But Marco was backing away. “I don’t trust the darkfire any more. I don’t trust it to do any good at all.”
“Wait! Where are you going? I need your help!”
“I’m going back to finish what I started,” Marco said with grim resolve. Then he closed his hands into fists, tipped back his head, and shimmered vivid blue.
“No!” Sloane bellowed, but it was too late. He blinked once, and then Marco was gone.
He had to solve this alone.
Somehow.
Sloane looked down at Rafferty, then flattened his hands against the older Pyr’s chest. He had only the Apothecary’s healing songs at his disposal, and maybe that was best if the darkfire had turned against the Pyr. Darkfire was unpredictable and turned situations upside-down for the Pyr, making improbabilities into reality.
Maybe Rafferty’s condition counted. Sloane had to think that saving the older Pyr was a long shot.
Maybe his songs would be enough. Sloane began to sing softly, putting his heart into his chant because he couldn’t imagine a future without Rafferty Powell in the ranks of the Pyr. He could feel a crackle beneath Rafferty’s skin, one that made the hair on his arms stand up and he had a hard time believing it was a good sign.
Sloane had his eyes closed and his focus on his task was so complete that he didn’t see the darkfire flicker and snap in the crystal, burning more steadily as he endeavored to heal the Cantor’s grandson.
* * *
Jorge felt darkfire ripple over his scales and lifted his head to survey the ruined cavern that had once been Chen’s lair. There was no mistaking the sudden appearance of blue-green sparks where the darkfire crystal had been broken by Marco the year before. The Sleeper had used the crystal to free Lee from his brother Chen’s spell. The darkfire bounced around the cavern now, its activity interrupting Jorge’s feast of the fallen clone.
Jorge had a hearty respect for darkfire. It was unpredictable, to be sure, but since first one crystal had been broken by Chen and the second by Marco, he’d been able to make improbable things happen—like animating those thirteen clones of Boris Vassily that Sigmund had left. Although the Slayer’s experiment had been left unfinished by his death, and although Jorge knew little of such biological feats, just bringing the eggs to the cave seemed to have helped. Jorge had watched the darkfire slide over the shells until he had dreamed of them hatching, beneath the light of a blood moon.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that the turn of the moon’s node from Dragon’s Tail to Dragon’s Head would be marked by four lunar eclipses in a row that were blood moons. He’d failed to understand the importance of location early enough to take advantage of the first blood moon. He’d moved the thirteen eggs since then and was glad that five had hatched, exactly as he’d planned. He knew the rest would do the same.
But the darkfire’s abrupt activity made him suspicious.
What was happening in the world above? The mate he’d captured was securely imprisoned, and she had little more use to him until her pregnancy was confirmed. The fourth of the Boris Vassily clones hatched in this batch was dozing contentedly after his meal, one eye on Jorge with a wariness that was appropriate.
What about that missing clone? Jorge had thought him too injured to cause trouble, but the darkfire made him reconsider the possibility.
“I have an errand,” Jorge said in old-speak to his minion. “Guard the woman. If anything happens to her, it will be your fault.”
The ruby and brass dragon exhaled slowly, his eyes glinting in comprehension.
Jorge was glad he’d eaten well. He had the energy to spontaneously manifest elsewhere and chose a bar in Sydney that was a favorite of his. The news was always shown there, on at least ten televisions, so it was easy to catch up on world events. The bar was near the port and frequented mostly by men of the type who minded their own business and asked no questions. It was always crowded, smoky and dark, too, which meant that he could appear suddenly in the corridor to the men’s room and probably not be seen.
Any humans who did witness his sudden appearance would likely be drunk enough to think they had imagined it. In all the times that Jorge had popped into this place, he’d only had to beguile a human once.
His luck held.
Within moments, he was rubbing elbows at the bar with a variety of unsavory humans, most of whom were rough and prepared to sell anything for the right price. They were universally transfixed by footage shot in Easter Island, which was being played over and over again on at least five of the televisions.
Jorge recognized the Pyr in question immediately. Rafferty was shot down by what had to be a blast from a darkfire crystal. Jorge was intrigued, as he hadn’t been aware there was one remaining. Chen had broken one deliberately to loose the darkfire. A second had been taken by Drake from Lorenzo’s hoard and had scattered the Dragon’s Tooth Warriors through the centuries, sowing them in the times of their respective mates. It had gone dark and disappeared after that feat, presumably vanishing into the hoard of one of the Pyr. The third crystal had been broken by Marco in Chen’s cave to release Lee.
Had the spark lit again in the darkened one?
How perfectly unlikely.
And intriguing. Jorge had a bit of a fondness for darkfire and the way it turned assumptions on their heads.
As he watched, Marco swept into the shot and carried Rafferty high into the sky, disappearing as abruptly as Jorge had appeared in this bar.
No doubt Marco had taken Rafferty somewhere to be healed. Perhaps to Erik’s lair in Chicago. Perhaps to Rafferty’s lair in London. Perhaps to the lair of Sloane the Apothecary in California. Truth be told, Jorge wasn’t very interested in that detail. Rafferty had been injured by darkfire and might die.
The darkfire was the interesting bit.
As well as the fact that a woman had shouted “This is for Nathaniel” before the bolt of darkfire had struck Rafferty.
Who had fired the crystal? Jorge felt it must have been the woman who had shouted. Humans were so strange about making such declarations. But who was she? There was no footage of her. Jorge had only been aware of Marco using the crystal as a weapon and the Firedaughter Liz, who was the mate of Brandon. Last Jorge had known, that elemental witch had been in Hawaii with Brandon, having sons, as mates of the Pyr usually did. Jorge wasn’t keen to battle with Liz again, given how she’d summoned Pelé to drag him down into the fiery depths of the earth, so he watched the video again for more clues. It was impossible to tell if the shout was in Liz’s voice.
Was Liz on Easter Island?
Had she fired the crystal?
Or were there more Firedaughters on the loose?
Where was the crystal now? Marco had been holding the crystal at the end of the footage, but he’d entrusted one to Liz before. He could have given it back to her.
Who was Nathaniel? Perhaps one of Liz’s sons, but why would she be angry with Rafferty? It made no sense to Jorge, but then, humans seldom made much sense.
The point was the crystal. Jorge was sure he could put its power to use, somehow. If nothing else, his possession of it would mean that no one could use it against him. The crystal, or the beginning of a trail to its location, had to be on Easter Island.
His decision made, Jorge returned to that dark corridor and abandoned Sydney for Easter Island.
Chapter Thirteen
Jac was flushed with triumph and ready to celebrate, but she hadn’t been able to find Marco. It was like he’d disappeared. She could have used that gift herself and recognized that he knew more about what to expect after shooting a dragon than she did. She’d ducked into the crowd and managed to evade the reporters, including Melissa Smith. That woman had practically passed out after the dragon was hit, and her crew had been primarily concerned with her.
Jac wished she could have known for sure that the dragon was dead, but that other dark dragon had interfered.
She’d have to add him to her notebook.
He definitely belonged in the Evil sec
tion, if he saved dragons.
She’d looked and waited for Marco, then figured they must have been separated in the crowd. The 4x4 was still there, but Marco had the keys, so she started the long walk back to their hotel. The sun was setting and she was feeling good about what she’d done.
Her first dragon hit, maybe even a kill. She was avenging Nathaniel. This totally rocked. She wished there was someone she could tell and hoped Marco would turn up. She didn’t have a lot of cash left, but she’d blow it on a celebratory dinner in a minute.
Maybe they could celebrate in another way afterward.
That prospect made Jac smile and walk a little more quickly.
She heard the truck before she saw it and stepped off the road as it came closer. Marco was driving, but he looked annoyed.
She assumed it was because he’d spent time looking for her and was disappointed to see that he was acting more like other men she’d dated. Maybe she should have expected the change, since they’d had sex.
There was a depressing thought.
“I couldn’t find you,” Jac said cheerfully when he halted the truck beside her. He said nothing, just glowered at her and kicked open the passenger door.
It wasn’t like him to be so abrupt.
Of course, Jac didn’t know him that well. Maybe he was routinely grumpy, but she just been lucky enough to have missed out on it. She did think it strange that his mood was the exact opposite of hers, given that they were both hunting dragons and she’d scored a hit.
She got in and they were moving before she realized what the issue had to be.
“I’m sorry that I don’t have your crystal anymore. The dark dragon ripped it right out of my hand.”
He gave her a look that chilled her to her marrow. It was worse because he didn’t raise his voice. “You took the thing most precious to me.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Jac protested.
“And yet it’s gone all the same.”
“But I shot a dragon! I’m a hunter now, too.”
Marco said nothing. He ground the gears as he pulled into town, then braked so hard in front of the hotel that Jac thought she might be thrown through the windshield.
Jac wondered whether he didn’t like that she’d made the hit instead of him. She never would have thought he was the kind of guy who kept score, but she was seeing a new side of Marco. She reached out and put her hand on his arm.
He flinched.
“I’m sorry. We could try to find another.”
“There is no other,” Marco said through gritted teeth. It was hard to believe this cold stranger was the man who had sweetly made love to her the night before. Jac would have found it easier to believe that he could become a dragon, given the glitter of his eyes.
“Come on. Don’t be angry.” She tried to cajole him into a better mood. “There’s one less dragon in the world.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. Jac could have sworn that a puff of smoke came out of his nostril, but it had to be a trick of the light.
She kept trying to improve his mood. “Let’s celebrate and decide where we go from here,” she continued. “After all, you have that verse, and there are two more blood moons coming. Even without the crystal, maybe we can solve the riddle. Maybe there are more dragon eggs just waiting to be discovered…”
Her voice faded beneath his steely gaze.
“There’s nothing to celebrate,” Marco said softly. “I made a mistake.”
“A mistake? I don’t understand.”
“I trusted when I shouldn’t have.” A muscle worked in his jaw and she sensed that he was trying to control his emotions. It was remarkable to see, because he’d always been so composed before. Even when they’d made love, she’d had the sense that he was in complete control. How was it possible that she’d made him this angry? “I want the page out of your book, the one where you wrote down my poem.”
“But…”
Marco’s eyes flashed with dangerous heat.
Jac tugged her notebook out of her purse and ripped out the page. She thought he might shred it or fling it out the window, but he folded it carefully and put it in his pocket. “I’m leaving the island now.”
“But there’s only the one flight, tomorrow afternoon. Let’s talk about it tonight.”
His look silenced her again. “Do you want the truck? Or will you take a cab to the airport when you go?”
“I’ll take a cab,” Jac said, not certain she’d be that quick to head back to Seattle. There might be more dragons here or more eggs. She might have another chance to take one down.
“Then it’s goodbye,” Marco said, as if he couldn’t have cared less what she did.
Jac was stung. Why were all the guys she met such jerks? She’d really liked Marco and the way they’d made love had convinced her that he was different. This side of his nature was an unwelcome change, though, so maybe it was best if they parted early.
Still, she wondered what had happened to Dr. Jekyll.
Ever the optimist, Jac got out of the truck and smiled at him. “I’ll see you back in Seattle, then?”
“Probably not,” Marco said grimly, then gunned the engine and left her standing there.
So, that was that. Jac exhaled. Another relationship that seemed to have great promise had come to a grinding halt. Jac had to have the worst romantic luck of any woman on the planet.
But she’d at least wounded a dragon.
And she had memorized Marco’s verse. Jac dug out her journal and turned to a fresh page and wrote it down again.
Three blood moons mark the debt come due
Will the Pyr triumph or be hunted anew?
Three eclipses will awaken the spark
In thirteen monsters breeding in dark.
Three times the firestorm will spark
Before darkfire fades into the dark.
Firestorm, mate or blood sacrifice
None or all can be the darkfire’s price.
When the Dragon’s Tail has turned its bore
And darkfire dies forevermore
Will the Pyr be left to rule with might
Or disappear into past’s twilight?
Perfect. She’d recalled it exactly. Maybe getting the verse had been the whole point of the relationship. Maybe meeting Marco had just been a way to get her on the path to dragon hunting.
Either way, she was going to figure out this poem.
Then she’d take down more dragons, with or without the crystal.
She’d made a start and that was worth something.
Even if she didn’t feel very celebratory any more.
* * *
The rumble of old-speak was impossible for the Pyr to ignore, because it emanated from the leader of the Pyr himself.
Where is Rafferty?
Sloane heard the fury in Erik’s old-speak and the growing consternation of the older Pyr. He must have been receiving a flurry of replies from his fellows around the world but not the news he sought. If any of the other Pyr had known Rafferty’s location, or Erik would have replied with relief.
Sloane had to finish the verse of his chant and couldn’t hurry it, not when Rafferty was in such poor condition as this, not even when Erik demanded answers. The older Pyr had shifted back to his dragon form, his opal and gold figure limp on Sloane’s tile floor. He wasn’t sure whether the shift was a good sign or not. Usually the Pyr shifted to human form when they died, but there was nothing usual about Rafferty’s condition. His pulse was barely discernible.
His scales looked as if they were lit by darkfire from the underside, which gave him a strange blue-green glow. When the chant was done, Sloane had a hard time believing it had made much difference.
“He’s here,” he responded belatedly, guessing that his tone would reveal Rafferty’s state. Sloane closed his eyes, feeling like a failure. He recalled his father’s warning, that he would have to choose one day who lived and who died, and hoped that time hadn’t arrived.
Where is the traitor?
Erik demanded next.
He brought Rafferty to me, Sloane admitted and Erik’s relief was almost tangible. Sloane was glad he didn’t have the power to hear all of his fellows, because the thunder would have been deafening.
His cell phone rang and he answered it, guessing it would be Erik.
But it was Eileen. “Rafferty’s there with you, then?” she asked. “How is he?”
“It’s bad,” Sloane said. “I’m not sure what to do for him. The darkfire is so unpredictable, and it seems to be beneath his scales.”
She obviously repeated this to Erik who growled a reply.
“Marco brought him to me and left. He was pretty shaken up.”
“He should be!” Erik fumed, his words audible even though he wasn’t holding the phone.
“He’s not healing quickly,” Eileen whispered and Sloane understood why she’d called.
“I’m healing,” Erik protested and Sloane shook his head. There was no creature so stubborn as a dragon who needed to rest when there were battles to be fought.
Sloane became authoritative, because as Apothecary he knew best.
“Can you call Melissa? She must be worried sick. I expect she’ll come here,” he said. “If not, could you suggest that to her? I need to keep singing but Rafferty’s bond with her is so strong that her presence might help.” He thought of how their firestorm had been tinged by darkfire and wondered if having her here might help in other ways.
“Of course. And we should bring Isabelle, too,” Eileen said, clearly understanding his plan. “We’ll rent a van and head out as soon as possible.”
“I can fly!”
Eileen covered the phone, but Sloane still heard her reply to her partner. “You’re not flying all of us, not in your condition. And you’re not getting on a commercial airliner with those wounds still healing.”
Erik grumbled but conceded the point.
Eileen spoke to Sloane again. “Your song might help Erik’s wounds to heal faster, too. If we drive straight through, we should be there in two days.”
“Thorolf will be there sooner,” Erik contributed, speaking closer to the phone. “He and Chandra are on their way.”
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