distinct click from inside the box. She yanked the stopper out the rest of the way too quickly, nearly splashing the herani over the rim and onto her fingers. Whining, she reached for the last bottle.
A hydraulic hiss sounded from below and a bell began to ring, and she heard the sound of water rushing through pipes. People began screaming. She pulled the last stopper out quickly, the herani already in the tube splattering onto the ceiling under her, smoking when it hit the wood.
She set the bottle down, hand shaking, and backed away toward the exit.
“Roulette!” Lisha, soaked, scrambled into the attic. “Oh, Divine Mother. Your foot—”
“I’m all right,” the raccoon gasped. “Are they—Did I—”
“Everyone’s wet. But they’re safe.” She wrapped her arms around the raccoon tightly. “You saved them.”
Roulette closed her eyes, embracing Lisha back and letting out a sob.
“Come on,” Lisha murmured against her ear. “Can you walk?”
She looked down at her foot. The torn claw had come off completely; looking at it made all the pain rush back. “I don’t know.”
Lisha helped Roulette back down the ladder, going down first, then carried the Procya out of the church in her arms.
The alarms still rang as they left the building with the last of the parishioners. Everyone was as soaked as Lisha; the rain inside the building was only now tapering off. She could smell the herani, but only faintly. Much of the crowd in the park for the protest rally had gathered facing the church, staring in confusion.
The priest, who looked like he was in shock, came over to Roulette and Lisha. “You two are the ones responsible for this?”
“We’re— she’s —responsible for saving your lives,” Lisha growled, setting the raccoon down gingerly. She kept her hand on Roulette’s shoulder.
“She’s telling the truth,” the human who’d gone after Roulette spoke up. “I saw the acid.”
Hesitant murmurs rippled through the crowd. The bells had stopped now, but people were running toward them. Protesters. Both Gregir and Tiran. And flashes of the Guard’s signature red uniform down the street.
The man who’d spoken said to Roulette, “You’re okay? You didn’t get any of that stuff splashed on you?”
“No,” she said hoarsely. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Thank you. ” He gave the priest a very hard stare.
“Roulette!” Gregir called. “What in all the green—” He stopped, the connection he was making visible in his eyes. “It was here? ”
Tiran’s brow furrowed, and he ran his hand through his headfur without saying anything.
The congregation burst into conversation, with themselves, with the priest, with anyone but Lisha and Roulette—at least at first. Over the course of a minute or so, several of them came over and murmured thank you , sounding acutely self-conscious as they did so. Roulette smiled stiffly to each of them, but looked past them. She didn’t want to meet their eyes.
“Excuse us,” several of the Guardsmen were saying, approaching quickly now.
The priest approached them again, taking a deep breath. “If what Bryan has said is correct”—the affronted man glared once more—“then we owe you both a grave apology and very deep thanks.”
“I’m sure anyone here would have done the same for us.”
Lisha snorted. Roulette elbowed her.
“I do truly hope you’re right. What’s your name?”
Roulette hesitated a moment. Even though it wasn’t her religion, she felt awkward giving him her nickname. “Alizabel.”
Lisha looked down in surprise, but didn’t say anything.
“Alizabel, I understand you made—you made a very serious accusation about who was behind this, and I confess it doesn’t make much sense to me.”
She looked up. “Father—uh, that’s the right term here, isn’t it?”
He smiled and gave her a nod. She became aware of one of the three Guardsmen, a Rilima, moving to stand by the priest; he gave her a nod as well.
A hydraulic hiss sounded from below and a bell began to ring, and she heard the sound of water rushing through pipes. People began screaming. She pulled the last stopper out quickly, the herani already in the tube splattering onto the ceiling under her, smoking when it hit the wood.
She set the bottle down, hand shaking, and backed away toward the exit.
“Roulette!” Lisha, soaked, scrambled into the attic. “Oh, Divine Mother. Your foot—”
“I’m all right,” the raccoon gasped. “Are they—Did I—”
“Everyone’s wet. But they’re safe.” She wrapped her arms around the raccoon tightly. “You saved them.”
Roulette closed her eyes, embracing Lisha back and letting out a sob.
“Come on,” Lisha murmured against her ear. “Can you walk?”
She looked down at her foot. The torn claw had come off completely; looking at it made all the pain rush back. “I don’t know.”
Lisha helped Roulette back down the ladder, going down first, then carried the Procya out of the church in her arms.
The alarms still rang as they left the building with the last of the parishioners. Everyone was as soaked as Lisha; the rain inside the building was only now tapering off. She could smell the herani, but only faintly. Much of the crowd in the park for the protest rally had gathered facing the church, staring in confusion.
The priest, who looked like he was in shock, came over to Roulette and Lisha. “You two are the ones responsible for this?”
“We’re— she’s —responsible for saving your lives,” Lisha growled, setting the raccoon down gingerly. She kept her hand on Roulette’s shoulder.
“She’s telling the truth,” the human who’d gone after Roulette spoke up. “I saw the acid.”
Hesitant murmurs rippled through the crowd. The bells had stopped now, but people were running toward them. Protesters. Both Gregir and Tiran. And flashes of the Guard’s signature red uniform down the street.
The man who’d spoken said to Roulette, “You’re okay? You didn’t get any of that stuff splashed on you?”
“No,” she said hoarsely. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Thank you. ” He gave the priest a very hard stare.
“Roulette!” Gregir called. “What in all the green—” He stopped, the connection he was making visible in his eyes. “It was here? ”
Tiran’s brow furrowed, and he ran his hand through his headfur without saying anything.
The congregation burst into conversation, with themselves, with the priest, with anyone but Lisha and Roulette—at least at first. Over the course of a minute or so, several of them came over and murmured thank you , sounding acutely self-conscious as they did so. Roulette smiled stiffly to each of them, but looked past them. She didn’t want to meet their eyes.
“Excuse us,” several of the Guardsmen were saying, approaching quickly now.
The priest approached them again, taking a deep breath. “If what Bryan has said is correct”—the affronted man glared once more—“then we owe you both a grave apology and very deep thanks.”
“I’m sure anyone here would have done the same for us.”
Lisha snorted. Roulette elbowed her.
“I do truly hope you’re right. What’s your name?”
Roulette hesitated a moment. Even though it wasn’t her religion, she felt awkward giving him her nickname. “Alizabel.”
Lisha looked down in surprise, but didn’t say anything.
“Alizabel, I understand you made—you made a very serious accusation about who was behind this, and I confess it doesn’t make much sense to me.”
She looked up. “Father—uh, that’s the right term here, isn’t it?”
He smiled and gave her a nod. She became aware of one of the three Guardsmen, a Rilima, moving to stand by the priest; he gave her a nod as well.
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