Page 53 of Us in Ruins
Margot wasn’t going to wait here to get smashed to smithereens. She hauled the doors open, but waiting on the other side was Enzo.
The boy staggered back a few steps at the sight of the sentient statues. His resolve, however, resolidified the moment his gaze settled on Margot, judging by the way his jaw clenched tight. His hand still clutched the faux shard.
Sandwiched between a small militia of angry statues and Enzo, they didn’t have the greatest odds.
“I have a plan,” she said quietly. Stumbling backward, her eyes locked on Enzo as he, too, sized up the statues. Margot’s back pressed against Van’s as their opponents circled. “It’s your plan, kind of.”
“My plan was don’t get caught, and clearly that’s no longer viable.”
“Fair,” Margot leveled. With her voice low enough only Van could hear, she said, “But we could still divide and conquer. Make them look somewhere else. Then, we make a break for it.”
“Deal.” And, then, he was off.
Van went right, while Margot darted left. The statues split up as well. Half tailed Van, while the rest homed in on Margot. Enzo joined them, his stare bloodthirsty.
Augustus slashed his marble sword, and it made contact with the pedestal Margot crouched behind. Stone crumbled, the dust sifting onto her hair, her cheeks, her hands. She tucked and rolled, narrowly missing another strike.
All she had to do was split them up long enough for her and Van to escape.
Margot wove between two sculptures and jetted across the room, huddling behind a full-body depiction of Juno. At least the stone goddess of marriage wasn’t going to maim her. Worst she’d get was turned into a swan. Enzo got roped into a sparring match with one of the later rulers—Hadrian, maybe?—and it gave her just enough time to catch her breath.
A sickening crunch jolted Margot onto her feet. The sound of bone against marble.
By the looks of the way Van cradled his fingers, he’d tried to punch Emperor Trajan. To little avail. Although now didn’t seem like the best time for criticism. Scarlet stained his knuckles.
The stern-faced statue didn’t care. It raised its sword to strike again.
Margot shouted, “Watch out!”
Her hesitation was all Enzo needed for his hand to latch on to the handle of Margot’s backpack. He jerked her back, and her arms slipped through the straps.
“Get off of me!” Margot yelped. She hooked her elbow, catching the strap with her arm. But it didn’t matter. Enzo sliced his silver blade through the fabric and tore the backpack out of her grasp.
Slinging the remaining strap over his shoulder, Enzo tried to make a break for it. The operative word being try. Van lashed out, wrestling him to the ground before he could get very far.
Enzo landed an elbow to Van’s sternum, knocking the air out of his lungs, and Van rolled off, clutching his chest.
Margot couldn’t get onto her feet fast enough. Enzo nudged open one of the windows and dove through. The metal grates of the fire escape rattled beneath his feet.
Scrambling after him, Margot hoisted a leg over the windowsill. No way was he getting away with this.
But then, behind her, Van let out a strangled cry. Margot whipped around, panic flooding her system. Blood, deep red, pooled against the cotton-polyester blend of Van’s T-shirt, right across his bicep. The statue of Augustus still had his sword extended as Van thudded to his knees.
His name parted her lips. She expected Augustus to take a ruthless swing, but it didn’t come. The statue—every statue—froze. Their uncanny movements ceased entirely.
Margot was by Van’s side in an instant. “Are you okay?”
Van peeled his hand away from his arm. Gravel slipped through his fingers as he huffed out a shocked breath, his green eyes wide on hers. The sleeve was still stained crimson, but as Margot slid her palm across the dampness, searching for an injury, her hand only met cool, hard marble. Beneath the blood, which crusted into gravel under her fingers, his skin had turned to stone.
The bathroom at Mia Bella’s was as pink as the rest of it. Van did not look particularly comfortable on the closed toilet seat, despite the fact it wore a fuzzy shag cover, but there wasn’t exactly a better triage room at their disposal.
Margot propped the fossil of a first aid kit she’d found under the sink on a baby-changing table. “You could have told me sooner,” she said through clenched teeth as she tore open a plastic-wrapped bottle of antiseptic and placed it next to a brown jug of hydrogen peroxide. How did she even treat something like this?
Where there should have been an open wound, there was a marble-white gash carved into Van’s arm beneath the rolled sleeve of his T-shirt.
“Tell you what?” Van eyed her like she’d grown a second head, or maybe a third. “I didn’t know the statues were connected to the Vase. At least, not until it was too late.”
Right. Because Van had gotten stabbed. With a sword. And then his blood dried up into rubble. As if it had never existed in the first place.