“We don’t have a minute!”

“Find a way to get us out of here and leave the prisoners to me!” I said, exasperated.

“The prisoners are the way out.” He gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, where half of the wildly swinging lights had now gone dark, and then his gaze shifted to the floor. “The upper levels are gone; we’ll have to go lower. And to do that, I’m going to need magic users—strong ones.”

“And then what?”

“And then we blast a hole through the floor. With the outer wards down, the only thing standing between us and the next level is a ton or so of rock.”

“And you can move that much in the next few minutes?”

“I can move that much in the next few seconds, with the right people.”

“Point them out to me.” We went down the corridor, pausing at each cell, Pritkin muttering under his breath about this one or that one. I got the impression from a few of his comments that most of the people I was releasing weren’t in Tremaine’s category. Pritkin was looking for power, not politics or moral persuasion. I only hoped he could control them.

“That should do it,” he finally said as I shifted out with the last one. Which was good, because I was about to have to tell him that no way could I do even one more jump. I was having trouble just focusing my eyes. Fortunately, Pritkin had something else to worry about. “We can’t do this and shield all of you as well,” he said.

“Clear this hallway and get everyone around the corner,” I told Tremaine, who jumped to obey. Damn, I could get used to this.

A couple minutes later, we were ready to make the attempt. I was crouched around the corner with most of the prisoners, while Pritkin’s crew positioned themselves at the end of the first passage. I’d assumed he was going to do a countdown or give some kind of warning, but I’d barely gotten into place when a massive explosion rocked the floor beneath our feet and brought half the ceiling tiles down on our heads. Somebody screamed and someone else cursed and I knew this was the end.

Only it wasn’t.

The rocks behind the ceiling tiles remained in place, the walls continued to bow but not break and there wasn’t even that much dust in the air. I peered cautiously around the corner, leaving sweat-smudged fingerprints on the concrete, expecting the worst. What I saw instead was a huge hole in the once solid floor.

Pritkin hopped up out of the hole, covered in red dust like an Indian in war paint. “Again,” he ordered. I drew my head back just as another huge explosion rent the air.

The reverberations from it hadn’t even worn away when a mass yell came from his group. “We’re through!” I heard someone say, and then I was hugging the wall to keep from being trampled as the crowd surged forward.

“Cassie!” Pritkin’s arm found my wrist and jerked me around the corner. “Hurry up! Even if Caleb succeeded, we’re running out of time!”

“Exactly what is he trying to do?” I asked, but didn’t get an answer.

Everyone was shoving and jostling, and those getting stepped on were screaming. Some of the tougher crowd were literally running over the older and weaker prisoners in their way. And that was a problem for more than one reason. Because the hole the mages had cut was big enough for only two, maybe three people at a time. And a logjam caused by line jumpers could block the whole thing.

Pritkin pulled a gun and fired a couple of shots at the remaining ceiling. “In order,” he barked.

Most people stopped and looked up, the terror fading from their eyes slightly at the sight of someone taking charge. But a big guy in the middle of the line wasn’t so docile. He had a red ponytail and beard stubble that almost matched his florid face.

“I helped cut that thing!” he told Pritkin. “I’m not waiting in line to see if I live long enough to use it!”

“Don’t,” Pritkin warned him. The man’s response was to throw a slighter man out of his way and start pushing forward, sending the crowd back into panic mode. And Pritkin shot him.

I didn’t even realize what had happened for a few seconds. Until the man stumbled and fell to one knee, a bright spot of color appearing on the tail of the white T-shirt he was wearing. Then he slowly toppled over onto his side.

“I said, in order,” Pritkin repeated calmly. The crowd quickly rearranged itself into a nice, straight line.

I stared at the fallen man, stunned. No one tried to help him, and a few people even stepped over him so as to not lose their place in line. I started to move forward, but a heavy hand fell on the nape of my neck.

“Shift out of here,” Pritkin told me. “Now.”

“I—I don’t know that I can make it quite that far,” I admitted. Unless the surface was a couple feet away.

Pritkin swore and jerked his head at Tremaine, who was already on his way toward us through the crowd. “Take her to the front of the line,” Pritkin told him, handing him a weapon. “Get her out of here. Shoot anyone who tries to stop you.”

“What?” I pushed a matted clump of hair out of my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going without—”

“I could stay,” Tremaine offered quietly.

“Did you not hear me, mage?” Pritkin’s voice didn’t get any higher, but Tremaine snapped back to attention.

“Yes, sir!” His hand clapped onto my shoulder and Pritkin let go.

I caught my crazy partner’s arm. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Pritkin hadn’t met my gaze since he’d hauled me out from around the corner, but he did now. His eyes looked strange, but maybe it was the lighting. “You’re one of the most adaptable people I’ve ever met. You’ll find your balance,” he told me apropos of absolutely nothing. I was starting to think he’d been hit in the head by a rock.

“Pritkin! What the hell?”

He didn’t answer, or if he did, I didn’t hear him. Because Tremaine was already pulling me through the crowd, gun in hand. No one tried to stop us.

“I’m not going!” I said as we reached the gaping pit in the floor. With its red, jagged rocks next to the pale concrete, it looked like a hungry mouth.

“The commander said—”

“I don’t care what the commander said!” I told him furiously. “I’m Pythia. Are you sworn to my service or not?”

Tremaine looked torn. War mages were required to swear an oath to obey the reigning Pythia. Of course, since the Circle didn’t recognize me as legitimate, that didn’t actually apply in my case. But he was in no position to know that. He pulled me aside and motioned for the people behind us to go ahead. Another three prisoners were swallowed up as he showed me his wrist.

“The time,” Tremaine hissed in my ear. I blinked at the dial of his watch. We had fourteen minutes before the wards on this level failed entirely.

I looked back at the line of remaining prisoners and did a few swift calculations. “We can do it. There should be enough time.”

“To get off this level, yes. But to get away?” His face remained impassive; I suppose to avoid panicking the crowd. But his eyes were anything but calm. “Everyone isn’t going to make it.”

“But . . . Pritkin—”

“The commander is staying behind to control the crowd. Otherwise, no one would get out.”

I looked up and met Pritkin’s eyes. He was watching me narrowly, and I knew that expression. It meant he was about two seconds from coming over, grabbing me and dropping me down the hole headfirst.

“Okay. Let’s go.” I didn’t give Tremaine time to say anything. I turned and, as soon as the people who had just entered dropped out of sight, I followed.

The hastily constructed tunnel dropped straight down for about eight feet but was navigable because of all the sharp, shattered rock lining the sides, providing both handholds and opportunities for sliced palms. I managed to make it to the small ledge at the bottom of the first tunnel with a minimum of blood loss, only to see another sloping downward at a steep forty-five-degree angle. I assumed that was where the second spell had hit.

I had to wait until the previous spelunkers cleared the way, and then took their place. A few seconds after I entered the second tunnel, I saw Caleb’s face peering up at me out of the dark. “About time,” he rumbled. I scrambled forward and took his hand.

He helped me out, but a rock slid under my foot, sending me stumbling into a bulbous green fender. Caleb set me on my feet, and I quickly moved out of the way so he could help the next person to exit. That turned out to be Tremaine, who joined me along the wall. For a moment, we stared at the very odd sight of a corridor filled as far as the eye could see with cars.

And not any old cars. I didn’t know the names of most of them, but a couple Bentleys and a silver Rolls-Royce sparkled under the emergency lights not too far away. Buttery leather, gleaming chrome and a rainbow of custom colors marched away from us in a long line.

“What is this?” Tremaine asked softly.

“Our way out,” Caleb threw over his shoulder. “The Consul generously donated her antique car collection when I pointed out that having convicts drive it out of here was the only way to save it.”

“But I thought MAGIC’s garage was on the surface,” I said. I clearly remembered stealing a car from there once.

“Yeah, for your common Porsches, Jaguars or Ferraris,” Caleb said sardonically. “The junk they keep around for the servants. Apparently, it isn’t good enough for Her Highness.”

“Lucky for us,” Tremaine murmured. He looked at me. “We need to get you a place in one of the cars.”

“The vampire Raphael is holding one for her in the black Bentley,” Caleb told him. “Better hurry. They’re starting to move out now.” And sure enough, I could hear the growl of powerful engines starting up from the front of the line and smell the exhaust of unfiltered emissions permeating the air.

“Which car are you taking?” I asked Caleb.