Donna swallowed. What a terrible end. Nobody deserved that. Nobody. She had loved Paige very much at one time, even though it had all gone so wrong toward the end. Now there would be no opportunity to mend bridges with her aunt. No second chances.
No goodbyes.
Her mother drew back, holding Donna at arm’s length and examining her for a long moment. “How does it feel?”
Donna frowned. “About Aunt Paige?”
“No, of course not.” Rachel shook her head. “I meant … how does it feel not having the first matter inside you anymore? Do you feel different?”
“Not really.” Donna checked on that place in her chest, the place she focused on when trying to access her powers. It was empty. But not in a bad way. It felt okay.
“I feel fine,” she said. And she did, at least physically. “How’s Quentin holding up?”
Her mother smiled. “Very well, all things considered. He’s incredible.”
“Oh!” Donna’s eyes widened. Everything had been so overwhelming that she’d almost forgotten about Quentin’s unpleasant other half. “What happened to Simon? I haven’t seen him. Did … did something happen to him, too?”
It wasn’t that she cared. She just needed to know where she stood, now that things had settled down enough to actually think. Now that her “pet dragon”—as Navin seemed fond of calling it—was back where it belonged, safely sleeping until someone else with the first matter in their soul died and came back to life, created the Philosopher’s Stone, and then called it up to fight a war. (“That’ll be next week, then,” Nav had said with a grin.)
“Mom?” Donna prodded. “What about Simon?”
Rachel sighed, an unreadable expression on her face. “He died saving Quentin’s life.”
Ding-dong, the Magus is dead. She felt surprisingly calm. “At least he did something good. At the end, I mean.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” her mother agreed.
Donna realized that the expression on Rachel’s face was relief. She was relieved that Simon Gaunt was dead.
But Donna didn’t feel anything about it, not really. It registered, vaguely, somewhere at the very back of her mind, that at least her bargain with Queen Isolde had been fulfilled. Indirectly. Apart from that, she could only think of Maker and Aunt Paige. The Magus didn’t deserve her sympathy, though perhaps she should spare a thought for Quentin’s loss …
Nope. Donna shook her head. She couldn’t even do that. She honestly tried, but there was nothing left in her to give. No compassion for anything concerning Simon Gaunt’s life or death. He had lived long past his allotted time on this planet, anyway, and at what cost to so many others?
“The thing is,” Rachel continued, her face twisting into something resembling guilt, “I’m glad he’s gone.”
Donna nodded. This wasn’t exactly news. “I know that, Mom. Me too.”
“But it’s not that simple. Simon and Quentin … they were linked by Simon’s magic. Without him, I honestly don’t know how much longer our Archmaster can survive. So, although I’m glad that Simon Gaunt can no longer influence the Order of the Dragon, I just wonder if that freedom comes with too high a price.”
Oh, Quentin, Donna thought, immediately fighting a rush of guilt about her feelings. She remembered Demian’s conversation with Simon at the masquerade ball. So it was true—the Magus really had been keeping Quentin alive. Or, at the very least, keeping illness at bay. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm.
“Does that mean that Quentin will die?” Yet another death, she thought. Another part of her childhood drifting away.
“We all die, sweetheart,” her mother replied.
Donna looked up sharply, remembering her dream. “That’s the secret of life, right?”
Rachel gave her an odd look. “Well, yes. But I don’t think we need to worry immediately. Quentin is strong. Stronger than Simon gave him credit for, I think.”
Her mother drifted away, and the alchemists and the fey worked together to clear the bodies from the charred remains of the Ironwood. If the sight weren’t so grim, it might have been incredible to think of the joint effort between two races historically at war with one another. Aliette was commanding her small band of wood elves, and they ran around like ants lugging debris. Once, her eyes met Donna’s through the smoke, and she nodded. Her face was expressionless.
Donna turned away and watched the sun rise higher on the horizon. She had questioned, more than once in the past few days, whether she would ever see that beautiful sight again. Now she knew the answer. She felt sure she would find out more answers in the coming days, but right now she was just happy to know that she was alive—and that the world would survive.
At least for a little longer.
Navin came to stand beside her. “What are you doing, Underwood? Watching the sunrise and dreaming of Xan?”
She’d been so engrossed in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard him approach. “Hey, you,” she said.
“That’s what you’re thinking about? ‘Hey, you’? That’s a new one.”
Donna smiled softly. “I was just thinking about how it’s all turned out.”
“Yeah,” Navin said. He looked at the blackened earth and the blasted trees. Fire and death still lingered in the air. “It turned out pretty crazy.”
Donna nodded, glad he wasn’t celebrating victory. What was there to celebrate? Demian’s forces had been destroyed, or at least dramatically reduced. But the Demon King himself had survived.
We shut him away again, Donna reminded herself. He’s not getting out any time soon. She shivered as an inky shadow passed across the sky. Just a crow. Not a demon.
Navin put his arm around her. “You gonna be okay, Don?”
“I don’t know.” She leaned against him and watched the sky. “But I’m looking forward to finding out.”
Epilogue
Sitting on the roof terrace of the Grayson townhouse was both familiar and strange. It seemed so long since Donna had first met Xan, and yet it was only three months ago.
It felt like a lifetime.
Today, with the winter-bright sun peeking out from behind the clouds at regular intervals, Donna was starting to feel human again. It even looked like spring might come early this year.
Xan sat across from her, smiling. “I have the strangest feeling that we’ve been here before.”
“Déjà vu? Really?” She smiled in return. “That’s cool.”
“You don’t find this … familiar?” He raised an eyebrow and his green eyes sparkled.
She laughed. “Maybe you dreamed it.”
“Maybe,” he said quietly. “Maybe I did.”
Donna leaned back against the wall and waited to feel the sun on her face. She smiled to herself, wondering about the future. Wondering about the choices that lay ahead of her. It was okay not to know what came next—it was a gift. Freedom didn’t come without a price, and the price of her freedom hadn’t come cheap. She intended to make the most of it. Honor the memory of those who had fallen. Make the most of her life, and do the best she could to always keep looking forward.
Starting with traveling, just like she’d always wanted.
It was too late to submit college applications this year anyway, which worked out fine because it was giving her a whole extra year to herself. A year to see what was out there, beyond the boundaries of the alchemists. Rachel Underwood’s first act as the new Archmaster had been to give Donna her blessing for any and all plans—even those that didn’t include alchemy. Quentin also gave his full approval for this course of action. The only people not happy with this decision were some of the older alchemists, especially from the Order of the Rose. Now that Quentin had officially handed over his title to Rachel, she had to complete a million tests in record time to keep the Council off her back, and the Rose alchemists were th
e ones overseeing that process.
Perhaps Donna would pay them a visit in Prague, just to keep them on their toes. She grinned, imagining the fuss that would cause.
Navin had deferred his own admission to college, much to Dr. Sharma’s horror, and would be traveling with Donna during the summer and perhaps beyond. This made her happier than she could ever have imagined being. It was another gift from the Universe—that was how she chose to see it.
Maybe even a gift from a dragon.
Demian had made a mistake when he’d set the deadline for getting the Philosopher’s Stone on Imbolc. Donna had looked up the holiday in one of Quentin’s many books—alchemists were never short of books, that was for sure—and discovered that “Imbolc” meant “in the belly.” Traditionally, it meant the time of year when life begins to stir in the belly of the earth. A time of new beginnings … the spark of life … possibility whispering in the cold air. Yes, frost might still lie on the ground, snow can still fall, but spring has its first glimmerings. Maybe it’s not quite knocking at the door, but it’s very definitely on the horizon. When the deepest day of winter passes, a time of cleansing begins.
Imbolc was the time of the dragon, and the dragon had awakened. The Demon King hadn’t anticipated that. Perhaps he wasn’t aware, when he’d chosen his “impossible” deadline, that a power even older than his own slept beneath the Ironwood.
Donna thanked the gods for boring alchemical texts, good friends, and being born different. All that reading while shelving for Miranda had been worthwhile in the end, as she’d slowly pieced together her plan to thwart Demian. She hadn’t known that there was a plan to build—not even when the British Museum was reduced to rubble and Demian faced down the other three races at that charade of a masquerade. Things had seemed hopeless—which was what Demian had intended.
Robert—who had relished both his role in the battle and coordinating communications in the aftermath—had told Donna that the Philosopher’s Stone was now being looked after by the Order of the Lion. It seemed appropriate that the most secret of all the secret Orders was safeguarding the most powerful artifact in the world. A new elixir could now be created, but nobody was rushing to complete the process. Maybe they never would. Rachel and the other alchemists had agreed on one thing: alchemy belonged to the past. The future involved new directions, and a whole new purpose. They just had to figure out where they fit in the modern world, and immortality wasn’t something that humanity was ready for.
Taking a deep breath, Donna glanced at Xan. He’d de-cided to return to his birth father’s home. It had been a … surprise when he’d first told her about it. Donna had hugged him and nodded enthusiastically, but inside, her heart had broken just a little.
She leaned toward him now, with a sigh, and kissed his warm cheek. He moved to her side of their little nook and wrapped his arms around her, holding on tight.
They spoke about it again, up there on the roof: Xan’s intention to spend some quality time in Faerie at Queen Isolde’s personal invitation. Cathal was the queen’s new first knight and would be needed there for the foreseeable future. Donna couldn’t help feeling that they were saying goodbye forever, although she hoped that wasn’t true. Forever was a long time.
“I’ll visit,” he said.
“I know.”
“Probably not a good idea if you try to visit me.”
Donna shook her head, a wry smile on her face to match his. “Probably not.”
They sat quietly for another few minutes.
Donna snuggled in closer and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Do you think you’ll come back here? To live permanently, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s like … I’ve only just found myself. Where I’m from. Who I really am. I need to explore it—at least for a while. Beyond that? I honestly can’t say. Not yet. I promise you though, Donna, you’ll be the first to know. I won’t keep any more secrets.”
She nodded, trying not to focus on the sadness that stopped her from speaking. At least he was being honest.
“You won’t miss me,” he said, in a tone of voice that said he clearly hoped she would. “You’ll be too busy traveling the world with Sharma.”
“Oh, just shut up and kiss me,” she told him.
Xan grinned and his green eyes flashed. “Your wish is my—”
Donna pressed her lips to his as the sun finally broke through the clouds.
It was going to be a beautiful day.
“So,” she said as she pulled back, flushed and breathless.
“So.” Xan’s expression was difficult to read, but there was the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Do you come here often?”
“Not often.” She swallowed—why did saying goodbye have to be so difficult? “The guy who lives here is kind of a private person. He doesn’t let people in easy, you know?”
“Yeah, I know the type. I know someone just like that, actually.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “A beautiful girl. A beautiful young woman, I should say.” His gaze met hers, and she was surprised to see the shimmer of tears. “She changed my life.”
“That’s funny,” she said. “This guy? The one I told you about? He changed mine, too.”
“Really? Coincidence, do you think?”
“I don’t believe in coincidence.”
“Then … what?”
“Magic,” she whispered, right before kissing him again. “I believe in that.”
THE END
APPENDIX I
Extract from:
A History of the
Dragon Alchemists
Edited by
Quentin P. Frost
Maker’s Story
Once upon a time, there was a man who was born a god. He wasn’t the most powerful god, nor was he the most well-liked, but he worked hard and did his duty and didn’t upset the order of things.
At least, not in the beginning.
Let’s call this god … Hephaestus. This may or may not be his true name, you understand, because as with all gods he had many titles. The Smith of Olympus. God of the Forge. Maker of Wonders. But Hephaestus will do for now, because he was good with his hands. He made things. He made many wonderful, magical things, and his skills were in great demand. He could have been rich, with all the commissions he was given, but he didn’t charge for his work because he loved it so much. Gods—even those who had forsaken their godly homes—didn’t need money.
Hephaestus wanted to be left alone on his island to build and make and invent. That’s all he had ever wanted. Solitude was important to him. People irritated him, even when he was a young man, and he wondered how they lived together in such close proximity. Sometimes, his fellow gods would come to visit him and ask for something or other to be made, and he was always glad when they left. Sometimes humans would petition him for help with a project, and he never minded blowing the breath of invention into their work—so long as they put in adequate effort, too. So long as they put their heart into the thing. There was no point in their asking for his help if they expected miracles, or if they weren’t willing to sacrifice something of themselves.
One day, a god and goddess came to his island together, but they weren’t alone. They brought their children with them: two beautiful boys, who looked like the sun and moon. One shone brightly, with hair the color of pure sunlight; the other was dark, with hair like the wings of Hephaestus’ pet ravens.
He looked at the children, and something in his heart broke open. He had never been lonely before, but now he thought about family and how he would probably live a very long time by himself. These were strange, unfamiliar feelings. They unsettled him and caused him to question many things about his existence.
As he worked on the small job the family had brought for him, Hephaestus stole glances at the boys’ mother, the young goddess. Sh
e was beautiful and elegant, with smooth dark hair and skin the color of fresh honey.
After the family left, the two boys happy with the clockwork birds that Hephaestus had given them, he went into his workshop and locked the doors. He didn’t come out for a very long time.
Twelve years passed.
Many people came and went in that time. Gods visited the island in hopes that he would invent something for their home or offer consultation on the latest technology. Human beings paid homage to him and burnt offerings, in hopes that he would create a new weapon for their latest war. But Hephaestus was getting old, and he was tired and wished they would all go away and leave him in peace. He was busy making something the likes of which he had never before attempted.
Finally, he was done. His latest masterpiece was complete, and Hephaestus opened the door to his workshop once again. Everybody—both gods and mankind—breathed a sigh of relief and prepared to place their orders. Twelve years is a long time when there are worlds to rule and wars to be won.
The gods looked down upon the little island and raised their eyebrows. They looked at one another with barely concealed surprise, because Hephaestus was no longer alone. He had built twelve beautiful maidens, all with limbs of silver and gold. They shone beneath the sun as they danced and sang.
Now, whenever anybody came to the island to beseech Hephaestus for his skills, they were treated to the warm hospitality of his twelve metal maidens. Incredibly, they each had their own individual attributes—all distinct from one another. They lived on the island with the retired god and seemed happy.
But one of his creations was different. She became restless, and her personality changed and developed over time. She seemed more human than her sisters and liked to go for long walks with her maker. Hephaestus, for his part, began to fall in love for the first time in his long life. When he had built the maidens—each one created and shaped over the course of a year—he was simply trying something new. Those first pangs of loneliness had left him curious, and he wondered if it was possible for him to make his own companions. A family. He remembered the goddess with the two sons, and each of his twelve maidens was built in her image. Each subsequent attempt came ever closer to the original, until his twelfth and final creation was a perfect replica. Except for the limbs, which were of course made of silver and gold.
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