Then another sound—the crack of Perun’s rifle. Stanton faltered, grunted. Emily felt one of his hands go limp and slack, and she slid down, her heart and stomach tumbling with the drop. Stanton had her by one hand.
There was a high whistling noise. The stringy silk floss of the Sini Mira devices fluttered around them, whisper-soft. The strands slapped against the side of the Cockatrice, hundreds of them, making a pitter-pat sound like rain. The silk tangled around wings, legs, tail … around Emily, around Rose, pulling them down …
Stanton was halfway out over the side of the passenger compartment now, his hands clutching at Emily’s skirt. He got two good handfuls and pulled up hard, his face wrenched with pain. Emily could see blood spreading over Stanton’s shirt, staining his breast red. Warm gory drops spun in the rushing wind, splattering against her face.
There was a screech of metal, and several jolting shocks. The sticky string was taut and glossy and shiny as twisted steel. The horses below scrambled for purchase, struggling to keep themselves from being lifted along with the Cockatrice.
With one large heave, Stanton managed to get Emily into the passenger compartment, dragging Rose behind her. The girl was limp, her face reddish-purple; she did not move.
“I’ll bust us loose!” Hembry, at the controls, felt around in the space under his feet. “Packed these just in case!” He pulled out a small crate that was packed with egg-shaped items cradled in wood shavings. The crate bore the familiar Baugh’s Patent Magicks logo on the side and an advertisement of the contents: Explosive Exterminating Egg. Extreme Mantic Potency Against Gophers, Moles, and Sundry Burrowing Vermin Guaranteed.
He pulled out one of the brass eggs and depressed a button on the top.
When Stanton saw what Hembry was holding, his eyes went wide.
“No!” he screamed, his hand scrambling for Hembry’s. “Don’t! No magic!”
But Hembry had already dropped the egg over the side.
“Emily, get down!” Stanton cried. But it was too late. The egg exploded with a white flash of light. The explosion corresponded with a sudden upward lurch of the Cockatrice as the bulk of the restraining ties were severed; the rest tore free with a twinging noise. But even as the Cockatrice was freed and began to gain altitude, the explosive magic that had freed it veered upward as well. A dense, pearly cloud of magical power buffeted the Cockatrice, and Emily’s hands, still bound by leather, were roughly seized by the force of the stone’s attraction to it.
Stanton wrapped his arms around her waist and braced his feet.
Her hands were drawn out of the open passenger compartment to meet the rush of luminescent magic. The flood of power corkscrewed into the stone like a twister in reverse, and her whole being glowed with such a dazzle of light and heat that she wondered if she wasn’t exploding right along with everything around her.
“Higher!” Stanton yelled at Hembry, straining to keep Emily from being pulled from him. His voice sounded strangely thin and distorted, as if her eardrums had ruptured. “Get us higher!”
The Cockatrice was flying straight up now, wings pumping powerfully. As they broke through the first layer of clouds, the flood of magic subsided, then finally broke off entirely with a loud snap. Emily tumbled backward.
Stanton was over her in an instant, holding her down. With one hand he pressed her wrists above her head; the other hand disappeared inside his coat for the misprision blade.
But moments passed. They stared into each other’s eyes, breathing hard. Emily’s body tingled as if it was full of bees, buzzing and stinging. Her hand ached and burned. But she did not become an Aberrancy.
“Damn it, Mr. Stanton,” she said finally, her voice a trembling whisper. “If it had happened, the Exunge would have gotten you, too.”
Stanton took his hand from inside his coat. He pushed himself off of her, throwing himself backward, cursing under his breath.
It was a while before Emily could sit up. Her shoulders ached, her head was splitting, and her hand felt as though it had been plunged into boiling water.
Stanton was watching her. He sat propped against one of the passenger banquettes, a hand pressed over his bleeding shoulder. His cuff and sleeve were soaked brilliant red; his face was corpse pale. She put her hand over her mouth and willed herself not to cry.
“It’s all right, I think the bullet went clean through.” His voice was gentle, as if he was