Nice Dragons Finish Last (Heartstrikers)

by Rachel Aaron

  The gun and the Kosmolabe both fell to the grass as Oslo’s hands flew up to grab at his neck where Ghost was hanging with his claws latched in the soft flesh beneath the large man’s jaw. Unfortunately for Oslo, there was nothing to grab. His hands passed right through the cat’s transparent body as Ghost’s talons sunk in deeper, cutting deep into his flesh without wound or blood. And then, with a silent hiss, Ghost’s head snapped forward, biting deep into the big man’s neck with his small, sharp, vividly white teeth.

  As the bite landed, Oslo’s scream faded to an echo, like he’d fallen down a well. Seconds later, the sound vanished completely, and Bixby’s second pitched forward, landing face-first in the trampled grass. Ghost released him before they hit, nimbly climbing over the big man’s shoulder as he collapsed on the ground. When Oslo’s body relaxed into its final rest, Ghost was sitting on his back between his shoulder blades, lashing his tail and looking very pleased with himself. He also looked slightly bigger, Julius noticed with shiver. Bigger and more solid, his body shimmering brighter than ever under the hazy sunlight.

  “I don’t think that was a good thing.”

  “What are you talking about?” Marci cried, jumping up to grab the Kosmolabe. “That was a great thing.” She grabbed Ghost next, hugging his glowing body to her chest. “Who’s my good kitty?”

  Ghost gave her a nonplussed look and dropped out of her hold, passing through her arms like his namesake to land again on the dead man’s back. He opened his mouth when he hit, showing his teeth in a silent yowl, and Julius heard a rustle behind them as the cats began to appear.

  They poured out of the hoarded house like a furry tide, hopping down from the collapsing roof and running up the basement stairs and wiggling through the shot-up windows. They came out of the garden as well, appearing from the underbrush like they’d popped out of thin air. Within seconds, the driveway was carpeted with hundreds of sickly, bony cats of every color, all riveted on the dead body Ghost was lording over like an emperor. They covered the downed mage as well. The broken man barely had a chance to cry out before he was buried under the hungry, meowing wave.

  The sight was horrific enough to push Julius to his feet. But when he tried to take a shaky step toward where Marci was still standing next to her spirit cat in the middle of the mass, Ghost’s head snapped, his pale, glowing eyes locking on Julius’s as a soft, purring voice whispered in his mind.

  Ours.

  Julius jerked liked he’d been punched.

  Ghost sat up a little straighter, swishing his fluffy white tail back and forth over Oslo’s enormous body. Our kill, the voice whispered again. Our feast. Leave.

  “Marci,” Julius said, slightly frantic. “I think we’d better go.”

  “What?” She looked up from the Kosmolabe she’d been cuddling and wrinkled her nose at the cats. “Oh, right. Just let me get my stuff.”

  Julius glanced at the shot up house. “I don’t think there’s anything left to get,” he said, hobbling forward to grab her arm. “And I think we need to leave now.”

  He couldn’t even see the bodies anymore. The part of the backyard where the men had fallen was now a solid mass of cats with Ghost looming over them like a specter. Just the sound of their eating was enough to make Julius want to gag, and the revulsion gave him the strength he needed to pull Marci away, skirting the edge of the cat feeding frenzy until they reached her car.

  The old sedan now sported several new bullet holes and a killer burn mark from bumper to bumper on the driver’s side. The heat spell had actually melted through the headlight’s plastic cover in places, and the seats were full of glass from where the windows had either cracked or been shot out. But while the windshield had a huge crack running across it and a perfect bullet hole in the upper right corner, it was still mostly intact. Even more miraculous, the engine started when Julius hit the ignition, and he let out a breath of relief.

  “Drive,” he said, brushing the glass out of the driver’s seat before plopping Marci down.

  “Come on, Julius,” she said as he circled around to the passenger side. “They’re just cats.”

  “That was not just cats,” he snapped, barely pausing to sweep the broken glass out of his own seat before jumping in. “Go.”

  She glanced back at the house. “But my—”

  “Go, Marci.”

  She heaved an enormous sigh, but she obeyed, gunning the engine manually and pulling them out onto the street past the waves of cats that were still arriving.

  ***

  “Gone?”

  Mr. Bixby stood in the corner of his office, hunched over his phone like a boy hiding contraband. “What do you mean they’re gone?”

  “I mean your team got trashed!” the young man on the other end of the phone cried. “But boss, you never saw anything like this. She was tossing guys around like they were nothing. Everyone she hit’s got third degree burns or worse, and we’re the lucky ones who got away. Oslo’s just dead. I don’t know what happened to the mage, but—”

  “Stop.”

  The kid shut up at once, and Bixby used the opportunity to take a calming breath and reminded himself that young guns could be as hysterical as teenage girls when they got spooked, and hysterical kids tended to exaggerate. “Let me make sure I have this right,” he said, calmly now. “You’re telling me that Oslo, my mage, and all the men I sent up to Detroit were beaten by one girl? Is this really the story you want me to believe?”

  “I swear it’s the truth,” the kid said. “But the girl ain’t alone anymore. She’s got some kind of other weird mage with her, and they were doing all kinds of I don’t know what. And then a bunch of cats appeared, and it was super creepy, so the rest of us turned tail and—”

  “Enough,” Bixby growled, rubbing his hand over his face. “So Oslo’s dead, my mage is unaccounted for, and everyone else just ran?”

  “Yes, sir,” the boy said.

  “And I suppose you want a medal for being the only one to report in?”

  “Maybe not a medal, sir. But I wouldn’t be opposed to—”

  Since the young man clearly had nothing else of value to add, Bixby hung up and called Oslo. When he got no response, he called his mage. Nothing. None of his field lieutenants were answering either, or his old hands. When he’d gone through his entire contact list without a single pick-up, he hurled his phone across the room with a curse, shattering the blown glass vase he’d won from his ex-wife in the divorce.

  That made him curse louder still. He didn’t even like the ugly thing, but she had, and so he’d taken it as a trophy, a monument to the fact that he always won in the end. Now it was broken, and the symbolism was so fitting it made him want to punch someone.

  Instead, Bixby glanced at the clock as he walked over to retrieve his phone from the glass-strewn carpet. As much as he didn’t want to, there was nothing else to do now but accept that the boy had been telling the truth. Still, Bixby wasn’t screwed yet. It was just after eleven in the morning in Vegas, which meant it was only one in Detroit and seven hours before his buyer was supposed to check in. Since Bixby’s seer always called two hours late, that gave him nine hours total to figure out a new battle plan for catching a girl with the devil’s own luck in a city that was two thousand miles away. It wasn’t impossible, just expensive and obnoxious, but at this point Bixby didn’t care about money. So long as got the Kosmolabe and the Novalli girl under his control before midnight tonight, and everything would be—

  His phone buzzed in his hand, and Bixby looked down at once, praying to the god he only remembered at times like this that it was one of his men reporting in. When the AR popped up, though, it wasn’t a call at all. It was a message from the Unknown Caller.

  Looks like you lose.

  The words made Bixby want to throw his phone again, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He wasn’t about to accept that his life was over because of something that happened on the other side of the country, and he wasn’t going to let this punk of a glorified
fortune teller make him sweat.

  “So fix it,” he snarled, typing the words so fast they would have been gibberish if his phone’s autocorrect hadn’t fixed them for him. “You see the future. Tell me what to do.”

  I did, came the reply. You had a ninety-two percent chance of capturing the girl and my Kosmolabe this afternoon, but you couldn’t even manage that. I’m afraid your number’s up, Bixby.

  No, he thought frantically. He was supposed to live. The whole reason he was doing this was because the damn seer had promised he would live.

  He hadn’t even finished typing that when the seer’s reply flashed in the air.

  I didn’t tell you you would live, it read. I told you you would die, and then I told you how to prevent it. That was the service I rendered in exchange for the Kosmolabe, which you have yet to deliver. Since I remain unpaid, I don’t see why I shouldn’t just leave you to your death.

  “You were the one who told me to capture her,” he typed back. “If we’d done things my way and had her shot, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  There is no future I can see where you kill Marci Novalli and I get my Kosmolabe.

  Bixby’s eyes went wide. “I thought you said there was no future where Novalli died and I lived!”

  Whatever, the seer typed. You’re dead now, or good as. I don’t even know why I’m bothering to reply, really.

  Bixby’s breaths began coming in short pants. Part of him, the skeptical businessman who survived by never taking anything at face value, was sure the seer was bluffing. Vegas was his town. There was no way he could die here, safe in his stronghold surrounded by security, because some idiot girl was alive and running around loose in Detroit. It was impossible.

  But the rest of him, the man who wanted to live at all costs, refused to accept that logic. Everything the seer had predicted had seemed impossible, and yet it had all come true. He’d been doubling his empire for months now on impossible long shots. Did he really want to count on dodging the one that was aimed right at his head?

  He was still going back and forth when the phone in his hand buzzed again, and a new message appeared in his AR, the letters glowing like cinders in the air.

  I should just let you die. It would be a fitting end to your arrogance to let you kill yourself ignoring my advice, and I always did enjoy seeing mortals done in by their own pride. But I have seen my own future, and the only way I get my Kosmolabe is through you, so I have no choice but to keep helping you.

  There was a short pause, and then the seer’s messages began arriving rapid fire. I have made arrangements that open up one last chance for you to save your life, it read. The odds for success are not as favorable as I usually prefer, but if you do nothing, it is absolutely certain you will die tonight. Therefore, if you ever want to see another sunrise, you will follow my instructions to the letter. No questions, no backtalk, and no deviations. Do we have an understanding?

  Bixby took a long breath, fingers hovering over the virtual keyboard. He actually typed the word “No” before he erased it with a defeated sigh. “What do I have to do?”

  The answer arrived almost before he hit reply. Give me unfettered access to all your accounts, contacts, and operatives. I’ll be running the show from here out, and if you want to survive, you’ll run along behind me like a good little dog.

  Bixby’s eyes went wide. Oh, hell no. He didn’t care what was going to happen, he didn’t care if the Novalli girl was destined to draw and quarter him on the floor of his own office, there was no way he was going to give a stranger unfettered access to anything involving his businesses. Not a dime, not a contact, nothing. But when he went to tell the bastard exactly that, another message was already waiting.

  Breaking our agreement so soon? I just said no backtalk. You must really want to die. Now send me everything you’ve got. Time is already ticking away, and you have very little left to waste.

  Bixby closed his eyes with a string of curses that would have made his mother roll over in her grave if she’d been dead, the old bat. In the end, though, Bixby was a practical man. He knew when he was beaten. It took a while for his sense to beat back his pride, but eventually, he sent the seer everything. Two minutes after that, he received his reply.

  I’ve secured you a place on the next low-orbit flight to Detroit, it read. Check in at Gate 5 in precisely eighteen minutes. Bring no luggage. When you find your seat, trade places with your neighbor on the left. Do not let him know your name and do not fall asleep. Further instructions will be waiting upon your arrival.

  The list of instructions sent him into a rage all over again, but he didn’t bother trying to argue. He just grabbed his coat and marched out the door, cursing seers and phones and planes and mages and Kosmolabes and everything else he could think of as he made his way down to the garage where his car was already waiting to take him to the airport.

  Chapter 12

  After driving nearly ten minutes with no sign of pursuit, Julius motioned for Marci to pull over. She did so immediately, coasting to a stop next to the remains of a curb long since crumbled by the roots of an ancient oak tree. Julius checked one last time for pursuers as they slid into the tree’s shadow, but the street was empty, the condemned houses on either side listing like low country tombstones. There was no sign of Bixby’s men—no sign of Chelsie either, not that he’d see one. Still, the emptiness was enough to make him finally release the breath he’d been half holding since Ghost had spoken in his mind as he turned to face Marci.

  “Before we run into another hit squad. I think it’s time you told me what’s really going on.”

  Marci winced. “I’m super sorry about all that. I never thought Bixby would send a real force all the way up here.”

  “You stole a priceless object,” he replied irritably. “Of course he’s going to come after it.”

  “I didn’t steal it!” she said. “My dad stole it, and he only took it because Bixby was illegally withholding his money.”

  “Fine,” Julius snapped. “But why did you keep it after he died? I would have thought one death would be enough to prove that thing isn’t worth messing around with.”

  Marci shot him a hurt look, and Julius instantly felt like a jerk.

  “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s just…stealing a magical relic from a vengeful mobster seems like a pretty stupid move for a smart girl like you.”

  “I didn’t set out to take it,” she said, petting the Kosmolabe in her lap. “I didn’t even know what it was until Dad told me, and after everything went down, it seemed kind of pointless to try and give it back.”

  Julius let out a long breath. “I just wish you’d told me everything back at the restaurant. If I’d known from the beginning you had something Bixby wanted, we might have been able to avoid all this. We could have used the Kosmolabe as a bargaining chip and negotiated—”

  “Negotiated?” Marci shrieked. “Those people killed my father! They nearly killed us just now. The only negotiating they do is at gunpoint.” Her eyes narrowed. “And anyway, if there’s anyone in this car who should have come clean earlier, it’s you. You’re not even human!”

  Julius didn’t try to deny it. He just sat still while Marci eyeballed him like he was a wild animal she’d discovered in her car.

  “So what are you, anyway? Skinwalker? Vampire?”

  “Vampire?” Julius repeated, glancing pointedly at the dappled sunlight falling across his legs.

  She shrugged and kept going. “Wendigo?”

  “Why are you only guessing the worst things? Maybe I’m a kind and benevolent spirit of nature?”

  “No reason to hide being a spirit in Detroit,” Marci said, shaking her head. “Besides, I’ve felt spirit magic plenty of times before, and it’s nothing like—” She stopped, eyes lighting up in sudden recognition. “Oh my God, you’re a dragon! That’s it, isn’t it?” When he didn’t say no, she started bouncing up and down in her seat. “You are a dragon! This is amazing!
I’ve never met one. Can you breathe fire?”

  Julius’s spirits sank lower with every breathless word. “Ix-nay on the agon-dray,” he grumbled. “I’m not legal here, remember?”

  “Oh,” Marci said, dropping her voice, though not her excitement. “So can you breathe fire?”

  “Yes,” Julius said heavily. “But before you ask, I can’t right now. My dragon form is sealed at the moment.”

  Marci snapped her fingers. “I knew you were under a curse. So how old are you? A hundred? A thousand?”

  “I’m twenty-four,” Julius said before she tried to check his teeth.

  She gaped at him. “Twenty-four what? Years?” He nodded, and Marci collapsed back in her seat. “I can’t believe it. I finally meet a dragon, and he’s a year younger than I am. I have the worst luck ever.” She heaved an enormous sigh and sat up again. “So how did your dragon form get sealed? Did you try to eat a great and powerful mage or—”

  “Can we not talk about this?”

  Marci flinched as though he’d struck her, and Julius immediately feel awful.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “I was sealed under complicated circumstances, and I’m not really up for an interrogation right now.”

  “I understand,” Marci said, lowering her eyes. “I don’t mean to be pushy, but I’ve wanted to meet a dragon all my life. Though I guess I’ve actually met two now. Your brother’s a dragon, too, isn’t he?”

  Julius nodded, and Marci’s face split right back into a grin. “That explains a lot. I knew nothing human could survive in that lamprey pool.”

  He fought the urge to growl. Of course Justin’s actions would be explained. He was bold, arrogant, everything a dragon should be, whereas Marci hadn’t even been able to guess what Julius was.