Oblivion Heart by Nazri Noor

Author:Nazri Noor [Noor, Nazri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nazri Noor
Published: 2018-12-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

My sneakers squeaked as they skidded across the wooden floors of the Gallery’s hub. Mona bumped into me as she stumbled out of the Prism, then pulled on my arm, supporting me when I threatened to topple over.

I was still hurting from Royce’s assault. I knew Scions were forces to be reckoned with, but I never expected them to be so physically strong. My hand ran under my nose, clearing away the blood, my ears still ringing from the force of Mona’s terrible song. I hissed as I plucked out the earplugs, air and sound rushing right back, just in time for me to hear Mona’s soft, urgent whispers.

“Dust. We’ve got a problem.”

I looked around us, my hand tightening around the cold hilt of Vanitas’s blade, and I groaned. Remember when I mentioned that the red sector had guards come around every hour? Well. Guess what time it was?

Add to that the fact that Royce had summoned his own batch of Hands to respond to my presence. Oh, and there was also the possibility of him surviving the red sector. At any minute he could come bursting out of the Prism to punch me right in the back of the head. We were cornered. How’s that expression go again? Out of the frying pan, and into the churning, shrieking pit of hell itself?

I counted some seven or so Hands who at least looked fully prepared – probably the guards scheduled to patrol each of the Prism’s sectors. A couple of more sloppily dressed ones lingered among them, their hair sticking up in odd places, jackets thrown hastily over bed clothes.

“So,” I whispered back. “This might not be a good time to use your songs.”

Nor was it a good time for me to conjure the Dark Room, or to even throw fireballs, for that matter. Mona’s fracturing of the red Prism was bad enough. I didn’t want to think of the suffering Royce had to go through with its prisoners, or – oh, shit. Its prisoners. They were going to come out from behind us, too, out of the crystal.

But if we so much as attempted anything destructive, there was no telling of the apocalyptic chain reaction we could set off from just damaging the Gallery’s artifacts. I looked around wildly, studying the nearby display cases. A surgical strike, then. I could release one of the sentient artifacts, and –

“Don’t even think about it,” called out one of the Hands. Her eyes seemed to glow blue from where she stood, her hair in tight, beaded braids, the tips of her fingers crackling with white lightning. “You’ll be dead before you can break open even one of these cases.”

“Hah,” I scoffed, with way more courage than was even left in my body. “Fat chance. You guys need her alive, and you need me alive, too.”

They were bluffing. They had to be. If they so much as used an offensive spell, the entire Gallery would go up in an arcane inferno, like that massive nuke that Carver had triggered in our last battle against Thea.

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