Plight of the Dragon

by Debra Kristi

  31

  REAPER’S MARK

  Kyra

  “Step back,” Ryhuu said. His muscles flexed, and he stood stiff and firm in defense of his queen.

  Kyra froze, stopping mid step. In her panic, she had forgotten about the magic. Her own family didn’t recognize her. At the time, it had been what she’d wanted, but now…now, she needed them to recognize her. Short of disrobing, how was she going to convince them of who she was? She no longer smelled like a dragon, nor could she transform into one. “It’s me, Mother. Your daughter, Kyra,” she pleaded, looking past Ryhuu and locking her gaze upon the queen.

  “There is nothing of my daughter in you.” Queen Shui turned away, implying Kyra was unworthy, but kept talking. “There is no time for such foolishness. What game are you playing, child?”

  “This isn’t a game!” Kyra’s voice hitched. “I am your daughter.”

  “Enough.” Queen Shui dismissed her with the wave of her hand. “Come, Ryhuu.” She walked toward the ice and the dragons fighting on the frozen lake.

  “No, please,” Kyra pleaded.

  Her mother glanced over her shoulder, her expression one of pure exasperation. But then she startled and spun around. Kyra blinked, hope blooming in her heart.

  “Please, don’t stop on our account,” someone said.

  Behind Kyra were twelve, maybe fifteen, Reapers approaching their position. Her heart sank, as did her hope for Sebastian. “We are not here for you, my queen,” the tall Grim said, and his gaze flickered over Kyra and then beyond. “At least, not yet.”

  “That’s not very comforting,” Queen Shui responded. Ryhuu remained vigilant, ready to go samurai with his sword at a verbal snap.

  The Grim Reaper said nothing, merely ran his gaze over Kyra again. She scratched her arm and fought the desire to scratch everywhere. Something about the man made her skin race with goose bumps. Even though this was the first time she’d come face to face with him, she was fairly sure she knew who he was. She’d had her suspicions since the first time she’d seen him on the bridge, the day she’d saved Marcus’s life. A day that seemed forever ago.

  Turning away from her mother, she focused her attention on Sebastian’s father and the parade of Reapers he’d brought with him. “Can you save him?” she asked. “Save Sebastian?”

  “It is not our place to save,” he said. “At least, not in the manner in which you mean the word.” Mortifier’s face was void of any emotion, like a permanent state of death.

  Kyra moved forward, desperation in her steps. Maybe if he saw how much she needed this, needed Sebastian, he would reconsider. “But you could if you wanted to, right?”

  Queen Shui sighed, mumbled something about time-wasters, then walked toward the frozen lake again. Kyra let her go, all her hope now pinned on the Grim Reaper standing before her. He didn’t appear to be much of an amenable type, but she wasn’t one to give in easily.

  “Mortifier, you rotting Death rep, you know you can and should.” Stepping through the carnival’s festive front gate, now fully lit and sparkling gleefully, slinked the dark-haired beauty Kyra had witnessed rise from Chelsea’s corpse. “Mother told me all about you, before you helped her.” She used air quotes around the word help.

  The Grim’s demeanor changed, however slight, with the woman’s appearance. He no longer held a cold and removed manner. Kyra got the feeling he was uncomfortable, as if caught in a lie.

  “You must be the child,” he said, a mild rise to his brow.

  “Was,” she corrected. “The name’s Leila, and I’m a fully grown Mara now. Just like my mother. The woman you killed.” She didn’t yell or cry out, simply stated a fact.

  Mortifier heaved a heavy sigh, and Kyra shifted uncomfortably in her place. She wanted—no, that wasn’t right—needed his help, but awkward, she never had handled well. What should I do? she thought. Then she noticed Talia quietly moving toward them, around them, to Kyra’s aid. Kyra’s chest again warmed with hope.

  Then she understood the words and drew back to the conversation between Nightmare and Death. “The boy caused her slow demise.” What boy? Whose demise? The Mara’s mother?

  “Your mother was never meant to have a male child,” the Grim said. “Allowing him to live meant her eventual end, she was fully aware of the circumstances. I couldn’t allow her to kill him.”

  “I understand. And I used to be angry,” Leila said. “But I’m not anymore. If it hadn’t been for you, we never would have had Sebastian, and I do agree, he is a treasure.” She stretched, smoothing her hands down the front of her gown. “Went through a lot of trouble for him, attempting to sabotage Marcus’s plans.”

  Mortifier scoffed. “The boy is not for your meddling. Leave him alone.”

  “Too late,” Leila said in a singsong voice. Mortifier’s gaze narrowed. “I’ve been here a very long time, ever since you sent Sebastian on his first little Reaper mission. I’ve come and gone, but always in disguise, keeping watch over him. Had my claws in him fairly deep, I’d say. Until the damn human’s body gave out,” she grumbled. “I could have kept on with him indefinitely, if he hadn’t taken pity on the stupid girl.”

  “Trust me, darling. If he hadn’t done the deed, one of us would have been there to take care of the job.”

  Leila threw off his comment with a slight turn of her head. “He would have stopped you. If he didn’t have the balls to do it, he wouldn’t have let anyone else reap her soul.”

  Kyra’s head spun with revelations. What was it they had said? Sebastian’s mother was dead and the wicked woman who tried to kill Kyra’s family was Sebastian’s sister. Her chest clenched. “But he’s dead!” she interjected. Both Mortifier and Leila turned and stared at her. “Dead!”

  A thundering roar echoed through the sky, and the ground vibrated with one quick thwack. With everyone else turned to the sound, Kyra chanced a quick glance over her shoulder. What she saw had her breath trapped like a hairball wedged in her throat. Her father was losing to Marcus, and her mother did nothing to help. Forever-loyal Ryhuu stood by her side while she appeared to play with the ice. No doubt, working the elements, but Kyra saw no rain and no thunder. It had to be the ice she was manipulating. The ice and the sky. Overhead, everything still swirled in an odd pattern of unusual colors.

  “Who is this girl, and why do we bother with her?” Leila asked. Kyra glanced back, not wanting to miss a word.

  “You do not recognize her?” Mortifier questioned.

  Leila shook her head and studied Kyra more intently.

  “Curious,” he said with a tick of his lip.

  Kyra had been so focused on everything going on around her, Marcus and her father fighting, her unsuccessful attempt to appeal to the Grim Reaper, that she’d failed to notice Talia’s arrival at her side. It wasn’t until Talia wrapped her hand in Kyra’s that Kyra snapped to attention.

  “What did I miss?” Talia whispered.

  “Nothing, really. What happened? Where did you go?” Kyra’s voice dwindled as the sound of heavy flapping came from their left.

  “I don’t know,” Talia said. “I suddenly found myself at the back corner of the Big Top. I had to hike all the way back here.”

  Kyra turned, but she didn’t see Taila. Not really. She looked past her, over her, and saw her own half-sister, in dragon form, flying over the gaming booths. If Talia had been transported elsewhere in the carnival, like Zeke said, then maybe everyone was making their way back here, battle being an irresistible magnet. Then, appearing out of nowhere, a zilant suddenly flew in the sky beside her, plowing into her side. Drakhögg, a mere dragon’s tail-length behind, attacked from behind, and soon it was a beastly brawl in the sky. Two Reapers at the end of the line turned and walked without the slightest air of rush in the direction of the air brawl.

  Kyra’s hand flew to her chest. She didn’t get along with her half-sister, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see her dead. Or Drakhögg, for that matter. “What. Why—” She stumbled for the w
ords she wanted, weakly throwing her arms up to the commotion.

  Mortifier smiled, a grimy and unsettling smile. “It is the way of things, my dear. Do not try to force change upon the nature of events. They happen as they must.”

  “What do you want to do?” Talia asked, gawking at the many Reapers.

  Keahi, Drakhögg, her father, and Sebastian—all marks in a reaping juggling act. How many would drop? Her mind reeled between family and love, between the possible and the impossible. She turned and ran, a slow and staggered run, across the frozen lake. Her legs moved like wooden blocks with little to no agility, and her muscles seared with sharp, shattering pain.

  “What are we doing?” Talia caught up and ran at her side.

  “Help me,” Kyra said between sharp intakes of breath, “finish breaking the magic of the dress.” Her feet hit the ice and slid out from beneath her. She reached out, clung to Talia, and together they volleyed for balance. Several feet out onto the frozen lake, they slid to a stop, still standing upright. “That was close.” Kyra giggled nervously, and then yanked at her sleeve.

  Talia frowned. “Magic of this magnitude will not be so easily broken. It will take more than a rip in the dress.”

  “Then what? Help me!” Kyra grabbed Talia’s arms and squeezed.

  “Okay. Let me think.” She brushed Kyra’s hold away and studied the dress. “The magic is likely coming from something woven into the dress. Or it’s bound to the Magician himself. If that’s the case, you’re out of luck.”

  “How do we find out which it is?” Kyra was talking to air. Talia was already on her knees in the ice, yanking and pulling at Kyra’s skirt.

  “If it’s woven or sewn to the dress, it’s probably someplace you’d be less likely to be bothered by it.” Talia threw up the skirt, and Kyra startled, catching folds of fabric in her arms. “My guess is it would be somewhere along the underside of the skirt or attached to the petticoat.” She moved around Kyra, stretching at the dress’s skirt.

  Stuck in human form, Kyra couldn’t hide the red flushing her checks, so she stared straight ahead and avoided eye contact with any dragons on the ice or any Reapers at the lake’s edge. “What exactly are you looking for?”

  But then there was a crash, a collapsing of poles and canvas Kyra couldn’t ignore. She forgot her question and inspected the carnival. No longer were Keahi and Drakhögg in the sky, and a billow of grey smoke rose from the ground. Someone in or near the wreckage was screeching. In unison, the line of Reapers turned and marched toward the rising signal.

  Kyra gawked at the billowing plume above the tents, her heart sinking like a stone in her chest. What had become of her sister…of Drakhögg? Then her body jerked to the side, pulled by a yank on her dress, and fabric ripped. Everything tingled. Had Talia found what she was looking for? Kyra’s arms, back, torso—it all prickled with cold heat. And a shimmer ran over the dress. There for a split second, and then gone.

  Talia popped up in front of her. “Deed done.”

  “I can see that,” Kyra said. She held her hands out. They were shaking and turning blue.

  “Oh.” Talia grabbed Kyra’s hands and started rubbing. “The magic keeping you warm obviously wore off, the dress must have camouflaged that.” She bit her lip, and a narrow v pressed into her brow. “You didn’t feel it?”

  Kyra shook her head.

  “Well, shit. You’re going to freeze to death out here.”

  “Mmmmmaybbbe,” Kyra stuttered. “Bbbut I have to make Mmmarcus see me. It’s the ooonly way to sssave my dad.”

  “Right.” Talia’s eyes widened, and Kyra turned to see what she was looking at. The majority of the Reapers had abandoned their original destination.

  They were now coming for her.

  Kyra took a deep breath. “I don’t have a lot of time to do what needs to be done.” She turned her back on the Reapers—and met Marcus’s stare from across the sky.

  32

  DEMONS

  Sebastian

  “Wake up.” The sound was weak, unwanted, and hellishly persistent.

  “Wake up.”

  Sebastian was no longer cold, merely numb inside and out. “Leave me, I’m dying,” he mumbled, and swallowed a mouthful of murky lake water. He coughed, then rolled on his side. The bibelot, still jammed in his chest, clanged against something solid and ungiving. Overwhelmed with exhaustion, Sebastian didn’t even bother to silently curse.

  “You are already dead,” the voice said. “But will you let that stop you?”

  At this, Sebastian opened his eyes. He was on the lake’s floor. Aside from the irritating voice at his side, it was relatively calm beneath the water. The voices that had tormented him on the surface did not follow him here. And for the first time in far too long, he didn’t yearn for Talia’s tonic. He lived, or maybe died, in the moment.

  The water around him was dirty, full of sediment, and next to him was something large and dark and impossibly deep. His eyes strained against the weight and filth of the water. What irritating thing nagged him in his death sleep? “What do you want of me?”

  Crimson red, glowing eyes illuminated within the darkness. At a slow crawl, they moved closer. “To protect and restore the one you love.”

  A wave of warm water washed over Sebastian. It came from the direction of the thing nagging him.

  Their voices sounded odd. Everything sounded odd, distorted by the water. Come to think of it, Sebastian tilted his head, am I speaking or thinking my thoughts? He was certain he wasn’t really speaking at all. Not since that first large gulp of lake water.

  “Why do you care about me or my love?” Sebastian asked. He dropped back and focused upward at the water’s surface. He couldn’t see the ripples of motion, but he knew they were there. Sure as he knew Marcus had bested him. But if Marcus had bested him, what did that mean for Kyra?

  Sound rippled through the darkness of the water. “I care not for you. But she does, and that’s all that matters. It’s her feelings for you, demon, which will unlock the true depth of her Moorigad.”

  Something pitch and grotesque slithered through Sebastian’s intestines, pressing against his heart, heavy and discomforting. Dead or not, he couldn’t leave things the way they were. Not if he had the power to do something about it.

  Sebastian yanked the bibelot from his chest, tossed it, and then pushed up off the lake floor. He expected aches and pains, possibly the onset of rigor mortis. There was nothing. No external pain or discomfort. Everything he felt radiated from within. Internally, he ached to see Kyra again. To be near her. To touch her.

  “That’s more like it,” the voice said.

  “Yes, I’m moving. Why do you care, um…” He paused. “What should I call you?”

  “A few call me monster. Others call me ancient. You may call me Anguis.”

  Sebastian stood, swayed in the slow-moving current. “Do I have you to thank for my animated death state?” He stared into the darkness, saw an underwater cave in which the massive thing dwelled. He could barely discern bits of it—or himself. It had large, protruding horns, so maybe, just maybe, Sebastian was talking to the Devil.

  A low rumble responded, giving Sebastian the impression of a laugh. “I had nothing to do with your current state. That’s all you, Reaper.” The voice moved forward, shifting through the lake floor, causing sediment to cloud the water more than it already had. “I have waited long for a demon of your strength and desire. One who could make a difference.”

  Sebastian pointed to his chest. “A demon like me? What do you think I am, exactly?” He leaned forward, tried to see the devil to which he spoke.

  The crimson eyes and horns inched closer. “You are a bridge between worlds. A hybrid never before known.”

  Sebastian scoffed. “What do you know about world bridges and hybrids? You live underwater.”

  A great cloud of sediment swam around them, a storm brought on by a sudden large movement. “I know many things. I have been around an eternity of year
s. I watch, and I listen. It has been so very long since I curled up here, determined to wait.” His tail shifted. “The water has brought me many secrets and truths.”

  Sebastian’s hands waved at the cloudy water and bubbles. “What kind of demon are you?”

  Through the murk, a face began to appear, gradually taking form. “Not a demon. A dragon.” The voice gave way to embodiment as the dragon moved from the depths of the cave out into the open.

  Sebastian’s eyes widened, but he remained silent.

  “I am the first Moorigad. Pure through and through, never falling victim to the clan’s absurd rituals.” He lowered his mighty head to meet Sebastian. “I think now is the time to change the plight of the Moorigad forever. We start here. Today.” He swept past Sebastian. “Now come. We have work to do.”

  Sebastian watched the massive beast swing around him, but move to work with Anguis, he did not. Instead, he thought about Kyra and her stories. It was only earlier that day, while riding the carousel, Sebastian had reminded her of a story she had previously shared. The one of Anguis the Angry, the first Moorigad. If Sebastian were to believe what he now saw and heard, this Moorigad was not cursed. Between the legend and the real dragon swimming around Sebastian, things didn’t add up. He’d best stay close, keep an eye on the monster.

  Sebastian locked a hold onto Anguis’s tail, and the giant took off through the water at bone-breaking speed. Sheer force wanted to knock him free, carry him away with the current, but he held on with a death grip. Bubbles clouded his view, and his sense of direction was completely obliterated in the rush, wave, and froth.

  Still, he could count on the compass securely tattooed to his skin, and it held steady, leading him directly to Kyra. She was dead ahead.