by Dana Cameron
In an instant, I was there.
I didn’t recognize where there was and was afraid that I’d miscalculated. What I saw was a rippling wave of black, so black, I could barely detect that it was moving. But very rarely, every here and there was a break, a line of bright red or silver or pale blue that showed me the black was billowing in waves, like a silk sheet being shaken out. I tried to look beneath it, but no matter how far I followed it down, I couldn’t find the underside of it, and there were curves that made me wonder if I weren’t moving in circles, or some trick of the near light that altered or distorted my perspective. So I followed one of the red lines back, finding no end.
I pulled the sonic screwdriver out of my pocket—I would have used a rock if I’d had it—and threw it at the blackness. It caused a furious rippling, and now I could see, very distantly and less faintly, how the lines were interwoven, warp and weft.
A crack appeared in the fabric; there was a noise like ice creaking and glaciers calving. A flare of color like the aurora borealis and a portion of the dense black nothingness shattered, falling away to nothingness. I could see many of the fine threads now, bundled into very large groups, like individual strands twisted into a heavy rope. The larger bundles were like wires or circuits interconnecting, overlapping against the wider darkness. All the lives I knew or could imagine in the multiverse, intertwined and overlapping. Geoffrey had suggested there might be streams of particles bridging the overlapping multiverses, and maybe this was it.
I recalled the fight with the Administrator’s überdragon. My dragons had been on silver threads, ever so much finer than these cables, when I’d taken over command of them. The Trips had a red thread binding them together, and Carolina had a pale blue one associated with her.
I saw a heavy silver rope quivering and glinting starlight in the darkness of whatever meta-space the Makers and I shared. Strands emerged from that main rope to form new connections with other, crossing cables.
I followed the heavy silver cable until I found three cut edges; three cobweb-fine loose ends fluttered from the main rope, but already a kind of self-healing was occurring, reweaving new threads grown from the cut end into other circuits.
This is where I’d freed the dragons from the Makers. This is where I’d seized their power.
I traced their threads back to where they connected into the main rope. The silver threads of the dragons and many other silver threads were bound up with a blue one, barely perceptible, that was wound around them.
This blue thread was the Fangborn connection to the Makers and the way they could control us. While it was probably not the only one, it was the most obvious and easiest one for them to use.
I was going to cut the thread. This is how I would unchain the Fangborn.
I had no idea what side effects doing that might have. Most of the Fangborn systems I’d encountered were redundant, many times over, so this might not be the only way for the Makers to reach us directly. It probably contained elements of other powers in ways we didn’t understand.
But for now, it wasn’t a matter of prophecies or being the chosen one. There was no chosen one; Fangborn prophecies were fragments of communications intercepted by the oracles, imperfectly received or understood by them. They were not so much prophecies as someone getting a sneak preview of the workings inside the machine, the grand scheme of things. Maybe the prophecy that seemed to fit my situation was a part of a warning label for that thread: “Danger! Do not cut!” or “Caution! Live Wire!” or “Broken, removed for repairs.” But why were the Makers so intent on repairing it?
I didn’t know if I was acting as Atropos, severing a fateful, fatal thread, or if I was acting as Perseus, freeing Andromeda from the rock.
I summoned the katana and drew it back, ready to cleave that binding blue thread. I pressed the sapphire jewel I’d been given to do the Makers’ bidding.
The power surged through me and I suddenly had a good idea of what it was like to be in a jet going supersonic. I had no idea of the proper way to use the katana in real life; here, with that loaned power, I was a master of what it represented. The sword was no longer perfect steel, folded over and over ten thousand times; for my purpose, it had turned into black diamond, flecked with moonlight. I Changed, not able to wield this power without summoning some of the strength my other nature represented, and stood on top of the blue thread, which was now as massive as a drainage pipe with my new perspective. I swung with everything in my being.
I brought the katana down.
It bounced off the thread, as if it was made of rubber. Just like the intruders in the mind-lab.
I tried again, feeling the borrowed power course through me.
Nothing.
Squinting, I could barely make out where I’d hit the blue thread. I reached out and tried to pull it apart with my hands. It burned with cold to my bones.
The katana wouldn’t do it. Like the tools that belonged to the orange demo crew, it was a product of the Maker influence on its Fangborn artisan.
I summoned the hybrid Celtic/Anglo-Saxon sword I’d found in Kanazawa; I knew it had tremendous power, but not from the Makers.
I swung.
A cut appeared in the blue thread, like a notch axed from a tree. My arm went numb at the blow. I summoned all my reserves, feeling the strain pulling at the core of myself, threatening to tear me apart, and swung again. Sparks flew, blinding me. A cacophony filled my ears, the sound of worlds exploding. I prayed it was not indicative of what was happening in the here and now.
There was a bellowing in the void around me; the überdragon, even larger than last time, was on its way. I’d woken up the Makers. This was not what they thought of as orderly. It was not what they wanted. Three hydra heads of the überdragon appeared, followed by its massive body, the noise like a bomb blast.
I was a sitting duck. I swung again at the cable.
Halfway through, this time. One more would have to do it; it was all I had strength for.
A blast of energy appeared so powerful, it lit up the void. Heading my way, it fell short and dissipated, but the überdragon was following, preparing another blast.
Flashes before my eyes—I couldn’t tell if they were from the silver thread or my brain collapsing in on itself. I lifted my arms, feeling them wobble under the weight—what weight?—of the sword. I felt about as tough as a plate of soggy pasta. My heart pounded so hard, so fast, I thought it would break out the cage of my ribs.
Last chance, Zoe.
The überdragon was nearly on me now, and I knew I would perish with its next burst. I paused, pulled out the blaster, and fired at the hydra. I felt myself go weak as it drained my energy. I could barely move but had bought myself some time.
I swung, and this time, the sword cut cleanly through but only to the last core of the strand.
It was not going to give under the sword. Any sword.
I had one trick left. I pulled up the bone-and-soul-chilling thread and bit it. My werewolf fangs sheared through the last fragment.
The thread was broken.
I howled, even as my life was leaving me. I felt a tremendous rushing, like rapids heading for a waterfall, and my feet were knocked out from under me. I grabbed at what was left of the thread; it turned white and disintegrated. With a planet-shattering rumble, the black waves rearranged themselves and swallowed up the hole left by the vanished thread. I was unmoored and unsupported. A tiny pop of emptiness deep inside told me I’d been successful. When the wave hit me, I was knocked far away.
I saw Dr. Osborne hovering near me. “I think it’s time to jump ship, Zoe. Unless you want to get sucked up into the vortex.”
“Good idea,” I croaked. “Dragons?”
“We’re on it.”
A volcanic roar in the void as my three friends appeared, straining, screaming with indignation at the überdragon, who was struggling to get one last blast at me. They grabbed me and I followed them back home.
I found myself in a
pile of blood and sweat on the floor of my room on Flock Island. My clothes were limp and soggy, as though I’d had a fever. The cat hissed at me.
Oh, gross. Cleanup in aisle five, I thought before I passed out.
Chapter Eighteen
I woke up, stiff as hell, with a terrible hollow feeling inside and out. A soft moist snuffling under my nose; I snorted, and sneezed. The cat, who had been inspecting me, took off.
It was as if there was nothing inside me, and nothing in the outside world capable of sustaining my skin, a leaky balloon. I just wanted to ooze into the floor, but it kept falling away from underneath me. It was the definition of misery.
I was on the floor, having fallen off my chair. By very carefully flexing one muscle at a time, I was able to determine that none of my bones were broken, but I was bleeding from the nose and chin, where I’d landed. While it had not been a physical battle, a serious toll had been taken nonetheless.
I lay there hating the feel of the gritty floor under my cheek but unable—at least unwilling—to get up. Faced with the prospect of spending the day there, I have to say, I gave it considerable thought. Not only did I feel like a sock full of hammered shit, I had another bunch of high-risk, no-reward tasks to do before I dared to rest. I shoved myself up and fumble-grabbed a bottle of water and drank it all without stopping.
I coughed, and called out. Claudia poked her head in the door, saw the blood on my face.
The cut was already starting to heal. That was a good sign.
“Holy God, Zoe!” She ran to me. “What the hell did you do to yourself?”
“Later,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“Lots. Same as a minute ago. We’re on for I-Day.” She shook her head, frowning. “Are you okay?”
“No, I mean, maybe. I mean, did anything happen? Out here, with you, with any of the Fangborn?”
She shook her head. “What do you mean?”
I swallowed my frustration. I had to know. “Like, did you sense any disruption here, in this world? No flying squids in the sky? It’s still just after breakfast on I-Day? Can you Change?”
“No, yes, hang on.” Claudia Changed, as effortlessly as ever, her face shifting from human to violet and serpentine. I felt the familiar frisson of energy and felt the urge to follow her suit. I did so, and then Changed back.
“Okay?”
“Yes, thanks,” I said. So far, so good.
She Changed back.
“I think I did it.” I said the words, dazed, not believing them. “Claudia, I think I did it.”
“Did what?”
“Unchained the Fangborn.”
She looked astonished and scared and excited. “Okay, the prophecy—how—I don’t know what . . . but you did?”
I nodded.
“So, I-Day?”
“It’s on, as planned.” I took a deep breath. “It’s been a long time coming. The Normals could use a little excitement.”
Claudia frowned, but nodded and took off.
I dragged myself up to the table, sat down painfully, and found my phone. I made two calls: one to Senator Knight to tell him I’d succeeded and one to Danny.
I noticed there were little indentations all over my bagel where the cat had licked off the cream cheese. Someone was settling in to his new routine.
Finally, I texted three words to Vee: The game’s afoot.
I waited until the phone binged, letting me know Vee had texted me back: Done. The game is ON.
I grinned weakly, amazed at how much that simple act hurt. Without many Family ties of her own, for I-Day Vee was going to involve her Normal friends, whom she’d once described as her “techies and geekdoms.” They were going to solicit a little help from the willing uninitiated, crowd-sourcing the problems of I-Day and integration via several online communities. The social media blasts had been carefully planned, hashtags ready. Additionally, certain groups of scientists and researchers were going to get very interesting emails with carefully selected information about history and biology. It was going to be done quietly, resembling more an IV drip into a bloodstream than a series of press releases, so certain folks would get a head start on what was coming and hopefully take our side. I’d also put Vee in touch with Ariana, my Italian vampire friend, who was going to release her new game, “Wolf, Raven, Snake.” The card game looked remarkably like Fangborn adventures to me—with us as the good guys, of course.
All of this was quite possibly a futile gesture, but it was the only way the two of us personally had to soften the ground. We hoped to gain allies by introducing the idea of the Fangborn with the lure of science and entertainment.
At seven o’clock tonight, President Rozan was going to read the statement she, her staff, Representative Nichols, and the Fangborn in the government had been working on. After that, Senator Knight was going to hold a press conference on Capitol Hill to discuss the presence of the Fangborn and the secret treaty status we’d all been living under since the Fangborn had been in America. He’d explain that the Battle of Boston was just the latest example of the Fangborn fighting for us all against unknown foes called Order and Fellborn.
Until then, the news outlets were going crazy with the footage of the fire at billionaire Carolina Perez-Smith’s country retreat. She too had been attacked by the Fellborn, and had been rescued by Fangborn-American citizens. It was the first time there was good footage, shot by reliable sources, of the Fangborn performing heroic actions. It was pretty nifty to see a vampire carrying out Carolina on his shoulder and a werewolf braving the flames to rescue a kid. No need to mention that the kid was also a Fangborn and was only there because Carolina had kidnapped him in the first place.
Carolina was on our side. For now. She and Senator Knight were working together to craft our story, one that would leave out the Order’s experiments. Someone else would get pinned with the kidnappings; her business acumen, paired with the change of heart I’d inflicted on her, would ensure that. She’d play the concerned citizen, grateful for what the Fangborn had done for her and working to see how our presence could benefit the country.
I didn’t like it and thought she and the Senator were a match made in hell. But it was I-Day, today, and things were going to be tough. I’d live with that pair if we had her influence on our side.
I wondered if I could restore the Fellborn—and Max—using the ring as I had on Carolina. I would be very happy to be able to make that visible contribution.
It had been a very busy day, I decided, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. It wasn’t every day a girl got to sever connections with a controlling nonhuman entity and throw the world into upheaval by helping to out her entire Family.
I flicked on the news, still too tired to move much. Soon the world would be seeing vintage tape prepared by the TRG to showcase the Fangborn. There was the World War II newsreel about the new allies in the war against Hitler, showing werewolves doing boot-camp stuff, medic-trained vampires, oracles translating and looking into crystal balls. There was the 1960s advertisement talking about everyone working for a better world, getting in touch with that beyond you, and expanding the mind. Then there was the 1980s Cold War propaganda bragging about the arsenal of missiles and Fangborn allies we had on our side to stop communism, working shoulder pad to shoulder pad.
I worried about what other historical images might also repeat themselves: the Salem witchcraft trials, the Japanese internment camps in the ’40s. Protests for civil rights turned to riots all through the ’60s, ’70s—hell, even today. After all, how do you identify a threat, an enemy, when he looks just like you? Humanity did not have a great track record when dealing with those who were different, or even suspected of being different.
There would be public violence in some cities and vigils in others. There would be some suicides and there were some folks who thought we were on the verge of some kind of golden age. There would be arguments about traitors and vigilantism and about the nature of humanity.
I understood a
ll of these responses. I had to worry about becoming a dragon myself now that I was no longer under the control of the bracelet, no longer driven to find other artifacts that might be out there. I wanted them, but I could find them in my own time. There was a lot to do, and on top of it all, I also had to worry about Family like the Adirondack Free Pack thinking I was some kind of prophet. Or a demon.
All that could wait. I needed a shower. I owed myself a good cry.
I got up from the table, stiffly, looked out the window. Adam was moving toward the house. He paused, and when I nodded, he came in. I hobbled to him, leaned against him. Let him kiss the top of my head.
“Zoe,” he said.
But something was tickling my brain; I had the urge, as I had at the Battle of Boston, to reach out, to see what was going on now, locally, with that astonishing footage of the Fangborn being shown everywhere. “Just give me a second, okay?”
He nodded. And I projected my consciousness out and over Boston.
The colleges and coffee houses were abuzz. Arguments, just as I suspected, and there was excitement, too. Eagerness, on some parts, and I began to wonder if the generations raised on the space program, comic books, and CGI special effects might not be ready for us.
A blink, and I was over a neighborhood to the west. A fire had been started outside the town hall; protesters were warning the end was here. Another group was praying just as loudly for peace and patience. A rock was thrown, and the sirens began as the crowds clashed.
So I knew: It would not be smooth transition, this I-Day. An old world gone, any number of new ones loomed possible. It would not be one thing. It would be complex. It was the end. I’d severed many connections today. But there were maybe new ones to make, too.
I returned my focus to where I was, and to Adam. I nestled my head into his chest, enjoying the quiet, for the moment.
The dragons, who had been lounging on the cliff, began to pop in and out of sight. Then I heard Quarrel cry out in my mind.
“Zoe Hellbender! The Administrator wishes to speak with you!”