“Don’t let them get away!” the girl shouts behind us, but her voice is already fading as she turns the opposite direction. A few of the guards follow her, but most—and the dragons—are still on our trail. Unlucky, but all we have to do is get out of this house, out onto the street, out into the crowd, where we can disappear. Easy.

I have no idea where we are. Every hallway in this giant house looks the same to me, and I’m just choosing turns at random. The dragons are practically snapping at our heels now, and even though I know they don’t breathe fire, their breath has a strange chemical smell. It’s amazing it doesn’t throw off their ability to scent us.

But something else might.

We come to a long, grand staircase that descends at least two stories. I slip a little on the slick marble but manage to keep myself upright. Too desperate to be embarrassed, I dig a handful of smashed cake out of my apron pocket and sling it behind us, hitting one of the dragons in the nose. It stops abruptly to process the smell, and the other two crash into it, sending all three of them careening in a pile across the polished floor.

Isolde’s laugh at the ridiculous sight rings through the grand entrance, echoing off the stone and up the stairs. I miss one of the steps and she catches me, and I can’t help but laugh along. There are two doors ahead: one that could be the main entrance, which I definitely don’t want to go through, and a smaller, plainer one off on the side wall.

Praying for good luck, I stumble off the last step and lead Isolde across the slippery stone floor to the smaller door.

It’s unlocked. Better yet, it isn’t a broom closet. Fresh summer air sweeps into the house with the smell of bonfire smoke, and Isolde and I escape into the crowd.

We slow a little as people press in close around us, catching our breath. We don’t have to blend in perfectly, just to squish into the spaces the guards can’t fit. Where they can’t see.

“Why do you have cake in your pockets?” Isolde laughs, pulling me through a tight space between two people. I open my mouth to respond—

“There they are! Stop those girls!”

At the guard’s call, the crowd splits around us, leaving us vulnerable and exposed. We break into a run again, my boots catching on every uneven cobblestone, and Isolde’s pace growing ragged. Our fingers press into each other’s palms, digging in.

They’re behind us: the guard who called after us, her two companions, and a few other vigilantes who apparently have nothing better to do with their holiday.

We’re almost back to the bridge now. Maybe if we can make it to the other side...

I waste a precious second glancing behind us. They’re still back there, and I can’t tell if they’re gaining ground or losing it.