“Book club,” I said, which triggered another coughing fit. When I could speak again, I added, “I think we got the date wrong.”

“Right.” He backed away.

As soon as he was out of sight, I wrapped both hands around Excalibur’s healing scabbard. Lena doled out healing potion to the rest of our company. Tear gas still permeated our clothes and hair, but this should help the worst of the damage.

I twisted to get one of the books I kept on hand for emergencies. We’d dealt with most of the magic-dampening, but the prisoners could still be carrying active tracking chips. Between the devourer and creating our escape, I’d redlined my magic, but I needed to create one more spell before I could rest. Thankfully, this one was basic libriomancy.

“This way.” Lena had begun to shed her armor. Chunks of wood and bark fell away, while the rest reabsorbed into her skin. Behind her, she left a path of woodchips leading to the double doors at the end of the hall.

We emerged into a small staff parking lot. I waited until we reached the sidewalk and got a few blocks away before activating the book’s magic.

The electromagnetic pulse was invisible to the eye, but it should have fried every piece of advanced electronics within five hundred yards, including those tracking chips. Hopefully I hadn’t blacked out the school or cooked the circuitry in the cars in the process, but I didn’t have the time or energy to worry about that.

“Where are we?” asked Lena.

“Washington D.C. More or less. We should probably call a cab.” I counted our new companions. “Several cabs.”

“No cab’s going to let us in,” said a slender man whose rough, bumpy skin gave the impression of scales. “Not looking and smelling like this. They’ll either shoot us on the spot or call the cops.”

Deb pointed to a convenience store on the corner. “Let me make a call.”

“Vanguard?” I guessed.

She didn’t answer.

I tested the communicator in my jaw as we walked, hoping the magic had survived the EMP. I was able to dial Nidhi, but she didn’t answer. Neither did Nicola.

Lena and two of the older prisoners herded the group to the parking lot behind the store, where we wouldn’t be quite so conspicuous. A stack of plastic milk crates stood next to the door. Two of the younger escapees had stripped off their jumpsuits and tossed them into a dumpster. Clad in nothing but plain white underwear and undershirts, they looked utterly miserable.

“What did they do to you?” I asked.

A mixed-blood vampire pushed up his sleeve to show me a grid of tiny pinprick scars. “Day one was the allergy test from hell.”