Page 162 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

And almost immediately there’s less pain from Ambra, so much so that Delina hadn’t even noticed how much it consumed her entire being, until a little bit of it was gone.

“Now what?” Ambra says, pacing in front of them, her movements jerky. “We’re here, now what?”

“This floor, next wing, protected prison,” Gurlien recites. “Three demon traps, two displacement wards, and some flamethrowers.”

“And then we get out?” Ambra presses. “Then can we try to leave?”

Gurlien checks his stopwatch. “We have forty-two minutes.”

Delina twists the magic in her hands, and immediately has both Maison and Ambra’s undivided attention. “Can I use this to break the demon traps?”

“Oh yes,” Maison replies grimly.

“And you’re okay with her having that?” Ambra bursts out, as if that’s the pressing issue. “She could end all of us with that, and she’s just casually carrying it around.”

Maison faces her, squaring his shoulders again, and it’s easier for him to do so with less pressure from his knee. “That’s the point, self-defense.”

“What the fuck,” Ambra states, and for a moment Delina almost wants to laugh, at how normal and colloquial it is. “You’re insane, all of you are insane.”

“That’s rich,” Gurlien mutters, and his hand is shaking against the gun. “Let's go on, we need to break those traps.”

They get mostof the way down the carpeted hallway, the dust motes hanging in the air, before Chloe and Maison freeze and Ambra backpedals, almost thumping into Gurlien.

Delina stills herself, waiting in the quiet air, before knives slam out of one side of the corridor, imbedding into the wall on the other side, hilt deep into the Sheetrock.

If they hadn’t stopped, it would’ve shredded through all of them.

“I take it you missed that trap,” Gurlien asks, and Chloe nods, pale, before she walks up to one of the knives, poking it with her thumb. “Great.”

Bracing herself, Chloe yanks one of the knives from the wall, and grey dust powders through the air, before she flips it in herhands. “They’re not spelled, just normal knives. Anyone want one?”

“No,” Ambra says flatly, but Gurlien takes one anyways, holding it next to the gun. “They won’t do anything against a shield.”

“Not everyone here has a shield,” Gurlien snips back. “Not everyone here can explode things on command.”

She narrows her eyes at him, before resuming down the hall, until she stops at a glowing demon trap, toeing around the edge.

Without even a word, Chloe steps up, and the air above it shimmers.

“There are more demons beneath us,” Ambra says. “Not sure your claim on the Necromancer will be enough to stop them.”

Delina shivers, and Ambra gives her a wide grin, showing all her teeth.

“You’re going to release those ones if you’re not careful about which protections you tear down, alchemist,” Ambra says, and her voice lilts up, like she can’t decide if she’s taunting them or if she’s warning them. “Some of those down there shouldn’t see the light of day.”

“Noted,” Chloe says, concentrating hard on the circle, and after the locking pits and the splint, Delina can taste her exhaustion, taste her pounding headache. “This is a complicated one, please don’t talk to me.”

Back down the hall, with the slagged brick blocking the way, the sound of chipping at stone clinks through the air.

They’re trying to come behind them.

“How good are you at defense?” Delina asks Ambra, who almost startles at someone else starting the conversation. “We might need more shields, might need someone else to cover our back.”

“They can’t attack us if they’re dead,” she replies simply, which isn’t better. “Unless they—” she jerks a finger under the leash, demonstrating it, “—then they can’t stop me.”

“So we stop them from pulling on your invisible leash, got it,” Gurlien says sarcastically. “Good, actionable goal.”

Instead of responding to the sarcasm, Ambra just blinks up at him. “You can’t see it?”

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