by Eva Chase
Jagger gave a bark of a laugh. “Emma, I have spent more than a minute in your presence. You don’t need to tell me that.”
I braced myself for the sorts of questions Keevan and Izzy had asked when they’d found out—about what Arthur and I had been like, about our long series of lives and rebirths, about the spell that had thrown us into that cycle. But Jagger just left it at that. Maybe I’d been silly to keep it from him in the first place. He’d never been the dramatic type.
“I prefer not to shout it from the rooftops,” I said. “As you’ve probably also already figured out. So with this expert of yours—”
“By all means,” Jagger said. “But so there’s no misunderstanding, I wouldn’t exactly call Hugh an ‘expert.’ He, er, is mainly known in the network as a kook. The guy spends all his time obsessing over creatures the rest of us didn’t have any reason to believe existed, despite all the things we had seen. I’m not sure anything he thinks he knows is any more true than those stories you mentioned.”
“That’s fine. I couldn’t really expect anything better than that.” How could I when I didn’t even know what to do about a dragon? The Darkest One must have been amused with her cleverness, taking human nightmares and letting them guide her magic-making. I’d heard of dark fae-formed dragons in my first life, but those had been brief conjurings designed more to scare than do any real destruction. The dark lady had truly outdone herself.
Jagger turned down a drive even narrower and bumpier than the road we’d been on. A small stone house stood at the end, spotty forest all around it. One tree leaned over so far it nearly touched the mossy shingles on the roof.
My eyebrows rose. “Doesn’t worry much about dark fae access, does he? No floodlights or solar panels?”
Jagger brought the van to a halt. “Like I said: a kook. From what he’s said, he doesn’t do any actual hunting, just ‘observing.’ So I suppose he’s never pissed off a dark thing enough to find out what it’s like when they follow you home for payback.”
Like many times before, I had to bite back the question of how exactly Jagger had gotten those scars on his face. It’d been some kind of dark creature’s doing—I had no doubt about that. I also suspected the creature that had done it had done worse to someone else, someone Jagger cared about, at the same time. But he’d never volunteered the information, despite my occasional vague prodding. If he wasn’t going to make a fuss about my secrets, I could do him the same courtesy.
The house’s door opened as we climbed out of the van. A short, pudgy man with wire-rimmed glasses peered at us from the front step. For a second I thought he was wary. Then he rubbed his hands together, and I caught the excited gleam in his deep-set eyes.
“Jagger,” he said in a slightly raspy tenor. “And you must be Emma. I understand you’ve come dragon-hunting.” He gave me a flash of a smile.
“That’s one way of putting it.” I glanced around. The terrain by the house was a mishmash of shadows. It made my skin crawl even without seeing anything definite crawling in it. “Should we go inside?”
“Yes, of course. Come on in.”
Hugh swept back inside, leaving the door wide open. No, this guy clearly had no worries about dark vermin following him home. It was a damned good thing after a fair bit of waffling I’d decided to leave Darton at home, on the condition he kept his sword in arm’s reach.
Besides, I didn’t like the way Hugh was already sizing me up. Like I was a specimen rather than a person. It reminded me too much of the way the fae looked at me sometimes, as if they were trying to figure out how my half-fae soul could have come to be in this completely human body. I doubted he could have seen the dragon in Darton anyway—it’d been hard enough for me to reach it—but he no doubt would have tried, by light only knew what methods.
“I understand you’re the dragon expert in the network,” I said, matching Hugh’s academic tone. “I was hoping to hear some of the results of your research. In particular, about how a person gets rid of a dragon.”
“Hmm.” He sat in one of the armchairs in the cramped living room and took off his glasses to rub them with the hem of his shirt. The place smelled of dusty leather, probably due to the stacks of old books on the shelves that filled one wall. I stayed standing, not trusting the wooden chairs that remained. The woven seat on one looked ready to unravel the next time anyone put their weight on it.
“Tell me a little more about this dragon,” Hugh said, putting his glasses back on. He folded his hands in his lap. “General appearance? Behavior? Where did you happen to find it?”
He was taking this all very calmly. Exactly how many actual dragons had he run into before? Jagger had given me the impression Hugh’s research was purely speculative.
“It was formed by dark fae energy,” I said. “Like all of the dragons I’m aware of, which to be fair isn’t a large number. Long and scaly, beady eyes, fangs and sharp claws, wings. You know the deal. Based on the smoke it had coming from its nose, I’d say definitely some sort of fire-breathing. They’ve encouraged it to stay still and quiet for now, though. It’s all burrowed down in my—my friend’s soul.”
“In their soul,” Hugh repeated.
“Yes,” I said. “It’s complicated to explain, but the fae have basically twisted a little portion of his life energy into a sort of home for it. Fed it from their own energy somehow. And I’d like to get rid of it.”
“Right.” Hugh gave me an odd little smile. Then he glanced at Jagger. “I know the rest of the network doesn’t think much of my work, but this is a bit much, isn’t it? Haven’t you got better things to do than resort to pranks?”
Oh. I bristled as the realization hit me. The kook thought my story was so ridiculous he’d decided I was a kook. Hog’s balls. What, did he expect me to have brought the dragon with me on a leash so he could inspect it?
“Hugh,” Jagger said in his gravelly voice, “I think you should listen to the girl. She knows what she’s talking about. I thought you’d be happy to put all that research to use.”
“I would be if you’d brought me something other than a farce.”
I cracked my knuckles. At the sound, Hugh’s head jerked toward me. I gave him an even smile. “What exactly would you need for you to believe I’m not joking around?”
He blinked at me. “Well, I— Some sort of evidence of your story, I suppose. A better explanation of how this dragon came to be. Honestly, dark fae conjuring dragons in people’s souls is nothing I’ve ever—”
“Fine.” He wasn’t getting a full explanation, especially not when he’d just proven he wasn’t likely to believe that either. The whole story wasn’t any easier to swallow. But I could show him proof that he was dealing with someone who knew more about fae dealings than he ever would. I didn’t like to have to show off my magic as if it were a parlor trick, and showing him what I needed to wasn’t going to be fun, but I didn’t have time for all this blathering.
I pulled a couple of twigs from my jacket pocket. “Take a close look,” I said, “because I’m only going to draw this for you once.” I clenched my fingers around the twigs and held out my arm, my hand turned toward the ceiling. “Picture from memory, take shape, take form,” I murmured, reaching back to my memory of Arthur’s dragon.
The air above my hand shimmered. The energy I was drawing from the twigs balked at my command. I was asking that life to imitate a vision of death, which was the last thing it wanted to do.
“Picture from memory, take shape, take form,” I repeated. Sweat beaded on the back of my neck as I trained my will on those wisps of energy. They whirled, darkening with the sharpening of my attention. They were visible to my spectators now. Hugh inhaled with a hitch of breath.
I ignored him, training my mind even more closely on the image of the dragon. The memory sent a chill down my spine, but I ignored the discomfort. I wasn’t going to stop until the kook was well and truly convinced.
The shadows rippled into a more detailed form. The illusionary dragon
uncoiled its body over my hand the way the real one had moved when I’d encountered it. Its teeth even flashed when it opened its mouth. It shuffled its wings, peering at Hugh.
A prickling started to dig down into the roots of my teeth. I gritted them, holding the illusion for a few seconds longer. Then I snapped my fingers, and the shadows dispersed.
Hugh was frozen in his chair, his jaw slack. He looked from the spot where the dragon had hovered to me and back again. I decided to sit down in the slightly less ramshackle chair after all.
“That’s what it looked like,” I said. “Although I expect its actual size when not imprisoned will be a lot larger than this house. Now what can you tell me about it?”
“Well, I— How did you do that?”
“I know a few fae tricks,” I said. “Enough to recognize a dragon when I see one. Enough to know my friend is in a whole lot of trouble if we don’t get rid of it. And an awful lot of other people will be in trouble as well.”
Hugh paused. His gaze turned thoughtful. “Is this at all connected to that strange storm that’s been attacking Great Britain for the last few days?”
“Only so far as the fae causing that is the same one who orchestrated the creation of the dragon,” I said. “We’d really rather it wasn’t inside him when she comes to collect.”
“All right. All right. In his soul.” His chuckle sounded a little frantic. “Unfortunately I’d imagine the easiest way—”
“If you suggest anything that involves getting rid of my friend to get rid of the dragon, I’ll be very tempted to get rid of you,” I said matter-of-factly.
Hugh paled. “N-no. Of course not. Let me see.” He stood up and went to his wall of books. He pulled one leather-bound volume out, paged through it, considered a few of the pages, put it back, and repeated the process a few more times. I waited, tapping my fingers against the chair’s wooden arms. Jagger leaned against the door frame, looking mildly amused by his colleague’s distress.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a dragon formed in someone’s soul before,” Hugh said after several minutes. “Not even in the more outlandish stories. I assume you don’t want to simply remove it...”
“No. It’s not going to do anyone any good out on the loose either. I need a way to destroy it without moving it—or to at least weaken it.” Maybe the latter would help me get to the point where I could do the former on my own.
“All right. Well, my research has given me some insight into dragons formed by energy. In fact, I’ve always believed those reports sounded the most authentic.” The academic’s enthusiasm had come back into his voice and his eyes. “There are of course the traditional methods of dragon-slaying involving swords and other weaponry...” At my grimace, he nodded. “Obviously this would require more of a... metaphysical approach.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” I said. “But I want to be careful that the methods I use do actually weaken it rather than simply annoying it. It didn’t look like a very forgiving creature.”
“Understandable, understandable.” He wet his lips. “Unfortunately, as I said, this isn’t a situation I’ve encountered before. But I can tell you what I have found out about dragons’ general inclinations. They seem particularly drawn to flow—of an even, orderly sort, being dark creatures. Many modern sightings have taken place near trains, trolleys, and other vehicles that tend to move along a clear path at a steady pace. They also seem to enjoy rivers and streams.”
“I’m not seeing how that’s going to help Emma slay one,” Jagger put in.
I waved him off. “Let me figure out how to piece it together.” If I could piece anything together from what Hugh’s questionable sources had taught him. I turned back to the scholar. “What else? Anything at all. There’s no way to know what idea might at least point me in the right direction.”
“Well, perhaps for that reason—the appeal of a steady flow—dragons also seem to be drawn to... blood. And respiration.”
“Which flow through the body, in an orderly way—under ideal circumstances,” I said. “Got it.”
He nodded. “Dragons are almost like fish themselves, needing to be in continuous motion when they’re active. Trying to restrain a dragon in any way tends to have unfortunate results. I assume yours is subdued rather than contained.”
Lurking, waiting. “Yeah, that describes it pretty well.”
“What else, what else...” He frowned, looking away. “There are some accounts that myrrh smoke can send them into a stupor, but I wouldn’t rely on that. They’re known to be fickle, shifting their attention easily, and difficult to tame. Their weakest point is generally thought to be either their throat or a particular point on their belly, which I suppose might hold true even in metaphysical terms...”
He fell into a silence. I waited a few minutes before I said, “Is that everything?”
“There’s relatively few accounts of dragons at all,” he said with an apologetic shrug, and waved toward his shelf. “I’ve spent more of my time on less impressive creatures. But I can say this.” He paused, holding my gaze. “I’ve visited a site that was apparently the target of a dragon not much bigger than a sparrow. The destruction that creature wrought, if that is indeed what wrought it... If this one is as large as you say, I hope for all our sakes that something I’ve told you today is useful to you. Because the last thing I’d want to see is that creature getting loose.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jagger kept his own council until we’d climbed back into the van. “Is any of that rambling going to do you any good?” he asked. “I can’t promise his information is at all reliable.”
“I know,” I said. “It gives me a starting point at least. Would you mind—I think I’m going to... meditate for a little while, in the back. To see if I can connect what he said to any of my own observations.”
“Be my guest,” Jagger said with a sweep of his arm.
I squeezed between the two front seats and sat down on the carpeted floor between the shelves of fae-hunting equipment. Jagger started the engine. The van rocked as he turned it around to head back up the pocked driveway. My body swayed.
Maybe lying down was a safer bet. Especially seeing as I planned to slip far back into my memories, where I’d barely be aware of what was happening outside.
I sank back on the floor. The bristles of the carpet prickled against the back of my neck. I didn’t need any magic to travel back into my memories—they were already in my head, after all. Concentration would do the trick just fine. I dragged in a slow, steady breath, trying not to think about how appealing a dragon might have found that sensation.
There’d been several times I’d witnessed the dark fae interacting with Arthur. My father would have seen many other encounters, and maybe he’d even written about them in his journals, but Eric hadn’t done me the favor of bringing those back along with his murderous intentions. So I had to make do with what I had in my own memory.
I let my mind drift back toward the sensations of fifteen hundred years past. The chalky smell of the plaster in the castle halls. Roast meat sizzling over a spit for hundreds of royal dinners. Hoof beats as my prince and then king dragged me off on some new quest. The lilt of his voice, low and measured. Always trying to help his subjects in any way he could.
Always listening, patiently, even when he shouldn’t.
The woman was standing by the side of the road, a basket covered with a scrap of cloth slung over one arm. Her face sagged with apparent weariness and her clothes were torn, but it was a feigned distress. Shadows licked higher on her feet and deeper into her eyes than was truly natural. When she looked at my prince riding up to her, they shivered in anticipation.
She had more power in her toenail than the average human did in their entire body.
“My liege!” I said, but as always Arthur was ahead of me. His horses never balked at his taps of his heel or tugs of the reins. He drew his current stallion to a stop in front of the woman.
“What b
rings you out here, good woman?” he asked. “It’s a long journey from the nearest town.”
“I don’t mind the walk,” she said in a thin voice. Shadows unfurled with it from her mouth, too dim for my prince’s eyes to catch. “Are you the prince? Arthur? I’m sure I’m no one important enough for you to trouble with.”
I didn’t believe for an instant that she hadn’t known exactly who he was before we’d even come into view. She’d been waiting for him. And she couldn’t have picked a better ploy to keep him there. At the suggestion that he might think himself too high to bother with a peasant, he immediately slid down from his saddle. He didn’t see any threat, just a harmless peasant.
Swine crud. After a few jerks of his head, the gelding I was riding finally agreed to stop behind the prince’s steed. I scrambled down after my prince. My feet hit the ground with a jarring thump. The gelding snorted as if mocking me.
“Every person in this kingdom is important to me,” Arthur was saying. “If you have any concerns at all, I’d much rather you told me than didn’t.”
“Oh,” the woman said, suddenly coy, “I don’t have any troubles big enough to complain. It’s enough just to know we matter to you.”
She took his hand and bowed down over it, as if in a gesture of supplication.
I cleared my throat sharply. “My liege,” I said. The prince looked over. I gave him that look, the look he really should have been familiar with by now. His shoulders tensed slightly, but he still smiled at the woman as she straightened up. Too sodding confident for his own good.
“I appreciate your kind words,” Arthur said, warming up to an excuse, but the woman waved him off before he had to produce it.
“You have business to attend to, of course. Think nothing of it. Stay well, Your Highness.”
The hint of sarcasm in her tone had nagged at me even then. But now, studying the memory, I focused more on her bow. The way she’d tipped her head over Arthur’s hand. Her chest had contracted—I hadn’t paid special attention that detail in the moment back then.
