The mirror spell was a double-edged one: Tisiphone was trapped in the mirror in Viv Jason’s form, but she was also protected from Chandra while snared within it. She couldn’t shift or escape, which was good, but Chandra couldn’t deal a death blow, either, which was less than ideal. Chandra sighed, acknowledging once again how distracting the firestorm was. She just couldn’t think straight with Thorolf by her side.
She wasn’t doing too well with him gone, either, come to think of it.
She saw there was another downside to her solution. She watched two shards of mirror ease closer to each other, seemingly of their own volition, and watched with concern. Before her eyes, two pieces touched, aligned, then merged into a larger piece of mirror. It wouldn’t take long for the mirror to be reassembled, and then her prey could be freed by someone gazing into the mirror.
This banishment should have lasted for years, not moments.
Was Tisiphone’s sorcery this strong? Chandra didn’t want to think about the implications of that.
She didn’t want to think about Thorolf either, but she couldn’t seem to control her thoughts. In a way, she respected his loyalty. He clearly didn’t know the truth of Viv’s nature, much less what she’d done to him. Chandra had to appreciate that he wasn’t afraid to put himself at risk to do what he thought was right.
It was pure Pyr to defend a damsel in distress and to be loyal to the end.
It was pure Thorolf to defend someone who didn’t deserve his protection.
Two more pieces of mirror joined with the others, creating a larger seamless whole.
Chandra was afraid to leave the mirror unsupervised, uncertain as she was of what Tisiphone might manage to do in this place. Because it was of Myth, she couldn’t take a shard with her when she left the sanctuary either.
At least there was no one to look into the mirror. The thing was that Thorolf shouldn’t be loose in any world without protection. Chandra had seen that the firestorm’s spark seemed to help Thorolf. So, all the other Pyr, and maybe a number of other people, were in danger when she wasn’t with Thorolf.
The firestorm was a responsibility she hadn’t expected, but then her brother did like to complicate things.
“Not a bad save,” said a man close behind her. Chandra spun to find her brother, looking confident as ever. He was in his guise as Apollo, the eternal golden boy, his gold armor shining with particular brightness in this realm. Snow gave a cry of joy and circled out of the sky, coming to land on his outstretched hand.
He surveyed the mirror shards, then lifted a brow. “But most unlike you to miss. Losing your edge?” They’d always been competitive siblings, always prepared to challenge and goad each other.
He’d also routinely undermined her efforts, making a situation worse just to test her abilities more. And the Pyr were his favorite creatures.
Chandra glared at him. “Did you spark the firestorm?”
Apollo grinned, caught at his own mischief. “I thought you deserved a last chance to break that vow of chastity and try the pleasures of the flesh.”
Last chance?
Before she could ask, he flicked a glance upward. Chandra noticed that the sky was darker than it had been and that the air was cooler. “It’s time to go, sister. The portal’s closing.”
The end of an era. It had been foretold for as long as she could remember, but she had a hard time believing that all the deities she knew were going to pass into some corner of Myth forever.
On the other hand, many of them had abandoned interaction with mortals centuries before. They were essentially already gone.
“No, I can’t leave yet. I haven’t fulfilled my quest…”
“You had your chance.” He looked suddenly sad. “Maybe it doesn’t really matter anyway. Maybe our time has been over for a long while.”
Chandra couldn’t stand to see him like this. He was always bold and confident, always filled with laughter and power. “What about your precious Pyr? I thought they were your favorites…”
“They’re doomed.”
“No, it can’t be…”
Apollo spun his hand, conjuring a sphere that nestled in his palm. Inside it, a red lacquer dragon breathed fire on an enormous crowd of people, setting them aflame with the help of a dark dragon.
One with black spirals etched on his scales.
Thorolf.
“You picked the wrong champion, sister, and now it’s too late.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way. Just because it looks dark now doesn’t mean the future can’t be changed…”
“Face facts.” His voice hardened as more pieces of the mirror joined. “You missed. You failed.”
“I don’t fail!”
“You never used to,” he acknowledged, his voice softening as he studied her. “Maybe that’s just another sign of the end of an era. Maybe it’s just a reminder that it’s time for us to go.” He turned his hand, eliminating the sphere and the glimpse of the future. “Maybe the point is that it’s time to just leave the mortals to themselves.”
“I can’t leave this half done,” Chandra protested, gesturing to the mirror. “What about Tisiphone?”
He shrugged. “She’s already in Myth.”
“What about Thorolf? What about all the people in that vision of the future?” Chandra demanded. “I can’t just walk away and leave mortals to deal with the consequences of my task being incomplete.”
He gave her a shrewd look. “You never used to worry about mortals.”
It was true, but she was worried about them now.
“I’m not going yet,” Chandra said firmly, knowing that her decision surprised her brother. “I need more time to get this done.”
He considered her. He eyed the sky. “Most are going now,” he acknowledged and she sensed his reluctance to cede to her. “But I’ll be last. I’ll send Snow to you when the portal is closing forever.” He fixed her with a look. “I can’t control it, sister. I won’t be able to do anything for you if you’re trapped on the wrong side.”
Chandra swallowed. “I understand.”
She couldn’t just ignore her duty, regardless of the risk to herself.
“You can’t save him,” Apollo said gently.
“But the firestorm can,” Chandra replied.
To her surprise, he came to her side, took her hand and kissed her cheek. “Good hunting,” he whispered in her ear and then he was gone, Snow with him.
A third of the mirror was reassembled. Chandra had to move.
* * *
“He’s really got it bad,” Niall said, watching the snarling Thorolf with dismay. “He actually wants to kill us.”
He never would have believed this if he hadn’t seen it himself.
He’d never seen Thorolf so angry. Sure, they’d fought together before, but that had been against Slayers. To have Thorolf as an opponent was a fearsome thing.
Especially as he didn’t seem to be himself. Thorolf was livid, violent, and beyond reason.
And he wanted to kill Pyr.
He’d fought Rafferty, twice, and hurt him badly both times.
It made no sense.
Niall walked around the confined and furious Pyr, studying him as he tried to understand. Sloane was assessing Rafferty’s injuries on the other side of the room. Thorolf turned within the dragonsmoke barrier, still in his dragon form, a cold assessment in his eyes as he kept Niall in his sights. He looked like a predator, a hungry and unpredictable one, less like the easygoing Thorolf who Niall knew so well than he could have imagined.
But it was Thorolf. His scent was clearly his own, even if it was developing that undertone of dark rot characteristic of Slayers. The signs were all there, as much as Niall didn’t want to see them. A few places where the dragonsmoke had burned Thorolf were bleeding, and his blood was dark. It wasn’t quite black but it sure wasn’t red anymore.
That worried Niall. He remembered Delaney’s battle with the Elixir and how narrowly it had been won. Niall thought of t
he shadow dragons that he’d fought during his firestorm, and his twin brother Phelan, too. Thorolf didn’t appear to be in a trance, like the shadow dragons enslaved by the Elixir. He was still Thorolf, just had his allies and enemies mixed up. His scales had changed color, as well, the moonstone and silver armor that was usually so magnificent now looking tarnished and decayed.
How far gone was Thorolf?
Could they even bring him back?
Or was he lost already? He hadn’t wanted to agree with Erik that it would be smarter to just stay away from Thorolf and deal with his loss, but now, seeing what had happened to the Pyr, he wondered.
Was it too late?
Niall was glad that Rox and Melissa were secured in the next room, and that Rox wasn’t seeing Thorolf like this. Rafferty had insisted that the mates barricade themselves and get some sleep, maybe because he’d had the best idea of Thorolf’s state. Niall knew the women had been surprised that they had slept.
He and Rox had gotten to LAX with the boys before they discovered that there was a storm over the Pacific, interfering with flights there. Rafferty had intervened, spontaneously manifesting there to collect them all. Rafferty had been determined to have as many Pyr with him as possible, and the boys had been thrilled by the adventure. Niall had found the transport unsettling, but Rafferty looked dead on his feet.
He admired that the older Pyr wasn’t going to let Thorolf go to the Slayer side without a fight. Niall had to worry, though, just how much Rafferty would give to support Thorolf’s firestorm. The sad truth was that Niall was starting to doubt their chances of success. Erik could be right.
Niall dared to use his Dreamwalker abilities to peek into Thorolf’s mind, but only found a yawning chasm of darkness and fury.
Thorolf seemed to feel even that minute intrusion. The other dragon roared in anger, then breathed a long plume of dragonfire at Niall in response. Niall moved out of range, worried.
He was so concerned that he didn’t hear Rox coming out of the bedroom.
“T, you look like shit,” she said, making Niall jump and Thorolf snarl.
“His scales look like they’re tarnished,” Sloane said, shaking his head.
“No,” Rox said, peering at the trapped Pyr. “They look tattooed.”
To Niall’s astonishment, she was right.
Rox straightened and put her hands on her hips, looking determined as she surveyed the dragon shifter who had once been her pet project. “What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into now?” she asked sternly and Thorolf roared with incoherent rage.
The trapped Pyr thrashed against the dragonsmoke like a caged animal, beating his tail against the misty barrier that held him captive and tearing at it with his claws, even though it burned his hide. The suite filled with the sickening smell of burning scales, but that didn’t stop Thorolf’s struggles.
Niall remembered how the shadow dragons had felt no pain, how they’d kept fighting even as they were dismembered.
He feared then that Thorolf’s firestorm wasn’t going to end well.
* * *
“Two broken ribs,” the Apothecary of the Pyr pronounced to Rafferty. “You got off lucky.”
“I feel so lucky right now,” Rafferty said wryly, then shook his head before turning to Niall. “Chen has snared him well.”
“He had a lot of time to get it right,” Niall said. He watched as Rox peered at Thorolf’s scales.
“I wish I could see it better,” she murmured, and would have taken a step closer but Niall drew her further away. He didn’t trust Thorolf to remember that Rox was his friend.
Not when he was like this.
“We don’t know that he was captive the whole time,” Rafferty said.
“We don’t know much of anything!” Sloane protested. He cast a considering glance at Thorolf. He began to apply a salve to Rafferty’s chest and side, one that obviously was giving the older Pyr some relief. Niall didn’t even want to think about how it would feel to be crushed by Thorolf. “I’ve no idea how to heal him. I don’t even know where to start.”
“The firestorm can heal him,” Rafferty said with conviction. “When he was with her and the sparks were flying, he was himself.”
“But where is she?” Niall asked. “Why aren’t they together?”
The Pyr exchanged glances, because none of them knew the answer to that.
“If she abandons him, he’s lost,” Rafferty said softly, and Niall knew it had to be true.
“But how can she even stay away from him?” Sloane asked, as if thinking aloud. “The firestorm is an irresistible force. It draws Pyr and mate together, and only becomes stronger when it’s denied.”
“You said she wasn’t human,” Niall said to Rafferty. That Pyr nodded, then winced as Sloane applied pressure to one side. “Is that how she stays away?”
“Maybe.”
“But what is she?” Niall asked. “An elemental witch, like Liz?” He referred to Brandon’s mate, who was a Firedaughter and had the ability to command the element of fire.
Rafferty shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s not that her scent is different: she doesn’t have one.”
That wasn’t a good thing. Niall folded his arms across his chest, knowing he had to say his worst fear aloud. “The only beings we know who have no scent or can disguise it completely are Slayers who’ve drunk the Elixir.”
“Jorge and Chen,” Sloane said. “Maybe JP.”
“What if she’s not real?” Niall asked. Rox looked at him in horror.
“That’s what Erik thought,” Sloane said.
Niall paced the room. “Erik sensed that Thorolf’s firestorm was a trap, a plan to draw us close. How could anyone plan that, unless the firestorm was faked?” Sloane frowned and Rafferty made to speak but Niall continued. “How many forms can Chen take?”
Rafferty sighed and rubbed his forehead, looking uncharacteristically weary.
Niall counted off Chen’s known forms. “Chen can be a dragon, a man, an old man, a young man, a beautiful young woman.”
“A salamander,” Rox reminded him grimly.
“That’s a lot. What if there are more?”
Sloane caught his breath. “You mean what if the mate is Chen in another guise?”
The Pyr exchanged dark looks.
“I’d like to think that’s impossible,” Rafferty said, but his uncertainty was clear.
“But Chen did take a female form and try to seduce Thorolf before,” Niall reminded them all. “During our firestorm. Maybe he’s trying the same strategy again.”
“If so, the firestorm isn’t going to save him,” Sloane said quietly, turning to look at Thorolf. “Nothing will save him.”
“Especially as he’s lost a scale,” Rafferty said. Niall looked and caught his breath to see that the older Pyr was right. There was a gap in Thorolf’s silvery armor, a scale missing in the middle of his chest. “It was there the last time we fought,” Rafferty said and Niall sat down hard.
They sat in silence for a long moment, Thorolf fuming at the four of them.
“I choose to see hope in the missing scale,” Rafferty said abruptly, pushing to his feet. Trust Rafferty to have faith as a force of will.
Before anyone else could speak, there was a sudden shimmer of pale blue. They turned as one to see Thorolf shift shape, taking his human form. The dragonsmoke contained him all the same. He tried to kick his way through it and threw his weight against it, which made no difference at all. Then he swore as the dragonsmoke burned his skin. He sounded more pissed off than furious, and Niall watched him warily.
“What’s wrong with you guys?” Thorolf demanded in obvious irritation. “What kind of stupid trick is this?”
“He knows us now,” Niall said. He took a step closer to Thorolf and saw recognition in his old friend’s eyes.
Thorolf glared at him, as if he were the one who had lost it. “Of course, I know you! You better be taking good care of Rox, Niall Talbot, or I’ll do worse than this
to you.” He kicked at the dragonsmoke, then winced at its burn. “Friends like this, who the hell needs enemies?”
Thorolf was wearing only his jeans, and Rox wasn’t the only one who caught her breath at the state of his skin. It was red and angry all over, like he’d been burned, and there was a huge tattoo covering all of his skin that Niall could see. The contrast in quality between its swirls and the dragons Rox had given Thorolf was striking.
“Where’d you get this crappy ink?” Rox demanded, marching toward Thorolf so boldly that Niall snatched after her to hold her back. He couldn’t stop her from telling off the other Pyr, though. “Didn’t I forbid you to get tattoos when you were drunk? Where did you go? Down to some seamy hole where they use the same needles until they break in half?” Her expression revealed her disgust.
“Easy, Rox!” Thorolf protested. “I don’t remember.”
“You loser,” she scolded, launching into a lecture. “It looks like the whole damn thing is infected. I bet it hurts like hell and that serves you right…”
“Why is he better?” Sloane murmured, edging closer to Thorolf.
“Because the spark of the firestorm heals,” a woman said with resolve.
Niall and the others spun in surprise, because they hadn’t heard her approach at all. She hadn’t knocked at the door to the suite, but she was standing in the room with them all the same. It shook Niall that he hadn’t heard her, because he trusted in his keen senses, and he saw that the other Pyr were similarly startled.
She was tall and athletic in build, dressed all in dark clothes, with long dark hair hanging down her back. There was a quiver on her back and she held a crossbow in one hand. There was a bruise rising on her cheek.
She had no scent.
But the golden light of the firestorm lit the room with its unmistakable glow, a bright fire that Niall could feel right to his marrow. The firestorm filled him with more than heat: it made him feel strong and optimistic.
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