Copper Ravens(48)

Recognition sparked in Vincenza’s eyes, and she slowly looked from the video screen to Max, then to me. Her face bloodless, she backed away in terror. “Elementals!” she shrieked, pointing at us. “Peacekeepers! Help me!”

Micah struck her hard enough to knock her out, then he clapped his hands on either side of my face. My world wavered, but I didn’t realize what he’d done until he did the same to Max—he’d glamoured us, which was probably the only way we were getting out of the Promenade alive.

“This way,” Micah said; then, his hand clasped in mine, we took off for the nearest exit, dodging other market patrons, and narrowly escaping a pair of bewildered Peacekeepers. When we reached the aisle that led to the main exit, my heart jumped into my throat.

Peacekeepers had formed a perimeter around the edge of the market and were slowly, methodically checking everyone’s paperwork.

“I need room to cast a portal,” Micah said. “If I do it in the open, we may bring back something extra.”

“Extra is bad? Bad like ‘so bad it’s good,’ or bad like raining terror?” I always make jokes when I’m nervous.

“The second,” Micah replied.

As my mind raced with images of Peacekeepers shooting up the Whispering Dell, Max grabbed a handful of my shirt and dragged me inside a tent. I caught Micah’s hand, and we found ourselves standing among about a million bolts of fabric. Not to mention people buying and selling fabric.

“We’re Elementals,” Max shouted. “Peacekeepers are coming. If you don’t want to get shot at, get out now.” They all stared back at Max, unsure if he was an Elemental or an asylum escapee, so he raised his hand and made the metal table twist into a pretzel.

“Out, now!” he bellowed.

As the Mundanes scrambled to safety, Micah reached inside his shirt and drew forth a portal, nearly identical to the one Max had used during our last escape. I heard Peacekeepers force their way into the tent, but I didn’t turn to look. Micah cast the return portal, and the three of us leapt through. It wasn’t until we’d rolled to a stop in the Otherworld, hitting every small stone and branch on the way, that I realized that Micah had glamoured Max to look like a girl.

“What?” Max demanded as I stifled a giggle. Then he looked down at his newly ample bosom, straining against his shirt.

“You frickin’ bastard,” he grumbled. “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Micah asked, brows arched and eyes wide. “I disguised you so you may live to fight another day.”

“You gave me tits!” Max shrieked, his voice squeaking.

“And?” Micah’s own glamour faded away, then he touched my forehead. The edges of my vision shimmered, and I knew I was myself again. “Is there a form you would have preferred?”

Micah fixed Max in his level gaze, and if I hadn’t been laughing so hard I’d have warned him to stop before Max—Maxine—punched him. As it was, Max was winding up for the hit. I was about to tell them both to cool it—I mean, we’d just seen Rana’s head on a pike—when we were interrupted by yet another shriek.

“It’s Mom!” I cried. The three of us ran toward the sound. We found Mom, hatchet once again in hand, catching her breath as she leaned against a tree trunk.

“Boggart,” Mom panted when she saw us. “The one you let live,” she added, with a nod toward me.

“Just the one?” Micah asked. Mom glared, but it was a logical question. Boggarts were annoying, but killing one was as simple as sneaking up and whacking it. Since they sleep for most of the day, you could exterminate a whole herd of the buggers in a single outing.

“Whoever cursed it against Max was not pleased by our binding it,” Mom replied. “The wee beastie’s not so wee any longer.”

“You attempted to bind a boggart?” Micah asked, but we didn’t have time to respond. As if it had heard its cue, the boggart, now the size of a midsized office building, crashed through the trees. Its crusty brown hide bore several slashes from Mom’s hatchet, but they hadn’t done much to slow it down. Its skin had to be a foot thick by now.

“What about the poppet?” I asked.

“It’s gone,” Mom replied.

“Oh.” We were so screwed.

The four of us dashed behind a hedge as the boggart crashed by, its huge, smelly feet narrowly avoiding squashing us into pancakes. At least its intelligence hadn’t seemed to increase with its size.

“Have you tried magic?” Micah asked.

“I’ve tried clouding its vision, making the ground beneath it soft, turning its feet to stone,” Mom listed, “but all for naught. It’s been rendered immune to my magic.”