Flies past Harry and Michael

And we did, hurrying down the tunnel to the location of the original Way. I took a deep breath and steadied myself for what I hoped would be the last serious effort of the day.
“Michael,” I said.
“Yes?”
“I figure Nicodemus had Lasciel and Ascher as his backup Way home,” I said. Ascher had been throwing Hellfire around. With a couple of weeks’ training from a good teacher, say a Fallen angel who could provide her with images and communicate directly in thought, she might have enough talent to learn how to manage a Way—but probably not from inside several hundred tons of molten rock. “Maybe the Genoskwa could have done it. But they’re out. That leaves one way for him to get back.”
Michael grunted and drew his sword, and Grey frowned and looked warier than he had a moment before.
“We’re not in much shape for a fight, Harry,” Michael said.
“Neither is he,” I said. “Eyes open. Get through the Way as quick as we can, and I’ll zip it closed behind us. Nick can find his own way home.” Then I focused my will, drew a line in the air with my staff and said, “Aparturum.”
Once more, a line of light split the air and widened, and from where I stood, I could see the inside of the vault back at Marcone’s bank.
I leaned heavily on my staff, and felt fairly proud of myself for not falling over and going to sleep right there.
“Michael,” I said. “Go.”
Michael drew his sword and went through first, his eyes wary for any danger.
“Anna,” I said.
Valmont went through, still carrying her backpack, I noted. It was one of the identical ones that Nicodemus had provided for everyone and that I had ignored. Grey had used a duplicate as his decoy, back at the amphitheater.
“My God,” Grey said, looking at me. “You didn’t get any loot? How the hell are you going to pay me?”
“Think of something,” I said.
Grey smirked. “I know we’re in a hurry, but there’s something you need to realize.”
“What?”
“No one got Binder’s share,” he said. “We’re all worn pretty ragged—and he’s got an army of demons he can jump us with. Food for thought.” Then he went through the Way.
“Oh,” I said. “Crap.”
I just wanted to go have a nice lie-down somewhere. Why was nothing ever simple?
I stepped through the Way and back into the mortal world, and almost instantly I felt better, lighter, more free. Gravity change. I wrenched my head back into the moment, because I had to focus. Nicodemus might be rushing the Way even now—as might a few million furious shades. I didn’t think Hades would allow his prisoners to come flooding into the mortal world, but on the other hand, you never know with those types.
At least wrecking the weaving of a spell was easier work than creating it.
“Michael,” I said. “Cover me.”
He came to my side, Sword in hand. I turned to the Way, tired to my bones, lifted my staff and muttered, “Disperd—”
And a black shadow hurtled through the Way, hitting me like a truck.
I was watching for trouble and ready. Michael was ready. Either we were both wearier than we realized, or the shadow moved with such speed that neither of us had a chance to react. Or both.
The impact spun me around in a circle and dumped me on the ground with my everything hurting and my elbows tangled with my scapulae.
I jerked my head up blearily, raising my arms in a defensive gesture, to see that the streak of shadow had whooshed to the far end of Marcone’s vault, to its main door.
Nicodemus rose up out of the swirl of shadow. He looked pale and awful, his eyes sunken with pain, but he held himself straight. His sword was sheathed again, and he still carried the Holy Grail negligently in one hand. Moving with obvious stiffness and pain, he twisted a handle that opened the main door of the vault from the inside. The door swung open when he pushed.


Skin Game Chapter 47, Page 399-401