Page 52 of Not Today, Satan
My brows crinkle, but I don’t slow. “Hoo boy, that’s some strong poison. Hang in there, Nate. Once we get to the other side of the bridge, we’ll find somewhere to hide so you can sleep this off. Okay?”
He doesn’t respond.
I give a weak but triumphant cry when I reach the top of the ladder. My muscles scream, and my legs shake beneath me. I steady myself against the railing, panting hard.
Nate says something else, but the feathers of my wings muffle the sound. Probably for the best after that cookie comment.
I hoist him higher and start across the bridge, his feet dragging behind me. His toes catch between the planks as we cross, and I have to keep stopping to yank him out. Memories of Ferus dragging me across a similar bridge to Lot Eleven surface before me and I blink them away. This isn’t the same thing. Ferus did that to humiliate me. I’m doing this to save Nate.
We’re almost at the other side of the bridge when Nate speaks again. His words are garbled, but his tone is urgent.
“What?” I snap. “I’m a little busy saving you at the moment.”
“Sjsfkwopwefkfw,” is what I understand from his mouth.
I sigh and spin so that his arms are still around my neck but we’re face-to-face.
He pants sharply, his breath hot against my face. “The exit, Devica. The door didn’t close behind you.”
Then he collapses against me.
XXIII.
I turn, and my eyes widen in horror.
The door to Lot Eight stands open, the bottom of it wedged in mud. That’s not the worst of it, though.
The Greedy spill out of the door, surprised cries bursting from their chapped lips. The sludge doesn’t slow them down. They’re up and over the ladder by the time I’ve dragged Nate to the end of the bridge. They use the railings to heave their bodies along, clambering across the bridge toward me.
I could try to outrun them, but Nate’s still literal dead weight on my back. My muscles throb, and I’m out of breath from the climb. There has to be some way to stop them.
Bracing Nate against the railing, I drop to my knees and inspect the bridge. The planks are held together by the same yellowing thread as the railings, looped and knotted around wooden posts at either end.
Beneath us, Lake Sanguis swirls, teeming with fins slicing in and out of the water. I shudder, grateful that I’d been too focused on hauling Nate to safety to notice our precarious position.
Kneeling in the muddy embankment, I yank one of the ropes, and the bridge sways. A shadeling tumbles into the red water below with a soft splash. The liquid bubbles as creatures swarm them, silencing their screams.
I gag and turn my head. Better them than me. Besides, the creatures will eventually return them to Lot Eight when they’re done playing.
Standing, I grab Nate and sling him over my back again before taking a deep breath and drawing my sword.
Here goes nothing.
I plant my feet into the mud and swing. The first rope is already thinning like Mr. Bellum’s hair, so my blade makes quick work of it. I hack at the bottom rope on the second post until it’s severed.
The shadelings waver but don’t fall. They stagger closer as I push my bangs off my forehead and wipe my brow.
Nate groans against my back. Shushing him, I hike him higher before sawing the third rope.
Two more to go. Then the shadelings will be the creatures’ problem instead of mine.
A shadeling ahead of the pack lets out a delighted shriek and reaches for the ruby on my finger.
“Oh no you don’t.” I stretch out my hand to push them away, and a ball of fire bursts from my palm, striking the shadeling in the chest. They scream and stumble into the others, knocking them over like naked, human dominoes.
I stare at my palm with wide eyes.Fireballs. That’s new.
The top rope shudders and snaps beneath my blade. The shadelings wobble on the uneven planks, their bodies slick with grime. Two fall onto their backs before sliding down the planks and dropping into the water below. The rest watch, frozen with fear. Some grab for the railing and howl, their eyes pleading.
