by Rachel Aaron
“Now hold on,” she said angrily. “You make it sound like Ghost is evil, and that’s just not true. Sure, his powers are a little creepy, but that’s on us, not him. Death is a natural part of life.” She looked down at Ghost. “Everyone’s afraid to die and be forgotten,” she said, petting him gently. “It’s certainly much more universal to the human condition than any of the stuff you just listed.”
“So are murder and greed,” Myron growled. “And I wouldn’t want either of them as the first Mortal Spirit, either.”
General Jackson crossed her arms over her chest. “A Mortal Spirit rises fifty years ahead of schedule, and you’re being picky?”
“Yes,” Myron said, drawing himself up to his full height. “Because this is worth being picky about! We’re talking about a spirit-human pair who could possibly influence the course of human magic for centuries to come. If we begin with death, I don’t think we’re going to like what we get.” He pointed at Marci. “She hasn’t even told us what aspect of death he represents yet! For all we know, he’s the spirit of murder.”
“He’s not a spirit of murder!” Marci cried. “He’s—”
“He’s what?” Sir Myron taunted. “Worse?”
Marci looked pleadingly down at Ghost, but he was just glaring at Myron in disgust. Do not grant my name to this small-minded idiot, he hissed, turning up his nose. Spirit of murder, indeed.
“Now you’ve insulted him,” Marci said, shaking her head in frustration. But as she was scrambling to come up with a way to defend Ghost to Myron that didn’t involve dropping his identity, General Jackson stepped between them.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said coldly, fixing the undersecretary with a glare. “This isn’t an opportunity we can afford to waste, Myron. Sailors on sinking ships can’t be picky about what kind of vessel comes to their rescue. Whatever we get, we’ll make it work.”
“But at what cost?” Sir Myron asked. “Some of us still have humanity left to lose, General.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. Before she could answer, though, the room was filled with the fluttering of wings as Raven flew in through the empty doorframe. “Heads up!” he croaked. “We’re about to have company.”
General Jackson whirled around. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Raven said as he settled on her shoulder.
The general’s face turned furious. “I leave you on watch, and you didn’t want to interrupt?”
“Fine,” Raven snapped. “I couldn’t interrupt.” He turned to give Ghost the evil eye. “The spectral feline over there has very strong opinions, and I was most decidedly not welcome inside until just now.”
“Ghost!” Marci cried.
The spirit flicked his ears in the cat equivalent of a shrug. His magic doesn’t blend well with mine. Would have made a mess.
She frowned, curious. “What kind of mess?”
“He means a mess of me,” Raven said. But just as Marci was realizing this answer meant that Raven could hear what Ghost was saying inside her mind, the spirit flitted up to one of the broken windows. “Oh, there, you see?” he squawked. “While you were busy accusing me of negligence, they got everywhere.”
“They who?” the general demanded, moving to the window so fast, it was like she teleported. She must have spotted her answer immediately, because she stepped away again just as fast, grabbing Marci by the arm. “Is there another way out?”
Marci winced. Nothing good inspired that question. “There’s a way upstairs through the trash,” she said, nodding toward the back of the basement. “But—”
“It’s blocked, I can see,” General Jackson finished, letting her go. “Okay, change of plans. We negotiate.”
Now Marci was getting really worried. “Negotiate with whom?” she asked, rising up on her tiptoes to peer through the broken windows into the growing dark. “I don’t see—”
She was interrupted by a loud thunk as a huge bank of floodlights switched on with blinding intensity. The glare was so bright in the rainy night, Marci didn’t actually see the trucks behind the lights until the soldiers began to pour out.
“Marci Novalli!”
Marci froze. She’d heard some pretty terrifying things in her life, but the sound of her name crackling through a police megaphone at full volume had just jumped to the top of the list.
“Known dragon sympathizer,” the voice continued, the megaphone warping and screeching the words until they sounded almost alien. “Murderer of Vann Jeger and Eugene Bixby. You are surrounded. Surrender now, and the Lady of the Lakes will show mercy.”
He didn’t say what would happen if they didn’t surrender, but he didn’t have to. Given the multiple tanks Marci’s adjusted eyes could now see waiting in the neighbor’s yard, she could guess well enough. “Well,” she said, sinking down against the damp brick wall with a sigh. “At least someone’s taking me seriously for once.”
“Those aren’t for you,” Emily said, peeking through the open doorway. “See the rocket-propelled harpoons above the gun mounts? Those are anti-dragon tanks. I use an older version of the same model for my own task force, but these new units use a modified law rocket that can shoot through fifty centimeters of steel.” She arched an eyebrow at Marci. “Your dragon must have made quite an impression.”
“They could hardly have sent less,” Sir Myron said as he frantically dug through his pockets. “You’re talking about the pair who killed Algonquin’s most famous dragon hunter. She’s not going to make that mistake twice.”
“I don’t think she’s allowing for any mistakes,” the general said, her eyes squinting past the floodlights despite the fact that Marci couldn’t see a thing. “There’s enough Algonquin Corp firepower out there to level this place twice over, and I think I see a second anti-mage task force in the back.” She turned to the spirit on her shoulder. “How many battle mages are we dealing with?”
“Too many,” Raven squawked. “But they’re not what I’m worried about.”
At this point, Marci was afraid to ask, but someone had to. “What’s worse than an anti-mage task force full of battle mages?”
Rather than answer, Raven just looked up. Shaking, Marci followed suit, grabbing the wet brick window ledge as she looked up.
And up.
And up.
“Oh boy,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she finally realized what the giant dark shape looming over them in the rain belonged to. “That’s not…”
“The Leviathan?” General Jackson finished grimly. “It is.”
“But it can’t be,” Sir Myron hissed, shoving Marci over to get a spot at the window. “The Leviathan hasn’t been seen on shore since Algonquin first flooded the city.”
The general gave him a flat look. “Do you know anything else that big that works for Algonquin?”
Myron didn’t answer this time. Marci couldn’t either. She was too busy trying to make sense of what her eyes were seeing.
Even with the rain and the dark, the sheer size of the Leviathan made it easy to see once you knew it was there. It truly was as big as a mountain, a towering, bulbous mass of glossy, shark-like black flesh riding on a bed of constantly moving tentacles. Given how huge it was, Marci expected it to be loud, but the Leviathan made no sound at all. When it moved, she saw why. Despite looking solid, the Leviathan’s body passed through the houses surrounding theirs like it was made of smoke, which was the only thing that explained how something that big could have snuck up on them. That struck her as pretty impressive, but given what she’d seen Raven and Ghost do, she supposed phasing through houses was par for the course for a spirit.
That’s not a spirit.
Marci jumped and looked down to see Ghost crouching low in her arms, staring up through the broken window at the Leviathan with something very close to fear. “It’s not?”
“No,” Raven said quietly.
Any annoyance Marci might have felt at the bird spirit butting into what was supposed t
o be a private conversation was crushed under a tide of fearful curiosity. “Then what is it?”
“A problem,” Raven replied, turning to Emily. “We need an exit. You can’t fight that.”
“I don’t know,” the general said, tilting her head back. “It’s not that big.”
“Fine. You can’t fight the Leviathan and the tanks. Happy?”
The general’s shrug was way too calm for Marci’s growing level of panic. “What are we going to do?”
“What we always do,” General Jackson replied, pushing away from the wall. “We’re the UN. We’re going to negotiate.”
“Negotiate?” Marci cried. “With that?”
“Diplomacy is the first, best option in every situation,” the general said sagely. “We’re rational people, Miss Novalli. Not monsters.” Her lips curled in an odd smile. “That comes later.”
Before Marci could ask what she meant by that, the general turned to Sir Myron. “Make a ward.”
“Way ahead of you,” he said, flexing his fingers as his odd, twisting magic began to spider around the room.
When it was clear he was well underway, Emily took a deep breath, pulling herself to her full height before she stepped out to stand in the empty basement doorway. “I’m General Emily Jackson of the United Nations,” she shouted, raising her empty hands for all to see. “Stand your forces down, and we’ll come out to negotiate—”
There will be no negotiation.
Ghost cringed in Marci’s arms at the words. Marci cringed, too, her ears popping. Just like Vann Jeger’s, this voice was not at all human. But where the fjord spirit had sounded like grinding sea ice, this voice was musical, lovely, and oddly terrifying, like having your head held under gently flowing water until you drowned. Marci was still trying to wrap her brain around the contradictions when the falling rain in front of Emily began to shimmer.
It changed as she watched, the water moving and coalescing in the glare of the floodlights until it had formed a person. A woman, to be precise, whose face and body were the perfect reflection of General Emily Jackson.
“Well, well,” Emily said, lowering her hands. “The queen herself. I’m honored.”
“You should be,” Algonquin—because there was no one else this could be—replied, lifting her reflection of the general’s gloved hand to grab the tentacle the Leviathan had sent snaking across the ground. “I did all of this for you. Even I know better than to underestimate humanity’s most fearsome weapon, or her stalwart supporter.” She glanced at Raven, and her lips curled into a mocking smile the general herself would never have worn. “Hello, Raven. Still rolling in the dirt with mortals?”
“Always,” Raven replied, fluttering out to land on the real General Jackson’s shoulder. “Because unlike you, I know how to have a good time. But let’s not get hung up on pageantry. How did you find us?”
“That’s a stupid question from such a famously clever bird,” Algonquin replied, tilting her head up toward the gloomy sky. “It’s raining.”
“So?” Raven said. “That’s the Thunderbird, not you, and he’s too wild and reckless to care what happens to his water.”
“But I’m not,” Algonquin said, glancing pointedly at the wet ground. “No storm can make its own water. All of this comes from my lakes, and wherever my lakes are, I am.” She grinned wide. “Didn’t think of that, did you, clever bird?”
Raven’s silence was answer enough, but General Jackson was just getting started. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “The United Nations and the DFZ have been neutral partners for decades. We’ve broken no laws by coming here.”
“Laws are for mortals,” Algonquin said flippantly. “And anyway, I’m not here for you. I’m here for her.”
She leaned sideways to peer around the general through the door. Her body rippled at the same time, the water moving as Emily’s face morphed into a perfect reflection of Marci’s.
“Whoa,” Marci said, taking a nervous step back. “If this is about Vann Jeger, I—”
“Vann Jeger’s defeat is no concern of mine,” the spirit said with a shrug. “I allowed his hunt because it was beneficial to us both, and it’s not as though he’s dead. We are the land. We can never die. So long as the Geirangerfjord exists, Vann Jeger will rise again, and I’m sure your dragon’s head will be at the top of his list when he does. But I’m not here for that. I’m here for you.” Her eyes flicked to Ghost. “Both of you.”
Emily’s scowl turned deadly. “Then I hope you’re prepared to be disappointed,” she said as she placed herself between the lake spirit and Marci. “Marci Novalli is under the protection of the United Nations. She’s not going anywhere.”
“You say that like I should care,” Algonquin said with a laugh. “But I already told you: laws are for mortals. Besides, if anyone’s in violation here, it’s you. This is my land. The DFZ acknowledges no treaties. You have no rights here save those I deign to give you. If I were to kill you all, no one could stop me. Even if they knew, even if they cared, no one would dare.”
The general bared her teeth, and Algonquin’s smile grew wider. “But don’t fear. I’m not a monster like you, Phoenix. I am a lake. I am the land. My will is the will of the Earth itself. I have no desire to conquer or rule. I only want what’s best for everyone, and that starts with the proper training of the world’s first Merlin.”
“Too bad,” the general snapped. “She’s not yours to take.”
The Lady of the Lakes scoffed. “Since when do you speak for an independent mage? Surely a young lady smart enough to survive the machinations of not one, but two dragon seers can answer for herself.”
Everyone looked at her, and Marci took a deep breath. This situation had gone off the deep end way too fast, but she couldn’t see how she was getting back out. Despite her claim to not be a monster, there was no way Algonquin was going to let them leave. If they tried to run or fight, she’d just smash them and take Marci prisoner anyway. And while Marci had seen for herself just how good Emily Jackson was, she was no match for the firepower surrounding them, much less the Leviathan, who was still hovering over the face-off like death waiting for his cue, which was the entire point. Algonquin had rolled in hard specifically so there could be no path forward save through her, and now they were trapped.
The full weight of that realization made Marci’s knees shake. They were trapped, utterly and completely. They’d assumed they could sneak in, that the size of the city would protect them, but Algonquin had been waiting for this from the start, and now they were screwed. From the looks on their faces, everyone else knew it, too, but while Emily clearly wasn’t backing down, Marci knew a losing battle when she saw one. A month ago, that would have made her despair, but if there was anything she’d learned from Julius, it was that there was always another way out of any unwinnable scenario. She just had to keep herself and everyone else alive long enough to find it.
With that, the way forward became perfectly clear, and Marci stepped forward, placing Ghost on her shoulder before raising her empty hands over her head. “I surrender.”
“What?” Emily roared, grabbing her arm. “You can’t surrender to her!”
“What else are we going to do?” Marci asked, glancing over her shoulder. When the general didn’t answer, she turned back to Algonquin. “I’ll come with you peacefully and listen to what you have to say,” she offered. “But in return, you have to let General Jackson and the undersecretary leave the DFZ unharmed tonight. Otherwise, no deal.”
“You’re not in a position to make demands,” Algonquin said, her watery voice smug. “But it matters not. Unlike the dragons you’re used to, I am generous.” She waved her hand. “Your associates are free to go with my compliments. A gift to mark the beginning of our mutually beneficial relationship.”
She smiled as she finished, clearly expecting everyone to fall on their knees in the mud and give thanks for her benevolence, but Marci just turned back to the others. “Go,” she said quietly. “I’l
l be fine. Believe it or not, I actually have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. I get threatened by supernaturally powerful monsters all the time, and it’s probably better for Ghost if I stay in the city for now, anyway.”
“It is not better,” the general growled, her dark eyes furious. “Marci, you don’t know Algonquin. She’s not going to be fair like we were. If you have something she wants, she’ll take it, and we cannot lose the first Merlin to the very spirit we need her to fight.”
“Don’t underestimate us,” Marci said, reaching up to press her hand against Ghost’s freezing fur. “We’ve escaped a lot of things we shouldn’t. But you guys need to get out of here while she’s still feeling ‘generous.’ And don’t tell Julius.” Marci could stay strong for herself, but if Julius rushed up here to help her—and she knew he would—Algonquin would really have a weapon to use against her. “Just go,” she said again. “I’ve got this.”
The general clearly didn’t like that at all, but after another look at the Leviathan and the tanks surrounding them, she lowered her head. “We’ll be back for you,” she promised, shooting Algonquin a look of pure hate. “Stay alive.”
“I always do,” Marci said, smiling wide and clasping her hands behind her back to hide how badly they were shaking.
Don’t be afraid, Ghost whispered, crouching low against her shoulder. She can’t hold us.
That’s what I’m counting on, Marci thought back, keeping the words as quiet as possible in her head just in case Algonquin shared Raven’s ability to eavesdrop. But we can’t bust all of us out at once, and I’d hate to get these people killed just for giving us a ride. She looked at Algonquin, who was still smiling Marci’s own smile back at her. We’ll go along for now. But first chance we get, we’re gone.
Ghost lashed his tail at that, but Marci had already made up her mind. In a morbid twist, part of her was actually kind of excited to finally hear Algonquin’s side of all of this. That was a reach in terms of optimism, but it was better than despair, so Marci clung to it as hard as she could, using the promise of answers to give her the courage she needed to walk into the rain, up the buried stairs to the bullet-riddled driveway where the Lady of the Lakes was waiting.
