by Eileen Wilks
Reno was not, it turned out, the New York dragon. They’d known that as soon as they saw him, for the New York dragon was the color of autumn leaves seen through dark glasses. Reno was green—almost black on his legs, wet moss green on his belly and sides, bright chartreuse along his spine. In startling contrast, his frill was bright orange. There were several green dragons, but according to both Lily and Arjenie, only one with an orange frill. Reno was the dragon the Spanish called El Draco, after the constellation. He laired outside Madrid . . . just under six thousand miles away.
Rule had that figure from Arjenie, who’d apologized because it was such a rough approximation, but she’d never had occasion to look up that particular distance. Still, she thought it a decent estimate, based on what she knew was the distance between San Diego and Paris—5,680 miles, which she had looked up once—when Rule and Lily flew there for their honeymoon, to be specific. She had, she assured Rule, allowed for Madrid’s being farther south and west than Paris, and for the greater girth of the earth as you moved closer to the equator. She’d added that it would take a jet eleven or twelve hours to cover that distance, then gone into a breakdown of the rate of travel of intercontinental ballistic missiles, which reached their peak speed of six to seven kilometers per second after ten minutes of acceleration . . .
Rule had tuned out the rest. The gist was that Reno seemed to have flown here faster than a jet, but slower than an ICBM.
Cullen’s current theory was that when dragons went invisible, they entered dashtu or a similar state. Dashtu was a demon trick that put them out of phase with the rest of the world . . . whatever that meant. Maybe being out of phase allowed them to reach absurd speeds.
Or maybe it was just magic. Since they shouldn’t be able to fly in the first place, Rule considered that as good an explanation as any.
“Quit that,” Cullen said sharply, followed by, “Very clearly.”
Rule looked over his shoulder at his friend. “Is Sam talking to you?”
“Reno. He was poking at my shields. I’ve dropped the one that blocks mindspeech, so there wasn’t any reason for him to . . .” Cullen paused. “He says he wanted to test them. I don’t know why. Given the nature of dragon spawn, we don’t have to worry about Weng using mind magic . . .” Another pause. “All right, I get it.”
“We don’t,” Cynna said.
“Sam pointed out that Tom Weng is not our only opponent. He’s right. We don’t know what Gifts the Great Bitch might have bestowed on Ginger Harris.”
“Or how directly she might be able to act in Dis,” Rule added grimly.
“Yes,” Madame Yu said crisply. “Here the Enemy must use agents. In Dis she can employ an avatar. She has done so before.”
“The one that was eaten by a demon prince,” Max said.
Madame sniffed. “We would be unforgivably foolish to assume that means she lacks an avatar.”
“Yeah,” Lily said. “Maybe that same demon prince.”
“That is unlikely.”
“Why?” Lily demanded. “I want that to be true, but why? Using a demon prince as avatar would let her control that lord’s territory. That’s a huge advantage.”
Max snorted. “Yeah, but she’d be stuck there. Demon princes can’t move out of their territories.”
Madame Yu nodded. “Also, unwilling avatars are less useful than willing ones. Attention and power must be spent on control—a great deal of attention and power with a demon prince. She is capable of this, but Sam considers it unlikely she would keep such an avatar for long. She has had time to find a willing vessel.”
“In Dis?” Cynna said dubiously. “Demons will make deals to let someone ride them sometimes, but that isn’t the same thing as becoming avatar.”
“She would not choose a demon.” Madame Yu clucked her tongue and looked at her granddaughter. “Ginger Harris disappeared shortly before the Azá attempted to open the hellgate, did she not?”
“Yes, but . . . oh. Shit. Hell. You think she’s . . . that would be bad.”
Rule’s jaw clenched. Was Ginger Harris the Great Bitch’s avatar? There was a difference—a huge and terrible difference—between one of the Great Bitch’s agents and a true avatar. His son was in Ginger Harris’s hands . . . “The hellgate was never opened. Wouldn’t Ginger have had to go to Dis to be made her avatar?”
“I do not know, but it matters little. Your Robert Friar was given Gifts while in this realm, was he not? I think this Ginger was given a Gift also—that of crossing realms. She then went to Dis and became the Enemy’s avatar.”
“It took a sidhe lord to conduct the ritual that gave Friar his Gifts.”
Madame shrugged. “We do not know how this was done, but it was done. Clearly either Ginger Harris or Tom Weng has the ability to cross realms. We know this, and there are reasons to believe it is not Tom Weng.”
“Such as?” Lily asked.
“If it is not Ginger, why is she needed for these kidnappings?”
Rule scowled. That made too damn much sense. Still— “If it’s Ginger who’s doing the crossing, then why is Tom Weng needed?”
Lily answered that one. “For attack or defense, if they’re spotted. Maybe to Find the children. Someone has to be locating them magically.”
Benedict spoke in his slow, thoughtful way. “I don’t see why Ginger would need magical help from Weng if she’s the Great Bitch’s avatar.”
Ginger Harris can enter this realm, said a cold, familiar mental voice. The Enemy cannot. If indeed Ginger Harris holds a portion of the Enemy, when she enters Earth, she is only herself, and thus is limited to whatever actual Gifts the Enemy has bestowed upon her. For technical reasons I will not go into, it is unlikely that Ginger Harris possesses any Gift other than the ability to cross between realms.
“A portion of the Enemy?” Rule frowned. “I thought avatars held the entire consciousness of the, ah, the power inhabiting them.” Some might refer to the Great Bitch as a goddess. His people did not.
Mortal flesh cannot contain the entirety of an immortal Old One. Moreover, Ginger Harris would be a new avatar, having served as vessel for between twenty-one months and eleven years, according to my estimate. Such a new avatar—
“Wait a minute,” Lily said. “Eleven years? No way. I touched Ginger when I was investigating the Fuentes murder. That was less than two years ago, and she didn’t have any magic then, so she couldn’t have been carrying the GB around.”
You know that the realms are not all time-congruent. You have either forgotten this or failed to give the fact even casual attention.
“What does that have to do with it?” Max asked, scowling mightily. The scowl was probably intended to mask other feelings. Max was not comfortable around dragons.
If Ginger Harris is able to cross realms, she has not been restricted to Earth or Dis. While those in this realm lived twenty-one months, she may have lived as much as eleven years in another realm or realms. Eleven is the ceiling due to theoretical limits on the amount of temporal discontinuity possible between realms which are otherwise sufficiently congruent for contact. By “contact,” I do not mean crossing directly from one realm to another, but reachable through—
“That’s how they did it!” Lily burst out. “That’s how they were able to do everything in such a short time—zigzagging all over North America in one night. They didn’t stay in Dis! They went to a realm where time passes faster than it does here.”
Relative time flow is not that straightforward, but in essence you are correct. They would have crossed into multiple realms, not just one, using both temporal and physical discontinuities in a sophisticated manner to travel what are, here, large distances in a single night. The power expended and the technical mastery required for such an outcome vastly increases the likelihood that Ginger Harris is an avatar for the Enemy, as it is nearly impossible that she could do so without guidance.
“You don’t think Weng is the crosser,” Cullen observed. “Or the one providing guidance?”
Such guidance needs to be mind-to-mind, as language cannot convey what is largely unquantifiable. That alone eliminates the mind-dark Weng, but in addition, neither dragons nor dragon spawn can cross realms this way, just as we cannot build gates. I do not explain. Yes, Cullen Seabourne, the matter you contemplate is connected, and I would like to know how you acquired such a weighty secret.
“I wasn’t thinking at you,” Cullen protested. “I was just thinking.”
Clearly you were “thinking at me,” or I would not have heard you with your other shields raised. I require an explanation for your knowledge.
There was a long pause, then: And the wording of that vow? I see. No, this is not a revelation to myself or to Reno, but had Lily Yu been open to mindspeech at that moment, you would be forsworn. I accept your intention to guard this secret, but doubt your ability to do so without training. Learn to think without any of your thoughts leaking into mindspeech. Lily Yu will be able to assist you in this, should you both survive the next few days. If you survive and she does not, come to me. I doubt I will be able to undertake your training myself due to the escalation of the war, but I will arrange for it.
“Escalation?” Isen said sharply. “Are you talking about something more than the destruction of FBI Headquarters and the nuclear bomb that killed Fa Deng?”
Those were the opening rounds in what I believe is a major assault.
“What?” Rule exclaimed. He wasn’t the only one.
You should know that I have brought Ruben Brooks into our discussion, as what I say next is of great import to the Shadow Unit. He will hear what I say, but I will only pass on to him those of your comments and questions I deem pertinent.
Originally I had planned to depart Earth in order to determine the origin of Tom Weng. That is now out of the question. The Enemy has been muddling the patterns for some time, making them extremely difficult to read. However, the level of turmoil in the patterns increased abruptly when she stole your young. That turmoil now surpasses her ability to fully mask her presence and plans.
Although much remains unclear, I can state three things with a fair degree of certainty. Note that I base this on what I see in the patterns here. With rare exceptions, I cannot reliably read the patterns in other realms. First, Lily Yu, Cynna Weaver, and Li Lei must be part of the party which transits to Dis. You had decided on this already; I merely confirm its wisdom. Second, the assault which I perceive in the patterns is ongoing, consisting of multiple strategic strikes and culminating in a major magical assault and an invasion. The nature of both the magical assault and the invasion remains murky, but the timing is reasonably clear. They will commence between eight hours and three days from now. Third, if I am not in this realm during this period, the United States and some portion of the rest of the continent will fall to the Enemy.
NINETEEN
IN the stunned silence that fell, Rule’s thoughts caromed and collided noisily like out-of-control billiard balls.
A major assault. That’s what Sam was talking about.
Smack!
The Great Bitch was not simply expecting them in Dis. She wanted them to come, had planned this to draw as many of them as she could away from Earth when she attacked.
Smack!
He would go anyway. His father would have to fight the war without him. His father, Ruben, and so many others.
And smack: Lily might be in as much danger here as she would be in Dis. There was no point to his crazy fear . . . and it was crazy, because he’d been trying to do the impossible: to protect himself from the possibility of her dying. And he couldn’t. It didn’t matter how much he needed her to live. It didn’t matter if her death would break him. If he broke, then he broke. He couldn’t prevent that, either.
A strange peace settled over him. Not certa, for there was no battle. Not yet. Fatalism? Deep inside, his wolf snorted at his need to find a word tag for everything.
His wolf. His wolf was present once more.
It was Lily who broke the silence—unsurprisingly, with a question. “What does Ruben say? Has he had a hunch?”
He is currently experiencing a vision. I judge it best not to interrupt.
“Well, hell.” That was Cynna.
Ruben seldom had visions. When he did, it meant major events were about to occur. World-changing events. Yet Rule’s newfound calm held. “Open warfare. That’s what you’re expecting, I think?”
I expect both overt and covert attacks to be part of the upcoming assault. I will confer now with Isen Turner, Arjenie Fox, and Ruben Brooks regarding preparations for the assault. The rest of you should not consider your mission to rescue your young as being apart from the war. The vast increase in the turmoil of the patterns suggests their capture is important to the Enemy’s plans. You should now speak with Reno about your objective. He goes with you.
Startled, Rule turned to look at the green dragon. What had compelled the dragon to volunteer? He was welcome—well, mostly welcome. A dragon was unlikely to place himself under Rule’s authority, but otherwise—
I no more place myself under your authority than you place yourself under mine, Rule Turner. That mental voice was as cold as Sam’s and sharp enough to slice glass—and somehow unmistakably not Sam’s. My reasons for making this transit are not your affair.
“You are wrong.” Madame Yu’s voice was very nearly as cold as the dragon’s. “I correct this. Reno comes because he was the mother of the last botched hatching. The one which led to the creation of dragon spawn.”
The green dragon’s reaction was sudden and alarming. His head shot forward, the great jaws gaping, then snapping—and while he was too far for those jaws to close on Madame, there was no mistaking the threat. For a long moment the old woman and the dragon stared at each other across forty feet, Madame Yu indomitably erect and smaller than the head of the beast she confronted. Finally she sniffed. “Had I not thought it necessary, I would not have done so,” she said, adding after a moment: “Tell them yourself.”
Surprisingly, he did. Parenthood is a private matter for dragons. It is extremely offensive for it to be spoken of openly. Do not assume that because I did not punish Li Lei that anyone else will be permitted a similar offense. I suggest that those of you who will accompany me approach more closely. Humans have difficulty heeding multiple conversations, and those who will remain here will be vocalizing their responses to the one you call Sam.
Rule glanced at Madame, a question in his raised brows.
“The one now calling himself Reno has a complicated attitude towards humans,” she told him. “Not a flattering attitude, on the whole, but we are not presently in danger from him.” With that, she started toward the green dragon.
Where she led, the rest of them must follow—though Benedict delayed briefly to say good-bye to his mate. Arjenie could not go with them, not when she was carrying new life. She understood this, but the way she clung to Benedict and he to her . . . understanding doesn’t erase pain.
Dragons smelled like hot metal and spice—warm spices like cinnamon and clove, black pepper and turmeric. They also smelled meaty, like the predators they were. As Rule drew near the small mountain of scaled coils that was Reno, the smell of a huge carnivore filled his nostrils and hit his hind brain, making his wolf snarl inside him. Sam’s scent no longer affected him this way, but Reno did not smell like Sam. His scent was new and Rule’s wolf did not like it.
He stopped ten feet from the nearest coil. Reno’s head was about as long as Rule was tall and more than two body lengths above him. Rule looked up at that head, but not at the eyes. Dragons ensorcelled with their gaze.
Lily stopped beside him, her head tilted back. “You’ve been poking at me. I don’t like it.”
I am taking preliminary measurements to pass
on to Byuset. The first node he examined is not suitable for a gate to Dis. The second one is. The topographical disruption is very slight and is in our favor coming from this side. Before he begins construction, however, he requires data on how much power and living mass will be transiting.
“There will be twenty-five of us,” Rule said. “Three squads under Benedict’s command plus Cullen, Cynna, Lilly, Max, Madame Yu, and myself. Benedict has been keeping track of the estimated weight of our supplies and equipment.”
Unless you plan to bring several tons of inert mass, weight will not be an issue. Simple mass is not a major determinant for a gate builder of Byuset’s skill. However, you will probably not be able to transit twenty-five beings in addition to myself. I explain further. None of you other than Li Lei know how to lock your power down so it will not interact with the gate, and power must be included in the calculations which determine the gate’s safe transit limits. Therefore—
“You’re doing the assume thing,” Cullen said, shaking his head. “I would’ve thought a being your age would know better.”
Do you claim to possess the ability to lock down your power?
“Not me. Not reliably anyway.” He looked at Cynna.
Cynna didn’t reply out loud, but a few seconds later Reno responded as if she’d spoken. Cynna Weaver, that technique should work if you are certain you can maintain it for at least thirty seconds.
“I can.”
Very well. I will subject all of you except Lily Yu to further testing in order to quantify your power in the manner used by the gnomes.
“Everyone but me?” Lily said, eyebrows raised.
As you suspect, the nature of your power renders it impossible to measure. Sam has supplied the gnomes with an estimate which he is confident will prove adequate for their purposes. I will now discuss mass. All living beings possess both simple mass and living mass, that which demons call üther. Living mass or üther is more difficult both to contain and to calculate. As none of us are able to perceive üther directly in the manner used by demons and the cat is unconscious—