Live and Let Fly

by Karina Fabian

  Rak started to protest. I stopped him. Grace was a miracle worker; she didn't need a padded estimate to prove it.

  He asked, "What's on the other side?"

  I leaned in close. The door felt wonderfully cool. I let it soothe me while I listened.

  "Last hall is empty, but they're evacuating the control room."

  Rak chewed on his lip. "Let's get ready." He set down his pack and started rummaging through it.

  I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up a steady stream of wide flame if I kept having to stop to gulp in air. I told Grace put up her shield spell, while I snorted and pawed at my nose without effect.

  "Grace, I hate to ask...."

  She actually laughed as she pulled her glove over the cuff of her shirt. "What's the saying about you can pick your friends?"

  After a few moments of grossness and embarrassment, the first filter came loose with a sound I think I'll let you imagine. Grace flung it away with her own sounds of disgust. As she made to reach in and grab the second one, Rak snagged her by the waist and pulled her away from the door.

  "Fire in the hole!" he called as he flipped the mask off the switch.

  "Rak! No!" Grace screamed and almost immediately began singing her strongest protection spell.

  I glanced at the C4, saw he'd planted it on the bespelled lock, and threw myself between it and them just as the explosives went off, springing the spell.

  A clang like the inside of the biggest bell of Notre Dame, and we were flung against the other wall. I felt Grace's shields dissolve like sugar in water. Pain like the bites of a thousand fire ants under my scales swelled over me. I thought I heard Grace and Rak scream, but it could have been my own nerves sending more impulses than my brain could process. Everything flared white then went dark.

  Chapter Twenty: The Girl with the Golden Gap

  You know you're in denial when your first thought upon waking from setting off a major magical booby trap is, "My nose feels weird." My next thought was that this was all some twisted dream my friend Natura would spend many happy hours interpreting. I should go back to sleep and see how it ends...

  Someone who sounded like Hel said, "Wake him."

  Aww. Couldn’t I dream some more?

  A hard splash of cold water answered that question. Some of it got up my snout, and I sneezed hard.

  Thwock! Zing! And some unknown henchman shouted with pain.

  Ah, relief!

  I heard Rak's laughter get cut short into a grunt.

  I opened my eyes, expecting to see Helheim. I found myself disappointed and confused while my eyes took in the room, and my head narrated like the announcer for Lairs by Larry: The underground chamber sported a cement and steel decor—an evil overlord classic.

  Broad stripes in "Danger Red" add panache, as do the automatic sliding doors of the same color—and what door would be complete without its own guard? Italian submachine guns and black fatigues—honestly, is there really any color for Kevlar besides black? It's just so right.

  You'll notice our villainess has gone with the theme in her own tailored flak jacket under a

  "Summer uniform," bearing her personal flare. No one can wear hot pants like Hel. Naturally, no base headquarters would be complete without a raised platform from which to gloat at your victims—and Hel's gone all out with a wall-sized high-definition screen from which to illustrate her maniacal schemes. Forget the steel railings—so Seventies—Hel has pulled materials from the volcano where she's made her home. Don’t the stalagmites and carved lava rock add just the right touch of sinister? Be still, my fearful heart!

  I think Hel and McThing used the same decorator. I also think I've been watching too much TV.

  Speaking of fearful... the lower level serves multiple purposes, but right now, we see it in victim intimidation mode, with harsh spotlights, and dark shadows, and the roof reflecting the interior pool, populated, of course, by—

  "Why do you have sharks?" I know. We've failed in our mission. We're in mortal danger.

  The island could explode and release the powers of Hel on an unsuspecting world. And I'm asking about the Nefarious Koi Pond. I've said it before: denial isn't just a river in Egypt.

  Apparently, my question amused Hel. "Do you like my pets? Fascinating creatures. They live for the kill—"

  I did a double-take. "They have frickin' laser beams attached to their heads!"

  Hel shrugged. "I saw it in a movie."

  Rak coughed and grunted. "Vern, focus!"

  Straddling the pool and guarded by minions was a set-up like you'd find in a carnival, the one where you strap someone to bungee cords and let them bounce. My eyes moved up, my hearts beating faster at what I thought I'd find.

  Strapped into the body harness, Grace hung over the pool. They'd obviously dunked her at least once; one pantleg was ripped and her shoe shredded, the skin beneath raw and caked in blood, her "cute toes" now so much mangled flesh. Only a miracle or magic had kept her leg from being bitten off. One arm hung limply while the other wound around the cable. A single finger tapped out triples, over and over. Her head leaned against it. Her face had the swelled discolored look of an acid burn. My eyes flew up to a beaker held suspended by ropes.

  "Snake venom," Hel said sweetly, "from a very special snake."

  I turned my attention back to my partner. She wore what looked like a shock collar around her neck. Her first song-spell would have been to remove it; I guessed it had some kind of spell or device to cut off her voice, and if it did shock, it was to punish her for trying.

  None of this worried me like the blank expression on her face, however. Her head rested against one of the ropes, her breathing slow and too regular. Her eyes open and unseeing.

  "Yes," Hel mused. "When her magic ran dry, she just sort of seemed to stop reacting.

  Poor Stan was beside himself, by then. There wasn't much point after that."

  Once upon a time in the Great War, Grace had been captured and tortured by the real Powers of Hell. When the Inquisition had finally recovered her, they'd found she'd "gone away,"

  somewhere deep into herself—or maybe outside herself; no one knew for certain. It had taken decades of care and prayer for her to find her way back.

  Hel was not vicious, Grace had said.

  But Hel had just sent my best friend back to insanity.

  My vision flooded red. I roared loud enough to send waves through the shark tank. I lunged at the platform—

  And found my muscles frozen. I hit the ground with an infuriating thud.

  "I said her magic was drained, not mine."

  I wanted to kill her. I wanted to send her back to the Nordic hell she came from. I wanted to tie her to a rock with her own entrails and let a snake drip venom on her like Odin had once done to her father. I wanted—

  It didn't matter what I wanted. Revenge wouldn't bring back Grace, anyway.

  A dozen clichéd phrases ran through my mind: You won't get away with this! You're mad!

  Even Let her go, please! I stayed silent. I'm a dragon. I don't follow cliché when I don't want to, and I don't plead with insane demigods.

  Instead, I pushed myself up, slowly and non-threateningly in deference to the spells on me, until I was sitting camel-like facing her. I didn't even bother to ask what happened next. I waited. If I'd had eyebrows, I'd have raised one. I was going to miss the eyebrows.

  I looked at the screen behind her. Three images showed. On the right, various live footage of the nuclear reactor crew going about their work. They even wore the same kinds of clothes and hairstyles as the original research crew. On the left, a side shot of the volcano from a camera posted somewhere on the rocks. I could see cars making their way to the apex. In the middle, a view from the camera looked right into the mouth of the volcano itself.

  Why did I have the feeling everyone was in a Hel of a hurry?

  "Rak, you okay?" I asked, surprised how neutral my voice sounded.

  "I'm sorry, Vern," he rasped. They'd obviou
sly roughed him up before they decided making him watch as they tortured Grace was better fun.

  Don't think about it. Use your senses. Use your brain. While I waited for Hel to launch her monologue, I started cataloging: henchmen, weapons, magic. She made the McThing complex look like the children's amusement it was supposed to be.

  "Where is McThing?" I wondered aloud.

  Hel laughed. "He's...topside, shall we say? He's greeting and schmoozing our honored guests while I tackle the little problem of you."

  She just wanted to be left alone, Grace had said.

  "I've had him healed, you naughty dragon, though he'll never be able to gesture with quite the same style again. We've of course arranged for one of his employees to take the rap for kidnapping Rhoda Dakota, working of course, with the now-deceased Art Decko. I was so hoping Rhoda would perform a private concert for my guests, but she seems to have slipped away." She gave Rak a Significant Glance.

  He stared at Grace as though he could feel every one of her injuries. "I told you; I don't know where she is."

  I almost believed him myself.

  Instead of pressing the point, Hel sighed. "Well, it hardly matters, except that she might have been safer—or maybe not." She laughed.

  Hel's always been so sad. Depressed, even, Grace had said.

  "You see, I'd planned to wait for the big party to unleash my plot—"

  "Sounded to me like she got a pretty bum deal at home."

  "Aye, banishing her to Niflheim because of her parentage, but through the grace of God, she made something out of it, a place of rest and solace for the dead Norse—"

  I looked at the beaker of poison. A very special snake, eh?

  I'd been an idiot. This was not Hel on Earth.

  "Sigyn, what are you hoping to accomplish?" I demanded.

  "Sigyn? Loki's wife?" Rak gasped.

  Sigyn leaned on the polished lava rock railing and chuckled, shaking her head at me. "It took you long enough, dragon. After all, with legs like these, how could I be that half-dead cow of a daughter of his? Honestly! Plastic surgery can only do so much."

  "But we Mundanes had nothing to do with imprisoning your husband. Why take vengeance on us?" Rak cried. He added, "No offense, Vern."

  "No offense," I repeated, "and no vengeance, either. You're trying to free him, aren't you?"

  She leaned back and clapped once. "Now you are thinking! I shall open a new Gap and—

  "

  "And nothing! We already have a Gap. It didn't usher in Ragnarok, and it doesn't matter what kind of disasters you create. You could even blow up this whole island and half the ocean.

  If it's not Ragnarok, he doesn't get out."

  "The Gap opened in a backwater duchy in a sleepy little kingdom. And who went through first? Scholars and priests. Of course, it didn't usher Ragnarok; you fool! Why do you think I chose this place?"

  The volcano. "You're bringing in the fire giants?"

  "Believe me. It was no treat having to swallow my pride around that...woman, Angrboda, but we were able to put our differences aside. Loki is what he is, and I wouldn't have him any other way." She actually stopped and looked away, blinking tears out of her eyes. I took the opportunity to test my bonds; unfortunately, the magic was not tied to how well she was paying attention to me. Back to keeping the monologue going.

  She didn't need any encouragement, however. She wiped her eyes and continued. "I worked in secret for years to build my little empire—Frank Li Enterprises. I've created quite a mystery around the reclusive Frank, and when my Loki is returned to me, he will step into his new identity as the brilliant mastermind who created the new interdimensional portal. Perhaps he can play the tortured victim, who never thought the experiment would release such monsters and now lives with the terrible burden of his quest for knowledge. I think Loki'd enjoy the role, don't you? Maybe we'll even get him elected to the UN to lead this world through its crisis. Oh! How about for seven years? Petaki, do make a note of that for me."

  A guard standing near a control panel nodded and pulled out his smart pad.

  Sigyn continued. "Of course, we were supposed to begin this at the height of the festival.

  Could you just imagine it? The wild chanting, the revelry, the worship real and feigned. Then suddenly, monsters emerging from the volcano and storming the island. Never mind the complete terror of the people—that's just a bonus! I have fifty of the world's most vital citizens on an observation platform at the apex! Their deaths will plunge this world into economic chaos!"

  I held back a snort. Apparently, she hadn't learned enough about how the Mundane world worked, especially in the areas of bureaucratic redundancy.

  "But it's better! Just think of the survivors, left to torture themselves with the knowledge that they made this happen! Some will believe in their own ability to make magic—and with my own portal, my Golden Gap, I will make that belief true. As for the rest, guilt creates its own kind of anarchy. It may not happen right away, but I will work on this world like a maid in labor until I birth Armageddon, and my husband is returned to me."

  "What do you see in him, anyway?" Rak asked, his voice mellow and sympathetic. "He's not much of a husband. All those affairs. He spent eight years as a woman, for pity's sake! Can you really want a man like that?"

  "It's complicated!"

  See? I knew that was a good line.

  "We don't have to be," Rak said.

  What? Was this some kind of script in the BILE handbook I missed?

  Rak gave Sigyn his best come-on look, which despite the black eye and split lip was still pretty good, had to give him credit. "Why don’t you and I discuss this over dinner? Maybe we could work out a more personal arrangement?"

  "Why would I bother with a mortal?" she sneered.

  "Once you've had Rak, there's no going back."

  I fought my gag reflex. This was the woman who stood by her husband for millennia, holding a bowl between him and a deadly snake to keep its venom from spilling onto his face—

  and Rak thought he could turn that kind of loyalty with a cheap pick-up line that didn't rate a pity date?

  Sigyn seemed to hold the same opinion. She regarded him through slit eyelids. "Petaki, alert the plant that when they are ready, they may go ahead with the experiment."

  Petaki bowed slightly and spoke into a mike on the wall.

  I couldn't stop it. I looked at Rak, helpless as me, and did the only thing I could: I bowed my head and prayed, though I wasn't sure what for. Did I want their experiment to succeed?

  Would I want Grace's life spared if it meant introducing a reign of terror to the Mundane world?

  Thy will be done, Thy will be done...

  Petaki had turned on the volume, and we could hear the researchers calling out stats and numbers. I didn't bother to listen to the actual words. Their tone would tell me enough. As their voices became more strained, I knew the experiment was working.

  I wondered if they knew they would sacrifice their lives if it succeeded. I added a quick prayer for their souls. To my side, I could still hear the steady tapping of Grace's finger on the rope: taptaptap, taptaptap, taptaptap—

  Three taps for the Trinity: Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Was she praying, even in her lost state?

  I tried to edge closer to her, but the spell held me fast.

  Shouts, screams, the sound of an explosion—

  The entire mountain shook—

  I lifted my head and looked at the screen. The right side was dead static, but the left had closed in on people standing on a platform—or would have been standing. They staggered and bumped into each other; a couple lost their cell phones over the edge. Guess you could say they were more shaken than stirred by the experience.

  In the middle view, the wild surging dance of the lava was blocked by a small and growing disk. Humans have imagined wormholes in several sci-fi shows, but the Gap was at once more simple and more complex. To the human eye, it looked like a big round piece of shimmery burlap.
At least, my friend Bert describes it that way.

  Dragons see things differently.

  At home, I tried not to look at the Gap when I went through: the interactions of color and design can mesmerize worse than those screensavers that played fractal patterns. Sigyn's camera could only pick up a small part of the spectrum outside the visual, but I could see enough of the familiar flow of pattern and shades to know Sigyn had succeeded.

  The shaking of the island steadied. I could see the burlap pattern undulating and wavering like fabric being snapped and stretched. I could hear the demigoddess' heavy, almost lustful, breathing. "Come, my fire giants!" she hissed. "I give you this world!"

  We waited.

  The wobbling ceased. To humans, the new Gap looked stable and like burlap, but more gold than silvery. I wondered if that meant anything. I didn't want to find out.

  "Well?" Sigyn's hiss took on a distinctly un-sexy tone.

  I saw the patterns still twisting with motion. They didn't seem quite right. Had she failed after all?

  Sigyn snapped her fingers, and Petaki hurried over with a cell phone already ringing.

  "McThing? What's the status?"

  "Brilliantly done, my lady! Our investors are most impressed, though a little shook up."

  "Don't be a fool! Is anything emerging from the portal?"

  "No. I haven't seen anything. I—" He broke off as someone behind him yelled.

  On the screen, a small dark shape emerged from the portal.

  "Emerged" was the wrong word. Watching the trajectory, I modified it to "was lobbed through."

  The camera blurred as the lens focused on the object. Not fire giant.

  Dwarf. Definitely dwarf.

  He finished his arch and came in for one rough landing. People on the platform scattered.

  Even through their shouts of surprise, I could hear him yelling, "I'm not paid enoooough!"

  Wham! Bulls-eye! Score Ten for the Faerie Team.

  He stood, brushed himself off, stretched a crick out of his neck, and called in heavily accented English, "I be here to parlay with the mighty Sigyn."

  McThing bent over and gave him his cell phone. After a few minutes of instruction, compounded by the fact that his English was over four hundred years out of date, and McThing's English was out of the Idiot Manager's Guide to Verbiage to Impress and Befuddle, he spoke to Sigyn.