“What is it?” Rachel asked, trying to see.
“Angel Squad, inbound.”
Molly’s comment was in obscure Cockney, defying translation.
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Oh, God. Please don’t tell me they’re expecting reinforcements from up time, too?”
“Well,” Skeeter scratched his ear, “scuttlebutt has it their captain was seen buying a ticket for some general of theirs who’s coming in for a Philosopher’s Gate tour. Wants to see the city where Ianira lived in subjugation to an evil male of the species.”
“Oh, God, Skeeter, I told you not to tell me they were bringing in reinforcements!”
“Sorry,” he grinned sheepishly.
Rachel scowled up at him and stood on tiptoe, trying to spot the onrushing Angels. Molly just thinned her lips and moved into a slightly aggressive stance, waiting for whatever might come next. Moving in a close-packed wedge, the Angel Squad drove through the waiting crowd on an unstoppable course, shoving and bullying their way through. One brief altercation ended with a tourist clutching at a bloodied nose while Angels burst past him on a course that would bring them out right about where Skeeter stood with Molly and Rachel. He braced for bad trouble for the second time in a quarter hour, wondering whether it might not be wiser to simply cut and run, taking himself, Molly, and Rachel out of their path, or whether he ought to stand his ground on general principles.
At that instant, an ear-splitting klaxon shattered the air.
Skeeter jerked his gaze around just in time to see it. Primary had opened wide enough to begin the transfer of out-bound tourists. Only they hadn’t gotten very far. A writhing, entangled mass of humanity crashed straight through Primary, inbound.