She couldn’t take it anymore.
She wouldn’t take it anymore.
When she learned that she had a mother and father outside of the compound—in the great big dangerous world that she was trained to hate—curiosity overcame her.
On a stormy night, she escaped. She slung a knapsack over her shoulder, jumped out the window into the rain, and she ran as fast as she could, sliding downhill in mud. The rain poured down in slanted waves.
A roar—in the distance!
They were onto her.
Quickly she heard footsteps in the mud. She took cover in an alpine forest but still, they came after her!
She cast magical spells to distort her location, but they too knew the same spells. And the dragons circled the skies, filling them with roars and laughter.
Somehow, she escaped. Somehow, she’d found a whitewater rapid, and she threw herself into it, using a spell to keep her head above water.
It was a smart move, for no elven warrior dare follow her into whitewater rapids in the middle of the night. None of the dragons could see her.
How many times had she hit her head along the rocks, swam like mad for the riverbanks but lost hold of their muddy ledges? How many times did she wish she could just die? As she floated down the river, she thought of her mother and father, hated them for abandoning her. Had they abandoned her? Even though her head was above water, her mind was under.
She must have fallen asleep, because she woke up in a gentle section of the river, eddying on top of foamy water.
And then she pulled herself out of the water and beheld the sea.…
***
Alvia and Pepper reached the town square. They rested in a patch of grass surrounded by trees. A church with a clock tower sat at the north end of the square, its fish-eyed clock face blood red in the fading afternoon. In all directions, lit storefronts lay with open doors. Elves spilled in and out of the brick buildings, and Alvia wondered if this was what it was like to live a life of excess.
Fenroot had preached about it many times. In the land where you come from, your blood brethren live in ignorance, unaware of what’s to come. The magic they use will dry up; the streets will run with their blood. All of this can be avoided, my children, if you practice your training.
She used to cast magic with other elves in mind. She made them the focus of her spells.
But she always imagined “other” elves to be white-robed just like her. Arrogantly, she expected them to live like her too, in cloisters carved into a mountain side. But the world was more majestic than she’d ever imagined, a lesson she had already learned a thousand times already.
She scanned the town square and noticed a few stores.
Gavlin’s Magical Emporium.
Monk’s Groceries.
Parlay’s Tea and Spirits.
She had some money from selling fish at the Temple of Unity. Surely she could buy a few glasses of water at any of these places.
Pepper was staggering. Several people in the town square had stopped to stare at them. All elven. Alvia wanted to yell at them.
I’m elven just like you!
She picked Pepper up and nursed her gingerly, brushing a hand over the dog’s nose. Then she leaned in and nussled her neck, absorbing a layer of dust onto her nose and cheeks. She didn’t care.
She set Pepper underneath a weeping willow and promised she would be back. She turned and looked for the store that might offer her water for the cheapest price.
She settled on the tea parlor.
***
“You okay, Miss?” a barista asked as a bell jangled over Alvia’s head.
“I need water!” Alvia said. Her voice came out louder than she thought—what should have been a desperate cry ended up being a shout.
The quiet chatter and clinking of dishes stopped. Immediately she felt eyes. Elves, all around the tea parlor, were sitting, cups half drunk, staring at her.
The barista wiped wet hands on his apron and said “Is everything okay?”
Alvia ran a hand nervously through her hair. It was covered with dust. Against the silvery reflection of one of the coffee machines, she saw her face, covered in grime.
She walked to the front counter where the barista was watching her incredulously. He was a young elven boy with bright green eyes. He handed her a cup of water, smiling. “Here you go. But you’re covered in a lot of dust. I doubt it’ll be enough.”
Alvia took the water without a thank you. “It’s not for me.”
She reached into her pocket for a spira but the barista waved his hand. “I don’t know where you’re from, but water’s on the house, Miss.”
“Oh. Um...I—thanks.”
“You want a tea? You could use one. Clove and ginger?”
Alvia turned and hurried out the door, feeling the eyes of the other elves. They hadn’t stopped looking at her.
When she left, she saw a crowd gathered in the town square.
Then she heard frantic barking, and terrified screams.
***
“Kill the damned thing!” an elven man shouted. “Douse it with water!”
Alvia pushed two people out of the way, knocking them to the ground.
Pepper was running frantically around the circle of people, who were trying to kick her and step on her.
“Hurry up!” someone shouted. “We can’t let it escape!”
Someone whispered in a terrifying tone, “I haven’t seen a firedog in years. Are they back?”
A lanky elven man in a sweater jumped forward with a grimoire glinting in his hand.
Pepper fell to the ground, panting.
“Stop!” Alvia cried.
But the man did not stop.
Alvia reached into her pocket and flung a grimoire across the park. A bright flash blinded her and everyone shielded their eyes. She held her breath and braced herself as a wave of air slammed into her and knocked her backward.
The light dissipated.
The elven man lie on the hood of a car, and all of the people were scattered across the grounds, lying in the grass and tangled in bushes.
Alvia tried to stand but felt something wet on the back of her head. She felt it and found blood mixed with dust.
She reached for another grimoire and cast a healing spell on herself. Warm tingling diffused through her body but she was dizzy.
She dropped to her knees into the grass. Then she felt her face in the grass.
Pepper barked and licked her cheek. She reached up and petted him.
She didn’t know if she could stand.
She remembered her training.
Never give up. Even if you’re facing death.
She smiled as Pepper licked her again. The brown dog’s face spun in front of her and she wanted to close her eyes.
Sirens filled the air.
Sirens.…
Sirens.…
The clarion call?
No, deeper. More mechanical. More shrill. No dragon voices to accompany it.
Every bone in her body prepared itself for a fight, but her mind wouldn’t will her to stand.
“Maybe I’ll rest a while,” she said, knowing full well that she was babbling. “Maybe I’ll ask for more water.…”
Someone picked her up. The weeping willows swirled overhead.
Someone was carrying her.
It was the barista. He was carrying her in his arms with a look of concern.
The air changed.
He was carrying her back into the tea parlor. Up a narrow flight of stairs.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he told her. His voice sounded as if it came from a dream. “My name is Tony. I’m here to help.”
XV
Miri pushed through a crowd in the lobby of The Frog Building.
The tall, glass-enclosed atrium extended three stories high. Offices looked down on the large space, and green paper lanterns hung from the rafters, rotating in the air-conditioned breeze.
There was a convention going on. A magic
convention. Saleselves stood at tables, demonstrating new spells and grimoires. Fireworks of magic and purple and pink flashes exploded throughout the convention, but she ignored them.
She passed under a palm tree and thought of Lucan, Earl and Celesse. They were still suffering right now. If she didn’t do something, she might never see them again.
She must have looked like a mess. After hours of interrogation and a long bus ride, she had made it here.
She had to find Frog.
Their plan hinged on finding the river dragon. He was loyal to Dark, and if she pitched him correctly, he could lure Dark to her.
She had done her research. Moss’s daughters were dead and she was confident Dark was behind it.
But how?
How did he find Meah and Mynthia, and how did he kill them so quickly?
She regretted letting the old dragon watch so much television. She underestimated his ability to acclimate. More would die because of her mistake. And soon.
As she entered a glass elevator, she marveled at how fast a dragon could learn the ways of the future and negotiate his way around, just after a few days of being in the wild. It was essentially the same as time travel. Surely there was another book about this, waiting to be written. With the university gone, she didn’t know if she should be the one to do it. But who else would?
She pressed a button for the highest floor. She didn’t know if it would take her to the roof. If it didn’t she would have to improvise.
A few other people entered the elevator with her and she tried to suppress a sigh.
She didn’t have time to stop at every single floor!
The car rose, stopping every few floors to let people out. As it climbed higher, a knot in her chest tightened.
What would she say to Frog? Would he listen? The river dragon was notorious for his temper. She had never met him before, so she didn’t know what might set him off.
She stepped out into the fortieth floor. A long blue hallway with marble floors stretched before her.
She looked around. The surrounding offices were closed for the day. A nearby cafeteria was still open, janitors cleaning the carpets.
This can’t be the highest floor.
Glancing around the floor, she spotted another elevator. She hurried across the floor, keenly aware of the loudness of her footsteps, and she pressed the button to open the elevator.
The doors didn’t open.
She needed a key card.
Crap.
She pressed the button again.
A voice on an intercom over the door spoke. It was a woman. “Can we help you, m’am?”
She looked up into a camera on the corner of the wall.
“I would like to see Frog,” she said. “It’s very important.”
“Frog isn’t here.”
“Ha ha,” Miri said, “I’ve heard that before. No, really—I need to speak with him.”
“He’s not here, m’am.”
“Then can I wait in your office until he comes back?” Miri asked.
“Absolutely not. If you want, I’ll take a message and leave it with Frog before his next broadcast tonight.”
Miri puffed. She recalled a paragraph from A Brief History of Dragon Behaviors.
If you want a dragon’s attention, make commotion. Their eyes are drawn toward movement, particularly when there is color involved. This instinct developed when they learned to hunt from the skies, honing in on prey.…
If Frog was watching—all dragons in Abstraction surveilled their own buildings—she could count on him paying attention. Even a river dragon for whom time seemed to move more slowly would notice.
“Thank you for your time,” Miri said. “You tell him that if he doesn’t talk to me soon, it’ll be the end of the world.”
Miri then gave her phone number. The voice didn’t respond. The woman was probably dumbfounded.
She slung her purse over her shoulder and walked into the elevator. It was a long, solitary ride down to the lobby. She hadn’t noticed the glass back on elevator before. She watched as the city opened up below like a great bowl of glass, concrete and steel for thirty stories before the glass atrium swallowed the car and let her out in the lobby.
A human security guard was waiting for her.
“Are you the one looking for Frog?” he asked.
“If I am, will you take me to see him?”
He grabbed her by the elbow but she pushed him away.
She ran toward the convention, into the large crowd.
Nearby, an elven woman stood by a poster of a grimoire advertising blue fire.
The woman smiled at her. “Hi! Would you like to—”
Miri grabbed a sample grimoire and activated it. A wheel of light ringed her face, and she punched into the center, shooting a giant fireball into the air. As it reached the top of its arc, it turned blue and broke apart into several blue ice crystals that shaped into javelins.
People screamed as the javelins shattered on the ground, sending fiery blue shards everywhere.
The crowd broke into chaos. Miri joined, running as fast as she could.
This should have been effective. It should have caught Frog’s eye.
Any minute, the building would rumble to life, and Frog, worried about the safety of his visitors, would speak and ask her what she wanted.
But there were no stirrings, no sign of building movement.
Maybe Frog really was gone.…
Miri cursed as she weaved toward the front door. She passed the security guard’s station where a multi-array panel of surveillance cameras flickered on the screens. She noticed a glimpse of what looked to be a simulated bog on the roof.
It was empty.
I did all that for nothing!
She glanced behind her. The security guard was gaining on her.
She couldn’t fail Lucan. Yet she had.
No! Everyone is depending on me!
She pushed herself to run harder and she burst out of the glass doors into the city.
Nearby, a bike kiosk full of shiny blue bikes lay ready to be ridden.
She reached into her purse, pulled out a spira and inserted it. She climbed on a bike and pedaled as fast as she could.
Looking back, she saw the guard standing at the front door of the skyscraper. His arms were folded, and he was shaking his head.
She focused ahead and pedaled faster.
A tremendous shadow passed overhead.
A rain cloud.
Several people walking on the street opened their umbrellas in fear that the rain would begin.
She didn’t have a raincoat. Maybe the rain against her skin would feel good.
A boom resounded through the area, and she looked up to see a small airplane trailing through the sky. Tall television screens on the side of a nearby building gave the immediate surrounding sky an aura of pink and red as it played advertisements. One of the screens was empty with a message that said Your message could be here!
She looked back at The Frog Building. Its lily pad-green windows glistened in the sky of the coming storm.
She had an idea.
The skies poured down rain as she steered toward the screens.
XVI
“Mr. Grimoire, did you or didn’t you hire Tony Dyer?” Senator Oceanfield asked.
It had been two hours, and they had barely gotten to the beginning of the Old Dark story.
This was personal. The only thing missing was the press. Just Lucan, Senator Oceanfield and a handful of government guards and court staff. The single ray of sunlight that shone down on the table felt like a magnifying glass. Lucan’s hairline was dripping with sweat even though he tried to keep his composure.
He wiped a string of sweat from his forehead and said “He wasn’t an employee, per se. Sure, he got paid—”
Oceanfield held up a paper. “What did you pay him to do?”
“He approached me and told me that he’d found Old Dark’s tomb. I paid him a handsome sum to take me to
it. So yeah, I paid him. But it wasn’t any kind of special relationship, Senator.”
“And you paid him…how?”
“I was in a hurry so it came out of my own personal money. Normally it would have come out of a special account. Tax-purposes. But I didn’t use campaign money, if that’s what you want to try to insinuate.”
“You think we care about how you spend your money? No, Mr. Grimoire, it is very clear that you did not use election funds to pay Mr. Dyer, and as a public servant, I thank you for that.”
“Then what the hell are talking for?” Lucan asked.
“I am merely painting a picture,” Oceanfield said. “A picture that I myself do not understand. I am painting, pixel by pixel, the image of how, seventy-two hours later, you were staring down the face of Mr. Bartholomew Dyer’s gun, and how you’ve yet to answer for it.”
“I cooperated with authorities,” Lucan said. “I gave Detective Shalewood everything he wanted to know.”
Oceanfield’s eyes perked up. Somehow her lipstick seemed redder. “I’m so glad that you brought up Demetrius Shalewood, because I also happen to have a report he wrote after your little meeting.”
Crap. She has something on me.
She inspected a yellow piece of paper very carefully, reading every word and pretending as if she’d never read it before. “Mr. Shalewood writes, ‘It is my opinion that Lucan Grimoire was shot because of a personal dispute. While he is certainly an innocent victim, I do not buy that he was attacked unprovoked.’”
Oceanfield glanced up at Lucan from the top of her glasses to gauge Lucan’s response. He sat silent as a stone. “‘However, the interview revealed that Lucan has business interests with his new factory that may have played a role in the assault. This is beyond the scope of my investigation…”
“Since when do detectives write up reports? That sounds like collusion if you ask me.”
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