Sloane didn’t. “Why me? Why can’t another Pyr go, one who hasn’t sworn an oath to leave Brandt in peace?”
“Because he is your cousin,” Erik said with heat. “Because he will receive you.”
“I’m not certain of that!” Sloane flung out his hands. “In his place, I wouldn’t receive an oath breaker!”
Erik’s voice dropped to a low hiss, and he stepped closer, eyes blazing. “Would you have Brandt die for that? Or worse, be turned to Lorenzo’s will—whatever that is?”
“I promised,” Sloane insisted. In some part of his mind, he was incredulous that he was defying the leader of the Pyr.
In another, he believed Erik should have known better than to ask this of him.
Erik inhaled sharply; then his words softened. “Recognize that I understand what I am asking you to do. I ask it because I fear for Brandt’s safety.” He sighed, his frustration clear. “I wish with all my heart that it might have remained unnecessary, but whether he follows me or not, Brandt is still Pyr, and that makes his welfare my responsibility.” He swallowed visibly. “Since I cannot command you to follow my order, then I ask you to go to him. For his own safety.”
Sloane shoved a hand through his hair, seeing Erik’s point, but not looking forward to the exchange. “You’re really afraid.”
“I am.” Erik’s lips were a tight line. “I saw something in the future, something I would avoid at all costs.”
“What?” Eileen asked.
“I will not speak of it. I have already said too much on this day.” Erik eyed Sloane. “Please go.”
“And if I am too late?”
Erik averted his gaze, his throat working. “Then his son may need you more than I do.” He met Sloane’s gaze steadily. “Go,” he urged softly. “And may the Great Wyvern be at your back.”
With those words, Sloane knew Erik wasn’t sure what he might find when he reached Brandt, much less what Lorenzo might be able to do. To see uncertainty in the eyes of the Pyr he had revered for so long shook Sloane to his marrow.
And it had him on his way to his cousin’s side.
As he left, Sloane recognized that this was the work of the darkfire, changing everything, challenging assumptions, reassigning precedence—not just for Rafferty, but for all of the Pyr.
Where would its influence stop?
What would be left of them afterward?
Niall was on the phone in his office in New York City, getting help to his tour groups. Heavy rains had caused flooding and mud slides in Bhutan, the like of which no one had ever seen. A violent snowstorm in Mongolia had those on his Silk Road trip trapped in a rustic caravansary. Mud slides in Peru imperiled the group at Machu Picchu. The Galápagos group was facing tsunamis, caused by the earthquake in the South Pacific. Iceland’s volcano was erupting, and there was sudden new violence along the border of Morocco and Algeria. Ocean levels were rising fast, and the sea was roiling. In London, they had shut the Thames Barrier and were hoping it would hold against the deluge.
It seemed Niall had trips everywhere that natural disaster had struck.
“Everything goes to hell at once,” Barry muttered, managing the incoming calls while Niall solved problems. Niall had to get his people out of all these hot zones, and it was impossible to prioritize. He was juggling three calls at any given time, and had been doing so all day.
To top it all off, Niall felt the burn of the firestorm. It was reasonably close, down toward or in DC, and it burned with a strange cold light. Awareness of it made the hair stand up on the back of Niall’s neck. It made him fidgety, as if he stood on the verge of disaster.
It was darkfire.
The only good thing was that it was Rafferty’s firestorm, but what a mixed blessing. The older Pyr had the firestorm he’d yearned for, but it was of a mythic, unpredictable kind. With any other Pyr, Niall would have worried more about the outcome, but Rafferty was as consistent and steady as the earth he could command.
On the other hand, there’d been that earthquake in DC this morning. Niall wasn’t sure what to make of that, and he didn’t have time to ponder its import.
Thank goodness he had Barry. The kid was a natural at customer relations and a whiz with computers. He’d calmly and cheerfully stayed on top of phone calls and e-mail all day. He’d even ensured that they got something to eat in the middle of it all.
Niall had just secured a military helicopter and guarantee of fuel in Burma for the Bhutan trip—at a hefty premium—when Barry shouted from the front office.
“Holy shit!” he cried. Niall leapt up from his desk, fearful that something else had gone wrong. There was an edge in the air, a shadow of dark possibilities that seemed to have been awakened with the eclipse early that morning. Niall could smell danger in the wind, unpredictability, and he didn’t like it one bit.
It made him jumpy.
“What?” he demanded.
Barry turned from his computer. “My friend just sent me the link to this YouTube video. Isn’t this Rox’s friend T?”
Niall’s heart sank. “Is it? What’s he up to this time?”
Barry shook his head, his amazement clear. “He changes into a dragon, right on camera.”
“What?” Niall was across the room in a flash.
“I mean, it’s kind of shaky, like someone took it with a cell phone, but still.”
Niall wasn’t listening to his employee. He was staring at the video, the bottom dropping out of his world as he watched. Thorolf emerged in human form from a large crack in the pavement. A crowd had gathered when the ground had split, and Thorolf seemed to be alarmed by its presence. Then he started to jump, as if being stung by something invisible.
It had to be dragonsmoke. Niall’s lips thinned. Thorolf leapt from the crevasse, jerking with pain as he tried to outrun the smoke. The crowd of people gathered closer, and he seemed to suddenly recall that he was being watched.
Thorolf looked around himself with dawning horror, then leapt into the air and shifted shape. He soared into the sky in dragon form, the moonstone and silver of his scales soon disappearing against the overcast sky.
A trio of lightning bolts lit the scene in rapid succession. The crowd gasped and backed away from the flashes of light, just as the thunder rumbled in three loud booms. The video blurred, then focused on a burning tree. Evidently it had been struck by the lightning—Niall could see the black singe mark on its bark. A light standard had also been hit, as had the peak of a building. The shingles there had started to burn.
What was in Thorolf’s head?
Niall pinched the bridge of his nose. In a way, it figured Thorolf would be the first to lose it under the influence of darkfire. In another, the last thing he needed was another item on his To Do list.
“It’s totally viral,” Barry said with excitement. “Look at the hits, and it was only posted fifteen minutes ago. They’re going to crash a server someplace. Maybe two.”
Servers were the last of Niall’s concerns.
“Wait until I tell everyone I know this guy!” Barry said, leaning over the keyboard.
Niall dropped a hand to his shoulder and tried to sound indifferent. “It’s not as though it’s real,” he said with a shrug. He had the tempting thought that he could beguile his employee but resisted the urge. It wouldn’t matter in the long term, and it would be a betrayal of trust. Instead, he was dismissive. “I mean, you know T. He’d do anything for twenty bucks, or even for a beer. They can do some incredible stuff with CGI these days.”
Barry’s excitement evaporated immediately. “Yeah, you’re right. Mr. Pragmatism.” He smiled at Niall. “But still, it’s cool.”
“Tricks usually are.” Niall winked. “Don’t get suckered.”
“Right.”
“I’ve got the fuel lined up in Burma and the rescue chopper,” Niall said, his tone brisk. “There’s a coast guard ship within minutes of the Galápagos team. I’m expecting a confirmation from Reykjavik on arrangements there, and a guarantee o
f protection from my contact in Marrakech.”
“Mongolia?”
“Nothing we can do but pray for them. No communication in or out, and no one’s heading out in that storm.”
Barry nodded. “Greg’s sensible, though. He’ll have them holed up and safe.”
Niall nodded, agreeing with this assessment of that tour leader. He had already checked on Greg once, and would do so again that night. His newfound ability as the DreamWalker was proving to be quite useful—in navigating the dreams of humans, he could discover truths otherwise hidden to him. “I have to take care of something else, though. Are you good here?”
“Something else?” Barry grimaced. “What else could go wrong?”
Niall leaned down to whisper, hating that he was going to mislead his employee. “Surprise for Rox. I forget and I’m a dead man.” Barry grinned. “If she calls, tell her I’m backed up, will be home by eight, and would love that vegetarian pizza for dinner.”
Barry gave Niall a thumbs-up. “I’m all over it. You two have a good time tonight. Looks like everything’s calmed down here.”
“You know where I am if not.” Niall patted his cell phone and headed out the door, leaping down the stairs to the basement. Rox’s surprise wouldn’t be as romantic as Barry envisioned. In fact, Niall hoped he could find Thorolf and sneak him into the apartment. That Pyr looked overwhelmed, but he had to be hidden for the short term for the safety of the other Pyr.
“Where are you?” Niall asked in old-speak, urging the wind to take his message to Thorolf. “Meet me at the dock, the usual one.”
“Deal,” Thorolf said, his fear and relief both clear.
Niall could get the rest of the story later, once he had Thorolf hidden. The dock he’d used for landings before was abandoned and routinely deserted. They could walk from there and slip into the underground network below the city. Niall had explored it enough to be able to find Rox’s building easily.
Thorolf wasn’t fond of the underground passageways, but using them was the only way to get him safely hidden away. Then Niall would figure out what to do next. It was a case of prioritizing, something he was learning to do better all the time.
Sara Keegan returned to her bookshop in Traverse City, having mailed the last of the orders that had to ship before Christmas. She did a turn around the shop, checking the doors and windows, lowering the thermostat, backing up the computer files. She was taking a couple of weeks off and wasn’t planning to open again until the fourth of January.
Business was slow in the winter anyhow, and she was exhausted by her second pregnancy. She just couldn’t get warm and was sleeping poorly.
Sara needed a break.
She flipped off the lights and did one last scan, then stepped out into the street. She was locking the door when she noticed the door knocker.
It was the mermaid that Quinn had made, the piece she had bought from him when they first met. During their firestorm, it had heated when she was in danger, but ever since she’d moved the shop, the mermaid had been completely normal.
But on this day, as the snow began to fall, the mermaid sparkled with a strange blue light. The knocker could have been made of blue glass, and glittered oddly. Sara touched the mermaid’s tail, but it was stone cold.
Its chill launched a shiver that went right to Sara’s toes.
What was going on?
On impulse, she returned to the shop and removed an old book from a locked case. It was Sigmund’s book, The Habits and Habitats of Dragons: a Compleat Guide for Slayers, and it was the closest thing to a guidebook to the world of the Pyr. She looked up “blue flames” which referred her to “darkfire.”
Darkfire—a fire that burns with a blue or blue-green flame, frequently referenced in Pyr mythology, always with a dire tone, but never in very clear terms. Darkfire is predicted to occur during a firestorm when the Pyr are in the midst of a major struggle.
Among its effects, darkfire is said to cause all or some of the following: secrets revealed; clear paths obscured; converse with the dead; the conception of prophets; the development of mystical powers among those who have never shown such tendencies; the loss of prophetic powers among those who have been seers in the past; the emergence of affinities; the loss of affinities; the gathering of outcast Pyr; the division of loyalties within those Pyr who were allied; etc., etc. Even this brief list exhibits the legendary and disruptive nature of darkfire. There is no record of darkfire ever having occurred or even a clear story of how it was created in the first place, although (as always) it must be acknowledged that Pyr records are notoriously scant.
Sara shut the book with dissatisfaction. It wasn’t much of an answer. She considered the door, even though she couldn’t see the mermaid, and recalled when Quinn had given her the knocker.
In her old shop, the one that had been her aunt Magda’s shop.
At that time, she’d been helped by the ghost of Aunt Magda. Could she do that again? If darkfire could allow contact with the dead, maybe Aunt Magda would help her now.
She retrieved her aunt’s tarot cards and unwrapped them carefully from the silk that covered them. She held the deck in her hands and closed her eyes, asking her aunt for guidance.
“Are you even here, Magda?” she whispered before cutting the deck.
The air conditioner in the store came on, even though it was winter and the circuit breaker was switched off. It ran one cycle, then cut out, sputtering to silence.
Then it did it again.
Sara smiled, recognizing the calling card of her aunt’s ghost. She shuffled the cards with new confidence. “What’s the greatest threat to the Pyr?” she asked, then chose a card. Sara was shocked by the card she drew, and its dire implications.
It was number thirteen of the higher arcana—Death.
That card meant, at the very least, profound change.
Maybe worse. Sara put the cards away and packed up quickly, feeling even more chilled than she had before. The mermaid twinkled coldly at her as she locked the door, but she didn’t touch the knocker again.
Instead, she shuddered and pulled her coat closed, then turned to find Quinn waiting for her. He was leaning against the front fender of his black pickup, arms folded across his chest as he watched her. Their son, Garrett, was still in his car seat, driving his toy truck across the dashboard.
“Have you had a vision?” Quinn asked as he came and took her elbow in his hand. The warmth of his touch almost banished the cold that plagued her.
But not quite.
Sara wasn’t sure how much to tell him. “Why? Is there a firestorm?”
“There was an eclipse on Monday night.” Quinn’s lips tightened as he helped her into the truck. “We will not be going.”
Sara was shocked by this, for Quinn was the Smith who repaired the armor of the Pyr. They had attended every firestorm since she’d met him. “But whose is it?”
“Rafferty’s.” Quinn was terse, and Sara saw that this hadn’t been an easy choice for him. “He’ll make it work.” He shut the door before striding around the front of the truck, then getting into the driver’s seat. He pulled into traffic with care.
Sara worried. Had she foreseen Rafferty’s death? “But what if he loses a scale?”
“He’ll make it work,” Quinn insisted.
“But…”
“But this firestorm is marked by darkfire, Sara.” Quinn stopped at a red light and turned to face her, his gaze intense. “I have lived without the Pyr, and they have lived without me. Darkfire is about risk, and it is about loss. I will not risk losing you, and I will not leave you behind, undefended, when darkfire burns. We will not go.”
Sara saw his determination and was uncertain she could change his mind. Should she try? Sara was fond of Rafferty, but more than that, she knew that Quinn would blame himself for any bad results of his choice. On the other hand, she trusted his instincts. What should she do?
What kind of death did Magda anticipate?
A literal one
or a symbolic one?
Unfortunately, she didn’t receive a vision to answer that.
In a coffee shop in Manhattan, Viv Jason froze in the act of making her eightieth soy latte of the day. Her hand shook as she felt the tingle of darkfire. She’d felt the firestorm in the night, during the eclipse, just as she’d been cursed to feel the firestorms of the Pyr for centuries. She’d barely dared to hope.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, smiling at the unmistakable tingle of the blue-green flames. It was an electric tongue of energy, flicking at her skin, charged more strongly than a usual firestorm. There was only one firestorm she awaited. The blue flame was unmistakable for what it was.
Darkfire.
The end of the era she despised, and the beginning of the one she anticipated. She would no longer be a victim. No, she would define the rules from this point.
Viv put down the paper cup and stepped away from the coffee machine, knowing what she had to do. It had nothing whatsoever to do with making soy lattes.
“Hey, Viv. Aren’t you going to finish that one?” Mandy asked sharply. “Customer’s waiting!”
Viv ignored her. She had no use for these humans anymore, no need of this petty income. Humans had served their purpose. She had survived, and her moment for vengeance had arrived. That was the only thing of importance.
Viv untied her apron and tossed it on the stainless steel counter, walking briskly to the back of the shop. She ditched her hairnet in the trash on the way past, grabbed her jacket and purse, then marched right out the door of the coffee shop where she’d worked for three years.
“Hey!” Mandy shouted, but Viv didn’t care what she had to say.
Darkfire.
Viv tipped her face to the sky, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. The crowd of pedestrians on the busy sidewalk surged around her, but she didn’t care about them. Darkfire’s spark tingled all the way through to her toes, the unmistakable sensation making her grin like an idiot.
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