One Good Dragon Deserves Another (Heartstrikers Book 2)

by Rachel Aaron

  “What’s going on?” Marci demanded, sitting up as straight as she could. “This might be the DFZ, but I still have rights. This is an unwarranted arrest.”

  She hadn’t really expected that to go anywhere. Sure enough, the other mage ignored her, pulling a penlight out her pocket, which she used to check Marci’s eyes.

  Marci glared into the light. “I want a lawyer.”

  The woman arched an eyebrow as she clicked off her penlight and turned around to hit a small button beside the door. Marci had already opened her mouth to launch into a new slew of demands, but she never got a chance. The moment the woman pressed the button, a strange sound had started outside. It was distractingly familiar, a low pitched, rhythmic thumping, almost like someone was riding a horse at full gallop down a dirt road, which, of course, made zero sense. You were more likely to see a unicorn than an actual horse in the DFZ. The sound was so distinct, though, she couldn’t actually imagine what else it might be until the woman opened the door, proving that Marci’s first instinct was both right and terribly, terribly wrong.

  She’d been busy staring at the spellwork on the walls when the woman came in, so Marci hadn’t actually gotten a look at what was on the other side of the door until this moment. Since they were in a room, she’d just assumed they were also in a building, but again, she was wrong. There was no hallway or building or even a roof beyond that door. Only forest. An honest-to-god, moss carpeted, sun dappled, fairy-tale-style old-growth forest that started just across the door’s threshold like the cement room had simply been airdropped into the wilderness.

  Naturally given how crazy that was, Marci’s first instinct was that had it to be an illusion. An extremely good one since she could smell the rotting leaves and wet dirt from here, but an illusion all the same. But while there was a lot of magic on the other side of the door, it didn’t feel like a spell. It was just power, a dense bank of loose magic sliding between the trees like mist, and in the middle of it was a man on a horse.

  No, Marci thought with a sharp shake of her head. The thing outside the door looked like a man on a horse, but no horse had ever been that big or reflective. It actually sparkled in the hazy sunlight like it was made of glass, but even that wasn’t quite right, because it was clearly moving. Water, she realized at last. It was water, an amalgam of crashing waves put together in the shape of a horse. Likewise, the man on its back wasn’t actually a man at all.

  It was a spirit.

  Or, at least, she assumed it was a spirit. With the notable exception of Ghost, Marci’s experience with spirits was limited to ones like the tank badger they’d banished this afternoon: the small, stupid, animistic spirits you ran into in normal life. She’d certainly never seen one this large, or humanoid, but while the spirit’s shape resembled a large, burly, Viking-warrior sort of man, his skin was a dark, stormy, and definitely inhuman blue. Likewise, his long hair, full beard, and bushy eyebrows were dark green sea kelp, while the armor he wore from his neck to his toes was made of scallop shells with their scallops still inside. But remarkable as all that was, what really made Marci stare was the enormous driftwood spear the spirit held in his right hand.

  From inside the room, it was hard to tell scale, but going from the relative height of the trees around him, the spirit’s weapon was easily as long as a telephone pole. But while it looked like nothing more than a glorified pointy stick, the runes scratched into its handle radiated a cold, crushing power that sliced through the ambient magic of the forest like ice water down your back. Marci wasn’t sure what those runes did exactly, but the old, dark stains on the spear’s tip made her think it wasn’t something she wanted to mess with.

  Thankfully, the spirit set his weapon down when he dismounted, propping it up against one of the massive trees. Seeing him disarm almost made her feel more comfortable. That was, until the spirit stepped inside, ducking his head to fit through the human-sized door the security woman held open for him.

  Marci shrank down in her chair. The spirit had looked big standing outside, but being in the same room with him was like being trapped in a closet with a grizzly. It wasn’t just his size—though being stuck in a small room with a man whose head brushed the eight-foot ceiling was definitely intimidating—it was also his presence, a chilling, heavy aura that filled the room until Marci felt like she was drowning. With all that, it took every ounce of her pride just to lift her head enough to look him in the face. She was working up the courage to repeat her demand for a lawyer when the spirit suddenly spoke, his voice booming and grinding through the small room like breaking sea ice that just happened to be forming words.

  “Servant of the dragon,” he rumbled. “You have been restrained by order of Algonquin, Lady of the Great Lakes and ruler of this land. By her mercy alone, your life has been temporarily spared so that you may tell us everything you know about your master.”

  And that was when Marci knew she was screwed.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stalled frantically. “I was just trying to check my mail.”

  The spirit’s scowl deepened. “You are a very bad liar.”

  Marci began to sweat. “I am not—”

  “I can hear your heart pounding like a trapped animal,” he said over her. “You are afraid, as you should be, and lies flow as a result.” He turned around, beckoning to the Algonquin Corp. mage, who was still in the room. “It seems we must take precautions to prevent further indiscretions.”

  The mage nodded, placing her hands on the spellwork covered wall. The moment she touched it, Marci felt a flare of magic, and the writing lit up as the spell activated. Pressure clamped down on her head at the same time. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable, like someone had tied a string around the front portion of her brain, and Marci’s fear turned to righteous indignation.

  “Did you just cast a lie detector on me?”

  “No,” the spirit said, nodding at the glowing spellwork surrounding them. “This is a truth teller. So long as it is active, you will be physically unable to speak anything but the truth within this room.”

  Marci’s eyes shot wide. Lie detector spells were internal magic that monitored your body for heart rate changes and other physiological signs of deceit. They were highly invasive, which was why they were regulated in every country that cared about personal privacy, but not actually dangerous. Truth tellers, on the other hand, were close enough to true mind control that they’d been outlawed everywhere. Marci had never even seen one in person, and she didn’t like being inside one now.

  “You can’t do this!” she snarled, trying her best to sound threatening. “Mind-altering spells were forbidden by the Stockholm Magic Treaty of 2045. Even Algonquin is bound by international law!”

  “Not in this place,” the spirit said, glaring down at her with black, glinting eyes. “Foolish mortal, where do you think you are?” He nodded back over his shoulder at the closed door that led to the strange forest. “This is Reclamation Land. Here, there is no rule but ours.”

  For the second time in as many minutes, Marci felt like the floor had just been kicked out from under her. Reclamation Land was Algonquin’s private sanctuary, a whole quarter of the DFZ fenced off from the rest of the city for spirit use only. She’d never even heard of an outsider getting in, probably because, if they did make it inside, they never left again, which meant she was screwed. The knowledge must have shown on her face, too, because for the first time since he’d appeared, the spirit smiled.

  “I’m pleased to see you understand,” he said, holding out a massive hand. Behind him, the human mage jumped and reached into the official looking document bag on her shoulder to pull out a manila folder. A real, paper one. Marci hadn’t even realized they still made those things, but the spirit just took it as a matter of course and flipped the file open.

  “Marcivale Caroline Novalli,” he read. “Formerly of Las Vegas, Nevada.” He glanced up. “This is you.”

  It wasn’t a question, but she nodded
anyway. “I go by Marci.”

  His response to that was a cold glare she felt to her bones. “As is the proper way of things, I will now state my name so that you may know the fate you face. I am Vann Jeger, Lord of the Black Narrows, spirit of the Geirangerfjord, and the Death of Dragons.”

  Marci didn’t know what a Geirangerfjord was, but the last part was definitely not good. “You’re one of Algonquin’s dragon hunters.”

  “I am her only hunter,” Vann Jeger corrected. “Or, at least, the only one that matters.” He flashed her a cruel smile, turning to hand her file back to his assistant. “We know you are a servant of the dragon who appeared over the Pit last month. You will now tell us where that dragon is hiding.”

  Marci held her breath, waiting for the inevitable “or die,” but the spirit didn’t bother with an ultimatum. Apparently, he wasn’t even going to give her that choice. Marci supposed she could take it herself, but despite the catastrophic turn her life had just taken, she wasn’t actually ready to die tonight. But when she started to say she didn’t know what he was talking about, her tongue seized up before she could open her mouth.

  She stopped, puzzled. The words were there, clear in her mind, but she couldn’t actually make the sounds. It was like there was a clamp holding her tongue in place. Apparently, the truth teller spell worked by physically preventing spoken lies rather than actually keeping her from thinking them. But while the curious Thaumaturge in her found the highly specific nature of the spell’s limitation fascinating, the rest of her was already working on a way around it.

  There had to be one. Truth was subjective, and spells, no matter how sophisticated, were still just sets of instructions. Even a big, expensive construction like this one wasn’t actually intelligent, or all-knowing. In order to identify what was lie and what was fact, the magic had to be checking her answers against some kind of reference, most likely her own mind, which meant if she knew something was a lie, the spell would, too.

  That should have put her in a real bind. Instead, Marci had to bite her lip to keep herself from grinning. Gotcha.

  “I don’t serve any dragon,” she said, looking the giant spirit straight in the face. “And I never have.”

  Vann Jeger’s scowl darkened, forcing Marci to bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud. It had worked! So long as she considered something to be true, the spell did, too, and Julius had gone through great pains to make sure Marci knew she wasn’t his servant. Second, the dragon Vann Jeger was talking about was Justin, not Julius, and Marci hadn’t even served him pizza. Given these two facts, what she’d said was technically true, and if the spell was going to let her skate by on technicalities, then she could do this all night. But while Marci was finally feeling like she’d found a glimmer of hope, Vann Jeger looked more dangerous than ever.

  “You speak around the rules,” he growled, leaning down until he was in her face. “You are clever to have figured out the truth teller’s weakness so fast, but I would not continue this game. I am not in a benevolent mood.”

  “I’m not exactly peachy myself,” she said, glaring right back. “Being kidnapped and interrogated kind of puts a crimp in your evening. What made you think I serve a dragon, anyway?”

  Again, the technicality skated easily around the truth teller’s restrictions, and Marci gave herself a mental high five. But while the question was mostly meant to stall, she was actually curious how they’d found her. She and Julius had been living in the DFZ for a month now without so much as a peep. Something must have tipped them off tonight, and Marci’s money was on Bethesda. The haughty dragon clearly cared nothing for subtlety. She’d probably led Algonquin’s hunter right to—

  Her anger cut off like a switch when Vann Jeger reached back again for his mage to hand him something from her bag. This time, though, it wasn’t an antique case file. It was a gun. A large, horrifyingly familiar revolver sealed inside a plastic evidence bag.

  “During our investigation of the Pit event, we discovered the body of a human male,” the spirit said casually. “He was missing his right hand, but the forensics team reported that the actual cause of death was the gunshot wounds inflicted by this weapon.”

  He waved the bagged gun in front of her face, and Marci began to tremble.

  “After running his dental records, the victim’s identity came back as one Eugene Phillip Bixby, also of Las Vegas, Nevada,” Vann Jeger went on. “The fingerprints on the gun’s grip, however, match the ones on your State of Nevada magic license. Our investigation also discovered that the Clark County Coroner’s Office recently mailed you the unclaimed remains of a family member to a forwarding address at the downtown branch of the DFZ Private Post Office. From there, all we had to do was watch and wait.”

  He paused to let that sink in, but Marci wasn’t sure she could sink any lower. Her memories of the Pit were a chaotic mess, but while she clearly recalled shooting Bixby, she couldn’t actually remember what she’d done with the gun afterward. Apparently, she’d left it on the ground for anyone to find like an absolute moron, and now Algonquin’s private cops had her prints on a murder weapon. Then, as if all that wasn’t enough, they’d set a trap using her dad’s ashes as bait, and like a blind idiot, she’d walked right in.

  Marci slumped forward, squeezing her eyes tight. Forget embarrassing herself in front of Bethesda, this was the screw-up that trumped all others. It was also likely her last. Murder charges were serious business anywhere, but the court system in the DFZ didn’t work like the one in the US. Here, there was no guarantee of a fair trial or a jury of her peers. All criminal cases were settled privately through binding arbitration, and they didn’t send you to jail, either. If you were found guilty, you went to Algonquin, and you never came back.

  “I see you’ve finally comprehended the severity of your situation,” Vann Jeger said, handing the bagged gun back to the uniformed mage. “But hope is not yet lost. The Lady of the Lakes cares nothing for the death of a human criminal. All we want is the dragon. If you cooperate, and your actions result in a successful kill, Algonquin is willing to wipe your record clean.”

  Marci’s head shot up before she could stop herself, and the dragon hunter smiled a cold, inhuman smile. “That’s right,” he said quietly. “You can continue your life, Marcivale Caroline Novalli, and all it will cost you is your cooperation in ending the dragon who keeps you prisoner. A very generous offer, don’t you agree?”

  If Julius had been a normal dragon, Marci probably would have. But he wasn’t, and now she didn’t know what to do. The spirit hadn’t said what would happen if she didn’t help, but it wasn’t hard to guess. The stakes were pretty clear: get booked for murder, or betray the only person left in the world who actually cared about her. Both were unthinkable, so Marci did the only thing she could think of.

  She stalled.

  “Why do you want him so bad, anyway?” she asked, giving the spirit a look she hoped he’d interpret as earnest. “The dragon didn’t do anything except burn a bunch of magic eaters who normally feed on spirits. If you look at it that way, he actually did Algonquin a favor. It’s not like he was flying around flaming the skyways, and I don’t believe for a second that Algonquin cares about a few scorch marks in a place as wrecked as the Pit. So why go through all this trouble? You’re obviously a great and powerful spirit. Surely you’ve got better things to do with your time than chase down a little dragon who isn’t hurting anyone?”

  She was legitimately curious, and the questions flowed by the truth teller without so much as a tinge, but Vann Jeger just shook his head. “You are human,” he said, clearly disappointed, like Marci’s humanity was a personal failing. “Dragons have always been irresistible to your kind. Why else do you think they assume your shape? Their beautiful faces are lies, tools designed to trick and seduce you into doing their bidding, and do you know why?”

  “No,” Marci said innocently, perfectly happy to play her part to the hilt so long as it bought her more time. “Why?”

&n
bsp; “Because they are not predators,” he said bitterly. “They are parasites.”

  Vann Jeger folded his giant hand into a fist and pressed it against his armored chest. “I remember when they came to this world. It was not so long ago by our reckoning, but still before your frail, death-bound species discovered how to record your history for the next generation. To you, dragons have always been here, but we are the souls of the land. We remember a time when there was naught in this world but the Earth and those who came from it. When the dragons arrived as conquerors, we fought them. Thousands of years, we fought, and we were slowly winning, for though the dragons were strong, we could not die. We are the land itself, and so long as the land persists, we shall always rise again. But then, one day, the magic of the land faded without warning, and we faded with it, trapped in a sleep not even the greatest of us could wake from.”

  His lips peeled back, revealing a mouth full of blunt, yellow teeth. “With no power left to cull them, the parasites spread unchecked,” he rumbled. “When we woke at last, there was not a government in the world that wasn’t infested. Even here, in Algonquin’s own city, the serpents plot and scheme, hiding in the shadows and using humans as their pawns. Just look at yourself. It is clear you are enamored with the dragon and seek even now to save him, despite the fact that you are nothing to him.”

  “I’m not enamored,” Marci scoffed, though the only way the words made it past the truth spell was when she kept Justin’s face firmly in her mind. “And I don’t serve a dragon. You keep implying that I’m lying, but you guys were the ones who put me in this stupid truth box to begin with, so listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth. Yes, I was in the Pit that night for personal reasons, and yes, I saw a dragon, but I don’t know where he is or how to find him, and that’s the plain truth. Just admit you’ve got the wrong mage and we can forget this ever happened.”