Stolen Fate by Linsey Hall Page A

beheading couldn’t end her. She glanced at him, and bolstered by the steel in his gaze, turned back to the room. They set off at a sprint, the shields raised against the blades, and she’d have sworn that Ian held back to stay by her.
    Swords and knives pried themselves off walls and shot through the air, pinging off the shields. She glanced around frantically, moving her shield to stop blades that hurtled from either side of the room. A dagger flew off the other wall and nailed Ian in the arm. Pain blossomed in her side and she reached for it. A slice across her abdomen wept blood.
    Dozens of blades shot around the room. She dove left and narrowly avoided a sword headed straight at her. Ian flung himself right to avoid another blade, and soon they were separated.
    As they limped over the barrier to the next room, she caught sight of the fallen, bloodied body of a demon that was just beginning to sublimate.
    “Are you okay?” Ian asked when they stood in the threshold. His shield had half a dozen blades sticking out of it. Hers had more. The flying blades behind them clattered to the floor. A second later, the weapons returned to their original places on the wall and in display cabinets.
    She peered down at her stomach and pulled the blood-and-water-soaked fabric away from her skin. The gash stung like a bitch, but it wasn’t fatal.  
    “Fine. You?” She frowned at his arm, which was now liberally covered in blood.  
    “Perfect. That demon’s corpse is no’ more than a few minutes old,” he said.
    She nodded. Soon it would sublimate entirely and the soul would return to its afterworld. “We need to hurry.”

    Ian paused beneath the arch to the next room and peered in, tensed and wary. They’d made it safely through the last room–stone weapons that could pack a hell of a punch—but this endeavor had gone to shite. His enchantments had gone mad in the ninety-odd years he’d been in prison. Like a forest left to grow wild, the magic had grown and mutated. It should have been a stroll through the museum. But not with the changes. And they were far worse than he’d expected.
    They hovered at the entrance of the Hall of Geology. Huge boulders lay like sleeping giants in the middle of the floor and smaller precious stones dotted the walls, pinned in their glass cases like flies. In the middle stood a statue of James Hutton, a Scotsman and the father of modern geology.
    The door to the basement was at the other end of the room.
    Ian looked at Fiona and nodded.  
    “Who are you and what is your purpose?” The statue bellowed.  
    The marble statue of James Hutton had awoken. Gleaming white hands were moving idly, swaying slightly, back and forth, the movement unnatural and eerie.  
    “I’m Ian MacKenzie,” Ian said, and hoped for the best. James Hutton should let him through and fight all others.
    “You are not he!” The statue’s roar echoed through the huge room.  
    Shite. Of fucking course.
    The great boulders crouched in the hall were moving as well, rolling back and forth as if they were trying to drum up momentum. They moved in sync with the statue’s hands. Dread carved a black pit in his stomach.  
    The statue waved its marble arm, a fluidity to the motion that belied its substance.
    A crack sounded and one of the huge boulders flew across the room, not rolling so much as hurtling through the air. Straight at them. Ian and Fiona dove away from each other, out of range of the boulder. The air whooshed as the boulder shot behind him. It crashed against the wall and fell still.
    Lungs bellowing, Ian surged to his feet as Fiona did the same. Another crack of sound and a great column of marble flew at them from the opposite side of the room. He dodged it by a foot, Fiona by less.
    “Run for the vault,” Ian yelled. He had no fucking clue what was going on.
    Speed was the only thing that could get them out of here. They had no way to fight the sheer power of the rocks. If just one caught them,