Live and Let Fly

by Karina Fabian

  I raised my head and made ready with my fire, but Rak leapt to his feet and began waving his arms. "It's ours! It's ours!"

  No sooner had the MH-60S Seahawk touched its skids to the ground, than two Marines dashed out. One carrying a med kit didn't bother to acknowledge Rak's shout that we had an

  "agent down," as she rushed to Grace's side. I backed away, gritting my teeth as I forced my legs to hold me up. My body reminded me sternly that I'd been beaten, half-drowned, hammered by a magical booby-trap, and just gone to Hel and back. I told it to quit whining. You'd think by now I'd be used to pushing myself beyond my limits.

  Rak had run back to the helicopter to talk to whoever was coordinating the mission. A Marine stood facing the chopper doors with his arms held out. A diminutive nun in a black habit reached for his shoulders, and he grabbed her waist to help her down, like a father helping his child out of a car. She clasped both hands over her wimple as she crouch-ran to me.

  When she straightened, all similarity to a child ended, and I bowed to Sister Michaela Joan of the Order of the Warriors of Christ.

  When I brought my head back up, dizziness washed over me. If dragons could cross their eyes, I would have.

  Sister Michaela Joan grasped my head in her hands. I felt strength and healing flow from her.

  "More," I gasped when she released me.

  She cocked her head sternly. "Be not greedy, Vern."

  I stamped a foot. My tail lashed. Yet I kept my voice level. "No, you don't understand.

  Loki's in there. And Sigyn. Hel was never involved—long story. I have to get them before they escape, but I can barely walk. I'm tapped, physically and magically. I need all the strength you can spare—or I may have to eat a Marine."

  The Marine who'd escorted Sister Michaela tensed, not sure if I was kidding or not. At that moment, neither was I.

  The agent of the Church's elite force gave me a look that seemed to see into my soul.

  Yeah, it's a gift, a charism, even. She reached out again, this time laying her hands on my head and praying. I felt my head clear, my aching ease, and my blood course through my veins with renewed energy.

  "Bless you, sister. Please—take care of Grace!" I snapped my wings and headed back into the fray.

  * * * *

  Doors had opened up all along the mountain, and now Sigyn's minion choppers came buzzing out like bees out of a hive. Too bad they weren't going after the Russians; a bear fit the analogy better than an eagle. The door to Sigyn's headquarters had remained shut, but the Marines were handling that with a missile. A Hellfire, no less. Nice touch.

  I didn't bother checking there. Nearly half an hour had passed. Sigyn had brains; she'd have had people watching the coast, and she would not have stuck around to posture to Uncle Sam's heavy arm.

  With my renewed energy came heightened senses. I made a slow circuit of the island, looking, listening, feeling for magic. One by one, I discarded the distractions: Marines and minions locked in combat; Church mages calling out spells and counterspells; tourists screaming and running around in panic, or pausing with a video camera and telling a friend, "Just a minute!

  I want to put this on DimsTube!"

  There! On the bungee platform! Sigyn was waving a black-and-white kerchief while Loki clung to her. A Blackhawk was heading their way, a ladder already flapping from it. I sped toward them, roaring a challenge to the pilot for the world's most unusual game of chicken. I knew I might not make it to the demigod couple in time. What would those rotating blades do to me if I missed my mark?

  Loki spared me the trouble of finding out. With superhuman strength, he jumped and caught the ladder by the bottom rung. I had to wonder how much of his helplessness he'd been faking all this time. I watched as he wrapped one arm around the rope and held out the other to his wife.

  "Jump! I'll catch you!"

  She gulped and leapt.

  At the last minute, he pulled his hand back. "Psych!"

  I saw her adoring expression turn to horror then fury as she plummeted into the mountain and was sucked into the portal. I could only imagine what the fire giants would do to her when she arrived.

  Loki laughed so hard he nearly slipped. He grabbed the rung with both hands.

  Like jokes, do you? I started slavering.

  "Loki!" I shouted. When he turned his eyes to me, I gave him a good view of the drool dripping off my fangs.

  I spat.

  "No!" He screamed. His hands flew to his face in an automatic protective gesture against venom I didn't have. Of course, he had to let go of the ladder to do that.

  I watched him fall, grinning. Angrboda had said she'd be glad to escort him to Hel personally. Looks like she'd get her chance.

  But just before he struck the portal, the fabric of space-time unwound, and it disappeared.

  Loki fell with a rather anti-climactic plop! and a ripple of lava. I saw him come up for air long enough to scream a curse in my general direction before he sank back in again.

  Oops. That was going to hurt for a looong time. Lava gets in everywhere. Worse than sand.

  Sigyn was gone. Loki incapacitated. The American military and the Faerie Inquisition could handle the rest. I headed out to sea, where my senses—and my hearts—told me they'd taken Grace.

  Chapter Twenty-Three: On His Holinesses' Secret Service I landed on the forecastle deck of the Enchanted not quite sure what kind of welcome I'd get. After all, few members of the Navy had ever seen a dragon. Instead of the suspicion and surprise I'd expected, however, I got looks of sympathy that said, "I wouldn't want to be you right now."

  I didn't even get a chance to wonder about that. The door in front of me opened and out stormed a fuming Thor and an equally angry Sister Anita. Guess Rak gave them a debrief.

  Anybody else and I might have bluffed my way out of a divinely-inspired butt-chewing.

  If it had been just Thor, I would have tried, anyway. But no one messed with a Warrior of Christ—especially Sister Anita.

  I decided to take the dignified and oblivious route. I bowed low and spoke in Faerie Latin. "Sister, Great Thor, I am pleased to report the portal created by Sigyn has closed—"

  "You stole Loki from Helheim?" Thor's voice thundered over the rest of my report.

  "Yeah. About that..."

  His face turned red, and his muscles began to swell like a bodybuilder's at the Mr.

  Olympus finals. Once they'd reached their limit, his entire body grew until he towered over us.

  The ship listed. Several Marines backed up, even as they pulled out their weapons.

  The nun beside him didn't even look his way. You'd think supernatural beings metamorphosed in front of her on a regular basis. That's not too far from the truth, actually, but I still gave her credit for moxie.

  I stood my ground, as well.

  "Let's just say that Apikewa has a new volcano god, but he'll be painfully inconvenienced for the next few millennia."

  A tense silence as Thor, not the swiftest of the Norse demigods, worked out what I'd said.

  He began to laugh, shrinking as he did so. A collective sigh of relief escaped the servicemen as he did.

  "Good one, dragon!" Thor clapped me a mighty smack on the shoulder, sending me skidding.

  "Thanks," I grunted.

  He whistled, and the skies began to thunder with a song familiar even to those who don't like German opera. The clouds parted, and through the brilliant shaft of sunlight rode a large yet lovely woman in full battle gear on a horse that would make a Clydesdale feel puny. She pulled the reins, and her steed landed with surprising delicacy on the deck. I'm sure most of the sailors were noticing how her breastplate overflowed, but I was looking at her legs. Muscley feminine.

  "Hey, Bruni. Still working out, I see," I crooned at her.

  "Yah, hi, Vern!" Brunhilde gave me a little princess wave then did a slow bicep curl. I think one of the Marines fainted. Thor leapt up behind her, and they were off with a musical crescendo.

&nbs
p; In the silence that followed, Sister Anita strode up to me. "Asgard may find this amusing, but the Church does not!" she hissed.

  "Yeah, I didn't think it would." I sighed. I looked at her then did a double-take.

  Something was off. I'd shrunk about a foot and a half, standing height, more in overall length.

  I'd wondered what kind of punishment God had planned. Had it simply taken this long to take effect, or did my joke push Him over the edge?

  I didn't care. I'd kept Grace alive, and now, with my blood, I could heal her.

  "Can we discuss this later? I'd like to go check on my partner."

  Her expression softened, and she led me to sickbay.

  I had to admit, my smaller size made it easier to move around below deck, but I wasn't looking forward to my first visit to the Costas, as I was about the height of their Newf. Still, a small price to pay.

  I didn't bother to look around me. I ignored the sounds of surprise, shock, awe, or any other human reaction to my presence and made my way straight to Grace's bed.

  Despite the heat of the day, they'd placed a light blanket over her. One bare arm with an IV and a pulse monitor lay out of it. One side of her face was swathed in bandages. I was relieved to see she was breathing on her own. She'd also stopped tapping. Did that mean she was asleep?

  When I asked the ensign who joined us at her side, he shook his head. "She hasn't been showing the usual reactions for sleep, but after one of your healing priests and I tended her wounds, she seemed to relax into this state. She's not comatose, though. She's just...gone. I'm sorry; I don't know what this means. I'm a PA, not a psychiatrist."

  With one claw, I lightly brushed a lock of silvery-red hair from her forehead.

  He seemed to pick up my thoughts. "We worked on her as long as we could. It was, you know, a miracle. I was sure we'd have to amputate her foot, but the priest was able to repair most of the damage. Then other wounded came in, and we had to turn our attention elsewhere. She's stable, but she'll need some reconstructive surgery on her face and probably physical therapy—"

  "No, she won't. Get your longest needle and a big syringe." I told him how we were going to give her some of my blood.

  "Vern," Sister Anita said.

  The physician's assistant interrupted. "I can't do that! You're not even the same species!"

  "Look, we've done this before. Dragon blood heals. I'll show you." I pulled back a scale and pierced my skin with a claw, letting the blood gather into its curve.

  "What are you doing?" he demanded

  The nun sighed. "Vern, por favor, stop this."

  "Watch." Over their protests, I pulled back Grace's bandage. The skin was blistered and puffy, underlayers exposed along one line where the venom had especially concentrated, but the surrounding tissue was too damaged to hold stitches. I dripped the blood on that spot.

  "Hey!" the ensign yelled. He tried to push around me, but I held him back.

  "Wait," I told him.

  Nothing happened.

  "But—!" I sputtered. It should have worked. Why didn't it work?

  The ensign swore like a sailor and went to get some gauze and distilled water.

  I stared at Grace's damaged face. My blood slid down her cheek.

  "It doesn't make sense! It should have healed her! I should have—"

  Sister Anita set her hand on my flank. "Vern. Come away."

  I didn't even shout. I swung my head and snarled at her like an animal. She didn't flinch, and her hand remained steady on my side.

  "There is nothing more you can do right now."

  "I should be able to! I had my healing back! I… Did you do this?"

  Her voice could have chilled the room. "Your abilities are not mine to grant or take."

  "Then who?" I yelled. "God wouldn't do this to me—to her! He can't!"

  "How dare you presume to tell our Lord what He can and cannot do!" Sister Anita's voice barely rose, yet for a moment, she seemed more thunderous and terrifying than Thor. I actually shrank back.

  Suddenly, I became aware of the controlled chaos of suffering around me: a surgeon calling directions to his nurse behind curtains, a priest who looked too young to be out of the seminary, much less in the Inquisition, muttering a prayer over a Marine's leg while he weakly protested, "But I'm Baptist!" Two men came through the door carrying a stretcher on which a man thrashed and screamed in a language no Mundane would know.

  Grace slept peacefully on. I felt ashamed.

  The ensign—Ryans, I finally noted—pushed between us and hastily swabbed at her cheek. "I think you should take this conversation topside," he said.

  "Go on, Vern. I'll meet you shortly."

  The Warrior of Christ hurried to the possessed man, cross at the ready. I slunk toward the exit.

  As I passed the young priest, I heard him say, "Wait! I read about your faith healings!"

  He raised his arms and declared in a booming voice: " Praise Jesus! Heavenly Father, we thank You for Your Divine Mercy and ask that You bestow it upon Your faithful son, Sgt.

  Jacobs. Now, Sgt. Jacobs, I command you, by the Power of the Holy Spirit, BE HEALED!"

  And he slapped his hand on the Marine's injured leg.

  Jacobs screamed once and passed out.

  The priest gaped at him.

  I tapped him on the shoulder. "You're supposed to strike their heads. Dramatically, but lightly."

  "Oh." He chewed his lip. "Oh. Well, at least his leg will be better when he awakens."

  He hurried off to see where else he could help. I shook my head once and left.

  I didn't plan on hanging out on the deck waiting for Sister Anita. She had more important work to do than chewing out an undersized drake with delusions of grandeur. Besides, I had the Wisdom of the Ages, right? I could pretty well guess what she'd say.

  The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Damsels and knights! Didn't I know that?

  Every service earns me back my glory; every disservice costs. Did I really think springing one of Satan's most destructive allies and releasing him on an unsuspecting universe rated a little height loss? The volcano wouldn't hold Loki long, regardless of what claims I made to Thor.

  And it wasn't just that, either, and I knew it. Sigyn opens a new Gap, risking the lives of an entire island of people, and I pray, "Thy will be done." She puts my partner in danger, and I ask God to take the support role while I do the saving. Be my sidekick, God. God had returned my healing to me after I'd destroyed a dangerous artifact despite the fact that giving it away could have helped save Grace's life. This time, I put her life above the fate of the world. Guess it was kind of poetic justice.

  Poetic justice isn't so poetic when it happens to you.

  I'd find a priest and do my confessing later. Right now, people were out there fighting and possibly dying. I wouldn't add to my list of sins by moping when I could help.

  I made it topside, looked around at the deck, currently cleared except for single chopper and a few sailors in blue bellbottoms hustling about. One saw me, stopped in his tracks and pointed. On a normal day, I might have made some display, spread my wings or something, but my heart wasn't into it today. I ignored him and headed toward the command deck.

  Someone shouted my name, and I turned back to see Rak leap from the chopper and head toward me.

  "How's Grace?" he asked.

  I shrugged. Only God really knew.

  "I'm sorry," he breathed, and for a moment, his face was etched with more pain than any physical torture could produce. He took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. "Listen, things are slowing down—the enemy is surrendering now that they know their leader has flown the coop.

  Still, there are teams out there needing our support. Can you follow us?"

  * * * *

  It didn't take long to finish mopping up the last of the minions. The worst part was avoiding the magical traps still in place. At least my magic sensing abilities were still intact.

  Quicker than you could say
"Granada," we had cleared out Sigyn's lair and apprehended any bad guys who lacked the sense to doff their guns and uniforms and go mingle with the population.

  The only thing left was for the Public Affairs guys to put some kind of "America Saves the World!" spin on it—and I was glad to say that was not my problem.

  Our team reported another section cleared, and the sergeant smiled. "Well done, Marines.

  Looks like it's a wrap."

  An idea struck me. "Actually, sergeant, there's one place we should check out before we go."

  Sigyn's stylish headquarters looked like, well, a rocket hit it. Concrete slabs the size of boulders, rock, and dirt littered the once gleaming floor and walls. Yet somehow, the screen avoided damage—probably still on warranty. The sharks, distressed, had taken to attacking each other; somewhere along the line, their laser beams had started firing, leaving holes and scorches along the walls. The tank looked like some demonic stew and smelled just as bad—to the Marines at least. I, on the other hand, was reminded that I hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours.

  I resisted temptation, however. What I really wanted, I'd find on Sigyn's Gloat Stand, under a piece of flung wall.

  "Help me move this boulder, and someone grab what's beneath it."

  While Marines surrounded the huge chunk of mountain along three sides, I hopped on top, grabbed onto it with all four sets of claws, and backwinged for all I was worth. Grunting and hauling, we managed to pull it up enough for someone to grab Narfi's entrails from where Sigyn had abandoned them.

  Serious lack of foresight there. Glad I could count on her for it.

  The Marine who'd grabbed them coiled them around his arm, pulling at them curiously.

  "What kind of rope is this?"

  "Intestines," I answered.

  "Yeargh!" He didn't so much drop them as shove them away. The Marine they flew toward jumped back while a couple laughed.

  "All right! Enough clowning around," the sergeant said, though I noticed he didn't make any move to pick up the leathery coils himself. He ordered one of his team to check the former doorway.

  He asked, "What's this all about, Vern, sir?"