Dragon Storm

by Katie MacAlister

  “I do not need to explain myself to anyone, least of all you,” Bael said in his bored voice that said we were all tedious beyond belief.

  “The entire Otherworld will seek justice for the death of the Venediger,” Baltic said.

  “Given the threat you pose, I would not be surprised if Abaddon joined forces in order to contain you,” Constantine added.

  I wondered for a moment why the two men were baiting Bael, but realized they were simply trying to get him to retreat. I’d rather we tackled him right then and there, with the remains of two people who had been alive a half hour before, than wait until a later time. It struck me that I wasn’t feeling just my own desire to make Bael pay for his actions, but also Constantine’s. And that was a bit shocking in itself—at what point had I become so in tune with him?

  Bael’s lip curled. “I will soon rectify the situation with Abaddon, of that you can be sure. Asmodeus possesses a ring that I desire, and I make it a policy to obtain that which I seek.”

  I hid my ring-bearing hand behind my back, almost sick with fear that Bael would somehow sense it was here.

  “You will not get the light sword,” Constantine said, moving to stand beside Baltic. “The demons at the front of the building will already have caused alarms to be set off around Paris—reinforcements will already be en route.”

  “Demons?” Bael’s face showed an emotion at last, one of speculation, but it was gone almost immediately. “Those of Asmodeus, I assume. They are of little concern and will soon no longer exist.”

  I bit my lip to keep from blurting out something rude.

  “Regardless of your idle threats, your presence here is doomed.” It was Constantine’s turn to sound bored, although I could feel by the tension running through him that he was barely restraining himself. “Stay, if you wish, but you will bring upon your head your own destruction.”

  “Don’t be tedious—” Bael started to say, his voice dripping unconcern, but at that moment, Constantine lunged at his father, a massive ball of fire preceding him that slammed Bael through the wall and into the next room.

  Baltic leaped to the side, snatched up the shiny sword from the safe, and with a yell of warning tossed it to Constantine. He reached back into the safe to grab something else, but by then, Bael threw himself into the room, his face a vision of wrath that I swear took a few years off my life just to witness.

  “Constantine! Run! Don’t let him get the sword!” I yelled, trying to get around Baltic, who now took up a stance in front of Ysolde and me. The latter was muttering to herself, clearly drawing on some inner power to cast a spell.

  “Yes,” Bael said, in a voice so horrible it caused little cracks to appear in the walls. His head lowered, but his eyes were firmly fixed on Constantine. “Run away, Constantine. You of all dragons know what will happen if you try my wrath. Or do you care so little that you are willing to risk the lives of everyone here?”

  In a move that showed more bravery than I thought possible, Constantine took up a fighting stance and gave his sword a twirl that was pure bravado. “You cannot fight us all and win, Bael. Not in your weakened state. Leave us, if not in peace, then at least with your pride intact.”

  Ysolde sucked in her breath at the brash words.

  “Golly!” Gary whispered, his eyes round, his expression one of utter admiration. “He’s really wonderful, isn’t he?”

  I shook my head. “Wonderful, but foolish. He needs to get the sword out of here, not stand up to his father.”

  “Father?” Ysolde goggled at me, then gazed at Constantine. “He’s Bael’s son? Did you know this, Baltic?”

  “Yes,” he answered, his body tense with anticipation. In his right hand he held the small cerise-colored jewel. I wondered why he wasn’t doing something to help Constantine, since obviously it would be better for everyone to keep Bael from gaining the power the sword held. “I am aware of most of the offspring of my brothers.”

  Ysolde goggled again. I felt a twinge of sympathy for her. “I—he’s your—you mean the First Dragon is his—Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Baltic managed to shrug even while looking like he was about to pounce. “It never occurred to me that you didn’t know.”

  “Well, I didn’t!” Ysolde turned to me, and asked softly, “Who exactly are you?”

  “My name is Bee Dakar. I’m a Charmer.”

  “I do not believe my situation is as dire as you would like to believe,” Bael said, brushing off dust from drywall before slowly sauntering forward. I wanted to scream at Constantine to get the sword away, but he just stood there until his father stood a couple of yards in front of him. “In fact, I believe the odds are with me.”

  Constantine raised the sword so that it stood between them. “You will not find us so easy to overcome.”

  Bael pursed his lips for a moment, glancing from Constantine to Baltic, and then to Ysolde. His gaze touched me for a moment, but since I was now behind both Ysolde and Baltic, I managed to stand the experience without flinching. “Perhaps not. Very well, have it your way.”

  And with a gesture like that of someone sweeping back the door to a tent, he simply waved open the fabric of space, and a handful of demons leaped through, each brandishing a sword. They skidded to a stop, looking at Bael for instructions.

  “Run, Constantine! Save the sword!” I yelled again, trying to get around Ysolde and Baltic in order to grab Constantine and forcibly drag him from the room.

  “That is not the light sword,” Baltic said calmly, moving forward to block my path. In his hand, the crystal thrummed for a few seconds, then elongated into a beautiful sword that appeared to be made of blue-and-white light. “Only a black dragon can handle arcane magic.”

  Ysolde finished casting her spell, flinging her hands wide just as Bael gave the command to attack.

  Constantine and Baltic, side by side now, lifted their swords and prepared to defend us from the demons. My heart seemed to contract with fear, and I realized something profound: I was falling in love with Constantine.

  I didn’t have time to do more than to admire him as he flexed his hands, ready for the attack, before a flash of insight struck me: we didn’t have to look anywhere else for Bael’s talisman.

  The ring suddenly grew hot and heavy on my finger, dragging my attention to our immediate surroundings. I pulled hard on the ring’s magic, planning to focus it on Bael, but a fraction of a second before Bael brought his hands together in a dramatic gesture, I knew with every ounce of my being that we were about to be destroyed.

  The resulting shock wave not only threw us all backward, it flattened the building, sending walls, bricks, roof, and timber down on top of us.

  Fourteen

  “I’m seriously tired of having this building coming down on top of me.”

  Bee’s voice was strained and thin, but Constantine could have greeted the sound of it with cries of joy. Instead, he carefully levered off a part of the wall that had collapsed down onto a long desk and flung rubble out of the way until she was revealed to him.

  “You’re a mess,” he said, not wondering at the way his heart lightened just by the sight of her dust-streaked face. Her hair was sticking out all over, partially turned white by plaster dust, bits of paper and wood, and bits of upholstery from an armchair. Her shirt was torn off of one shoulder, with little speckles of blood, but his quick gaze reassured him that it was minor scratches, and nothing more. She was filthy, dirty, and blood-streaked, and coughed and spat up bits of dust, wheezing like an asthmatic at a cigar bar.

  And the world was a better place because she was in it, swearing like a stevedore in between coughing attacks.

  He kicked aside a broken bit of chair and gently helped her up, rubbing her back in an attempt to ease the distress.

  “Is everyone—” Bee broke off to cough again. Her voice was as rough as sandpaper. Even that seemed charming to Constantine. “Is everyone okay? Ysolde? Baltic? Where’s Gary?”

  “I’m here. I thin
k. Golly, what happened?”

  Constantine waited until Bee had her balance before releasing her to toss aside a painting, part of a settee, and a chunk of Sheetrock, pulling Gary out of the remains of his hamster ball. He, too was covered in dust and dirt, his hair resembling a porcupine’s back with slivers of wood and glass poking out at all angles. Constantine picked the worst of it off and propped him up on the remains of a chair before turning to look to the other side of the room. He’d seen Baltic and Ysolde as soon as he hauled himself out from under the part of the roof that had fallen on them, so he knew they were alive, at least.

  “Are you hurt?” he called to them, wondering that he wasn’t panicked with worry about Ysolde’s state of health. He felt vaguely guilty over that, but decided that since Bee wasn’t immortal or mated to a dragon who would give his life to protect her, it was only right and proper that he be more concerned about her.

  “Ysolde was struck on the head, but she appears to be unharmed,” Baltic answered.

  “Thankfully, I have a thick skull,” Ysolde said with an attempt at a smile.

  Rather than rushing to her side to make sure that she wasn’t overestimating her state of health, Constantine simply nodded, then proceeded to clear a path before up-righting the remains of a chair so Bee could sit down.

  “I’m fine, really,” she protested when he insisted that she allow him to tend her wounds. “I think the ring did something to protect us, because I had this flash of insight right as Bael did whatever it was that brought the place down around our ears. I mean, we shouldn’t have survived that, should we?”

  “You shouldn’t have,” he agreed, pulling out the tail of his shirt and tearing off a piece of it. He dabbed gently at the bloody specks on her shoulder and upper arm, pleased to see that none of the wounds were deep or serious. “The ring definitely protected you and quite possibly cushioned the rest of us as well.”

  “Except the Venediger and Guillaume,” she said sadly, and reached out to pull Gary onto her lap. Constantine was horrified to see her eyes well up with tears. “I can’t help but feel partially responsible for their deaths. I know that it was Bael’s decision to kill them, and ultimately the blame must lie squarely on his shoulders, but he wouldn’t have been here if we hadn’t tried to break the curse. And speaking of that, I’ve had an idea.”

  “Why on earth would you say that?” Ysolde asked, carefully picking her way over to Bee, Baltic at her side. Around them, sirens began to wail, while the noises of the city, normally a constant background, slowly began to filter through the residual ringing in Constantine’s ears. “The part about the curse, I mean. Didn’t the Venediger already have the sword? Aisling’s demon, Jim, said you tried to break the curse and failed, but I don’t see how that would lure Bael out of hiding. He certainly didn’t seem concerned about the curse at all.”

  Constantine noticed Baltic hunting among the rubble. A chill clutched his guts. “What are you looking for?” he asked quietly.

  Baltic turned a stricken face to him. “The light sword. It was in my hand when I was knocked backward, but it is not here.”

  The two men stared at each other in horrified comprehension.

  “That’s one,” Constantine said finally.

  “One what?” Bee asked, moving over to where they stood.

  Both men were silent for long enough that Bee poked Constantine in the side and repeated her question.

  “Bael has the light sword,” he admitted.

  “Oh, no!”

  “I suspected he’d gotten it after blasting us nearly to kingdom come,” Ysolde said tiredly. Immediately, Baltic moved to her side.

  Bee stroked his arm in an obvious attempt to comfort him. “I’m sorry, Constantine. Yes, I know it wasn’t my fault, but I’m sorry that he got the sword after all. It just means we have to keep him from getting anything else he can use to build power. If only we’d gotten here earlier, perhaps we could have saved the Venediger and the sword…”

  A shout from behind them had Constantine lifting his hand in acknowledgment. People had begun to gather outside the remains of G&T, as well as the buildings on either side, both of which were missing walls. “The deaths are not anyone’s fault but Bael’s,” he said, giving her a quick reassuring squeeze. “They are regrettable and will not be forgotten by anyone in the Otherworld, but they do not stain our souls. We must leave. The mortal police will be here shortly, and we have much work to do.”

  “Yes, we do, but the most important thing we can do is right here and now.” Bee unbuttoned his shirt, making Constantine both instantly aroused, and mildly shocked.

  “You wish to make love now?” he asked, glancing around. “I must tell you that I do not find such acts in public places exciting. Outside, yes, but I really must demand a little privacy. Others watching is unsavory.”

  Bee gave a little laugh, shook her head, and looked startled when a small bit of wood flew out of her curls. “I’m not into voyeurism, either, so as good as it is to know I won’t have to fight you over that, I wasn’t actually trying to seduce you. I need to see the curse to Charm it.”

  A little frown pulled his brows together. “We do not have a talisman.”

  “Oh yes we do.” She leaned forward, brushing her hair back in order to stare at his chest and belly, finally putting a finger on a spot on his side. “Right, let’s see if I can do this without any other catastrophe.”

  “Did you steal something from Bael?” Ysolde asked, looking around them. People on the street started to work their way through the debris and rubble, calling out questions. In the distance, sirens grew louder. “Or did he leave something behind?”

  “You could say that,” Bee said, her focus on Constantine’s chest as she traced the pattern seared into his flesh. It was like being touched by a hummingbird’s wings, soft and light and fleeting, but with each passing second, he felt as if a heavy weight was being lifted off of him. “The talisman is Constantine.”

  “You’re kidding,” Ysolde said at the same time that Constantine shook his head. “Bee must have struck her head as well.”

  “I did no such thing.” Bee slid a glance upward at him, and inexplicably grinned, warming him down to his toenails. “Think about it—what is a talisman but something that has a strong relationship to the person in question? Often it’s a possession, but it can just as well be something that is a part of that person. Well, you’re Bael’s son. You can’t be more a part of something than related by blood.”

  “That’s really smart thinking,” Gary said, somewhat muffled since Bee still held him clutched to her front. “And to think that Connie was the answer to the problem all along!”

  “But why didn’t it work the first time, if that’s the case?” Ysolde asked.

  “Most likely because we didn’t just use Constantine alone—we had Asmodeus’s talisman as well, corrupting things.” Bee was frowning now, her attention focused on his chest, her hand shaking a little as it traced the pattern of the curse.

  He watched her for a moment, concerned by the strain that was showing in her tightened lips. He was about to ask her if she was all right when he noticed that her finger had turned black, an inky color that moved slowly up her flesh as if it was a flush. Her hand shook harder as she struggled to unmake the curse. He wanted to stop her, but he knew it had to be done. After a moment’s thought, he placed his hand on her arm to give it support, and breathed fire onto her hand.

  She gasped and looked up at him, a flash of gratitude in her eyes. The dragon fire sank into her flesh, driving back the black stain until it was confined to just the tip of her finger.

  He stroked her arm, aware that it was cold, ice cold. She continued unmaking the curse, the blackness leeching up her hand until he drenched it with more fire. And so it went on for several minutes until she straightened up, her gaze intent on his chest as she followed the swirls leading up to his collarbone. “Almost done.”

  He bathed her entire arm in fire, not liking how the chill was
creeping up her flesh. “If it is too much for you—”

  “It’s not,” she said quickly, taking in a shuddering breath. “I blame myself for not thinking of you earlier, to be honest. I got there in the end, but I just wish I could have done so before the Venediger and Guillaume were killed. Is everyone ready? I’m coming to the heart of the curse. I don’t know what it will do when it’s broken, but I want everyone ready for some reaction.”

  Constantine braced himself as Bee’s finger finished tracing out what appeared to be an overly complicated Celtic knot on his right shoulder. Just as she traced out the last curve, her eyes met his.

  He decided then and there that he would spend his life trying to thank her for everything she’d done for him, for bringing warmth back into his life, for reminding him that even he had a future, and most of all, for standing by him despite all the trials they’d endured. And with that thought, the world seemed to contract before suddenly releasing its breath and sending him staggering backward a few steps.

  Ysolde and Baltic did the same.

  Gary cheered.

  Bee slumped for a moment before straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. She shook her hand, and Constantine was pleased to see the black color slowly fade away. “And that, lady and gentlemen, is how we Charm a curse. Even one made by a bastard murdering demon lord. If you will forgive me for referring to him like that, Constantine.”

  “He is a murdering bastard, at least in the sense of his character,” Constantine said, taking his first free breath in what seemed like a lifetime of bondage. He looked down at his chest. The curse itself was no more, the dark discoloration having evaporated away with the movement of Bee’s finger, but his flesh still bore faint scarred traces of it. He touched his skin, not feeling anything but a profound sense of relief. And joy. So much joy he couldn’t contain it.

  “Ow!” Gary protested when Constantine hoisted up Bee and spun her around jubilantly, Gary caught between them.

  He kissed her hard, his lips softening almost immediately. “Thank you,” he whispered before reluctantly setting her down. “Is your hand damaged?”