A Dragon of a Different Color (Heartstrikers Book 4)

by Rachel Aaron

  All of them were breathtakingly beautiful, the work of an obvious master, but unlike the paintings hanging on the walls outside, these were unfinished. Some, particularly the rolled-up ones in the corners, didn’t look as if they’d been worked on in centuries. Others showed signs of more recent attention, but only one—a large canvas as tall as Julius himself perched on an easel at the room’s center—looked to be an active work in progress. Some of the paint was actually still wet, as though the artist had just stepped away for a moment.

  Like most of the paintings in the room, it was a watercolor, but it wasn’t a landscape. This was a portrait, a life-size depiction of a beautiful girl with long black hair. A beautiful dragon, Julius realized a second later, because though there were no obvious tells, nothing about the girl in the painting felt mortal. Maybe it was the tension in her tanned limbs beneath her simple block-printed dress, or the way her feet curled like claws into the vibrant grass. Whatever it was, she was heartbreakingly lovely. Powerful in a wild, explosive way that contrasted beautifully with the stiffly formal Chinese garden behind her.

  But while she clearly didn’t belong there, the dragoness appeared fascinated by her surroundings, crouching attentively beside what was clearly meant to be an ornamental fish pond once the artist finished coloring it in. The fish were already there, a beautifully rendered tangle of orange, white, and black koi. Each one was painted in painstaking detail, their little mouths nibbling at the fingertips the dragoness trailed curiously through the water above them. Magnificent as the fish were, though, what really impressed Julius was the way the artist had captured the girl’s delighted smile. It was small, just a curve of her lips, but the joy of it lit up her entire face like sunshine.

  That was the detail that transformed the painting from well-done portrait into breathtaking art. It was such a delight to see, Julius didn’t actually recognize whose face he was looking at until he’d stared long enough to notice her eyes were green. Not just any green, either, but the same unmistakable color as his. Greener than the verdant grass under her bare feet. Heartstriker green.

  Julius stumbled backward, putting several feet between himself and the picture. When he turned to ask the emperor the obvious question, though, he got another shock. While he’d been transfixed by the painting, the Qilin had removed his golden veil.

  Not surprisingly, he was unsettlingly good looking. Not merely handsome like most dragons, but flawless on an entirely different level. Even the tiny quirks that gave his face character—his dark, too-straight eyebrows, the sharp line of his nose, his thin mouth—were perfect in their imperfections, an artist’s ideal of an elegant Chinese prince. After everything else Julius had seen of the Qilin, that was all par for the course, but the detail he wasn’t prepared for were the emperor’s eyes.

  Not that he’d been taking notes during the chaos of the invasion, but if anyone had asked Julius before this moment what color the emperor’s eyes were, he would have guessed the same reptilian red as the Empress Mother’s, but that wasn’t the case at all. The Qilin’s eyes were not red like his mother’s or even blue like Lao’s. They were golden. Not yellow like a wolf’s or an owl’s, but true gold. The soft, warm, glistening metallic color every dragon instinctively coveted.

  Eyes like golden coins.

  Chelsie’s bitter words were still echoing in his memory when the Qilin sighed and turned back to the painting. Then, in a small, sad voice, he whispered, “How is she?”

  Chapter 6

  When Marci brought her knuckles down on the plain, seemingly wooden door of the Merlin Gate, the sound that reverberated through the dark wasn’t a knock. It was a gong. An enormous ringing, golden tone that shook the entire swirling sea. If she’d still had a physical body, it would have shaken her to pieces, but whatever Marci was right now—ghost, soul, or some other not-yet-named type of human leftover—at least she didn’t have to worry about that. The sound passed right through her, echoing off into the endless expanse until, at last, it faded back to nothing.

  And the door did not open.

  “Maybe no one’s home?” Amelia whispered. “It has been a thousand years.”

  That was a good point. “I could try opening it myself,” Marci suggested, bending down to study the door more closely. “There’s no handle or hinges, but if I—”

  The door rattled. Marci jerked in surprise, moving closer to Ghost as the something on the other side of the heavy wood clattered, and then light shot through the darkness like a spear as the wooden slab opened inward to reveal a man silhouetted against a wall of warm, glowing light.

  Oddly enough, Marci’s first thought was that he looked way too young. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it had definitely been closer to Gandalf or Mad Madame Mim than the elegant twenty-something Asian man standing in the glowing doorway. He was wearing a simple white-and-black robe with an elegantly folded silk fan tucked into his sash. Other than that, though, he had nothing. No sword or weapon, not even a rope that could have served as a casting circle. Marci wasn’t stupid enough to assume that meant he was defenseless, though. Even standing on the other side of the door, she could feel magic flowing off of him like water. A sensation that only grew stronger when his mouth began to move.

  She frowned in confusion. The man was clearly talking, but nothing was coming out. She was wondering if there was still some kind of barrier between them when the magic rolling off the young man shifted slightly, and a voice suddenly sounded in her ears.

  “Welcome,” it said, “she who would be Merlin.”

  The words were clear with no trace of an accent, but though they were obviously said by the man in front of her, the sounds didn’t match the movements of his mouth at all. They weren’t coming from his mouth, either. The voice was inside her ear, as if she were listening to it through headphones, and Marci’s jaw dropped.

  “Is that a translation spell?”

  The man raised a dubious eyebrow, but Marci was thinking too fast to care. Translation magic was one of the hottest fields in Thaumaturgical spellwork. She’d actually tried her hand at a few versions herself, but like everyone else, she’d never been able to crack the problem of how to make the translated words sound natural. Just as with its computer-based counterparts, magically translated speech lost its intonation and inflection, emerging emotionless and wooden, but not this one. Other than the short delay between when the man spoke and when the words were whispered into Marci’s ear, it really did sound as though he were speaking native English, which was incredible. If she could figure out how it worked, a patent on a translation spell like this would be enough to set her up for life!

  Assuming, of course, she ever got back to being alive.

  That realization knocked the dollar signs out of her eyes, and Marci pulled herself back together. “Sorry,” she said, standing up straight to dazzle him with her most professional smile. “I’m Marci Caroline Novalli, PhD candidate in Socratic Thaumaturgy at the University of Nevada Las Vegas and partner to the Empty Wind, Spirit of the Forgotten Dead. I’m here to pass through the gate and join you as a Merlin.”

  “Humans do not come here for any other reason,” the man said dryly. “But I am not a Merlin.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Merlins are human,” he explained. “Humans are mortal, and there is no mortal who could wait out the centuries it would take before this door opened again. Knowing this, Abe no Seimei, Onmyōji to the Emperor and head of the Last Circle of the Merlins, and his partner, Inari Okami, God of Prosperity, bound me here to serve as guardian for their greatest work and guide to any who came after.”

  Marci nodded slowly, eyes going wide. Abe no Seimei was a Japanese sorcerer and one of the world’s most famous ancient mages. Finding out he’d also been a Merlin wasn’t actually surprising, but the rest of it…

  “What do you mean ‘bound you?’” she asked in a rush. “Are you a spirit or—”

  “Of course not,” the man said, insulted. “No s
pirit may enter this place without a Merlin. I am a shikigami.”

  “What’s a shikigami?”

  “A crafted servant,” Amelia whispered in her ear. “A spell so complicated, it develops a personality and decision-making abilities of its own.”

  “They could do that?!” Marci cried. “Because you just described magical AI, and no one’s done that yet!”

  Amelia shrugged. “I keep telling you, modern mages haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of the magical knowledge you lost during the drought. Shikigami summoning used to be an entire school of Taoist magic, and Abe no Seimei was the grand master.” She grinned at the young man. “What did he name you?”

  “I am bound by the characters White, Iron, and Truth,” the shikigami said politely. “But you may call me Shiro.”

  Amelia turned back to Marci with a there you go smirk. Marci grinned back maniacally, bouncing on her toes in excitement. After so long scratching at the edges of lost knowledge, she was about to walk right into the Shangri La of lost magical secrets. “Well then, Shiro,” she said happily, stepping forward. “Let’s get this—”

  She cut off with a gasp. The moment she’d tried to cross the threshold from the dark, chaotic sea into the light, something hit her with enough force to send Marci tumbling backward. If Ghost hadn’t still been holding on to her hand, she would have been blown right out into the void.

  “What was that?” she cried as her spirit set her back on her feet.

  “What you may not cross,” Shiro replied, his voice no longer polite. “You have made it to the gate, but only those souls who are deemed worthy may enter.”

  “Deemed worthy by whom?” Marci demanded. “You? Do you know what I went through to get here?”

  “No more than any other Merlin,” he said. “But I do not make the decision. I am but a servant. The judgment of your worth lies with the Heart of the World.”

  “Okay,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s that?”

  “You will find out when you become a Merlin.”

  Marci felt like punching something. “I already died for this! What more do I have to do?”

  “Anyone can die,” Shiro said dismissively. “But becoming a Merlin is not as easy as falling into a grave. It is a privilege reserved for those whose dedication stretches beyond the boundaries of their lives. Mages are no strangers to power, but Merlins make decisions that affect all magic, not just their own. That much authority can only be entrusted to someone who keeps in mind the needs of all. Only a true champion of humanity may rise to claim the title of Merlin. Until you prove yourself as one such to the Heart of the World, you may not enter.”

  Marci supposed that was fair. Merlins were supposed to be the greatest mages in existence. That kind of power couldn’t go to just anyone.

  “Fine,” she said, lifting her chin. “You want us to prove ourselves again? Give us your best shot. Ghost and I will ace any test you can think of.”

  “Undoubtedly,” the shikigami said, peering into the void that was the Empty Wind’s face. “You’ve certainly chosen a grim spirit, but you seem well bonded despite that. Ordinarily, I’d say you have a very good chance, but I’m afraid I cannot permit you to attempt the trials.”

  “Why not?” Marci demanded.

  The shikigami’s emotionless eyes slid to Amelia, who was still clinging to Marci’s shoulder. “Because, as I said, Merlins are champions of humanity, and no true champion of humanity would arrive at the Merlin Gate on a predator’s string.”

  “What?” Marci said, glancing at Amelia, who cringed. “No, no, you’ve got this all wrong. Amelia’s not like that. She likes humans.”

  “Love them,” Amelia said eagerly. “Seriously, I’ve never even eaten one.”

  “She’s one of the good dragons,” Marci said at the same time. “She sacrificed her life to help me get here.”

  “All the more reason to deny you,” Shiro said, putting a hand on the door. “I met many dragons with my master before he died, enough to know that they never act without benefit to themselves. If a dragon gave up her immortal life to help you reach this place, she must have something very great to gain by you becoming a Merlin. Since you are clearly beholden to her, that makes you a servant of the enemy, and thus unworthy of this place.”

  “So you’re not even going to let us try?” Marci said angrily. “Because of Amelia?”

  “Because you belong to her, yes,” he said coldly. “The Heart of the World is too important to risk exposing to a dragon’s tool. If you abandon her to the magic and sever all ties, you may attempt to step through this door again. Until then, we have nothing left to discuss.”

  “But that’s crazy!” Marci cried. “Amelia’s my friend, not my puppet master. I’m not going to throw her away for a shot at getting in. What kind of cheap, backstabbing villain of a Merlin would that make me?”

  “That is not my concern,” Shiro replied. “You asked what you needed to do. I told you. If you will not do it, that is your decision.”

  “But—”

  “The matter is closed,” he said, stepping back. “Good luck, young lady. If you change your mind and come back without your dragon, we will talk again.”

  And then the door slammed shut.

  Marci slammed her fists down on the boards, but there was no gong this time. Just the ineffective slap of human skin on unyielding hardwood. She pulled her hands back with a pained curse, sucking on her smarting fingers as she glared furiously at the sealed door. “Can you believe this?”

  “That a dragon caused a problem?” Ghost sneered. “Yes.”

  Amelia sighed. “I wish I could say Shikigami-Face was just being a racist jerk, but historically speaking, he’s more right that wrong. Dragons haven’t exactly been good neighbors since we arrived on this plane.” She shook her head, looking up at Marci with her smoldering wings tucked meekly against her body. “Thank you for not throwing me over, by the way.”

  Marci snorted. “Like I’d ever. You’re the only one who explains anything to me, but I don’t know what we’re going to do.” She glared at the closed door. “This is the only way in, right?”

  “The only one I’ve seen,” the Empty Wind said.

  She’d thought as much. “How serious do you think he was about the no-dragon thing?”

  “Pretty serious,” Amelia said. “He’s got the teeth to back it up, too. His master, Abe no Seimei, was one of the most powerful sorcerers in history, and he was particularly famous for his shikigami. His constructs were all no joke, but I remember Shiro specifically as being one of his big guns. I’ve actually encountered him once before, back when Seimei was still alive.”

  Marci gaped at her. “You knew him? Why didn’t you say something?!”

  “Because he was trying to slay me at the time,” Amelia said with a shrug. “To be fair, I was robbing his library.”

  “Amelia!”

  “What?” she cried. “I was young! I needed the books! Thankfully, I don’t think he recognized me. I do look pretty different now. But I don’t think we’re going to be able to talk him around on this. Book theft notwithstanding, I was hardly the most dangerous dragon back when Seimei and his shikigami were active, nor the worst behaved. He comes by his prejudice honestly, is what I’m saying.”

  Ghost snorted. “Most do.”

  Amelia could only shrug at that, and Marci dragged her hands over her face with a groan. “So what do we do if we can’t change his mind? Becoming a Merlin was plan A, B, and C. We can’t stay out here.” She threw out her hands at the chaotic black morass of magic that surrounded them.

  “We’re not beaten yet,” Ghost said angrily. “A shikigami is neither human nor spirit. Who is worthy of being Merlin is not his to say.” He turned his glowing eyes on the pillar above them. “I say we make our own way in.”

  “I’m not entirely against it,” Marci admitted. “But I don’t think force is the right answer here. Shiro’s just doing his job, and that barrier of his is no
joke. I barely took one step into the light, and the stupid thing hit me like a—”

  She stopped, grabbing her spirit’s freezing arm for balance as the stone rumbled under her feet. “What was that?”

  “Not sure,” the Empty Wind said, his glowing eyes darting through the dark as the swells of magic began to churn. “I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

  “We are deep inside the tectonic magic,” Amelia said, tilting her head to listen to the rumble. “Could be a manaquake.”

  “Quakes don’t go on this long,” the Empty Wind said, his deep voice starting to sound nervous. “And it looks wrong. See?”

  He pointed up, and Marci lifted her head dutifully. As always, though, she couldn’t see anything in this place except the pillar, the rocky sea floor, and the swirling, nausea-inducing movement of the dark magic that surrounded them.

  “Can you describe it?” she asked, looking down again before she got sick.

  There was a long pause as Ghost searched for the words. “It’s bulging,” he said at last. “Like something’s trying to push through.”

  “You mean like I pushed out of my death?”

  “No,” he said, his cold voice worried. “This comes from the outside, like a mountain growing down.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain.”

  “That’s okay,” Amelia said, cowering in the crook of Marci’s neck. “I think we’re about to find out.”

  Even without looking, Marci knew the dragon was right. Just like when she’d felt it pushing on Ghost’s winds before, she could feel the magic expanding now, bulging like an over-inflated balloon as the chaos above them started to groan.