I threw myself down on the icy floor beside him and grabbed his face between my hands, brushing his weakly flailing arms away. I didn’t know what they’d done to him to make him so hysterical, but it must have been awful. He battered at my arms and head without strength, trying to rear away, but stopped by the unyielding stones of the cell.

“It really is me,” I said, my voice low and calm as I could manage as I held him, willing him to look at me, to hear me and believe me. I pushed on every compulsion I could think of, on every bit of persuasion and hope. “And I really am here to save you from this place. I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to take you back to Michael. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“No! No! You’re that. witch. That. monster! You can’t trick me anymore. I know Harper’s not coming.”

I thought fast and talked faster. “We met at an auction at the Ingstrom Shipwrights warehouse. You sold me a cabinet and a chair. We had dinner at Dan’s Beach House. I got arrested. You got mad. Do you remember that?”

Marsden hissed, “Get a move on!”

I ignored him and kept my attention on Will.

Will whipped his head back and forth in my grasp. He didn’t quite believe me, but there was a submerged gleam of hope in his eyes and his cold, shut-down aura flickered with a pale green and blue flame like a will-o’-the-wisp. I had to feed that hope or he’d never come willingly, and we couldn’t possibly carry him.

“On our next-to-last date you gave me a puzzle ball that used to be on a newel post in an old house,” I reminded him. I knew Alice wouldn’t have told him such things—she’d been hacked up in her jars by then. “The last time we met was at Endolyne Joe’s. We broke up because I’m not like you—because I’m broken and I see monsters.”

He sobbed for breath and collapsed into my arms, his head falling hard onto my chest. “I. saw them. I should have believed you.”

“It’s OK. You don’t have to believe any of it, but you do have to come with me. We’re taking you to Michael and you’ll be safe. Now get up and come with us. We have to go fast.”

“I can’t.”

“You’ll have to.”

He cringed tighter against me. I shot a look at Marsden and hoped he could figure out that I needed his help.

“I can’t walk,” Will cried.

Marsden came over to us, his neck bent so his hair covered his face. “They’ve cut the bottoms of his feet,” he muttered to me. “Done worse to his hands and arms. Bled him like a pig. We’ll have to support ’im. And we must go. I can hear something coming.”

CHAPTER 48

I could hear it when I concentrated: a storm of rapid footsteps from several directions and the wind-rush of leathery wings beating the air. Ignoring his fears and injuries, I hoisted Will up and supported his left shoulder with my right. Marsden took his other side. Will whimpered but did his best to move with us as we hauled him toward the door.

Marsden snatched at his cane just as it started to fall from the trap, and we burst out of the cell, into the stone-built corridor. And into another figure running toward us in the dimness. We jerked to a halt. The other person, obscured in shadows, skidded and stopped. Then he breathed, “Will!” and launched himself the last few feet into us.

“Michael!” I hissed. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to wait by the bikes! You could have been captured!” I wanted to yell at him, but that angry whisper was all I could risk. The stupid boy! If he’d have been caught.

Michael ignored me and wrapped his arms around his brother’s waist, not noticing the stench or bandages. “Will! Thank God. You’re all right?”

“Not in the least,” Marsden snapped. “Nor shall we be if we linger for family reunions. You got in so tidily, you lead us out of here, boy, and the faster the better.”

Startled by his rough tone, Michael backed off and spun around, jogging ahead. “C’mon! I couldn’t stand waiting for you. I found a tunnel from Hatton Garden—it’s faster than the sewer route.”

We went forward, hauling the emaciated and staggering Will between us as quickly as we could, but our speed was still only a bit better than a jog.

As we plunged into a section of unlit corridor that arched over the grumbling passage of the buried river, a whiff of its effluence leaking through the masonry, Marsden let out a chuckle. “Good thing we smell of sewer, girl,” he mumbled. “They’ll have a harder time following us with the odor of the Fleet below.”

Michael, ahead of us, didn’t hear, but Will did and he made a noise that might have been a cough—or not—and tried to move faster. Every step hurt him—I could see it in the bright red strobing of his energy corona—but he kept on and I saw the white gleam of his teeth as he bit into his lower lip.

“It’s just a few blocks,” I whispered to him. “Not far.”

He nodded in the dark.

We staggered through the murk—we didn’t dare to use the flashlight—with the sounds of pursuit growing closer by the moment. Michael stopped to glance back at us over and over, even though most of the route was too dark for him to see much but our shambling shapes. I began to feel the cold-hot press of blood rage and insanity far behind, like the blast from an explosion bearing down on us in slow motion.

“Harper!” Far away, I could hear Alice shriek my name like a swearword.

“Catching up,” Marsden muttered, voicing my fears.

Michael whipped around a corner and dashed a few feet ahead to a set of steel loops set in the wall. He scrambled up them and pushed the iron manhole cover aside with his back. We could hear it scrape across the road above, and the sound echoed into the tunnels below as if the earth itself had groaned. Behind us, the scrambling and rushing noises paused and changed direction, coming straight for us.

Marsden and I started shoving Will up the steps, using our backs as braces to support him as he tried to pull himself up. I heard a whimper of pain escape as he struggled upward, tangling his mangled feet in the loops and hauling with his injured hands. Michael whispered encouragement from above and, when he was close enough, grabbed his brother’s wrists and hauled steadily. Will’s weight eased off our shoulders and then vanished as he climbed clear of the hole.

“You next,” Marsden said. “I have some more tricks to hold ’em off while you get that infernal motorbike running. But don’t dawdle!”

I scrambled up the rungs and levered myself into the street. A dozen yards away, I saw Michael fussing with Will, who was leaning against a wall and sinking slowly. I ran to them and helped with Will’s helmet while Michael got the small motorcycle started.

Will tried to smile at me, but it was weak and faded away under tears, pain, and exhaustion. “What now?” he asked as I pushed him onto the bike behind his brother and grabbed the webbing straps we’d bought earlier.

“Now you go to the doctor. After that, Michael will take you someplace safe.”

Will was shaking as Michael pulled his arms around his own waist. I strapped the two men together and patted Michael’s helmet to let him know I was done. I hopped back as the small bike zoomed away.

From the open manhole came a flash and a roar. I swung my attention to the other motorcycle: It looked like Michael had borrowed one of the Italian bikes from his buddy, and I was grateful I wouldn’t have to remember the oddities of old British motorcycles as well as how to ride one at all.

The bright yellow bike roared on the first press of the starter. I threw my leg over, tucked my hair down my collar, and jammed the helmet on as I felt Marsden’s weight hit the back.

“Go!”

“Hold on!” I yelled back. As his arms locked around my waist, I kicked the bike off the center stand. It leapt forward and bit into the road with both tires, chirping as it bolted. Even over the engine, I heard something more of flesh and rage roar behind us with an eruption of wing beats and a howl of fury.