doors closed? If anything happened to them . . . I wheeze in a breath, tears stinging.
I can’t go there. I need to focus.
So I do.
On the growling warlord advancing toward me.
53
Slate
Please, God. Please.
I’ll do anything.
Fucking anything.
Stop thieving.
Stop swearing.
Give up drinking and madeleines.
Give up everything I own.
Go back to living off scraps and handouts.
Just keep Bastian and Cadence safe.
54
Cadence
Think, Cadence. Think. Where can you get a weapon? If the Humanities building and temple are locked, then so will—
The answer slams into me so hard I almost trip on my own feet. I twist around, recover my balance, and sprint toward the Beaux-Arts edifice, toward the shattered veranda. I only glance over my shoulder once my boots crunch on more than icy snow. I grab a shard of glass and hurl it at the giant who’s closing in on me.
He blocks the missile with his shield. The glass explodes against it without even leaving a dent.
Wood. I need wood. Or metal. Something harder than glass.
I look around the trampled snow, but nothing remotely useful jumps out at me.
And then Ares is three paces away. If I don’t haul ass, he’s going to crush me.
I spin and run, the blood pounding in time with my footfalls.
I know this building.
I know every nook and cranny.
Every object inside.
I know there’s something I’ll be able to use.
I hang tight to this confidence that’s keeping me from stopping and surrendering.
I will win this. Just like the others did.
I can do this.
The walls and columns swim in and out of focus as I streak past them. The art displays blur. The lines of text on Marianne’s scroll smudge into one long strip of ink. Slow footfalls ring out behind me, distant enough for me to slow my frantic race and glance backward. The warrior still doesn’t run. Maybe the impact of his boots against the ground would make him crumble. Whatever the reason for his unhurried pace, I am freaking thankful. I wouldn’t have stood a chance if he’d moved any quicker.
Although I keep his hulking figure in the corner of my eye, I scan the dark hallway for something . . . anything. The sheen of a marble bust makes me lurch toward it and haul it off its pedestal. The weight drags my arms down, making me stagger forward.
I grit my teeth, plant my feet wide, and heave the bust up. My elbows scream as I raise it like a tennis racket. Sweat running down the sides of my face, I wait for Maman’s god to come closer, wishing she’d been into miniatures instead of larger-than-life men.
When he’s too close for comfort, hopefully close enough for me to reach, I twirl, creating the momentum I desperately need considering how my arms shake. When I spin back, I let the bust fly. It hits him, but nowhere near the place I was aiming for.
It crashes into his ankle, which immobilizes the giant. His huge, pinkish-brown head bows to stare at what I’ve done, which is blow off his foot. He sways, but before he can tip over, which would’ve been quite ideal, he releases his broken sword and drapes a massive arm around one of the columns holding up the vaulted ceiling. The clay hilt, that had once held a long blade, shatters into chunks at his remaining sandaled foot.
The building shakes, and flecks of sky-colored plaster drizzle down. And then larger pieces, one so big it bears the entire body of a cherub, halo, cloud, and all.
If the roof caves in, he might die, but so will I.
He releases an indignant rumble that makes the marble tremble underfoot. I lock my knees, but when the shaking gets too violent, I lurch toward another column and hug it.
As the plexiglass case filled with kindling falls with a jarring crunch, I map out all the exits: the broken veranda, the emergency fire door at the end of the East hallway, the window behind the suit of armor. It hasn’t blown out but with a punch of the sword—
The sword!
I pitch myself toward the armor, slamming into it so violently I go down with it. As I land, my eyeballs feel like they touch the back of my skull. Body rattling, I pry the sword loose before flipping onto my backside and scuttling like a cockroach, scanning the hall for any changes, but the giant’s still cuddling the column.
Thank freaking all that is magical that my bust blasted his foot off.
I straighten, feeling braver now that I’m armed