by Heidi Lang
“This is the elves,” Lailu gasped, blocking an attack from a three-horned anguay. “This is their magic.”
Ryon didn’t argue; he just bobbed and weaved next to her.
“Can they stop this?” Lailu asked, hitting one of the masked creations in the face, then shoving a girl in a unicorn mask into two boys charging up in matching panther suits. She hated to hurt any of them, but she had to use some force or they would rend her to pieces.
“Maybe.”
“Then we need to get to them.”
“Agreed.” Ryon winced as the griffin managed a good swipe with its paw. “Let’s go.”
They darted through the crowd toward the Velvet Forest.
Wham!
Something huge and impossibly heavy landed directly in their path. Lailu skidded to a halt, nearly knocking Ryon over. “G-gargoyle?” she gasped, staring up into the wine-red eyes of the stone beast. “How is this possible?”
The gargoyle stomped forward, the ground shaking beneath it.
“This way!” Ryon grabbed Lailu’s arm and tugged her back out of the street and down an alley.
Behind them, Lailu heard a chillingly familiar cry: the shrill, burbling call of a batyrdactyl on the hunt, joined by another, and another, this one much closer.
“Run faster!” Ryon said, ducking down another side street.
“I have . . . short legs,” Lailu panted, struggling to keep up with him. She wanted to look over her shoulder, but Master Sanford had always told her to stay focused on what’s ahead. Sure, you can look behind you, but it’ll probably be the last thing you see. He’d tapped his eye patch for emphasis. It was a very effective way to make sure that the lesson stuck in all their heads.
Lailu pushed those thoughts away. She had no time for memories. Instead, she focused on her feet, the way they pounded the ground, the blur of people in masks and costumes as she tore past them. Screams erupted all around her, but as partygoers merged with their masks and costumes, those screams turned into shrieks and howls and hungry, blood-chilling cries. It was like the elven party all over again, but this time with humans.
Lailu didn’t have the strength to pay attention to where she was going; she just sprinted after Ryon, her lungs on fire, as he led them down streets, through alleys, and even over a bridge or two, twisting and turning through a city gone mad.
Vaguely, she knew they were heading well away from Mystic Cooking, but she didn’t know where until everything suddenly got quiet. It was as if Lailu had stepped inside a giant pot, the cries fading abruptly behind her.
“Where did everyone—” She stopped, her words dying as she looked at her surroundings.
All around her were the ruins of half-destroyed buildings, columns, and statues lying discarded like broken teeth. It was a graveyard without any bodies.
Ryon had led her clear across the city and straight into the Western Travel District.
Lailu shivered. “Why did we come here?”
“To find the elves.” Ryon’s eyes glittered.
“I thought they only used this entrance on the First Night of Masks?” Lailu searched the shadows around them. She thought she caught movement and the soft clicking of tiny metallic feet, but then it was gone.
“They use this space whenever they need to get in and out of the city quickly and without notice. It’s not just a festival thing for them.” Ryon moved closer to a decrepit wreck of a building, peering in through the gaping window.
“Why would they do this?” Lailu asked. “Why transform innocent people?”
“I’m not sure,” Ryon admitted. “I know Fahr has been planning the downfall of the scientists, but he told me he’s attempting to follow the letter of the law.”
“What does that mean?” Lailu thought it sounded like sneaky elven doublespeak, but she knew Ryon trusted his half brother.
Ryon ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not supposed to say.”
Lailu scowled. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’m used to it.” She wanted to sound like she didn’t care, but it was impossible to keep the sting out of her voice.
Ryon sighed. “He’s trying to see the king,” he admitted. “He’s been sending him secret correspondence.”
“He’s what? Behind Elister’s back?”
“Now you’re wishing I kept that secret, aren’t you?” Ryon grinned.
“But . . . why? What does he think the king will do for him?”
“I don’t know, but he’ll be the ruler of Savoria in a few years, and Fahr has to do something. The other elves are really angry. I mean, look around.” Ryon spread his arms, taking in the decay, the crumbled statues, the emptiness of this shattered spot of the city. “The elves don’t forgive, Lailu. They don’t forgive, and they don’t forget.”
His words seemed to echo between them, sending a chill up Lailu’s spine. “Maybe they got tired of waiting, then,” Lailu whispered. “Maybe tonight’s masquerade is their way of getting revenge against the city.”
“Masquerade, huh? I like that,” Eirad said.
Lailu whipped around. Eirad leaned against a vine-choked building, his long blond braids pulled back from his face, his arms crossed casually over his chest.
“I should have known you were the one behind this,” Ryon said.
“You know I’m not really the patient type.” Eirad bared his teeth.
Ryon shifted into a defensive fighting stance. “Fahr worked very hard to restore peace after the last feud. It’s a shame you had to throw that all away.”
Eirad pushed away from the building. “Peace? Don’t speak to me of peace. You and I both know that’s nothing but false promises. Those scientists have been targeting us, and what has Elister, the ‘city’s protector,’ done about it? Nothing.” His lip curled. “All because he’s distracted by their foolish clockwork toys.”
“And how is this riot going to change that?” Lailu demanded. “How is harming innocent people going to make Elister help you?”
“Ah, little chef, always so concerned with the pawns of this world.” Eirad shook his head. “Fahr, with all his attempts at peace, has done nothing but convince you humans that we are weak. This is a reminder to Elister and to all the people who have forgotten: we used to own this land. We could take it back still.” He curled his hands into fists.
“Your time has passed,” Ryon said. “Fahr sees that. Why can’t you?”
Eirad’s hand moved so fast it was a blur, smashing into Ryon’s face.
Lailu covered her mouth, horrified, as Ryon tumbled back. Swallowing, she gripped her knife and stepped in front of him. Eirad watched her, amused. “You’re going to fight me, little chef?”
“If—if I have to.” She’d lose, of course. She might be able to take down a hydra, but she was no match for an elf, and they both knew it. Still, Ryon was her friend.
Ryon put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Lailu. I’ve got this.” He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and stepped forward, his eyes locked on Eirad’s. “That,” he said softly, “was a mistake, cousin.” And then he launched himself forward.
37
RYON’S SECRET
Ryon moved with the same deadly speed as an elf, his attacks so fast they were impossible for Lailu to track. She blinked, and Eirad had staggered backward, purple blossoming on his cheek.
Eirad hissed, his braids whipping around his face as if he stood in the middle of a windstorm. He reached up and ripped two braids right off his head. Lailu winced and touched her pigtails in sympathy. The golden strands he held turned a bright, poisonous green, ballooning out until they became snakes as Eirad flung them at Ryon.
Ryon shrugged them off like oil sliding from a frying pan, and they coiled to the ground and became braids once again.
Eirad looked down at them. “I had forgotten about that annoying little trick of yours.”
“I never forget,” Ryon said, breathing heavily. “It comes with the ability to age that we mortals have.”
Eir
ad’s smile turned into an ugly snarl, and Lailu lunged between them, afraid that the elf would attack once more.
Eirad studied her, and Lailu was aware of how small and slow and weak she was. She raised her knife anyway and waited.
Eirad took a step back, then another, his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “Fahr weakened elven law when he kept you alive,” he told Ryon. He pulled a black feather from his pocket and tossed it in the air. The air shimmered around it, forming a black mask with a long hooked beak that fell gently into his waiting fingers. “Those scientists killed Gwendyl, and if Lord Elister won’t do anything about it, then it’s time to remind him where the real power in this city lies. Enjoy the dance. It will go on until dawn.”
He slipped into the mask, his features shifting into those of a large raven, his body shrinking, changing. He shrieked, then flew away into the night.
“Well, some help you were,” Ryon teased.
“I tried,” Lailu protested.
“I know you did. And I will be forever grateful.”
Something nearby howled. Chills ran up and down Lailu’s arms, and she tried to slow her breathing as panic beat its way from her chest. “Does this mean Eirad has gone rogue?” she asked.
“He must have. Fahr would never approve something like this.”
“Can Fahr stop it?”
Ryon hesitated, then shook his head. “This is powerful magic. Eirad must have been planning it for a long time, hoarding magic in secret. Even I didn’t realize how powerful he’s become.”
Lailu remembered the first time Eirad had tried to make a deal with her, months ago. He had offered her enough money to pay back Mr. Boss if she gave him the last years of her life. The last five years you wouldn’t even know you missed. How many years had he bought from the people around him? “Then what should we—”
Grrr . . .
Lailu spun just as a man-wolf pounced forward, fangs bared. She drew her knife and dodged to the side, then slammed the hilt of her blade into the back of the beast’s head. It crumpled with a high-pitched whimper. Ryon put a hand to its face, and the skin blurred, separating from the material of the mask.
Ryon slid the mask off and stomped on it. Immediately the creature turned back into a man.
“How did you—” Lailu began.
“Later,” Ryon said. He helped the man sit up.
“Wh-what?” the former wolf groaned, rubbing his head.
“Get to your house. Now,” Ryon told him. “And lock yourself in.” The man’s eyes widened and he scrambled away.
“We should take the same advice,” Lailu decided. “If Fahr can’t help us, there’s nothing we can do here.”
“Agreed.” Ryon held out his hand. “Let’s go.”
Lailu took it, and they ran out into the wildness of the waiting city, dodging past claws and gnashing teeth in a sprint toward Mystic Cooking.
A man gave a milk-curdling cry as three large shadows descended on him. Their eyes glowed red, soft feathers speckling their bodies, and Lailu realized she couldn’t run home like a frightened child. “Ryon, we’ve got to stop. We’ve got to help them.” She tried to pull her hand free, but Ryon just tightened his grip and ran on as more people cried out in panic. Creatures attacked from all sides, creatures that had no place here in the city.
“Can’t you do something for them?” she asked, thinking about how easily he had shrugged off Eirad’s enchantments, and then the way he’d pulled the mask from the wolf-man.
Ryon’s mouth formed a hard, sad line. “I can’t.”
“But—”
“Ask me later, when this is over.”
Up ahead Lailu could see the shops, including Paulie’s Potions. Could Paulie help? Lailu hated asking favors from a witch—she never knew what she’d have to give up in return—but these were desperate times.
Lailu caught a sudden movement from the side and lunged into Ryon, knocking them both over just as a blast of scalding fire hit the cobblestones. She scrambled back up, expecting to see maybe a dragon—or worse, a fyrian chicken.
Instead, a large, magnificent bird of red-gold circled them, its fiery feathers sleek aside from the unruly batch on the top of its head.
“Greg?” Lailu said. He had been wearing a phoenix mask before, a gift from his uncle. Had the mask been elven-made? She narrowed her eyes. Definitely Greg. She’d recognize that mop of hair anywhere, even transformed into feathers.
With a defiant screech, Greg flew at them. Lailu and Ryon dove in separate directions, and Lailu could feel all the aches from earlier as she rolled up to her feet. Something fell from her pocket: a pouch full of glittering powder. Wren’s pouch.
Greg circled, then came back, tearing straight at Lailu.
She ducked, and Greg shot past just above her. As he turned and dove back at her, she lunged forward, snatched the pouch from the ground, and threw a handful of mal-cantation powder into Greg’s open beak.
He screeched, the noise turning into a sputter, then a cough as he crashed to the ground, slowly morphing into his human form, then flickering back to a phoenix. Fire danced around his body, feathers sprouting and molting and sprouting again. The mal-cantation powder wasn’t enough. The elven mask was just too strong.
Lailu tried to remove the mask, but she couldn’t get close enough. The magical flames of the phoenix licked her arms in a wave of heat, and she jerked back.
Ryon darted in, the flames parting around his hands. He grabbed the mask and yanked it off, then stomped it to pieces.
Immediately Greg was Greg again. Lailu hated to admit how relieved that made her . . . until she saw the blood along the side of his head. “Greg?” She knelt down beside him, helping him sit up. “Are you okay?”
Greg groaned and touched his head, his fingers coming away bloody. “What happened?” His eyes darted around in confusion before focusing on Lailu like she somehow had all the answers.
Whirr, click, whirrrr . . .
Lailu turned to Ryon, whose own face mirrored hers.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” she whispered.
“Sorry, sunshine,” Ryon said to Greg. “Recovery time is over.” He hoisted Greg up onto his feet, and they each took one of Greg’s arms.
“Paulie’s?” Lailu suggested.
Ryon’s eyes widened. “Good choice,” he said, and they began walking a barely conscious Greg toward her shop.
Click. Click. Whirr!
Lailu and Ryon moved faster, but Greg was slowing them down.
“Maybe it’s time to lose the dead weight,” Ryon suggested.
“Ryon!” Lailu snapped.
“Kidding, kidding.” He stumbled along. “Well, mostly kidding.”
They were almost to Paulie’s door when the unmistakable sound of an auto-carriage split the night.
Lailu turned, jaw dropping. Starling had a machine resembling a large harpoon gripped in both arms.
Ryon staggered and almost fell. “Hey, don’t let go like that. Your friend here is heavier than he looks.”
Pop!
Starling fired her harpoon at the horde of beasts, launching a giant net. It spread open in midair, then swung closed, tangling three of the creatures inside. As they fought the metal net with teeth and claws, they slowly transformed, becoming human once again.
“Whoa,” Lailu breathed, impressed.
Starling passed the weapon down to Wren, who eagerly took it and handed Starling another. Wren was positively beaming beside her mother, like this was the mother-daughter activity she’d always dreamed of.
Around them, automatons marched, firing their own nets at the transformed crowds.
“We’ve got to go,” Ryon said.
“But they’re helping—” Lailu began.
“Now!”
Lailu grabbed Greg’s other arm and ran as fast as she could to Paulie’s door. She wasn’t sure why Ryon was more scared of the scientists and this newest invention than he was of the transformed people, but she trusted him. If he wa
s scared, then it must be bad.
38
TRAPPED
Paulie opened the door just as they reached it. “In, quickly,” she hissed, shutting the door behind them and locking it. She flicked the curtains back half an inch and peered out.
Lailu and Ryon helped Greg into a chair at the small corner table.
“You okay?” Lailu asked. Greg had crashed pretty hard in his transition from winged beast to boy, and she didn’t like his color—or rather, lack of color.
“I’ve felt better.” He touched the side of his head and winced.
“Aww, sweetheart, I’ll patch you right up,” Paulie chimed in.
Greg’s eyes widened, and as soon as she had bustled over to the other side of the shop, he whispered, “I—I think I’m okay. I don’t think I need any care.”
“Don’t be silly,” Lailu scoffed. “You’re bleeding all over the place. Besides, Paulie has all the supplies right here.”
“But she’s a—”
“Witch?” Paulie suggested coolly, her purple eyes glittering.
Greg and Lailu both jumped.
Paulie had snuck up right behind them, a small basket of bandages and healing salves over one arm.
“Er,” Greg managed.
“The best witch in the city,” Ryon said quickly. “Thanks for taking us in, Paulie. You know you’re my favorite. Next to Lailu, that is.” He winked.
Paulie pursed her lips but went ahead and bandaged Greg. She wasn’t nearly as gentle as she’d been with Ryon, yet Lailu couldn’t blame her. Especially when Greg kept flinching at her touch. Lailu had to admit she’d been scared of Paulie too—her experience with the elves had taught her to be cautious when it came to magic and those who wielded it—but Paulie had been nothing but helpful and kind since she’d met her, and it bothered Lailu to see Greg already passing judgment on her.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Lailu felt each slam against the door like a punch to the heart. She looked around the room, but everyone else had frozen in place.