Kiss of Fate

by Deborah Cooke

  “Because I probably know where the answer is already,” he said, with that cockiness that some bright students showed. “I could save you a lot of time.”

  Eileen was irritated, so she pushed him into declaring his intentions. “And why would you do that?” She swiveled on the chair to study him, practically daring him to make his play.

  The glint in his eyes fed that doubt deep inside Eileen. There was something wrong with this kid. Something creepy about him. He reminded her of an animal on the hunt, a starving and desperate animal. Her intuition told her to run.

  Immediately.

  But that was crazy. He was just another grad student with poor social skills. And really, what kind of trouble could she get into in a sleepy little museum town like Ironbridge? Eileen stayed put. She needed to find Louisa. She turned back to the computer to continue her search.

  He offered his hand abruptly, shoving it into her field of view. “Sigmund Guthrie, at your service.”

  Eileen was struck again by his awkwardness, then by his name. “Did you say Guthrie?”

  “Yes.”

  Eileen knew countless students who chose their specialties to illuminate facets of their own family history. His family history could easily have drawn him to an area of research. She decided to take a chance, in case Sigmund could save her time. “I’m looking for a Guthrie, actually. Louisa Guthrie.”

  His eyes flashed and she knew he recognized the name. “Wrong century,” he said sharply, his eyes narrowing as he read the screen. “She died in 1782, in March.”

  Eileen wasn’t surprised that he knew the date. Avid students could remember an astonishing amount of detail on their preferred subjects.

  Maybe he would be useful.

  Even if every fiber of her being urged her to run.

  “The Louisa Guthrie I’m looking for drowned in the Severn,” Eileen said carefully.

  “Yes, in March of 1782.” Sigmund folded his hands behind himself and recounted from memory. “Survived by her sister, Adelaide, and her father, George. Their mother, Matilda, had died earlier, when the sisters were much younger.”

  Eileen couldn’t completely quell her suspicion. She tapped into the database, finding the earlier century. She accessed some digitized archives from March 1782 and immediately found a newspaper article regarding the death of one Louisa Guthrie.

  Who had jumped from the new iron bridge into the Severn.

  With stones in her pockets.

  Eileen shivered, even as she sent the article to the printer. “This is very familiar to you.”

  “Oh, I have large chunks of our family tree memorized.” Sigmund smiled with a charm that could have been fed by confidence. “I told you that I could help.” His tone sharpened. “You should have believed me.”

  “Yes, my mistake. Thank you.” Eileen picked up the printed article and scanned it again. Louisa had been survived by a sister, Adelaide, who had moved to Birmingham with her husband, Reverend Jones. Louisa had also been survived by a son, who was taken in by his grandfather.

  The son’s name was Sigmund.

  Eileen suddenly had a very bad feeling about the helpful student’s real identity. She took a step away from him and picked up her satchel.

  “Why Louisa?” Sigmund asked with open suspicion. “No one is ever interested in Louisa.”

  His accusatory tone caught Eileen’s ear, giving her the sense that he was offended on Louisa’s behalf. That made no sense, and she looked straight at him.

  He stared back at her proudly, his stance reminding Eileen of something. Or someone. The way his eyes glittered, the coldness of his expression—the combination was not quite human. His body shimmered around the edges in a way that she had seen before.

  When Erik was breathing smoke.

  Erik’s son Sigmund had turned Slayer.

  Eileen grabbed her coat and tried to step past him.

  “Something I said?” he asked mildly, as if he knew exactly what was troubling her.

  “No.” She looked into his eyes and chose not to be afraid.

  “Then why the rush?” He planted himself right in her path and folded his arms across his chest. He looked larger and more dangerous, and his smile became meaner.

  “You’re Erik’s son,” Eileen guessed.

  “Clever, clever,” Sigmund said, his tone mocking. “For a human.” His body began to glitter with savage brightness.

  Eileen didn’t stay to watch him change shape.

  She shoved past him and ran.

  Magnus and Erik fought with vicious force. They locked claws and rolled through the air, battling for supremacy over and over again. Each time one was struck, he rallied and returned to the fight.

  The clouds darkened to the hue of slate, taking on a bluish tinge. The rain changed to snow, the white flakes falling more and more thickly. The light faded as the afternoon wore on.

  And still the pair battled.

  Erik could feel his body becoming more weary. Every blow that Magnus struck felt harder and heavier. Erik fought on, unwilling to cede the battle easily.

  He had the strange sense that Magnus was toying with him. When once Erik had flagged, the ancient Slayer had breathed dragonfire on him, reinvigorating him, toying with Erik’s newfound ability to use fire to his own advantage. It couldn’t have been an accident.

  Even now, Erik breathed a stream of smoke and stole energy from Magnus. The Slayer let him do it, laughing as the dragonsmoke bridged the gap between them.

  “You prolong the battle,” Erik accused.

  Magnus chuckled. “An easy victory makes a poor tale.” He swung the wooden chest, tossing it from one claw to the other. “And a prize such as this demands a worthy tale.”

  “This tale deserves an ending,” Erik retorted, and lunged after Magnus.

  Magnus waited until Erik was close, then shot upward suddenly. He streaked into the sky, evading Erik’s assault. Erik followed close behind him, distrusting the low echo of Magnus’s laughter.

  “Let’s raise the stakes,” Magnus suggested, his eyes gleaming. “Who is faster? Who is more determined to gain the prize?” Before Erik could answer, Magnus tossed the trunk.

  The wooden chest arched high, tumbling through the falling flakes of snow, then fell toward the earth like a rock.

  Erik shot after it and snatched at the handles, Magnus close beside him. Erik felt the leather brush his talons; then Magnus kicked him aside. The ancient Slayer snatched for the trunk himself.

  Erik fell upon him from behind, shredding his wings so that Magnus roared. The Slayer rolled backward, seizing Erik’s tail with his rear claws. The two thrashed each other as they fell, neither one prepared to surrender, making a fierce spiral of black and green. Erik ripped his tail free and walloped Magnus with it. Magnus rolled, then came up fighting. He slashed at Erik with his claws and the blow caught Erik across the forehead.

  A single ebony scale lifted free of Erik’s brow. It shone in the winter light, falling to the earth like a shard of obsidian. The two stared at it in shock; then Magnus began to laugh.

  “Bad time for a new weakness, Erik,” he said, and lunged for the leader of the Pyr.

  The wooden trunk, meanwhile, was spiraling toward the earth.

  “The trunk!” Erik reminded Magnus as the pair grappled, but Magnus didn’t glance over his shoulder.

  “The Dragon’s Teeth belong in the soil,” he said, striking Erik twice in rapid succession with his tail. “Let them find their way there sooner rather than later.”

  Magnus’s eyes brightened as he began to chant. His song was deep and old, so resonant that it made Erik’s marrow vibrate in unison with it. It was a dark, vile rhythm. Erik closed his ears to it, struggling to keep it from creating an echo within his own body.

  He recognized it immediately. It was the same chant Magnus had used to make Delaney act against his will.

  It had to be the same chant that Magnus used in the dark academy to make shadow dragons of the Pyr he had harvested
from their own graves. It was a wicked summons and Erik knew why Magnus sang it now.

  He was chanting to the Dragon’s Teeth.

  He was trying to persuade the enchanted warriors trapped in those teeth to take the Slayer side. He was appealing to them when they were weakened, when they couldn’t so easily ignore his song.

  Erik would not permit Magnus such an easy victory. He leapt at Magnus, his outrage fueling his strength, and fought with renewed vigor. As they rolled through the sky, biting and clawing, he saw the misshapen scale that marked Magnus’s own vulnerability.

  Magnus had lost a scale at some distant point in time, and though it had grown back, the weakness was there.

  Erik targeted it. Magnus caught all Erik’s claws, holding him away from the old wound. Erik breathed dragonfire at it. He directed dragonsmoke at it. He remembered Boris’s feat and mingled smoke and fire together, dispatching them both at the damaged scale. He bit at it, but even his teeth couldn’t find any grasp on the Slayer’s scales.

  Nothing affected Magnus. His smile remained cold and confident. His chant continued at its slow, steady pace, even as Erik threw all of his might against his foe.

  “Still skeptical that the Elixir exists?” Magnus asked.

  Erik was horrified. The Dragon’s Blood Elixir was real. The Slayers were drinking it. There was an old story that the Elixir gave immortality to those who imbibed it—those who weren’t killed by their first sip—and Erik had a moment to fear that the Pyr had lost the war before it started.

  Magnus chuckled.

  His laughter halted when the trunk shattered noisily against the rocky ground. The dry wood broke into a thousand shards. The trays that lined the box burst forth and broke against the earth.

  The pair dove as one toward the Dragon’s Teeth, Magnus increasing the volume of his chant. Erik hoped he could gather some of the teeth before Magnus did.

  Except that there were no Dragon’s Teeth on the ground.

  Not one.

  The trunk had been empty.

  Eileen was in the car in a flash, turning the key in the ignition. She wished she had Erik’s driving skill, but knew she didn’t. She also wished she were better at driving on the wrong side of the road and shifting with the wrong hand. If her luck held, the roads would be quiet at this time of day.

  The engine started. She glanced back and saw Sigmund closing fast. There wasn’t time to worry about wishes and hopes.

  Eileen put the car into gear and floored the accelerator. She didn’t doubt that Sigmund would catch her, but she had to try to escape him.

  Could she manage to find Erik?

  Could she somehow send him a message?

  Eileen didn’t know, but she was going to try.

  She shot out of the parking lot, taking the corner on two tires. The tires squealed on the pavement and the car skidded on the wet road. Several pedestrians stood back and shook their heads, but Eileen didn’t care what they thought of American tourists.

  She saw a big black Mercedes parked outside the hotel opposite, its roof badly dented. Her heart in her throat, Eileen spun the wheel and went the other way. She couldn’t see Magnus, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see her.

  Erik had said Magnus could smell her, and find her anywhere.

  In terror, Eileen glanced in the rearview mirror. She saw Sigmund running after her car. Could things get any worse?

  She peered ahead, the heavy flurries obscuring her vision of the road. Where would she go? Where could she hide? She hadn’t wandered far beyond the museum on her previous trip and didn’t know the area well at all.

  Then she heard a bellow, one that shook the windshield in the car. She looked up and through the veil of snow she could just discern two silhouettes.

  Dragons.

  Fighting.

  One was black. They disappeared into the clouds and Eileen almost despaired. Then she felt a little thrum of heat caress her skin, a familiar sizzle of desire, and understood intuitively how she could find Erik.

  She’d follow the heat.

  And whether he wanted to see her or not, he’d defend her. She trusted him to do that.

  Eileen chose a road that seemed to head toward Erik and took the turn fast. She glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see Sigmund follow, then change shape.

  He breathed fire, his dragon form a gorgeous blend of dark green and silver. He looked like a piece of jewelry, a Mayan treasure maybe.

  She’d assume that he got his dragon good looks from his father.

  The warmth on her skin was growing—if nothing else, she was heading in the right direction. Eileen pushed the accelerator a little harder and hoped she reached Erik in time.

  As if he’d heard that thought, Sigmund breathed fire at the little car. All Eileen could see was a curtain of orange flames, licking and flowing over the vehicle, heating the metal to a sizzle. She yelped and put the gas pedal flat on the floor.

  Nothing could be worse than being fried alive.

  Pyr and Slayer surveyed the barren ground without comprehension; then Erik guessed what had happened.

  Eileen had removed the teeth and hidden them elsewhere.

  Eileen had put herself squarely in danger.

  And the blood sacrifice foretold by the prophecy didn’t have to be his.

  It could be Eileen’s.

  As if to emphasize that notion, the low hum of the firestorm that he’d grown accustomed to feeling grew in intensity.

  Eileen was coming closer.

  Erik roared and seized Magnus before the Slayer could react. He struck Magnus in the head and hauled him into the sky as the Slayer sputtered in shock. He remembered a place that would be perfect for Magnus, and provide an ideal solution.

  If it was still there. Erik soared high, Magnus writhing in his grasp, and scanned the ground.

  “What have you done with them?” Magnus roared, enraged that he had been cheated of his prize.

  “I have them safe,” Erik lied. “You’re not the only one who plays games.”

  Erik spied the cemetery he’d been seeking. He managed to keep a grasp on Magnus, his fear for Eileen giving him new strength. The Slayer roared and twisted, but Erik plummeted toward the cemetery with Magnus fast in his grasp.

  Magnus yelled, but it made no difference. Erik dove down toward the wrought-iron gates. He targeted one of the tall, ornate spires that stood on either side of the gate proper, and impaled Magnus on it with a single sure stroke.

  The spear of iron punctured Magnus through the space left by his lost scale.

  It was a perfect hit. The spire was an elaborately shaped piece of steel, teased and bent into a complicated tower, thick with points and curlicues. The top was shaped like a barb, which meant that it pierced Magnus more easily than it would be removed.

  The Slayer bellowed in rage. He twisted and fought and swore but it made no difference to his predicament.

  Magnus might not be dead, but he wouldn’t be free anytime soon. Magnus struggled and squirmed, shifting rapidly between forms, but he was securely caught on the iron spire.

  For the moment.

  All Erik needed was time to reach Eileen.

  “You cannot outrun me,” Magnus bellowed as Erik streaked into the sky. “You cannot survive me.”

  Erik intended to try. He took flight, ignoring Magnus’s cry.

  “I will share the Elixir with you. . . .”

  Erik didn’t believe it for a minute. And he didn’t want to taste the Dragon’s Blood Elixir. His father had been skeptical of it, suggesting that there must be a hidden price if such a drink existed. Immortality couldn’t come for free.

  Erik didn’t want to know the details.

  He was back at the hotel within moments. He shifted shape in the parking lot and raced into the inn, glad that the owner wasn’t in sight. He took the stairs three at a time and burst into the room that he and Eileen had shared.

  She was gone.

  The scent of roses and lavender was already fadi
ng. Her satchel, her purple sheepskin coat, her boots, and her knitting were all gone.

  She had passed through his dragonsmoke and gone into danger.

  It was his own fault.

  He had failed her again.

  And now he had to make it right. He thought about the Wyvern’s advice and understood that in choosing his responsibility to the Pyr, he had failed Eileen.

  Just as he had failed Louisa.

  Eileen wasn’t the only one being given an opportunity to learn from mistakes and make matters right.

  Erik just hoped he had another chance. He stilled himself and inhaled slowly. He caught the departing whiff of her perfume and felt the insistent throb of the firestorm. Now that he paid attention, he could feel her location more clearly.

  To his relief, Eileen hadn’t gone far.

  To his despair, he could smell Slayer.

  Sigmund.

  And others, more than one, others who had learned to disguise their scents but hadn’t been entirely efficient about it this time.

  Who else had shared Magnus’s Elixir and secrets?

  Erik had to find Eileen first.

  Chapter 16

  Magnus seethed.

  He was trapped on the spire of wrought iron, his own body betraying him with its bones and muscles and resistance. He struggled in both forms, to no avail. His position didn’t allow him any way to use his arms or legs to free himself and he doubted that was a coincidence.

  Erik, he admitted grudgingly, had struck well. The spire had run Magnus through only because of his own missing scale. That was one weakness the Elixir hadn’t yet managed to repair.

  The weakness had been lessened by the Elixir but was still there.

  He breathed fire at the iron, hoping to break the spire so his weight would make him fall to the ground. The old steel was strong and didn’t heat quickly. Magnus knew it would take too long to free himself that way. The ground was already dark with his blood.

  Could he actually die?

  Magnus had believed not, but the situation gave him doubt. In the past, he’d drunk deeply of the Elixir when he’d sustained a serious wound.

  What if he couldn’t get to the Elixir?