I couldn’t blame the dragon for underestimating me. After all, I was just a Spartan girl with a sword, while it was covered with rock-hard scales. I probably looked like a bug to it, one that could be squashed with minimal effort. But I had been hoping for such a lazy attack, and I easily hopped over the dragon’s tail and kept running. As I sprinted past the creature, I lashed out with Babs, swinging the sword as hard as I could.
I grimaced and tightened my grip on the weapon, expecting it to either clang off the dragon’s scales, like Mateo’s crossbow bolt, or get stuck in them, like Ian’s ax. Maybe it was the fact that she was a Champion’s sword and an artifact herself, but Babs’s blade sliced cleanly through the dragon’s scales and bit deep into the skin underneath, drawing blood.
“Woo-hoo!” Babs yelled with pride. “Take that, you oversize lizard!”
It wasn’t the best or the deadliest blow I’d ever struck, since I was still running full steam ahead, but it was more than enough to get the dragon’s attention. The monster let out a loud bellow that was somewhere between a screech and a scream, then scuttled across the floor after me, its spiked feet digging into the marble and then throwing up chunks of the stone in its wake.
“Rory!” Babs yelled. “What are you doing? Why are you running away? Turn around and attack it! Before it kills you!”
“Don’t worry!” I yelled back. “I have a plan!”
I kept going, running toward the glass case with the silver spear on the far side of the rotunda. On the floor beside me, I could see the dragon’s shadow drawing closer and closer. Its legs were much more powerful than mine, and it was quickly gaining ground.
So I decided to let it catch me.
At the last instant, before I would have slammed face-first into the artifact case, I spun to the side, moving out of the way. The dragon tried to stop, but its spiked feet dug too deeply into the marble, and it jerked forward and slammed directly into the case, breaking all the glass, just like I’d wanted it to.
The silver spear clattered to the ground, and I dived across the floor and snatched it up, ignoring the bits of glass that sliced into my skin. I was still holding Babs in my right hand, and I picked up the spear with my left, so that I had a weapon in both hands. Then I surged to my feet and whirled back around to the dragon again.
The monster had slammed through the glass and into the wall behind it hard enough to leave a snout-shaped dent in the marble, but the impact only stunned the creature for a few seconds, and it whipped around to face me again. Still, I must have made it truly angry, because instead of embers, black smoke boiled out of its mouth, along with a few red-hot flames.
Even though I was ten feet away from the monster, I could still smell the noxious stench of the smoke and feel the intense heat of the flames. I couldn’t let the dragon unleash its inner fire, or it would burn me alive.
I needed to end the fight—now.
So I yelled and launched myself at the dragon again. I lashed out with Babs, as though I was going to drive the sword into the monster’s side again, but it was just a feint to get the dragon to move to where I really wanted it.
The monster turned to the side and snapped out with its snout, trying to tear Babs away from me, along with my hand, but I didn’t mind, since the movement gave me a clear shot at one of the few vulnerable spots on its body. Before the dragon could retreat, I surged forward, lowered the spear in my left hand, and drove the silver tip straight into the dragon’s right eye.
The Fafnir dragon screamed with pain, and more smoke and fire spewed out of its mouth, boiling over me. The black smoke made me cough, while the fire burned my hands, but I gritted my teeth against the pain and tightened my grip on the spear. The monster tried to jerk away, but I followed its movements, all the while trying to shove the weapon even deeper into its eye.
Black blood poured out of the gruesome wound, but the dragon seemed to be as tough on the inside as it was on the outside, and the spear didn’t sink any deeper into its body. And I knew that it wouldn’t, unless I put some more muscle behind it.
“Sorry, Babs!” I yelled.
“Sorry?” the sword asked, her lips moving underneath my palm again. “Why are you sorry—”
I dropped the sword, who let out an unhappy yelp as she hit the floor. I winced at Babs’s startled cry. I hated dropping her, but I didn’t have a choice, not if I wanted to kill the dragon before it killed me. So I wrapped both my hands around the end of the spear and surged forward, trying to drive the weapon all the way through the monster’s eye and into its brain. I pushed and strained and shoved with all my might, but I just didn’t have the necessary strength, and I simply couldn’t put the spear where it needed to go.
The dragon screamed and tried to pull away from me again, but I gritted my teeth and held on to the spear, playing a bizarre and deadly sort of tug-of-war with the monster. What was it going to take to kill this thing—
Strong hands closed over my burned ones. Startled, I glanced up and realized that Ian was standing beside me. His eyes were red and bloodshot from the smoke, and tears were streaming down his face, but he had realized what I was trying to do and had come to help.
“Let me,” he growled.
I nodded, slid my hands out from under his, and stepped back out of the way. Ian made sure that he had a good grip on the spear, then shoved it forward with his Viking strength.
He punched the spear deep into the dragon’s head. Even more black blood spurted out of the wound, and the monster’s remaining eye widened with pain. The dragon opened its snout to let out another scream, or perhaps bellow more smoke and fire, but only a few dull embers spewed out of its mouth. Then its legs buckled, and it toppled to the floor with the spear still stuck in its eye.
Dead—the monster was dead.
* * *
Ian and I stood there, breathing hard from the fight, staring at the Fafnir dragon, and making sure that it was really, truly, finally dead.
A few seconds later, the monster dissolved, leaving behind a smoking, oily pool of black blood on the white marble, along with a few of its ruby-red scales. The silver spear that had been embedded in the creature’s eye clattered to the floor and rolled back and forth a few times before stopping.
Once I was sure the dragon was gone, I grabbed Babs from where she had landed on the floor and turned around to check on everyone else. “Are you guys okay?”
The clouds of red smoke had finally dissipated, although they had taken their toll on Zoe, Mateo, Takeda, Aunt Rachel, and Professor Dalaja. Their eyes were all bloodshot, just like Ian’s were, and tears streamed down their cheeks. They all coughed for several seconds before they were finally able to stop.
“I think we’re all okay,” Takeda rasped. “How about you guys?”
Ian nodded. He wasn’t coughing or crying anymore, although his eyes were still irritated.
“We’re good,” I said.
I glanced around the rotunda, but it was completely, depressingly, mockingly empty. Of course it was. Covington and Drake had used their smoke bomb to escape, and they had taken Fafnir’s Dagger with them. Once again, the Reapers had gotten away with a powerful artifact, despite our best efforts to stop them.
I let out a loud, vicious curse, then lashed out with my boot and kicked the silver spear, sending it flying through the air. The artifact hit the wall and bounced off, landing in the broken glass and wooden debris from its artifact case. I winced at the sharp clang-clang-clangs it made, and guilt flooded my chest that I had taken my anger out on an inanimate object. It wasn’t the spear’s fault that Covington and Drake had escaped.
It was mine.
I should have left Fafnir’s Dagger upstairs in its case, not tried to take it with us. It might have seemed like a smart plan, but I should have known that something like this would happen. That Covington and Drake would show up and steal the artifact before we even left the museum with it. This sort of thing always happened whenever the Reapers were involved.
&nb
sp; Once again, the evil librarian had won, and I had lost.
Aunt Rachel must have sensed my dark thoughts, because she came over and placed a hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. “It’s not your fault, Rory. You didn’t know the Reapers were going to be here. None of us did.”
“I should have expected it, though,” I muttered. “And not only did Covington get away again, but now he has an artifact that lets him summon freaking dragons. Weird, creepy, smoke- and fire-breathing dragons that are hard to kill.”
Aunt Rachel winced, but she didn’t disagree with me.
“Well, at least we kept the Reapers from getting the white Chloris box too.” Zoe turned to the side, showing me her backpack, which was still on her shoulders. “It’s right here in my bag. That’s something, isn’t it?”
I didn’t want to lash out at my friend the way I had done with the spear, so I forced myself to smile at her. “You’re right. That is something.”
Mateo walked forward, crouched down, and picked up a piece of one of the broken metal canisters from the floor. “Why do you think the Reapers used these?”
Zoe snorted. “I think it’s pretty obvious. Or did you not see all of that nasty red smoke?”
Mateo shrugged. “I just mean that Covington and Drake usually fight their way out. Or summon chimeras or basilisks to do it for them. This is the first time they’ve used smoke bombs.”
He had a point. The Reapers had never used anything like smoke bombs against us before. So why had Covington and Drake unleashed them tonight? It was odd—and more than a little troubling.
Aunt Rachel had once said that Covington never did anything without a reason, and she was absolutely right about that. The Reaper leader always having an ulterior motive was the only consistently predictable thing about him. So why had he used smoke bombs? Why the bombs instead of just summoning more Fafnir dragons to kill us?
Obviously, the smoke had helped to cover his and Drake’s escape, but I wondered if there was more to it than that. Sure, the smoke had been really irritating, but I felt fine now, thanks to my healing magic, and it didn’t seem like it would have any lasting effects on my friends either.
Maybe this had been a test run for something more sinister. Maybe next time, the bombs would be filled with poison instead of smoke. My stomach twisted at the thought, but I didn’t share my worries with my friends.
Professor Dalaja removed her silver glasses and wiped the tears out of her eyes. “Well, I just hope they don’t use the weapons on us again. My eyes, nose, and throat are still burning from that red smoke or tear gas or whatever it was.”
“Mine too.” Ian let out another cough.
“And mine as well,” Takeda said, rubbing his throat. “Which is why we need to return to the Bunker, get out of these clothes, and get cleaned up.”
“What about the Reapers?” I asked.
Takeda pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call this in to Linus Quinn, and he’ll send some local Protectorate guards to clean up the mess. I’ll also check in with the museum guards. There’s no use keeping them in the dark any longer about what we were doing here.”
“Where are the museum guards?” Zoe asked. “Why didn’t they come to the rotunda?”
Aunt Rachel shrugged. “Right before Rory told us about the smoke bomb, Takeda and I saw the two perimeter guards break away from their usual routes and run toward the far side of the grounds. The third guard probably left the security center and went to help them. The Reapers must have set off another smoke bomb outside or found some other way to lure the guards away from their posts so they could slip into the museum.”
Takeda nodded, agreeing with her. “Maybe the guards saw Covington and Drake leaving and at least got their license plate or something like that. In the meantime, everyone should go back to the van so we can leave as soon as possible.”
He tapped on his phone a few times, then held the device up to his ear and left the rotunda, probably to head to the museum’s security center. Everyone else trudged down the hallway that would take them back outside to the van, but I stayed in the rotunda, glaring at the pool of black blood and the red scales littering the floor.
If the Fafnir dragon had still been alive, I would have happily killed it all over again, just to alleviate some of my anger. Some Spartan I was, some Champion I was. Once again, Covington had bested me, and I was no closer to stopping him than before.
“Rachel is right,” a voice said. “It’s not your fault, Rory.”
Babs’s lips tickled my palm, since I was still holding her. I grabbed the sword by her blade and lifted her up so we were face-to-face. Unlike the rest of my friends, the red smoke hadn’t affected her at all, and her eye was its usual deep, dark emerald-green. I was glad she was okay, but it didn’t lessen my anger at myself.
I shook my head. “I should have known that something like this would happen. As soon as it seems like we have a leg up on the Reapers, Covington comes along and knocks us all right back down again.”
“And you and the others will all get right back up again,” Babs said. “Just like always. That’s what true warriors do, Rory. And you are one of the truest, strongest, bravest warriors I’ve ever known.”
Despite my anger and frustration, I couldn’t help but smile. Babs always knew exactly what to say to make me feel better. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really good at pep talks?”
“Well, I am a talking sword,” Babs replied in a smug voice. “I should be rather good at pep talks, don’t you think? Otherwise, it would be false advertising.”
I laughed. “I think that you are rather excellent at talking.”
“Of course I am,” Babs replied, her voice even more smug than before. “Now, let’s quit brooding over Covington and Drake getting away, go back to the Bunker with everyone else, and focus on how we can find the Reapers again. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“And grab that spear you kicked across the floor.” Babs gave me a stern, chiding look. “Dropping me in the heat of battle is one thing, but that’s no way to treat an artifact.”
I snapped up my hand and saluted her. “Yes, ma’am. Your wish is my command.”
Her hilt quivered, as if she was trying to nod her half of a head in agreement. “As it should be.”
I did as she commanded, walked over, and picked up the silver spear. I probably should have propped it up against the wall so the museum staff could find it later, but instead, I tucked it under my arm. Then I fished the white identification card out of the broken glass and read the information on it.
Minerva’s Spear. This spear is rumored to belong to Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom, war, and more. It is an ordinary spear, except for one thing: it supposedly can never be broken, not even by the strongest of creatures or the fiercest of battles…
The rest of the card talked about the spear’s history, but I focused on its supposed magic. A weapon that could never be broken? That might come in handy, especially if we ended up fighting more Fafnir dragons. Besides, after all the artifacts I’d stolen over the past few weeks, what was one more?
I made sure that the spear was securely tucked under my arm, then crossed the rotunda to catch up with my friends.
Still, I couldn’t help but stop at the archway and glance back over my shoulder. The danger had passed, and the rotunda was empty except for the debris from the fight, but I couldn’t get rid of the worry and dread simmering in my stomach.
Covington might not have stolen the white Chloris box, but I still couldn’t help but feel he had gotten exactly what he wanted from the museum tonight.
Chapter Eight
Two hours later, my friends and I were back in the Bunker, sitting around the briefing table.
Everyone, including me, had showered and changed clothes to get rid of any lingering traces of the Reapers’ smoke bombs. My friends had stopped coughing, although their eyes were still red and irritated, especially Ian’s. Everyone had been exposed to the smoke fr
om the second canister that Drake had smashed open in the rotunda, but Ian had waded directly through the red clouds in order to help me kill the Fafnir dragon, so he was suffering from its effects the most.
Photos of the rotunda were up on the wall monitors, along with several pictures of Fafnir’s Dagger. Just looking at the red-scaled blade and the dragon inlaid in the bronze hilt made me shudder. As a Spartan, I was used to being able to dispatch my enemies with ease, but the dragon had been difficult to kill. I didn’t know if I would have been able to take it down without Ian’s help, which worried me more than I cared to admit. What was I going to do the next time Covington summoned a dragon? How was I going to protect my friends? Or could I even protect them at all now that the Reaper leader had such a powerful artifact?
A tight fist of dread squeezed my heart, and I dropped my gaze from the photos. No one else spoke or moved, and Mateo wasn’t even typing on his laptop. We were all sitting quietly, waiting for Takeda, who was talking on his phone.
“Yes…yes…yes… Thank you for letting me know.” Takeda tapped the screen and set his phone down. “That was Linus Quinn. He’s back in New York, but he sent some local Protectorate guards to the Cormac Museum. They’ve secured the building, but there has been no sign of Covington, Drake, or any other Reapers in the area.”
The news didn’t surprise me, but it was still disappointing. “What about the artifacts? Did the Reapers steal anything else while they were at the museum?”
“No. Nothing else is missing,” Takeda said. “The only thing the Reapers got away with was Fafnir’s Dagger.”
“Isn’t that enough?” Zoe muttered. Blue sparks of magic crackled in the air, punctuating her dire words.
“I’d say it was plenty.” Ian shook his head. “That dragon did not want to die.”
“Which is why we need to find the Reapers and recover the dagger as soon as possible,” Takeda said.
“And don’t forget that the Reapers also have Serket’s Pen, which means they can still summon basilisks too,” Mateo added.
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