Portia

by Christina Bauer

  A man looms over the boy’s body. It’s Chimera. The bottom half of Tempest’s father is humanoid, wearing simple britches and tall boots. The rest of Chimera is covered in dragon scales. Three different serpent-style heads jut out of his chest. All of those snake-like eyes are now focused on Tempest and me.

  My legs tremble with fear as everything I’ve read about the last Furor Emperor flips through my memory. Chimera has three heads, and each one carries a different kind of venom sac. The first holds poison, the second creates a paralytic, and the third shoots acid. My breath catches as I think about the frozen boy and Chimera’s powers. Tempest’s father shot paralytic at his own son. After that, Chimera dripped acid onto his boy’s unmoving skin. I suck in a rasping, horrified breath. My poor Tempest. How could anyone do this to a child?

  Chimera’s heads all tilt in unison. “Are you lost?” they all ask in a hissing, sing-song voice. My skin crawls at the sound.

  The grown Tempest balls his hands into angry fists. “Not at all,” he growls.

  The boy on the floor twitches. On reflex, I kneel at his side and start casting healing spells. Like always, the words get tied up on my tongue, but I’m able to see some of the terror seep out of his eyes, at least.

  Chimera inhales a long breath and keeps staring at the grown Tempest. “I know your scent. You’re Firelord, like me.” He sniffs again. “And you’re close to my bloodline.”

  Tempest’s features stay still as stone. “I’m your son.”

  “You’re him?” He gestures to the paralyzed boy. “The one I call the little teapot? He’s so fragile, he could be made of porcelain. Somehow, I never tire of breaking him, though.” The trio of heads lets out a sinister laugh. “And that’s you?”

  My hands clench into angry fists. When I want on patrol before, I’ve always shied away from killing demons. But killing Chimera? That wouldn’t be a problem.

  “I’m Emperor now. And my name is Tempest.”

  “Bah, I don’t believe it. The little teapot? Never.”

  It takes everything I have not to launch into this guy and kick him in the head. Tempest looks at me, his features bright with held-in rage. He shakes his head. It’s the barest motion. I know the meaning, though.

  I got this, Portia.

  Tempest rounds on his father. “You were a sorry excuse for a dragon before you took the crown. Spineless and weak. Becoming Emperor changed you into a greater demon and a bully to boot.”

  Chimera’s heads flick backward in surprise. “Who told you that?”

  “Mum. You don’t remember her, but she remembered you all right. Before your change, you barely had one head, let alone three.”

  Chimera’s heads swivel, looking between the frozen boy and grown man. “It’s not possible.”

  “Why is so hard to believe that I would change when I accepted my role as Emperor? All it takes is a few short words.”

  My gaze falls to the skinny boy lying immobile and terrified on the dungeon floor. That boy accepted his role as emperor, and then he became a greater demon. But instead of gaining extra heads like Chimera, Tempest will add body mass and magical powers. I shake my head in awe. No one would have thought this boy would become the man who stands beside me.

  Chimera’s many mouths frown at once. “So you’re called Tempest now, is that it? Becoming a greater demon got some magic to you. Added a few pounds and inches, too. And now, you’ve come to fight your old man.”

  “Something like that.”

  I stand closer to Tempest and lift my chin defiantly. “He isn’t here alone. Tempest has friends.”

  Chimera’s heads chuckle darkly. “A friend? I’m quite sure that’s all you are.”

  “Leave her out of this,” growls Tempest.

  “Then don’t waste any more of my time, boy. Say your piece and go.”

  “I will. With relish. Know this. I’ve undone every act that you deemed important. There are no more blood purges. No more destroying Furorling in a race to create a world of purebred dragons.”

  Chimera points straight at me. My throat tightens with a mixture of fear and rage. “Is that why you bring this mouthy Furorling wench before me?” His heads sniff the air wildly. “Why, you haven’t even claimed her! In my day, I’d have rutted her first and killed her second.”

  It takes everything I have not to gasp in shock and fear. Still, I’m somehow able to keep my head high. Whatever happens, I won’t let this freak know that he got to me. Tempest deserves that from a friend.

  “Your day is over.” Tempest gestures around the room. “And these very dungeons where you tortured me? They now overflow with your old followers. Anyone who worshipped the extremes of lust and wrath has been locked up and left to rot.”

  “Lies!” Chimera’s eyes now blaze red with demonic rage. “I’ll live for a thousand years.”

  “Actually, my grandfather Xavier fights you at the Battle of the Gates. He knocks you of the sky and you fall into a hole in the ground called Charybdis. After that, you’re trapped for five hundred years until my brother releases you. In case you’re wondering.”

  “Her brother brings you to me, and you die at my hand.”

  Chimera’s many eyes narrow. “Xavier, eh? So, you’re keeping her close to fight your demonic side, is that it?”

  Tempest’s irises flash with demonic wrath. “I said to leave her out of this.”

  “So that is the truth.” Chimera’s heads let out a laughing hiss. “There’s no woman that can save you, son. You’re a greater demon now. That means you’re doomed. You’ll become like me in the end. No one can fight the demon within, not for long.”

  Tempest straightens his shoulders, and if I could give him a high five without ruining the mood, I certainly would.

  “I can,” says Tempest. “I have for five hundred years.”

  “Eternity is a long time, boy. That’s my blood in your veins, after all. You’ll see things my way one day.”

  “That will never happen.”

  Chimera moves into a half-crouch and growls. Fast as a whip, he lunges at Tempest. Just as quickly, Tempest slams his fist into Chimera’s chest and pulls out his heart. Chimera stumbles backward, staring at the gaping hole in his rib cage. For a moment, Chimera looks as if he’ll somehow regroup and make another assault. Then his body liquefies and seeps into the floor, just like what happened to my dream-self a few minutes ago. Tempest kneels beside the prone body of his younger self. “Keep the faith, lad.”

  I soak in this image of the two Tempests. On the outside, they look so different. One is tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome. The other is malnourished and sickly. But both have an inner strength that I’ve quickly grown to care about. The Tempest in the teapot. No matter what Tempest looked like, I think I’d always grow to care about the man inside.

  The boy’s eyes flicker to meet Tempest’s gaze for a moment. After that, the younger version of Tempest disappears as well. A heavy pause hangs in the air. New and invisible cords of understanding reach out between us. It’s more than my realizing the man that’s really inside Tempest. It’s discovering that both of us have spent our lives as warriors. In our cases, we’re fighting so we don’t become some kind of horrific demon. Tempest doesn’t want to turn into his father. For me, it’s the Void.

  Tempest turns to face me. A sad smile rounds his full mouth. “What a fancy pair of bookends we make, you and I.”

  “All we’re missing is matching markings.”

  “No, we aren’t.”

  My breath catches. “You’re Marked as well?”

  “Not in the way you think.”

  “Then, how?”

  Tempest shakes his head. “Something for another day, perhaps.” He gestures across the cell. “It’s time to go.”

  Following his point, I see a new door has appeared in the wall. It’s made of polished oak with an elaborate golden handle. An inscription is carved along the top. I step in for a closer look. It’s written in an ancient angelic dialect.

&
nbsp; “Can you translate it?” asks Tempest.

  “Yes, it says The Library of the First Angels.” My pulse speeds with excitement and fear. “We made it.”

  Tempest and I step through the door. The library is a round tower that stretches far above our heads. Every inch of wall is covered with books. Walkways and ladders connect the different levels. Old-fashioned lanterns hang here and there, casting an odd glow. The familiar smell of old paper fills the air.

  The floor of the library is only one story down. That’s where the wicker sphere said we’d find the first seedpod. Tempest and I scale down the network of ladders. My limbs tremble with excitement.

  If I can open one of these seedpods, I might save the lives of millions.

  My palms turn slick as I scale down the ladder rungs. My pulse is so strong, the beat flickers the veins in my throat.

  Guess I’m about to find out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tempest and I quickly reach the Library floor. The layout mirrors the upper levels: books, rolling ladders, and walkways. A large globe sits in the center of the wood floor. The thing is massive and the air around it feels charged with magic.

  “If you were going to hide a seedpod on the library floor, where would you put it?”

  Tempest hitches his thumb toward the globe.

  “Yeah.” My chest tightens with worry. “So would I.”

  “Come on, luv.” Tempest takes my hand and together, we walk up to the globe. It’s covered in a metal casing that’s painted to look like Earth. I tilt my head to one side, wondering. I don’t sense any Firmament energy coming from this thing at all.

  I reach forward, pause, and turn to Tempest. “What do you think?”

  “Be careful. Move slowly.”

  “Right.”

  Reaching forward, I rest the barest tips of my fingers against the globe. Big mistake. A tsunami of power rushes through my system. The globe’s metal casing bursts apart. Shards tear through the walls and my battle gear. Shrapnel bites into my shoulder and it burns with pain. Blood drips down my arm.

  The last of the outer shell falls away, revealing an orb of golden light. My fingers get pulled deeper inside it. Energy pulses out of the orb, shaking the library to its foundation. The waves of power grow stronger. One slams into Tempest, sending him flying against the far wall. He sits like a rag doll, his head slumped on his chest.

  Panic clouds my brain. Was Tempest knocked out cold? Is he dead? I try to move toward him. I can’t, though. My hand stays trapped in the glowing sphere.

  “Tempest! Tempest!”

  He doesn’t move.

  Around me, the entire library vibrates ominously. Rolling ladders shift from side to side, their metal wheels creaking. Books shimmy and tumble from their shelves. The wooden slats beneath my feet curl and sway. A heavy sense of dread fills the air.

  A second later, the place explodes.

  Walls, books, and ladders fly off into empty space. I find myself in a disembodied cloud in Heaven. The sphere of power goes out of control. All my years of research on the Void and Firmament come down to this moment. What do I do next?

  My brain spins through facts and options. This is concentrated Firmament energy. It’s meant to rejuvenate the Scared Trees. I have to get it back to the Grove. I pull my arm, trying to free it from the sphere. Blood from my new shoulder wound drips down my hand and onto the orb. My movements turn more frantic. I still can’t get free.

  More energy floods my consciousness and with it comes pain. Agony radiates out from my fingertips. Liquid energy weighs down my limbs and fills up my lungs. It bursts from my body, a golden current of sparkling light that coils up into rolling clouds above my head.

  Think, Portia. There must be something you can do.

  Through the pain, an idea forms. I can cast a spell. Maybe that will free both the energy and me. I try to say the words, but it’s like speaking underwater. Everything is garbled beyond use. Bits of skin tear free form my hands. I don’t have much time left. My heart cracks.

  And if I go, so do the after-realms.

  An incantation fills the air. My breath catches. It’s Tempest, casting a spell of rejuvenation. His Furor magic—which is so structured and solid—moves across my skin. It heals me.

  Soon, it does far more than that. Tempest’s Furor magic combines with the wild energy of the Firmament. The two powers meld in me for the first time. Furor and Firmament. Structure and chaos. Solid and liquid. When they come together, something wonderful happens.

  I regain control.

  Tempest’s firm magic gives structure to the liquid energy of the Firmament, channeling the random flood of energy into a fast-moving river of purpose.

  The vortex of power slows down enough for Tempest to get closer. His free arm winds around my waist. His voice rings in my ears as he chants a spell of strength in dragon tongue.

  At last, the glowing orb slips free from my hand and begins a slow plummet toward the earth. The agony in my body lessens. Once the orb is gone, the Firmament magic disappears from me as well. I feel hollowed out and exhausted.

  I grip the wicker sphere. “Where’s the next seedpod?” The strands reform into a new shape. I’m too tired to understand what it means.

  “Our next stop is Earth,” says Tempest. “But we aren’t going anywhere until you’ve rested. And properly, this time. More than just spells.”

  I’m about to tell him that there’s no time for stuff like that when my world fades into total darkness.

  Chapter Twelve

  When I open my eyes again, I’m safely tucked into bed at my Purgatory penthouse. Gray morning light glows from behind my sheer bedroom curtains. I peep under my covers and find that I’m in boyshorts and a loose T-shirt. I frown with confusion.

  I don’t remember getting ready for bed last night. I shake my head. Actually, I don’t remember anything about last night after we opened the seedpod.

  The seedpod.

  Damn, the after-realms are falling apart. Why am I lounging around in my penthouse, exactly?

  My bedroom door swings open. Tempest stands framed in the threshold. He’s still wearing his black cargo pants, dark turtleneck, and kickass boots. He’s dressed for battle and I look ready for a nap.

  “Morning, luv.”

  I whip off my covers, march to stand before him, and set my fists on my hips. I do my best to look tough as I crane my neck to look up at him. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Enough, evidently.” A smug smile rounds Tempest’s mouth. “I consider this a success.”

  “That wasn’t an answer.” It’s getting hard to keep playing tough, especially with those damned dimples of his. “I’m waiting.” I try to sound angry, but the word comes out more as a question.

  “Long enough to heal. And Doctor Tempest needs to examine your shoulder.”

  My eyes widen with surprise. “You do?”

  “You were injured there, Portia. I need to check it before we go.”

  Without realizing I’m doing it, I tilt my head, giving him better access to my neck. His fingers brush my bare skin, and the feeling is divine. He pulls the neck of my T-shirt away with his left hand. The fingertips of his right hand smooth across my bare skin. A girl could get used to having Doctor Tempest around.

  “You’re going to have a scar, I’m afraid.”

  “Hey, I’m alive and ready to go back to work. Thanks for healing me.”

  Our gazes lock. This beautiful man spent all night fussing over me. If the world weren’t about to end, I think I might kiss him. My timing sucks.

  “Yes, back to work, luv.” Tempest takes a pointed step away, breaking the moment. “You better get ready now. Your fighting suit is on the chair by your dresser. As is the wicker sphere.”

  “Yes. Fighting Suit. Dresser. Sphere.” The way I say the words, it’s obvious that I’m not thinking about any of those things.

  “I’ll wait for you outside.” Tempest slips out the door.

  Once Tempest
is gone, I get into my fighting suit with ninja speed. The sphere has just shown me the location of the next seedpod when the floor convulses beneath my feet. Pictures shatter. Walls crack. I brace myself against my dresser as Tempest runs into my bedroom.

  “Another sinkhole,” I say breathlessly. “We need to get out of here.”

  “The roof,” he says Tempest. “That’s the fastest way.”

  Hand in hand, we race out of the penthouse and onto the roof. Beneath us, the building rocks more violently than ever before. Tempest’s body shimmers with white light as he changes form. Soon, he’s a massive black dragon again. I scramble onto his shoulders and we quickly rise toward the clouds.

  Below us, the world turns silent once again. The earthquake has stopped. My penthouse now stoops at an odd angle, its foundation busted. Car horns bleat in the morning air. Puffs of gray smoke rise from the nearby buildings. The welcome whine of police and fire trucks adds into the mix. My pulse skyrockets. What if some quasis were hurt?

  “It’s over,” I say. “You can let me down. I need to check for any injured.”

  “Not yet,” counters Tempest. He cocks his head and stares off toward the horizon.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “The earthquake hasn’t stopped; it’s just moved.” Tempest points to the northwest with a graceful swoop of his neck. “It’s going in that direction.”

  “Let’s check it out.”

  Tempest and I fly over the metro district. Great slices open in the streets below us. Sidewalks tear apart. Buildings shift on their foundations. Terrified screams rend the air. My heart sinks. This is the worst sinkhole yet.

  We’re running out of time.

  Tempest ups his speed. Soon, the concrete buildings give way to green swamps as we head toward the wetlands of Purgatory. Marshes stretch out before us. The quasis here live in houses built on stilts. We pass one small wooden building where a family of three is huddled onto the roof. The mother clutches a baby against her chest. The father waves us down. Their long chameleon tails twitch nervously behind them.

  I lean over Tempest’s side and wave at them in return. “I’ll get help!” I call. “Well fly back and alert the President.”