One Good Dragon Deserves Another

by Rachel Aaron

  For a moment, that almost seemed to work. Vann Jeger’s scowl almost looked skeptical, and then he doubled down again, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then I suppose all we caught was a murderer,” he said casually, holding out his hand in front of him. “I’ve never been one for trials. I prefer to handle justice in the old way, and since I’ve already seen the evidence, we can get this over with right now.”

  Magic condensed in his hand as he spoke, flowing into his fingers like water in a current. It lasted only a moment, and when it finished, a sword winked into existence above Vann Jeger’s empty hand. It was much shorter than his spear, though still longer than Marci’s arm. She was wondering how he’d pulled it out of seemingly thin air when Vann Jeger flipped the blade and leaned down to press the sharpened edge against her neck.

  “Do you feel that?” he asked softly, his deep voice sinking to a rumbling whisper as he pushed the cold metal against her throat. “That is death. Your death. One more inch, and all that is you—all you have ever known or accomplished, all that you’ve loved and fought for—will be nothing but red on the floor. There will be no songs sung for you, no rites read. You will be forgotten utterly. Lost to the flow of time, as all mortal souls eventually are, unless…”

  Marci knew the answer already, but she asked anyway, if only to keep the sword against her throat instead of in it. “Unless?”

  Vann Jeger smirked. “You know your choice. If you wish to continue what is left of your short life, you will tell me where the dragon is. If you want to keep taking me for a fool, I will kill you and find him anyway. It’s all the same to me.”

  With each word he spoke, the blade at her throat crept closer, and Marci shut her eyes. She had to do something. This was all her fault. Her careless revenge against Bixby had come back around full steam, and now her choices were get run over or throw Julius onto the tracks instead. Both were intolerable, but she couldn’t stall forever. What she needed was a clever trick, some way to look like she was betraying Julius without actually doing so. Unfortunately, strokes of genius like that weren’t exactly dial-on-demand, but while Marci didn’t have a brilliant plan on tap, she did have a crazy one, and with a sword at her neck, that was good enough.

  “Okay,” she blurted out, opening her eyes. “I give up. I’ll give you what you want, just get that thing away from me.”

  Vann Jeger looked deeply skeptical, but he backed the sword up until it was no longer touching her skin. “You will tell me where to find the dragon?”

  “I wasn’t lying before,” she reminded him. “I really don’t know where he is.” At least, not right now, anyway.

  The spirit scowled. “But you know how to contact him?”

  “I do,” she said reluctantly. “But it won’t work. Dragons like the one who burned up the Pit aren’t exactly the come-when-you-call type.”

  Again, she held Justin’s face in her mind as she spoke. Thankfully, Vann Jeger seemed too happy to be finally getting some progress to notice her side-stepping.

  “Dragons who keep mortals often prize them,” he said, eying her thoughtfully. “Doubly so for mages. What if we cut something off and let him hear your screams? Would that bring him running?”

  Marci winced, curling her fingers protectively into fists. Screams of pain would get Julius for sure, but technically they were still talking about Justin here, and thinking back to some of the horrible things he’d said the last time they were together, it wasn’t too hard for Marci to think the worst of Mr. Angry Dragon.

  “No,” she said. “If I called him in pain, he wouldn’t come. To him, I’m just a human, which ranks slightly below a dog. Plus, even if I could somehow convince him to walk into a trap, this dragon has the most amazing sense of smell you’ve ever encountered. He’ll pick up anything you lay down from a mile away and abandon me without a second look back, so if you were hoping to use me as bait, you’re in for a major let-down.”

  Vann Jeger bared his yellow teeth in a snarl. “Do not presume to tell me how to conduct my hunt.”

  “I’m sure you know all about how to hunt dragons,” Marci said quickly. “But I know best how to handle my dragon. I’m not saying I won’t help you nab him, I’m just saying we’re going to have to be really extra careful about it.”

  The hunter sneered. “And why is that?”

  “Because he’s big, for one,” Marci said, remembering Justin’s forty-foot body lit up with green fire in the blackness above the Pit. “This isn’t some urbane, boardroom dragon we’re talking about. He’s huge, powerful, bad-tempered, and fast with his fire. You have no idea the collateral damage he could cause if you piss him off in the wrong setting. He wouldn’t think twice about bringing down a skyway or two if he thought it would help him win.”

  All of these things were absolutely true about Justin, and they flowed easily past the truth teller, causing Vann Jeger to look at her with a new eye. “Very well,” he said grudgingly. “How would you suggest we trap the beast?”

  Marci swallowed, heart hammering. Here went nothing.

  “Let me go,” she said. “Give me a few weeks to wiggle back into the dragon’s good graces, and I’ll come up with a tale that will convince him to come with me to the location of your choice. All you have to do is give me a place and a time and I’ll get him there, and then you can hunt him to your heart’s content.”

  “Absurd,” Vann Jeger growled. “You want weeks to lure a dragon I’m already closing in on?”

  “But you’re not,” Marci said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You might have caught me, but my dragon’s dug in deep. I don’t even know if he’s in the DFZ anymore. But if you’ll just give me some time, I guarantee I can get you his head on a platter.”

  “What assurance do I have that you will not warn the dragon and flee?” the spirit asked, his black eyes narrowing. “You are beholden to a dragon and bargaining for your life. Your word is worthless.”

  “Not dying seems like a pretty strong incentive to me,” she said. “Though if you wanted something more concrete, I could—”

  Her voice turned into a gasp as the spirit pressed his sword back into her neck. “What if I kill you now?” he asked, calm as ever. “He might not respond to your pain, but all dragons are possessive. If he’s as reckless as you claim, it shouldn’t be too hard to draw him into a confrontation by killing his property.”

  “Maybe,” Marci croaked. “But there’s only one of me. Like you said before, if you kill me now, it’s over. Do you really want to cut off your options so early in the game?”

  Vann Jeger shrugged. “It’s a calculated risk. You might be in earnest now, but human minds change with the wind. If I let you go, I might not get a chance like this again.”

  Marci looked him straight in the eyes. “What if I made sure you did?”

  The spirit arched a green eyebrow. “Explain.”

  “Your mage,” she said, glancing pointedly at the human woman who’d activated the truth teller spell. “She’s police trained, right? That means she knows binding curses.”

  The mage cast a worried glance at Vann Jeger. When he nodded, she said, “Yes.”

  “Well, there you go,” Marci said, smiling wide. “If you’re so worried I’m going to double-cross you and run away with the dragon before you can catch him, then I invite you to curse me. A good binding curse will lock me inside the DFZ for a year at least. That way, if I don’t deliver, all you have to do is hunt me down again and we’ll be right back where we started.”

  She had lots more things to add about how this was a no-lose scenario and he’d be a fool not to take it, but Marci forced herself to stop there. If she looked too eager to get cursed, she’d tip her hand, and that would ruin everything. Vann Jeger might have a formal file on her, but what he probably didn’t know was that before she’d come to the DFZ, Marci and her father had been professional curse breakers. Even a police-grade binding curse was little more than the magical equivalent of a car boot for her. She’d have that
sucker cracked in thirty minutes, tops, and then all she had to do was find Julius and get the two of them out of town.

  Just the thought of her upcoming clean escape was enough to make Marci grin, but she didn’t dare crack even a hint of a smile. If Vann Jeger suspected anything, this whole plan could blow up in her face. Instead, she focused on looking nervous, not exactly a challenge in the current situation, and waited, staring at the dragon hunter until, at last, he nodded.

  “You suggest an acceptable scenario, mortal,” he said, stroking his seaweed-green beard. “I have not fought a true dragon on open ground since before the magic vanished. To do so again would be…pleasing.” He breathed deep, savoring the idea. “Most pleasing.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Marci said, trying not to sound as relieved as she felt. “Just give me a week, and—”

  “You will have one day.”

  Marci gaped at him. “One? How in the world—”

  “Tomorrow night,” he continued, talking right over her. “At sunset, in the open fields that mark the edge of the Lady’s lands. I can think of no better place for challenge.”

  Marci could think of plenty, but one day was better than nothing. If she told Julius tonight, they could be on a plane anywhere in the world by tomorrow morning, and then all of this would be just a bad memory. “Sounds like a plan,” she said, looking at the mage and spreading her arms as much as the restraints allowed. “Bind away.”

  The woman looked at her like she was crazy, but Vann Jeger nodded sharply. “Do it,” he ordered. “A Sword of Damocles on her neck, marked for sunset tomorrow.”

  The mage nodded and started forward. Marci, however, lurched like she’d just gotten kicked in the teeth.

  “A what?” she cried, yanking against the straps. “No, no, no! We had a deal! You were going to bind me, not kill me!”

  The dragon hunter laughed, a horrible, deep-water sound. “Foolish mortal. Did you really think I’d agree to a curse you could break?”

  Marci stared at him in horror, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized Vann Jeger had played her even as she tried to play him. Technically, the Sword of Damocles was a binding curse: a spell that would bind her to a place and a promise. In this case, the DFZ and her pledge to bring the dragon to a place of the spirit’s choosing at sunset tomorrow. Unlike every other binding curse, though, the Sword of Damocles required the cursed party’s full participation. It was designed to be the ultimate vow: an oath made in good faith, written in magic on the victim’s skin. If you were true to your word, nothing would happen, but if you broke your promise, the sword would fall wherever the spell was written. By writing the curse on her neck, Vann Jeger was ensuring that Marci would lose her head if she didn’t deliver.

  That left her even worse off than she’d been when this started, but what could she do? Accuse the spirit of taking away her chance to cheat? She’d already told him she’d get the dragon. Backing out now would be the same as admitting she’d always intended to betray him, which he was almost certainly counting on given the bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes.

  Well, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Marci fixed him with a surly look and tilted her head, baring her neck. “Do it, then,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m ready.”

  The fact that the words made it out of her mouth meant that they were true, which was kind of a shock. Marci hadn’t realized she was so ready to die. But then again, maybe she wasn’t. Just because she’d never heard of anyone breaking a Sword of Damocles didn’t mean it was actually impossible, but the fact that Vann Jeger thought it was meant he’d probably leave her alone once it was done. That was a better chance than she’d had at the beginning, and if the sword did cut off her head tomorrow, she wouldn’t be any more dead than she’d be if she tried to back out now. Either way, Marci was ready, and she clung to that truth like a rock as the mage ordered her to lower her shields.

  Marci obeyed with a shudder, dropping her passive protections one by one until her magic was wide open and raw. When she was bare, the mage reached into her bag and pulled out a heavy silver needle, the same kind blood mages used for human rituals. The fact that an Algonquin Corporate mage would have such a sinister tool just lying around in her bag was slightly horrifying, but Marci didn’t have time to think about it. She was too busy trying not to panic as the woman retrieved a glass vial and turned to Vann Jeger.

  For a moment, Marci couldn’t think why, and then the spirit made a fist, digging his claws into the flesh of his palm. It happened so quickly, the mage almost didn’t get the vial in place fast enough to catch the black, watery blood before it dripped onto the ground. Even sitting several feet away, Marci could feel the cold, deep power of that blood, and while she knew perfectly well that the source of a magical material had no impact on the end spell, she still cringed when the mage dipped the tip of the silver needle into the black liquid.

  “This might sting a bit,” the woman warned, tapping the excess blood off on the edge of the glass before she leaned over Marci’s neck and jabbed the needle home.

  It hurt like nothing else ever had. With her defenses down, the mage wasn’t just poking her skin. She was poking inside Marci’s magic. Each stab was so cold it burned, and even when the silver needle pulled out, the spirit’s blood remained, a drop of stinging salt water in each wound. It went on forever, but every time Marci wanted to break down and beg for them to stop, she remembered what was at stake. If she bailed on this, she’d either be killed or hauled off for murder. If she vanished, Julius would come looking for her, making himself a sitting duck. Marci couldn’t let that happen. Not to Julius, not to her, and certainly not over a stupid needle. So she closed her eyes and pushed through, breathing in long, ragged gasps until, at last, the stabbing stopped.

  “Done,” the mage said, wiping the beaded sweat from her forehead. “It’s done.”

  Marci collapsed into the chair, wishing with all her might that they’d undo her hands so she could clutch her neck and cry. “Let me see.”

  The mage took her phone out of her pocket and held up its shiny surface for Marci to use as a mirror.

  Well, she thought bitterly, at least it didn’t look at bad as it felt. On the left side of her neck, halfway between her jaw and her collar bone, a two-inch-long, solid black sword stood out like a brand against her bloody skin. Along the top of the sword’s edge were two strings of numbers, geographic coordinates for the location of the fight, and a time stamp for the precise moment of sunset tomorrow. That took care of the where and when, but what really made her wince was the line below the sword, where the corporate mage had transcribed Marci’s own words in neat, professional cursive.

  Hunt him to your heart’s content.

  She was still reading when the mage reached in to pat the area clean with a square of sterile gauze. But even when her blood was gone, the curse remained, the black mark painting a clear line where the magical sword would fall if she went back on her word. Just thinking about it made Marci grimace, and the mage didn’t look happy either as she bound the wound with a clean bandage. The only one who did look pleased by all of this was Vann Jeger, who was grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

  “You have given me a great gift, mortal,” he rumbled, laying a cold, heavy hand on Marci’s shoulder. “A true battle, after so many years.” He beamed at her. “It will be a thing of beauty. You will see, for you will be there, or you will be dead.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” Marci muttered, swallowing against her bitter anger. She had to get out of here. When the spirit looked at her like that, she swore she could feel his cold blood stirring under the cursed mark. “Not that I haven’t had a great time and all, but if you actually want your fight, you have to let me go. A day’s not much time to bring a dragon around, and I need to get to work.”

  “Done,” the hunter said, motioning again to his mage, who was still cleaning up. She nodded and dropped what she was doing, reaching into her pocket to pull
out a black bag.

  “Oh no,” Marci groaned. “Not that thing again.”

  “It’s the only way for those not sworn to our cause to leave this place alive,” Vann Jeger said with a shrug. “Would you like to reconsider my offer to kill you?”

  Marci sighed and lowered her head.

  “I see your anger, little mortal,” Vann Jeger said as the mage began to ease the black cloth gently over her scalp. “You think me a villain, but you are deceived. It is the dragon who is to blame. His kind has beguiled yours from the moment they appeared, living off the fruits of your labor while giving nothing in return but sorrow and death. You think that you are different, that your dragon will not betray you, but so has every mortal they’ve ensnared. When I kill your master, you will see at last that I was right, and if you wish then to join our cause, I will take you to Algonquin myself. You are clever and brave for a mortal, and skilled in magic. The Lady always has need for ones such as you.”

  He paused, clearly expecting gratitude for that condescending job offer. When Marci didn’t reply, he said, “Bag her.”

  The mage yanked the cloth down, cutting off the world behind a wall of black. When it came back again seconds later, Marci opened her eyes with a gasp to find herself sitting in her car in the Post Office parking deck.

  She burst into motion, running her hands over her body, but other than the bandage at her neck, everything was as it should be. Her bag with her dad’s ashes, her bracelets, even her chalk and emergency markers were all back in their normal places. Her phone was there, too, sitting on the passenger seat right where she’d dropped it before she’d gone in. She grabbed the device with trembling fingers, dismissing the Do Not Disturb block to see a wall of missed calls and messages from Julius.

  Under any other circumstances, that obvious show of concern would have made Marci giddy. Now, staring at a phone Algonquin’s goons had had access to for who knew how long in a car that was almost certainly bugged, all she felt was a cold stab of fear.