hit us, heavier than the rest, tipping the rug I was clinging to with both hands and a foot by at least thirty percent. I slid to the edge, and for a second, I stared straight down at a city full of deep blue shadows and orange lantern-light and exploding spells and streets full of people staring back at us. But I didn’t scream.
Because there was one thing, at least, that I wasn’t seeing.
“Why aren’t the incubi coming after us?” I gasped as Pritkin grabbed me and the rug wobbled back into place. “They can reach us no matter how high we are!”
“Yeah, except that we shot one a few minutes ago,” Caleb reminded me, the light from a passing bolt staining his face gold.
“With what?” Pritkin demanded.
Caleb held up the little silver gun I’d given him.
Which is when Pritkin started cursing.
“We didn’t kill anybody,” I said. “Which is more than they’re trying to do to us!”
“There are many among the lords who would gladly see me dead,” Pritkin said, reaching over and snatching his gun back. “But they aren’t going to attack me—or those under my protection—right in front of my father. Unless you two give them a perfect reason by shooting at them!”
“It was only one,” Caleb said diffidently.
“You’re as bad as she is!”
“Why do they want you dead?” I demanded. “You’re Rosier’s heir—”
“And as such stand between them and power. I pushed everyone a step farther away from the throne the day I returned.”
“But if they can’t kill you in front of your father—”
“They can’t. At least not openly, although half the guards around here are in the pay of one faction or another. But they’re not the main—”
“Augghhh!” That was Casanova, bloodstained face lit up by a ruddy spell, giving him a truly hellish look. Not that he needed the help right now. “Am I the only sane one here? Am I the only one who realizes this is not the time for a chat? I don’t care what you do or how you do it, but flying carpets are supposed to fly!”
“In the movies, maybe,” Caleb said. “But in case you didn’t notice, this is not in a movie. That”—he pointed at the glittering city, so far below us now—“is not CGI and you are going to get shoved off this rug if you don’t shut up and let us think!”
Only that didn’t seem to be going so well.
And that was before something rumbled the air around us like thunder. Only this place didn’t look like it got a lot of thunder. And I didn’t think thunder would put quite that exp
ression on Pritkin’s face.
