“Don’t you want to show off your pretty hair, Goldilocks?”
“I’ll show you hair.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?”
“Wait and you’ll find out.”
CHAPTER
14
I HUNG UP the phone and gave it an evil stare. It didn’t squeak and flee to hide under the kitchen table. A pity.
The light of the morning shone through the windows. The last half of my morning coffee was slowly cooling in my favorite mug. The house was quiet.
Last night we’d gotten in, collected our son from Martha, did the bare minimum necessary to maintain personal hygiene, and passed out, all three of us in our huge bed. I’d had a nightmare that tech hit during the night and ripped Curran apart. I’d woken up in a cold sweat. It took several minutes of Curran holding me for my body to let go of the panicked feeling.
Once we got up, George came and collected Conlan and we split up. Curran went to George’s to make Conclave phone calls, and I made mine from our house. I hadn’t wanted him to leave. The magic had held through the night. The tech could hit at any minute, yet he acted like nothing was wrong. Nobody knew how much of him was human and how much was god at this point, and my aunt was still out of touch. But spending the entire day clutching at my husband to make sure he didn’t disappear wasn’t an option. We had to pull the Conclave together, and getting all of the Atlanta bigwigs into one spot was like pulling teeth, only a lot less fun.
The phone rang.
“This is Amy from Sunshine Realty . . .”
“Take me off your calling list, or I will find you and make you regret it.” I hung up. Great. I’d graduated to threats now. What kind of sadistic asshole calls the same number twenty damn times in the space of a week pestering strangers to sell their house?
I drank my coffee. This was the first moment I had gotten to myself in days. I remembered I had a great deal of things to sort out, but hadn’t gotten the chance to do it while they were happening, and now I just couldn’t muster any energy.
Curran was now a theophage, like Christopher, only far more gone. He had eaten six manifestations of various animal gods. Only time would tell if he survived the tech shift. Thinking about it was like having your neck exposed and waiting for the axe to fall.
Julie disappeared after Rowena’s rescue. I’d called around to Derek and the Guild, and the last time anyone had seen her, she was driving away from Kings Row at top speed. She would be back. If she went somewhere, she usually had a good reason for it.
A dragon was about to invade the city. A dragon whose brother had slaughtered most of my family. When I finally told Erra, she would go through the roof. She must’ve suspected a dragon was involved, but I doubt she’d guessed he and our ancient enemy were related. That conversation would go well, I just knew it.
We had to convince the city that a dragon was invading without any evidence.
And my father was still going on the offensive.
I felt like there wasn’t enough of me to go around.
At least Rowena was still alive. I’d done something right.
Someone knocked on the door. I walked over and opened it.
Saiman stood on my doorstep, carrying a large Tiffany-style lamp, the kind that would fit on a side table, in one hand and a duffel bag in the other.
“Did you abandon your life of wealth and intellectual brilliance and decide to sell lamps door to door?”
“Hilarious,” he said. “I may have a way to communicate with the Suanni.”
I stepped aside, let him in, and locked the door behind him.
“Is this more from the David Miller collection?” I asked.
David Miller was a magical version of an idiot savant. A cruel jest of nature or fate, he couldn’t use magic at all, but every object he’d handled during his lifetime had acquired some sort of random power. Saiman had spent a fortune acquiring Miller’s possessions after the man’s death.
“No,” Saiman said. “Where is he?”
“In the basement. Let me go first.”
I led the way. Adora glanced up from her book, gave Saiman a derisive look, and went back to her reading.
Saiman set the lamp on the side table by Yu Fong and paused, studying him.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Quite a remarkable face,” Saiman said.
Somewhere in my future, if I had one, Saiman would show up wearing Yu Fong’s face. Ugh.
Saiman knelt, unzipped the duffel, and extracted a roll of fabric, wrapped in plastic. He untied the knot and hauled out a small rug, which he placed on the floor. The old rug must’ve been vibrant at some point, but now the blues and reds of the blooms twisting across it had faded to near beige. Saiman took a tealight candle from the duffel and put it on the table, next to the lamp. Finally, he produced a small box.
“Hold out your hand.”
I offered my palm to him. He opened the box and shook a radiant amethyst into my hand. As big as a walnut, the stone pulsed with brilliant color.
“Don’t let go, or you’ll break the spell.” Saiman pulled a box of matches out. “This lamp came from Cunningham Hospital, a facility in New England that specialized in the treatment of coma patients. Countless people sat by its light and wished with every drop of their being for just one more chance to speak to their loved ones.”
All of that energy, all the love, grief, and sadness poured into the light of one lamp. So much desperation wrapped in it.
“Will it hurt him?” I asked.
“The lamp won’t wake him from the coma. But if everything goes well, we can communicate with him. The tea light will burn at an accelerated rate. We’ll have about five minutes. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Saiman lit the candle. The lamp came on with a click. The cord was right there, wrapped around it. It wasn’t plugged in, yet it glowed with a familiar electric light.
“Yu Fong?” I asked, the amethyst cold in my hand.
“Yes . . .” a clear male voice answered.
“This is Kate Lennart. You’re in a coma in my house. You’re safe.”
“I’m aware of my surroundings,” he said.
Okay then. “Is there anything we can do to help you?”
“The healing I require is beyond the capabilities of a human. Ask your questions. You’re wasting time.”
The candle was melting before my eyes. He was right. I had to get to the point. “Tell me about the dragon who attacked you.”
“He’s insane. We are an old species. There are traditions. Rules of conduct. One doesn’t just blindly attack another dragon without provocation.”
“How large was he?” Saiman asked.
“I’ve never seen one that large. Even my oldest brother can’t match him.”
“How can we kill him?” I asked.
“How much do you know about the dragon realms?” Yu Fong asked.
“A dragon realm is a pocket in reality,” Saiman said. “A fold in the fabric of space, where time and physical constraints have different meaning. Frequently, it is hidden in a place that one has to enter: a cave, a palace, a gorge, somewhere two separate spaces meet and a boundary exists between the two.”
Look at Saiman go. “A place one can’t enter except by invitation from the dragon,” I added. “As long as a visitor doesn’t consume anything, the dragon won’t be able to injure them.”
“But what makes the pocket?” Yu Fong asked. “What keeps it closed?”
“I don’t know,” I told him.
“An anchor. Every dragon has one. It is an object of great value to them. It can be a sword, a book, a poem on a scroll, something we treasure beyond everything else. We pour our power into it. We sleep with it, we lick it, we bathe it in our blood and in our magic. We keep it close. True, time does
n’t affect us the same way within our lairs, but time still matters. The more time that passes in the outer world, the stronger the anchor. It is the linchpin on which the entire realm revolves. A dragon as old as that insane asshole would have an anchor of overwhelming power. He can call on it anywhere and it will bring him home.”
Shit.
“We can’t kill him,” Saiman said. “Unless we somehow manage an instant death, he will call to the anchor and retreat to his realm.”
“Yes,” Yu Fong said.
Crap. Crap, crap, crap. “Can we destroy the anchor?”
“It’s an object of great power. If you were somehow to destroy it, the realm would collapse upon you.”
That didn’t sound good.
“You have a book,” Yu Fong said. “About small people. They go to the lair of the dragon and they steal his an—”
The candle went out.
“Small people?” I asked.
Saiman shook his head.
“Can we do another session?” I asked.
“Not now. We’ll have to wait at least twenty-four hours.”
I sighed.
“At least we have confirmation from an independent source,” Saiman offered.
“Fat good it will do us.” There were people at the Conclave who would insist the dragon was fake while he roasted them with his breath.
Nothing was ever easy.
* * *
• • •
“A DRAGON?” NICK peered at me from across the table.
The three knights from Wolf Trap had arranged themselves behind him. Knight-striker Cabrera looked at me like I was a spitting cobra. Her hand kept going to her sword sheath, but weapons were forbidden at the Conclave, so her fingers found only air. I could relate.
“Did I stutter?” I drank my coffee. I had outlined the events in Kings Row and my conversation with Neig.
Around the table, concerned faces frowned.
We had tried our best to get everyone together in the morning, but by the time we managed to wrangle the powers of Atlanta into Rivers Steakhouse, it was eight o’clock at night. Normally we met at Bernard’s, on neutral territory, but we needed privacy, and Bernard’s had upscale clientele and had declined to close for the night to accommodate us. Rebecka Rivers shut down her restaurant, posted a member of the kitchen staff at the door, and gave us as much coffee as we wanted, which made me want to hug her. The urge was disturbing.
Everyone who was anyone was here. Nick and the Order across from us; Jim, Dali, Robert, and Desandra to the right of them; Ghastek, Rowena, swaddled into a cloak, the hood over her face, and Ryan Kelly, every inch a businessman except for his bright purple Mohawk; the Red Guard; the Mage College; the witches, represented by Evdokia with two younger women, both of whom were probably her daughters; the volhvs, thin, gaunt Grigorii, his brother Vasiliy, who worshipped Belobog, and Roman; Teddy Jo and two others representing the neo-pagans; Saiman, representing himself; and Luther, representing Biohazard. Even the Druids came, Drest in a pristine white robe, solemn and dignified. His gaze caught mine. Yeah, yeah, no matter how well you clean up, I still saw you running around in animal skins in the woods with your body painted blue.
“So, let me get this straight,” Nick said.
Here we go. “I wish you would.”
“You’re saying that a dragon is about to invade us from a magical pocket dimension with his army.”
“Yes.”
“And he wants you to be his queen.”
“Yes.”
“And, correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re technically a princess, are you not?”
Jumping on the table and punching him in the face would be counterproductive to building a coalition.
“Yes.”
Next to me, Curran turned slightly, looking at Nick. I didn’t have to glance at his face to know his eyes had gone gold.
Nick looked to the rest of the table. “Okay, what we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is a Dungeons and Dragons campaign. The evil dragon wants to steal our princess for nefarious purposes, and she’s looking for some knights in shining armor to rescue her.”
Nervous laughter ran across the table.
“Are you done?” I asked.
“No, I’m just getting started. Have you actually seen this dragon in his dragon form?”
“No.”
“What makes you think it’s a dragon?” Phillip from the Mage College asked.
“I’ve been given information by a pagan faction that states he is.”
“Which faction?” Robert asked.
The druids looked perfectly innocent. Nope, no help there.
“A pagan faction that wishes to remain anonymous.”
“I can vouch for this,” Roman said. “I was there.”
“You married them, and you’re related to her through her mother,” Nick said. “You’re not exactly a neutral party.”
The volhvs looked like they’d been slapped in the face with a fish.
“Are you questioning my son’s word?” Grigorii thundered.
Nick opened his mouth.
“We also have confirmation from Yu Fong,” Saiman said. “Obtained through magical means.”
Phillip glanced at him. “Let me guess, magical means that only you can replicate that cannot be examined by us at this time because of some technicality?”
“What are you implying?” Saiman asked, his voice icy.
“The dragon,” Curran said, his voice cutting others off.
“Yes, the dragon,” Nick said. “Has anyone actually seen this dragon?”
“Do you have any evidence of it?” Phillip asked. “Scales, claws . . .”
Rowena lowered her hood. Phillip fell silent.
“Our condolences on your suffering,” Robert said. “May I ask some questions?”
“Go ahead.”
“Kings Row is outside the People’s patrol routes. What were you doing there?”
“I was going to visit a friend. I was there on my own time and had taken one vampire with me for personal security.”
“What sort of friend?” Robert pressed.
“Is that really relevant?” Ghastek asked.
Rowena raised her hand. “I’ll answer. One of my journeymen died. He left behind a pregnant fiancée. I was fond of him and I occasionally look in on her and her daughter.”
“Were you able to visit with them?”
“No. She’d had a family emergency and went to see her family out of state. She’d left a note for me with a neighbor.”
At least she and her daughter had survived.
“What happened next?” Robert asked.
“When I stepped out of the neighbor’s house, there was an army on the street.”
You could hear a pin drop.
“There were warriors,” she said. “They wore full armor and they were killing people on the streets. The corrupted creatures served them like dogs. They ran into the houses and pulled the people out.”
“What did you do?” Robert asked.
“I am a Master of the Dead.” A cold fire flared in her eyes. “I did what I do. I killed as many as I could. Eventually my vampire and I were surrounded. I realized that I wouldn’t escape, so I sent my undead into In-Shinar’s territory. The warriors then dragged me down the street.”
And while they did that, she’d pushed her vampire as far as it could go and made provisions to secure it, so it wouldn’t slaughter anyone. And when a yeddimur chased her undead, she used her vampire to trap it. Ghastek’s team had recovered it and secured it in the Casino.
“I secured the vampire to avoid further bloodshed,” Rowena said.
I’d asked her where the pike in the vampire had come from. She didn’t know.
“What happened next?” Robert asked.
“Fire.”
We waited.
“Fire?” Jim prompted.
“A torrent of fire from the sky. When I woke up, I was encased in a pillar of molten glass.”
“And yet, here you are, unburned,” Nick said.
That was just about enough. “We were all there,” I said. “We all saw it. I had to call my father to get her out of it.”
The knight-protector leaned forward. “And there it is. All this time you’ve been giving lip service to how you’re getting ready to fight your father, and the moment things turned sour, you ran to Daddy.”
I would kill him.
“She ran to Daddy because the life of her friend mattered to her,” Curran said. “Just as the lives of all of you matter to her. And because she has enough brains to realize that Neig made this elaborate trap to prove to everyone that we couldn’t match his magic with ours. Now he knows we can.” He raised his hand and counted off on his fingers. “She killed his creatures and rescued Yu Fong. She killed his champion. She neutralized his magic and returned life to Kings Row. Has the Order made any progress in identifying the cause of the transformation in the body we sent you?”
“Don’t change the subject,” Nick told him.
“It’s a yes-or-no question, Feldman,” Curran said. “Yes or no?”
Everyone looked at Nick.
“No,” he said.
Ha! “Was the Order able to pinpoint the origin of the magic or find any other similar cases?”
“No,” Nick said.
“So, you have nothing to bring to this discussion,” I said. “You’re going to sit there and bitch and moan and push your private vendetta. Here is a thought; if I’m a princess, you’re a knight, Nick. It’s in your title. Knight-protector. How about you put on your shining armor and do some protecting against this dragon instead of relying on the princess to do your dirty work?”
Nick leaned forward. “You’re asking me to accept a mythical creature that nobody has seen for hundreds of years and which requires too much magic to survive invading us with his magical army. There is a simpler explanation.”
“I’d love to hear it.”
“It’s your father.”
Magic Triumphs Page 25
