by Liz de Jager
‘Are you a full-blooded Blackhart?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Do you have a parent who carried the name Blackhart?’
‘Yes, my mum. Why?’
‘Good, this will make things easier.’
I sink down in front of the mirror when he tugs me down next to him. ‘Will you cut your finger, not a big cut, so that a drop wells up?’
‘Blood magic?’ I say, suddenly very uneasy. ‘Not quite comfortable with that.’
‘It’s just to wake it up, to talk to it. It might not even work.’
I curl my lip, knowing that this little parlour trick will end up sucking up the rest of my magic. ‘How do we do that?’ I ask, not caring that I sound fed-up and irritable.
‘We take the blood from your finger and you anoint it here and here.’ He presses his fingers against the petals carved in the north and south positions of the mirror. ‘And then you say your name. And I’ll do the rest.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘I’ll sing it awake.’
Sing? Not what I was expecting and I’m tempted to laugh but I hold myself in check. I lean forward and pull my knife from its sheath. I press the point into my forefinger and watch a droplet of blood well up. I press it slightly more so that the droplet grows in size. I press my finger first to the lily petal to the top of the mirror, then I move my hand to press it against the lower petal.
Thorn nods at me. ‘Now say your name and say, I call on you to wake up.’
‘This is not some kind of faerie trick, right? I’m not going to be sucked into the mirror or anything?’
He has the decency to look worried for a second but then shakes his head. ‘No, it’s not that kind of mirror.’
I roll my eyes at him. As I open my mouth to speak my name I remember one of the things Jamie told me never ever to do and that is to gift a supernatural creature with my full name. It would mean that they have full power over me, and will be able to summon me or cast spells on me to do their bidding. So, I clear my throat and say clearly, ‘I am Kit Blackhart. I call on you to wake up.’
Thorn slants me a quick look to see if I’m ready; when I nod, he starts humming a melody.
He has a good voice. I don’t know much about singing, but I know I like his voice. My nan would have made him sing for his supper. She had a thing for handsome tenors. As I listen to his voice the tension eases out of my shoulders and the aches in my body lessen.
I close my eyes because I can almost remember hearing this song. Maybe, when I was very small, someone sang this to me. The humming grows a bit louder and I feel the frame shift beneath my fingers, the way a horse flexes its muscles when you sit astride it. My eyes fly open, no longer listening to Thorn’s voice. I’m tempted to pull my fingers back, away from the mirror because I can feel a wetness on my fingers where they touch the frame and, as I watch, the frame darkens beneath my fingers like skin flushing with blood. I do my best to suppress a shudder but Thorn sees and drops a calming hand to my shoulder.
The voice, when it comes, is from far away, filled with interference, like static. ‘What do you seek, Blackhart? We had a mutual agreement. You leave me be, I leave you be.’ The voice is all around me, inside my head. It’s not really loud, just very present, but there are odd sounds too: more voices, the sound of nails across a chalkboard.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, hating how hesitant and scared I sound. ‘I, uhm, I’m not the Blackhart you know. I don’t know about the agreement you brokered.’ I look at Thorn and whisper at him, ‘I’m not comfortable doing this.’
Before Thorn can answer, the mirror speaks again. ‘There is only ever one Blackhart,’ the voice says, sounding distracted, tired. ‘The agreement was Mirabelle’s. She paid the price. I need no further recompense, only to rest from now until all eternity, girl. What is your wish?’
‘I seek to know of my parents,’ Thorn answers in my place. ‘I am Thorn, Prince of Alba.’
There’s a rustling, like something big shifting its weight around. ‘Is this your wish too, Blackhart, to know of the House of Alba?’
I swallow against the tightness in my throat. ‘Yes, it is.’ What agreement would my nan have made with this weird thing?
A high-pitched whine comes from the mirror and I wince, turning away from it, clapping my hands over my ears. The pitch increases but then fades back into louder static before it is turned off, like a switch. ‘I do not see them,’ the mirror says. ‘I see the Citadel in ruins. A man sits on the throne, but he is not the king. He is a puppet-king, a pretend king.’ There comes a scritching noise, like an insect rubbing its legs together. ‘But he is of the royal blood.’
I watch Thorn as he reaches out and grabs hold of the mirror. ‘What does this man look like?’
‘Blackhart, do you desire to know?’ The voice is so far off I have to strain to hear it.
‘I do.’ My whisper is hoarse.
‘The man feels great fear. He wears a ring on his right hand. It’s a moonstone ring carved into a lion’s head. But there is a man in the shadows behind him. This is the man who controls the usurper.’
‘Who? Do you know who these men are?’ Thorn asks, leaning forward, staring into the blackness of the mirror.
‘I want to know too,’ I tell the mirror, pre-empting the question. ‘We need to know.’
‘I do not know either of these men. The sorcerer is born of darkness. I cannot see his face. He’s wreathed in layers of mist. The man on the throne does not know he is a pawn in a greater game.’ There is a sound of something shattering and I jump back from the mirror. ‘It is a pity, Blackhart, that he does not understand the game that’s afoot.’
I jerk with fright when the mirror shudders, and the unexpected shadow that falls across its surface bulges towards us, in the shape of a face.
‘Who are you?’ another voice demands. This time the voice is full of harsh authority and suppressed anger. ‘Who are you? Speak!’
The sound of screeching is followed by a long wail that rises and falls. ‘Beware, Blackhart, he knows you’re watching,’ the mirror’s whisper is tired, resigned. ‘Such anger and hatred.’ There’s a moaning noise and a howl that lifts the hair at the back of my neck. ‘This is finally the end, Blackhart, you had promised to keep me safe, but now, now you bring me to the end of my days.’ The voice holds no inflection, merely stating a fact.
I sit forward, gripping the frame of the mirror, my pulse racing.
‘I’m sorry, we had no idea,’ I gasp, curling my fingers around the frame. ‘Please . . . tell me what we can do?’
The answer is a tearing ripping sound, an awful noise so close to me it makes me leap backwards, away from the mirror.
Thorn has his arm around my waist and is pulling me away when a hand bursts through the mirror. It reaches for me, the skin pallid and the fingers curling, sinister. ‘You will not escape. I know you. I can smell you, Blackhart.’
I let out a yelp in surprise but before I can do anything else, Thorn opens his hand and sends a blast of pure energy into the mirror. As it strikes the centre of the mirror, he spins himself around so his back is to it and folds me against his chest. It’s a sweet gesture but as I’m tall I can see over his shoulder. The energy arcs across the surface of the mirror, running the labyrinth of cracks that has appeared across it, before exploding into a billion flying shards.
Thorn tucks my head beneath his chin and I can feel his heart thudding through the thin fabric of his shirt. My hands rest on his hips and for a few seconds it’s nice to just feel comfortable standing pressed up against him like this. I can almost pretend he’s hugging me because he likes me, like a real boy would, and wants to protect me and take me away from the madness that’s creeping up on us.
‘Do you know who he described?’ I ask, after a few long moments of listening to his heart. ‘The man, the guy with the ring?’
‘I think so,’ he says, shifting slightly. His eyes, when they meet mine, are troubled. ‘If the mirror is to b
e believed, I think my father’s younger brother’s decided to overthrow him and make a bid for the throne of Alba.’
‘Oh.’ I’m blazingly erudite, as always. ‘Well then, we’d better try and stop him.’
Chapter Twelve
Lolita roars out of the garage and I swing her left, down the drive towards the side of the house that leads north. I’m not familiar with the secondary road the estate manager uses to get around the massive Manor grounds, but I’m pretty sure that there has to be another entrance at the back of the property.
Thorn is in the passenger seat and looks deeply unhappy. His face is pale, he’s buckled himself tightly into his seat and his grip on his sword makes his knuckles stand out white.
‘I’m a good driver,’ I promise him. ‘I did an advanced driving course with Marc a few months ago.’
Thorn rolls his eyes at me. ‘It’s not that,’ he says, his voice hoarse. ‘All the metal and iron . . . it makes me feel ill.’
Bah. How stupid of me. I should have remembered how much the Fae, especially the higher-born Sidhe, dislike iron and metal.
‘Sorry. We don’t stable horses at the Manor any more.’ I shoot him a look. ‘Can you imagine going all the way to London by horse?’
‘Just watch where you’re going.’ He gestures briefly with one hand before grasping his hilt again. ‘How long will it take us to get there?’
I look at the GPS on the dash. ‘To London? About six hours?’
He moans under his breath but nods. ‘If we can stop now and again, for fresh air, I’m sure I’ll make it.’
We speed through the late afternoon air, bouncing along the dirt road. The forest is off to the right and behind us. Flashes of energy are still hitting the wards surrounding the house and to my eyes the flashes seem to be a far less intense green than before, which probably means that the wards are running out of juice.
I spot a tall standing stone coming up. ‘We’re about to pop through the wards. Are you ready?’
Thorn only nods, swallowing hard. I press my foot down on the accelerator and we shoot past the wards, between two of the standing stones. For a second it feels as if we are airborne, suspended in the air, but then we thunk down solidly onto the road. I gasp and Lolita stalls as I bend forward over the wheel sucking in gulps of air.
I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut and my skin raked with sharp nails. When I manage to open my eyes, my vision is blurry. I blink against it but another wave of pain hits me and I cry out, gripping the steering wheel harder.
‘What’s wrong?’ Thorn’s harsh voice cuts through the fog in my brain. ‘Kit? Look at me.’
My brain is fighting off the pain racking my body and I’m unable to answer him.
‘Can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me!’ His voice comes from a long way off and I stare at his lips forming the words. I nod my head at him and look away, concentrating on bringing pieces of myself back together again. Slowly, so slowly it feels like a million years passing, the pain dissolves and I can sit up straight in my seat. I lean back and close my eyes in relief, a heavy sigh escaping from my lips.
‘Kit? Please speak to me.’
‘The magic.’ I swallow against the dryness in my throat. ‘It’s always been difficult for me to leave the Manor. The wards claim us when we come home. It’s always so reluctant to let me go. It’s been like this since I joined the family. No one else seems to suffer this badly when they leave.’
He blinks at me. ‘Was it this bad when you came to fetch me in the forest?’
‘No. I wasn’t leaving to go, was I? The magic knew that.’
‘Sweet Mother Gaia,’ he whispers to himself, turning back in his seat. ‘I thought you were dying. I could see the bones beneath your skin.’
I get my breathing under control and reach forward to start the car when Thorn speaks again. ‘Do you believe in dragons?’ he asks me, his voice taut with strain.
‘I’ve never seen one. I’ve read about them in the library,’ I offer. ‘They were sent back to the Dragonrealm a few million years ago by one of the gods after taking—’
‘I didn’t ask for a lecture. I asked if you believed in dragons.’ His voice is sharp and impatient. ‘I ask because I think we have one flying towards us right now.’
I start smiling feebly, ready to tell him not to be stupid, but the words die on my lips. A dark shadow is coming straight at us at an incredible speed. A part of me still wants to laugh, to say I was hallucinating, that the pain from leaving the protective circle of the house somehow scrambled my brains. The laughter dies on my lips because another more primitive part of my brain recognizes that silhouette, the upbeat of those huge wings, the massive serpentine body and the giant triangular horned head with its wide protective crest.
‘It’s not real.’ My voice quivers and I clear my throat. ‘It’s the sorcerer, right? It’s sending us this vision, to scare us.’
‘It’s real. It’s as real as you and me. I think you should start driving.’ He snaps his fingers impatiently before my eyes, momentarily blocking my view of this improbable, incredible dragon. ‘Kit, listen. We need to go. Now.’
I nod and turn the key. Lolita fires on the first go and I throw her in gear and we race forward, towards the oncoming dragon.
‘This is mad,’ I say, shifting gears as we speed ahead. ‘How is it even here?’
The dragon is bigger than I can fully comprehend, perhaps the size of a very large plane. A heavy gust of wind hits us from nowhere and I feel Lolita rock on her chassis. We’re going at forty-five miles an hour down a dirt road, yet it feels as if we’re standing still. Outside, the wind tears at the park and the trees lining the road whip wildly about like tiny saplings in a breeze.
‘I can’t tell if it’s going to attack us or fly right over,’ Thorn tells me as I concentrate on not going onto the verge. ‘It’s not slowing down at all. I’ve never seen anything like it.’ His voice sounds distant and when I glance at him he’s staring at the dragon as if mesmerized. I reach over with my left hand and punch him on the leg, one of Jamie’s special punches. Thorn lets out a yelp. ‘What was that for?’
‘Before you fall under its spell or something, shoot it!’
Thorn gestures at the car, the sword and me in desperation. ‘How? The bow is in the back and I can’t really menace it with a sword while sitting in your car!’
I hand him one of the pistols that I’d slid into the panel of the door next to me. ‘Use that!’
He gives the wooden handle of the antique pistol a cursory glance and shrugs. I open his window and watch him lean his body halfway out of the window like some Bruce Willis wannabe and take aim at the oncoming dragon. The thing is huge! I have no idea what effect a bullet would have on the dragon, but it was worth a shot. I doubted that it would even manage to fire the distance.
Thorn lets out a shout and I hear him fire the pistol. There’s a flash from the muzzle just before he falls back into his seat, gasping. The dragon sweeps over us in a rush of wind and the car whines under the unexpected onslaught of heavy wind and rain that follows in the dragon’s wake. I struggle to find the windscreen wipers to clear my view. How we went from bright sunshine to hurricane weather in a blink of an eye is beyond me. The clouds above us broil with menace and I lean forward to look out of the windscreen.
The weather has gone crazy. Fat drops of rain fall from the black clouds and obscure everything around us. Thorn struggles but eventually finds the button and the window whirs up. His wet hair is plastered to his face and he is shaking from the cold. His lips are verging on blue.
‘Where’s the dragon?’ he asks, twisting backwards and peering out of the back window. ‘I think I shot him, but I don’t know.’ He wiggles the pistol. ‘Do we know what the range is on this thing? Would the bullet have even hit?’ When I shrug in reply, too keyed up to wonder about range, wind interference and other things that go into getting off a good shot, he swears and drops the pistol on the floor of the car. He proceeds to
wipe ineffectually at his wet hair and face while I try and keep the car on the road.
‘I can’t see it,’ I say, peering out of the windows and using my mirrors. I get Lolita started up again and I pray I don’t hit anything as I floor the pedal. ‘Let’s just get out of here.’ I try not to think about a dragon being loose in the countryside. Jamie never thought to teach us how to fight dragons and the only reason I even looked at the books in the library about them was because I thought they were cool and, of course, I didn’t really take their existence seriously. Who would?
We race through the rain, our eyes on the road before us, behind us, to the side of us. I can’t even begin to think how a dragon came to be at the Manor. Dragons have not flown in this world for hundreds of thousands of years. These days they only exist in movies and fantasy novels.
‘It’s back,’ says Thorn, his voice hoarse. ‘Behind us.’
Chapter Thirteen
Dragons: Elemental beings, the First Born, dragons possess free will (similar to djinns). Highly intelligent and cunning, dragons are not to be trifled with. Summoning a dragon into the human realm should only be attempted by a Master Sorcerer. The sorcerer must be in control at all times, especially when performing the dragon’s binding ritual. Evidence of a failed binding and its repercussions can be seen in the Great Fire of London in 1666 when Magnus Kirkbright attempted and failed at summoning and binding a dragon. It took Gregory and Aliette Blackhart three days to hunt the dragon and return him to the Dragonrealm.
From The Blackhart Bestiarum
I look in the rear-view mirror and I let out a soft moan. I press down harder on the pedal and Lolita answers without coaxing. I throw a prayer of thanks to Megan for doing impossible things to car engines. The rough road ahead of us curves and I see a gate. And beyond the gate I see an actual tarmac road.
‘It’s gone.’ Thorn’s right. There’s no sign of the dragon near us. Where has it gone? I slow down and we peer in all directions. In our race I’d not noticed it but we had climbed a small hill and our view of the forest and the Manor is unobstructed, with the heavy rain giving the familiar landscape a desolate air.
