by Zoe Chant
“Now, wait a second—” Chase began.
Connie stopped him with an upraised hand. “No, it's only fair. So I'm starting in seventh place now, marshal?”
“Er, after impartial review and consideration of some new evidence…” The marshal's eyes flicked briefly to Sammy. “You will be starting in twelfth position.”
Connie stared at him in utter horror. “Dead last?”
Chase towered over the smaller man, his muscular shoulders bunching ominously. “Let me guess. Did this 'new evidence' come in the form of a fat check, by any chance?”
The marshal held his clipboard in front of him like a shield, visibly paling. “The—the decision of the committee is final,” he gabbled. “Please prepare for take off, and await your starting signal.”
“This is a real nice plane.” Sammy patted the Spitfire affectionately. “I sure am looking forward to spending more time with her in the future. Nice to meet you, Constance West. Oh, and tell your dad that if he needs a little loan to tide you over after this… he knows where to find me.”
“That's it,” Connie said, as Sammy sauntered off, whistling. “It's over.”
Chase looked as if he could quite happily have murdered the loan shark on the spot. “It is not over,” he said fiercely. “You said it yourself—you've been flying these planes all your life. You can do this, Connie. Don't think about what you've got to lose. Focus on what you're going to win. Think how much you want to rub Sammy's smile in the dirt. Think how satisfying it's going to be to see his face when you come in first.”
Connie groped for her earlier flare of rage, but her common sense smothered it. “I'm a good pilot, but I'm not a daredevil like my dad. Overtaking other planes is risky, and I'll have to do it eleven times!”
“Then take those risks.” Chase seized her hands, squeezing them in a crushing grip. “Let yourself go, fly like you were born in the sky. This plane has survived me flinging it around, after all. It's not going to come apart around you. And I'm going to be right there at your wingtip. I won't let anything happen to you.”
“But—” Connie started.
He leaned down and kissed her, fiercely, deeply, stifling any further protests. Heat ran through Connie's blood. She felt as if his wild energy was spilling from him into her, rekindling the fire in her belly. She pressed against him, as if she could draw his reckless courage into herself, storing it up for the race ahead.
Chase drew back a little, leaning his forehead against hers. “You can do this,” he repeated. “I'll see you in the sky, and I'll make sure you can see me too.”
Connie clung onto his hands, afraid that once he let go, all her courage would leak away like a deflating balloon. “If you can drive off the wyvern, will you come and fly the race with me? Please?”
“I'll be right by your side, I swear.” He gave her one last brief, tantalizing kiss. “Now go. It's time.”
Chapter 16
Chase could sense the wyvern approaching. He'd barely slept last night, waiting for the shifter to return to the city, but it had only appeared at the edge of his perception as the planes took off for the race. It was still too high and distant to be seen, but it was closing in fast.
*Incoming,* he telepathically sent to Killian. He accompanied the thought with a mental image of the wyvern's green form, so that Killian's pegasus would be able to get its scent and track it too. *You ready?*
*To fight a wyvern? Not even remotely.* Despite his words, Killian's wide gray wings beat steadily, his flight smooth and strong as he circled over the racing planes. *I can sense it now, too. Looks like it's planning to intercept over the sea, during the later stage of the race.*
*I agree.* Chase increased his wingbeats, quickening his pace. *I'm going to see if I can catch it before it gets a chance to interfere with the race. You keep back here with Connie, just in case.*
He couldn't resist glancing down at the race as he powered through the sky. Thanks to Sammy's fiddling with the handicaps, five of the eleven planes that had started ahead of Connie were technically faster than the vintage Spitfire. But that didn't mean that they were faster in practice. A plane was only as good as its pilot.
Connie had already overtaken the plane that had started eleventh, when its pilot had run into some crosswinds at takeoff. Now she was closing rapidly on the next one, the Spitfire's engine roaring at full throttle. She'd taken advantage of the Spitfire's superior climbing ability to get above the light acrobatic plane. The modern plane might be faster in level flight, but not in a dive. All she needed was an opening.
The other aircraft took the turn a little sloppily, wavering from the ideal racing line… just a little.
Now, Connie, now! Be bold!
As if she'd heard his silent exhortation, the Spitfire flashed downward. Its wings sliced through the air like a knife through butter as Connie wheeled it neatly through the turn, cutting ahead of the other plane.
Yes! Two down!
Only nine more to go…
He desperately wanted to fly wingtip-to-wingtip with Connie through the race, sharing in her triumph, but he had a job to do. The racing planes became just distant glints as he flew out to sea at full speed.
*Do you have a plan, by the way?* Killian sent to him, his mental voice a little faint with distance.
*Yes,* Chase replied, the wind whistling past his flattened ears. *I'm going to find the bastard who tried to kill my mate, and I'm going to kick his fucking head in.*
There was no further time for talking. He could see the wyvern now. It was a little lower down than him, flying close to the sea. Its long, jagged wings beat steadily, propelling it at incredible speed.
Kill! His pegasus filled his mind with a single-minded need to smash the wyvern out of the sky. No one attacks our mate! Kill!
Shrieking in challenge, Chase folded his wings and stooped. The wyvern's wedge-shape head whipped round, its large, acid-yellow eyes widening in alarm as it spotted him. Its narrow chest swelled. It spat out a cloud of acid.
Chase flicked a pinion, swooping around the deadly mist. He lashed out at the wyvern with his razor-sharp front hooves. It twisted its sinuous body, evading his kick. He didn't give it a chance to recover, striking out at it with both teeth and hooves.
If I stay close, it can't use its acid. Just got to watch out for the tail.
The wyvern's deadly, scorpion-like tail curved over its back, the needle sharp tip swinging to target him. Chase was so busy keeping an eye on it that he nearly forgot that the front half of the wyvern was just as dangerous. Its head darted at him, fangs gleaming with poison.
Chase backwinged hard, nearly stalling out as the wyvern's teeth snapped shut on empty air. Off balance, he couldn't avoid the wyvern's tail as it whipped round. It didn't manage to sting him, but the powerful blow still sent him tumbling across the sky.
The wyvern didn't press its advantage. Instead, it increased its wingbeats, shooting away from him like a bullet out of a gun. Although the wyvern's deadly acid and poisonous tail made it more than a match for a pegasus, it didn't seem to be interested in a fight. Chase guessed that Sammy had ordered it to evade him and head straight for the race, to make sure Connie didn't win.
Recovering himself, Chase shot after the wyvern. It twisted its neck, breathing out a couple more blasts of acid to cover its retreat. Chase banked round the drifting clouds in tight, swooping arcs, locked onto the wyvern like a heat-seeking missile, but every evasive maneuver cost him precious time.
The wyvern's long wings boomed with every stroke, propelling it away from him at a phenomenal pace. Chase's powerful flight muscles burned as he tried to keep up. Even at the very limits of his speed, the wyvern was creeping away from him.
*The planes are heading out to sea.* Killian's anxious mental voice burst into his head. *They'll be nearing you soon. Connie's worked her way up to sixth position. Are you okay? Do you need help?*
*Stay with the race!* Chase flung back, his psychic voice as out-of-breath as his physic
al body. He needed Killian there as a last-ditch defense, if worst came to worst.
Chase bared his teeth in a frustrated snarl as the wyvern inched yet farther away. No matter how he pushed himself, he couldn't catch up. He had more strength and endurance, but the wyvern was simply faster in level flight than he was. It only needed to maintain its speed for a few more minutes before it would be in the midst of the air race.
What would Connie do…?
He altered the angle of his wings, striving to gain height rather than speed. The wyvern dropped away beneath him, pulling ahead. Its wedge-shaped head swiveled on its long, sinuous neck as it tried to work out where he'd gone. Borrowing a trick from WWII fighter pilots, Chase headed straight for the sun, hiding in the dazzling rays as he climbed even higher.
He could see the racing planes now, and hear the air-shaking thunder of their combined engines. Connie's Spitfire was immediately apparent, a predatory hawk-shape amidst the smaller light aircraft. A group of RV-7s scattered in disarray as she roared straight through their midst.
The wyvern's head swung, locking onto the Spitfire. It soared up on an intercept course.
He's attacking our mate! His pegasus was frantic. Protect! Strike! Kill!
Chase fought for control, struggling to resist the pegasus's overwhelming instinct to immediately dive after the wyvern. He was usually so in tune with his stallion that it felt unnatural to go against its desires.
But for once, he had to keep a cool head. Rushing in too quickly would result in disaster.
Wait, he told the stallion. Wait! We're only going to get one shot at this!
The wyvern was too fast and agile for him. He knew that his only chance was to dive at terminal velocity, falling so fast that even the wyvern's hair-trigger reflexes wouldn't be able to evade him. But to do that, he had to get higher.
*Now, Killian!* he sent to his cousin, as he clawed his way upward. *Delay it!*
Killian swooped at the wyvern. The wyvern shook him off, easily dodging the attacks. It had reached the race corridor now. It avoided a couple of planes, allowing them to pass unhindered, then hovered, waiting. Killian darted at its head like a crow mobbing a bird of prey, but the wyvern just blasted acid at him, forcing him to veer away.
*I can't get close!* Killian sent to him in dismay. *It's right in Connie's path, and I can't get it to budge.*
*Just distract it as much as you can,* Chase sent back.
Air burned like fire in his nostrils, his great lungs heaving with exertion as he struggled through the dead air. There was no updraft, no thermal to carry him upward. It was like trying to climb a sheer cliff with his bare hands.
*You can't dive from that high!* Killian's mental voice was horrified. *You'll break your neck!*
He ignored his cousin's warning, heaving himself up even further. He was so high now that the planes beneath him looked as small as children's toys. Killian was just a gray speck, whirling round the stationary, bright green dot of the wyvern.
*Chase! It's too—I can't—!* Killian's psychic message broke apart into a wordless impression of pain.
Chase's laboring heart missed a beat as he saw his cousin's distant form tumble down toward the waves. To his relief, Killian pulled up before he hit the water, but from his wavering, unsteady course, it was clear he was out of the fight.
Connie neatly cut off another plane, flying the twists and turns of the race route with cool, considered efficiency. She was in third place now, but she had a huge distance to make up in order to catch the two race leaders. The Spitfire surged forward as Connie gave it full throttle.
Heading straight toward the waiting wyvern.
Connie had no way of knowing the beast was there. Secure in its invisibility, the wyvern hovered directly in her path. All of its attention was focused on the approaching plane.
NOW!
Chase swept his wings back, folding them tight to his sides. Flying on just the barest tips of his pinions, he flashed downward. His tail streamed out behind him like a banner as he picked up speed, falling faster and faster until he felt like his wings were going to be torn off.
The howling wind lashed his face so hard that it was impossible to draw breath. Black spots danced in his vision as his lungs burned for air. He twisted his wings, swinging round as he fell, hooves ready to strike.
At the very last instant, the wyvern suddenly threw itself to one side, as if someone had shouted a warning at it. But it was too late. Chase was diving so fast that even the wyvern's supernaturally fast reflexes couldn't save it.
All four of his hooves hit the wyvern's flank, the bone-jarring impact nearly making him black out. If he'd hit the wyvern's head, he would have instantly broken its neck. As it was, the beast bowled head-over-tail, spinning uncontrollably down toward the water.
Still dizzy from the dive, Chase was nearly knocked out of the air himself as Connie's Spitfire shot past him with barely a foot to spare. He was tossed helplessly in the wind from the plane's wake, bobbing like a cork on a stormy sea.
By the time he'd righted himself, the wyvern was half-way back to Brighton, abandoning the fight. It flew low to the sea, its wing-beats erratic and labored as it fled.
Follow it! His pegasus pawed the air, eager to finish off the beast. Catch it, kill it, stomp it flat!
Chase shook his head to dispel his stallion's instinctive bloodlust. No, he told his pegasus. We have to help our mate. We promised to be there at her wingtip. And we will never again break a promise to her, ever.
He forced his aching wings to beat faster, catching up with the Spitfire. Despite his burning muscles, he fell into formation with the plane.
I'm here, Connie. And now, it's all up to you.
Chapter 17
I'm going to lose.
Connie forced her hands to stay steady on the controls. She didn't have the luxury of shaking now. Her eyes stayed locked onto the two race leaders.
They were both modified Mudry CAP 230 aircraft, a high-speed acrobatics plane favored by serious racing pilots. Her own Spitfire was faster and more powerful… but the two Mudrys were far ahead of her.
It's too far. I won't be able to catch them.
Connie pushed the Spitfire as hard as she dared, but she knew it wasn't going to be enough. Her instinctive, finely-honed ability to judge distances and speeds told her that it was hopeless.
Unless they both make a mistake on the final corner…
Unfortunately, that didn't look likely. Both planes were piloted by expert racers. One of the planes, a bright canary yellow with white trim, she recognized as belonging to the winner of last year's Rydon Cup. So far he'd flown a careful, flawless course. The other plane, a cerulean blue, was unfamiliar to her, but its pilot clearly had a lot of experience and absolutely no fear. Connie had come perilously close to slamming straight into him earlier, halfway through the race. Her reflexes had saved them both from a mid-air collision, but she'd lost a lot of time straightening out and getting back under control.
Now she could only watch helplessly as the other two planes jostled with each other for first position. The blue daredevil kept trying to cut into the yellow plane's airspace, trying to force it to drop back. Unlike Connie, the pilot of the yellow plane held his nerve, refusing to cede the racing line to the maniac.
They were approaching the final turn point—the infamous hairpin, a true test of a pilot's ability and daring. Connie was certain that the yellow plane would choose to circle wide, taking the turn slowly but safely. She was equally sure the blue plane would attempt the faster but much more dangerous hairpin maneuver, taking the turn as tightly as possible.
If the pilot of the blue plane pulled it off, he'd win the race. If he stalled out, the victory would go to the yellow plane.
Either way, Connie had lost.
I've lost.
I've lost my mother's plane.
I've lost everything.
An alarming, high-pitched whistle shrieked in warning over the deeper snarl of the Spitfi
re's overheated engine. Her heart like lead in her chest, Connie eased the throttle back a little. There was no sense destroying Chase's plane, even if it was shortly to become Sammy's plane.
A flicker caught her eye, off her left wingtip. Connie craned her neck, hoping against hope that it was Chase. She'd only seen the midnight-black pegasus once, when suddenly he'd shot down past her like the wrath of God, presumably chasing the wyvern.
All through the race, she'd been half-sick with fear for him. She'd clung to the thought that as long as she was still flying without interference from the wyvern, he had to be all right, but it was small comfort. If the wyvern wasn't attacking her, it was only because it was attacking him.
Now, however, that impossibly winged, glorious equine shape settled into formation with her. The pegasus was clearly exhausted, but he still kept pace with the plane.
“Chase,” Connie breathed, relief filling her.
She couldn't see any wounds on him, though from the stiff way he moved she suspected he was bruised and battered from the fight. She could only assume that the wyvern was worse off, though. Chase must have either killed it or driven it away.
Catching her eye, the pegasus flicked an ear at her. Then he stretched his neck out, his labored wingbeats speeding up so that he inched a little ahead of her. He glanced back at her, tail held high and challenging.
She could read his body language as clearly as if he was speaking directly into her ear: Well? What are you waiting for?
Connie set her jaw in determination. If she was going to lose, than she was at least going to go down fighting. She could only pray that she wouldn't literally be going down fighting as she gave the plane full throttle once again.
She could feel the stress on the engine in every judder and jerk of the plane underneath her, but this time she held her nerve. The Spitfire howled in fury as it shot across the sky after the two leaders, eating up the distance.