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The thought sends a fresh bolt of terror through me.

Empress!Memnon’s voice is demanding and laced with panic.

I’m busy.I force the message down that river between us.

What is going on?he demands.

Ignoring Memnon, I turn from the rising witches and face the magical wall. It’s violet hued and semitransparent.

I kick at it with my heel. It doesn’t budge.

I draw on more magic, my limbs shaking from exertion. I try to pull it from the ground and into my flesh so I minimize taxing my own limited well of power.

The magic sifts into the soles of my feet, and when I start to hear witches banging on the barrier I erected, I coax the gathered power up my legs and down my arm.

A small pale orange ball of it bursts to life in my hand.

I throw it at the magical wall in front of me. The wall ripples, the violet sheen of it fading a little, but it holds.

At my back, the other witches are doing the same thing to my wall, pummeling it with spell after spell. So far, it’s holding out better than the one in front of me, but there are many of them working on bringing it down.

I spare a glance at the shifter. Before, she’d been dazed but awake. Now she lies limp in my arms. I shake her a little, willing her to wake, but though her chest rises and falls, she remains unconscious.

Not good, not good, not good.

I draw on my magic in a panicked burst and slam it against the wall. The spell shifts, then reforms.

Another pull of magic, another throw.

Another ripple when it hits the wall.

Again and again I do this, ignoring the sounds of the spells hitting the wall at my back.

After one final hit of my power, the violet-hued barrier in front of me shatters. I nearly cry out in relief.

I haul the shifter back up into my arms, wincing at the pain in my shoulder as I stand and bear her weight. My injury has gone from burning to throbbing, and I can tell that once the adrenaline leaves my system, it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker.

At my back I hear my own protective wall cracking. That’s all the incentive I need to get moving.

I sprint once more down the hall. It curves, the candles burned down almost to their bases.

Okay, but where the hell is the exit?

Ahead of me, the corridor opens to a chamber full of shelves of what appear to be grimoires, judging by the hazy brown mixture of magic thickening the air.

The flagstones give way to more marble, and my feet slap across a solar image as I enter the chamber.

Almost immediately my head begins to pound at the conflicting magic.

I move to the far end of the room, where a set of stonelamassuguard a rounded archway. Beyond it looks to be another spiral staircase.

In the distance, I hear the pounding of footfalls.

Fuck.

Frantically, I look at the stone threshold protectors, an idea sparking. I move to the first step of the stairs, then turn back to look down at the statues that are part woman, part lion, part eagle.

“Lamassu,” I call to them, “I summon you to protect us. Let no one with wicked intent cross your threshold.”