Solatium (Emanations, an urban fantasy series Book 2) by Becca Mills

lying on a jumble of dead rats, sewage, and what felt like rocks.
    “Andy?”
    He still had a death grip on my left hand. I jostled him with my knee, and he groaned.
    “Goddamn, that sucked.”
    Slowly, he lifted himself off me and looked around. “You okay?”
    “I think so. Is it gone?”
    “Yeah. Dunno how far it went, though.”
    He helped me sit up. There were chunks of masonry and soil all around us. I pulled my knees up and rested my forehead on them.
    “I’m sorry, Beth. I know that hurt you.”
    “S’okay. We’re alive. That’s what counts.”
    Then I remembered Zion. She was still sprawled on the ground, unmoving. Andy leaned over and put a hand on her.
    “She’ll be okay. She’s just drained.”
    He sounded sheepish.
    Nolanders could share their ability to work essence with one another through skin-to-skin contact, but once you let someone draw on you, it was really hard to shut down the flow. Zion didn’t have a lot of raw strength, and Andy had taken it all. She’d be unconscious for a few hours, then sick for a couple days, then weak for a few more days after that. She’d also be really, really pissed.
    “You’re going to be hearing about this for a while.”
    “Yeah.”
    He grimaced. Then chuckled. I started laughing. We sat there in the rats and sewage for more than a minute, laughing our asses off, giddy at not having died.
    “What was that thing?” I said when I’d regained some control over myself.
    “I have no idea, but god it was strong. Like a tractor beam. All I could’ve done on my own was slow it down for a few seconds. Thank god you were here, Beth.”
    “What would it have done if it had gotten through the barrier?”
    “Flattened us. Gravity-worker of some kind, I guess.”
    The dirt and cement all around us made more sense. The tunnel wall we’d been pressed up against had been pulled along with us, leaving a gaping hole.
    “Gravity-working … is that common?”
    “I’ve sure as hell never heard of it, but that’s definitely what it was doing.”
    For about the millionth time, I wished I were capable of sensing workings. I felt like a deer wandering through a jungle full of tigers with a bag over its head.
    Then again, maybe in this case it wasn’t such a bad thing. I had a feeling I’d missed the worst details of what had just happened: I hadn’t known how bad things were until it was all over. There’s something to be said for that.
    “Oh man,” Andy said, slowly standing up. “I’m gonna have the world’s worst backache.”
    He reached down for me. “Can you walk? We should probably get out of here. That thing might come back.” He glanced at the hole in the wall. “Or the tunnel might cave in.”
    I stood up, balancing unsteadily on the carpet of rats and debris.
    “Yeah, I’m okay. What about Zion?”
    Andy squatted down and heaved her over his shoulder. He straightened up with a pained groan.
    “Sonovabitch, that’s a load.”
    “I’ll be sure to tell her you said so.”
    “I’ll pay you not to.”
    He set off back down the tunnel, and I followed, smiling into my sleeve.
    It took forty minutes to find our way back to the manhole we’d used to access the sewers. Stupidly, we’d been relying on Zion’s tracking sense and hadn’t bothered to make a note of our turns. When we got there, Andy had to haul Zion up to the surface by rope while I inched up the ladder alongside her, keeping her head from lolling around and hitting things.
    All in all, it was a real drag.
    Once we were all up, I went to get the car while Andy stayed with Zion near the manhole — he could make a barrier or disguise that would keep them unseen, whereas I couldn’t do anything of the sort.
    Given the looks I got while walking to the parking garage, I sure wished I could pass unseen. And unsmelled. New Yorkers generally give off a powerful seen-everything vibe, but being coated from head to toe in mud, sewage, and rat guts was apparently beyond the