Sparks Fly: A Novel of the Light Dragons

by Katie MacAlister

  Drake Vireo: The wyvern of the green dragon sept, and a master thief. Drake has homes in London, Paris, and Budapest, and he divides his time amongst the three. Despite his black dragon father, he became a green dragon via his grandmother, who was a reeve (a special type of dragon with unusually pure bloodlines). He has two children with Aisling Grey, his mate.

  Effrijim (Jim): A demon sixth class who is bound to Aisling Grey. Jim’s preferred form is that of a Newfoundland dog, and he complains nonstop if he is forced into human form. Jim resides with Aisling and Drake, has a passionate love for an elderly Welsh corgi named Cecile, who lives in Paris, and greatly enjoys eating.

  First Dragon: The demigod who created the dragonkin, he can be summoned by means of the dragon heart, or in extremely rare cases, by those who have wielded the dragon heart. As befitting a god, it is not always clear whether his intentions are benevolent.

  Gabriel Tauhou: The wyvern of the silver dragon sept, and mate to May Northcott. As a silver dragon, Gabriel was cursed by Baltic to never have a mate born to him until a black dragon ruled his sept. Luckily, he found May, who, as a doppelganger, was created rather than born. Gabriel has houses in London and Australia, and he alternates his time between the two.

  Gareth Hunt: Ysolde’s former (bigamous) husband, and actual husband of Ruth Hunt. Gareth is an oracle. He has an apartment in Spain where Ruth and he used to live with Ysolde and her son, Brom.

  Dr. Kostich: The current head of the L’au-dela (Otherworld), as well as the head of the Magisters’ Guild. He is an archimage, and thus extremely powerful. He is the father of Violet, and the grandfather of Maura Lo. Ysolde de Bouchier was apprenticed to him for several decades before he threw her out of the Magisters’ Guild upon discovering she was a resurrected dragon.

  Konstantin (Kostya) Fekete: Named for Constantine Norka, his godfather, Kostya is the wyvern of the black dragon sept, and brother to Drake Vireo. Kostya stated before the weyr that he was accepting Cyrene Northcott as his mate, an event he later regretted.

  Maura Lo: Half-dragon Summoner, and granddaughter to Dr. Kostich, she is a part of an ouroboros dragon tribe under the leadership of Thala von Endres.

  Magoth: Former demon lord, he bound May to him at her creation, and he used her doppelganger abilities to acquire many precious objects. He was later thrown out of Abaddon (hell) and stripped of almost all of his powers. He did a stint in Hollywood during the early twentieth century, and he is still recognizable by the astute viewer as a famous silent movie heartthrob.

  May Northcott: Doppelganger and wyvern’s mate to Gabriel Tauhou. May is an identical twin to Cyrene, although she does not cast a shadow and has no reflection in a mirror. May was formerly bound to the demon lord Magoth, and later became his consort, but she was happily stripped of her title when Magoth was booted out of Abaddon. A shadow walker, May can slip out of the view of most people when she desires.

  Ouroboros dragons: Dragons who have been kicked out, or have voluntarily left, a dragon sept. Usually outlaws who are up to no good, ouroboros dragons form tribes, and they are not governed by laws of either the weyr or the L’au-dela.

  Ruth Hunt: Wife of Gareth Hunt, and a necromancer. Ruth is sister to Thala, although their relationship is somewhat distant.

  Savian Bartholomew: Thief-taker and tracker extraordinaire. Savian is the only person ever able to catch May Northcott when the L’au-dela put a price on her head. He later became a friend to both May and Gabriel, and occasionally does work for them.

  Thalassa (Thala) von Endres: Necromancer, dirge-singer, and former lieutenant to Baltic, Thala is the daughter of the famed archimage Antonia von Endres. It was Thala who resurrected Baltic almost forty years ago.

  Visions: Ysolde is prone to having visions of events in the past that her inner dragon feels are important for her to know. Since her memory was mostly destroyed by Gareth and Ruth, the visions provide her with a link to the past, and a connection with the present. Her visions can encompass other individuals, and sometimes they include events that happened before she was born.

  Wards: A drawn symbol of magic that has various effects, including binding, protection, clarity, etc. Many individuals can draw wards, but the most powerful are drawn by Guardians.

  Weyr: The collection of dragon septs. The wyvern of each sept can call a sárkány, a meeting of all the wyverns, to discuss weyr business. The weyr laws govern each sept, and the weyr has diplomatic relations with the L’au-dela.

  Wyvern: The leader of a dragon sept, a wyvern has one human parent and one dragon parent.

  Ysolde de Bouchier: Born to the silver dragon sept some five hundred years ago, she was raised as a human and was later claimed as a mate by both Constantine Norka and Baltic. She was subsequently killed during an attack on Dauva by Constantine. Resurrected almost immediately thereafter by the First Dragon, she spent the remaining centuries in a mental fog due to a nefarious plot by her bigamous husband, Gareth. She is subjected to fugues every six months where she transmutes lead into gold. Although she appears to be human, she has a dragon self who is dormant inside her psyche. She has one son, Brom, via Gareth, and she is the long-lost mate to Baltic.

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Katie MacAlister’s next Dark Ones novel,

  A Tale of Two Vampires

  Coming from Signet in September 2012

  Gretl and I moved down the center aisle of the GothFaire. “This place is wild. How did you hear about it, Gretl?” I asked.

  “An old friend of mine works here. I went to see if she was here, but her booth was closed. The Wiccan lady next to her told me that she was off shopping, though, and she should be back any time. What would you like to do while we wait for her?” Gretl stopped and looked around.

  I looked with her. The GothFaire was a traveling fair, with two rows of booths set up in a U shape and a large main tent standing at the bottom. Flyers rippling in the breeze proclaimed that two bands would be playing later in the evening, but a couple of magic shows were scheduled earlier. I glanced at my watch. “I’d love to see the magic acts, but those don’t start for an hour. How about we check out the palm reader? Or they have some sort of aura-photography thing. That might be fun. I wonder what sort of camera tricks they use to give people auras? Maybe I could examine their setup and figure it out.”

  Gretl laughed and nudged my hand, which was still holding my camera. “Trust you to want to see the photography booth.”

  “That’s why I’m here, after all,” I said lightly, gesturing down the length of the fair to where a booth with a giant eyeball was painted on a wooden sign.

  “You are here to recover from recent events in your life, nothing more,” Gretl said firmly, stopping me when I began to protest. “I would never be able to look your father in the face if he thought I made you work while you were staying with me. You relax. You rest. You get your feet under you again, and then you will return to the States and find yourself a new job—a better one, one that will not have an employer who tries to grope you.”

  “I could have handled Barry’s octopus hands if it had just been that, but when he found out I filed a sexual harassment charge, he cooked a few accounts to make it look like I messed up. Lying, despicable, boob-grabbing bastard.” I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I had two and a half long months to get over losing my job and my apartment in the same week. A new home shouldn’t be too hard to find, although this time, I’d make sure the owner of the building didn’t plan on selling it out from underneath all his tenants. “And photography is relaxing to me, Gretl. This is going to be the best summer I’ve had since . . . well, since the last time I spent the summer with you.”

  She laughed. “You were sixteen then. Much has changed in St. Andras in that time.”

  “It still seems to be the same cute little Austrian town to me.” I nodded over her head to where a ruined castle perched on a hill. “Picturesque as hell, and so charming I probably won’t want to go back home at the end of the summer, j
ust like I didn’t when I was sixteen. Have I told you that you’re the best cousin ever for inviting me to stay with you?”

  “Yes, and I have an ulterior motive, you know,” she answered, pushing me along the line of booths. “Now that Anna is married, I have the empty tree.”

  “Empty nest? Yes, I suppose you do. But it’s not like you don’t have a lot going on in your life, what with your yoga classes and that program for encouraging new artists that you were telling me about on the way here.”

  “Pfft. I am never too busy for family. Oh, look! Imogen is back. That is my old friend. I have known her for, oh, over thirty years. You will like her—she has a way about her that makes everyone very comfortable. Imogen!”

  Gretl hurried forward to where a tall, elegant woman with long curling blond hair was arranging bowls of small polished rocks on a black velvet tablecloth. I followed slowly in order to give Gretl time to greet her friend. The woman turned and Gretl checked for a moment.

  “Gretl? Can it be you?” The blonde started toward Gretl with a surprised but welcoming smile.

  “Yes, it is me,” my cousin answered, her voice sounding odd. “But you! You have not changed since the last time I saw you more than twelve years ago. How is this? What magical face cream are you using to look so young?”

  Imogen laughed, but the lines around her eyes were stark rather than happy. Her complexion was pale, normal for blondes, but it struck me that she was a little too pale, as if she was under a great strain. “It is nothing but genetics, I’m afraid. You, however, look as wonderful as you did when we last met! And you are a grandmother! It must be all those yoga classes about which you wrote to me.”

  The two ladies hugged, and I was pleased for Gretl’s sake to see genuine affection in her friend’s blue eyes.

  “I do not look even close to wonderful, but I am content as I am,” Gretl said as she released Imogen. “Now I must introduce to you my cousin from the States. Iolanthe, this is Imogen Dvorak. Iolanthe is staying with me for the summer.”

  We murmured pleasantries and shook hands. “You are being a tourist?” Imogen asked a few minutes later when she and Gretl had caught up on the most immediate of news. “Are you traveling around Austria, or staying here?”

  “A little of each. I’m using this break as kind of a working holiday,” I said, holding up my camera. “I’m trying to make a start in the photography world, so I’m poking around St. Andra looking for interesting locations. Luckily, there’s a lot to choose from here.”

  “There are many lovely sites in this region,” Imogen agreed.

  I eyed her. There was an air of fragility about her that intrigued me, and I wondered if there was any way I could capture that on film. She was certainly lovely enough to model, but a sense of tension seemed to wind around her, as if she was only just being kept from fracturing into a million pieces. It prompted me to ask, “Would you . . . This is going to sound awfully presumptuous, but would you be willing to let me take a few pictures of you? I can’t pay you, I’m afraid, but I’d be happy to give you copies of any of the prints you want.”

  Imogen looked startled for a moment before smiling. “How very sweet of you. It’s been . . . oh, so long I can’t even remember when someone has asked to take my photo. I would be delighted to, although we are only in St. Andra for four days before we move on to Salzburg.”

  “Well . . .” I glanced at the skyline. It was dusk, and a dark purple had started to creep across the sky from the inky black silhouette of the mountains. “I know you’re busy tonight with your pretty stone things—”

  “Rune stones,” she interrupted, touching with reverence a deep purple stone bearing an etched symbol on one side. “I have an affinity for them, although I do occasionally read palms as well.”

  “Ah. Rune stones. Interesting.”

  She flipped a long curl over her shoulder. “Right now Fran is doing palm reading because she and Benedikt are . . . er . . . helping. Benedikt is my brother,” she added, turning to Gretl. “Do you remember meeting him in Vienna that time we met in the 1990s?”

  Gretl’s round face lit up, a faint blush pinkening her cheeks. “Who could forget him? He was absolutely gorgeous. And he’s here?”

  “Yes, with Francesca. They were married a few months ago. You’ll like Fran—she’s very sweet, and she absolutely adores Benedikt, although she teases him mercilessly about the fact that women are prone to swooning over him.”

  “Wow. He must still be quite the looker,” I commented before steering the conversation back to where I wanted it. “I know you’re busy tonight, but perhaps I could shoot you tomorrow, if you are free.”

  “Benedikt is very handsome, yes,” Imogen answered, ignoring my attempts to steer her. “He resembles our father in that way.”

  The sense of tension in her increased, and I noticed she glanced over my shoulder, a flicker of pain passing across her face.

  “Your father must have been a very handsome man, then,” Gretl said with a dreamy look in her eyes that made me want to giggle. “I don’t believe you’ve ever mentioned him before.”

  “He died when I was twenty-two,” Imogen said swiftly, her gaze now on the stones that she stroked with long, sensitive fingers. “He was killed by his two half brothers.”

  “Oh, how horrible!” both Gretl and I said.

  “It was very tragic. He inherited our family home, and they coveted that, so they lured him into a forest one summer night and destroyed him.” She stopped, obviously hesitant to go on. “It is why I am here, as a matter of fact. The anniversary of his . . . death . . . is two days from now. I try to make a pilgrimage to the location he died whenever I can.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said as Gretl murmured sympathetic platitudes. “I should never have mentioned your father.”

  She sniffed back a few unshed tears. “No, no, I don’t mind talking about him. Before that horrible night, he was a good man, an excellent father, and I loved him very dearly.”

  “You must miss him terribly. I assume they caught his killers?”

  “They disappeared before they could be tried, unfortunately.”

  “That’s terrible. But I’m sure that wherever your father is, he knows how much you loved him.”

  She looked up at me, her eyes wide with surprise. “Wherever he is?”

  I gestured toward the sky. “You know, looking down on you.” I had no idea what religion, if any, she subscribed to, so I didn’t want to be too specific in my attempt to provide her with a little comfort.

  Imogen gave a delicate little shrug, returning her gaze to the stones. “Ah. Yes, I’m sure he does. At one time I had hope that Ben and I would find Nikola’s brothers, but we were unable to do so.”

  “Nikola is your father?” I couldn’t help but ask. I didn’t want to be nosy, but my curiosity got the better of me, and she honestly didn’t seem to mind talking about him, so long as we kept off the subject of his manner of death.

  “Yes.” She set down a stone she was stroking and looked up again at us, a little smile lighting her pure blue eyes. “Nikola Czerny, the fifth baron von Shey.”

  I blinked at her. “Your dad was a baron? A real baron? Does that make you anything?”

  She laughed aloud, patting my arm for a second. “Yes, it makes me a woman.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologized again, blushing a little at the stupidity that had emerged from my mouth. “You have to excuse me—I’m an idiot. But I’ve never met someone who was from the aristocracy before.”

  “Most of the nobility lost their power in Austria almost a hundred years ago,” Gretl said gently, giving me a little squeeze on my arm. “Although I, too, did not know that Imogen’s father was a baron. The title passed to Ben?”

  “No, it didn’t,” Imogen said, her expression darkening for a moment before she gave us both a bright smile. “It was all a long time ago, and we have much more pleasant things to speak of, yes?”

  It was a not very subtle hint that she was throu
gh talking about the subject.

  “Of course,” Gretl said soothingly, and made a date for the next afternoon to have tea and pastries.

  “I hate to bother you if you’re busy,” I said, not sure whether she had responded to my request for a photo session because she was polite or because she really wanted me to take some pictures of her. “If so, then I will totally understand. But if not, I’m sure we can find somewhere locally that would make a good backdrop.”

  Imogen looked up with a genuine smile. “No, I am not too busy. I would love to be your model.”

  “Oh, you must go to Andra Castle!” Gretl said, clasping my arm. “It would make a lovely setting—”

  “No,” Imogen said quickly, her expression as brittle as ice. I blinked at the sudden change in her demeanor. She suddenly relaxed and gave a forced little laugh. “I’m sorry. You must think me very odd, but Andra Castle holds . . . bad memories for me. I would prefer not to go there again.”

  “Of course we won’t use it,” I reassured her, curious at such a strong reaction to a ruined castle. Perhaps she’d been frightened there—when Gretl had told me about the ruins, she said that it had a bad reputation by the locals as being unpleasant to visit. “There are lots of other places around here we could use.”

  “The rose gardens?” Gretl suggested. “The town hall? The church? It is quite old.”

  “Mmm . . .” I scrunched up my nose as I thought. “To be honest, I’d like to try something a little different as a backdrop for Imogen. Something to contrast with all that fair delicacy.”

  Imogen laughed, her expression once again changing like quicksilver. “I’m sure you meant that as a compliment, but I assure you, I am anything but delicate. Fair, yes—I got that from my mother. But delicate? No.”

  “Appearances are often deceiving,” I agreed. “I think I’d like to see you set against something dark and gritty. That would make for some wonderful depth to the picture.”

  “As you like. You’re the expert,” Imogen said with another of her little shrugs.