“I need the chief first, Sylphie.”
She shook her head. “No, it is too late. Gabor says you must go.”
“What?”
The sprite covered her mouth, then her eyes, then her mouth again. Her whimper was like the tinkling of wind through chimes.
“Sylphie, what have they done?”
“Go, Shiloh. You need to live. Gabor says you must live.”
Rane leapt from Shiloh’s shoulder and grew in size, letting a roar blast the little sprite until her whole body shook.
“They are in the hall of windows,” she said, covering her head with paper-thin arms.
Shiloh mounted Rane’s back and they ran, Rane’s claws digging up the smooth marble floor, his haunches breaking through the door frames.
“Gabor!” Shiloh called out. But the Goblin was nowhere to be seen.
Gabor took her on purpose. He knew what they would do to her. He wanted to spare us, so we must spare him.
But Shiloh just pushed Rane on, until they were in the place they were forbidden to enter. At the urging of his rider, Rane ripped the doors down and bolted into the room with a roar.
The greys, all seven, sat at their windows on their plush velvet thrones. The room, circular and dizzying, was crowded with carvings and wall paintings. In the center, crumpled on the floor as if she were no more than a rug, no more regarded than a piece of furniture, was the dragon who once was chief of the reds.
The Accuser stood up, shook out the creases in his beaded gray robe. He gave a little smile, his gray gums framing pointed teeth.
“You have made this very easy for us, no-ir.” He walked over to Emaline’s corpse and nudged her arms with the toe of his immaculate slipper. She flopped over, as if her bones had all been crushed and removed piece by piece.
“She did not deserve to die. And certainly not like this.” Shiloh and Rane knew this. They knew it in their core. They knew it like they knew Cale and Ava were meant to live the day they met them. They knew because it was right.
Sirce ran a serpentine tongue over his lips before he spoke. His bloodshot eyes bulged as if they might burst. “You think we don’t welcome war? You think the blood and tears of your world don’t give to us new life? You think every war, every case of human suffering that has ever been recorded hasn’t come from these windows? We are here to save the world from itself. And if it means war, then war we shall wage.”
“You are here only to destroy what is good.”
His words were nearly garbled. They left his mouth like fumes of sulfur, bubbling over his shrewd lips. “I am here only to hate.”
Shiloh removed the whip from his belt. H braced his legs wide. “Then I must stop you.”
“You cannot, Shiloh Deathbringer.”
“I will try.”
Sirce stepped forward, his robe billowing about him as he lifted his scepter. His face changed, his pointed teeth revealed by his heinous expression—a sloshing of hate and the pure joy he felt when he poured that hate out to others. The white-flamed candles that lined the room surged as the grey summoned his might.
Shiloh knew there was no way he could survive. Not against a grey. But he charged anyway, he and Rane moving as one. Shiloh strengthened his grip on the whip, feeling the smooth leather through his gloves. He would do his best to wrap it around the grey’s throat. He would do his best to take his life from him.
Until, without warning, Sirce stopped. His hands lowered and his scepter fell to the ground. All at once, his face lost its elasticity, as if he was melting, unable to hold onto the younger version of himself. A thousand years of aging passed through his features. His skin drooped until it fell from his bones, his eyes drying and drying until they could not see.
Not one of the grey dragons moved to help him. Not one of them screamed in terror. They simply watched as Sirce became his true self, overcome with his own hate.
And then he was dust. Blown by the winds that shrieked through the open windows, windows that for a millennium had sent out terror into the world.
The Accuser…. Shioh could hardly speak. For though there was relief, there was trmebling and great fear. A grey judge, who could never die, was gone.
And before the candles went out, Ima stood, her manicured hands reaching down for Sirce’s fallen scepter. She measured the weight of it in her hands and then straightened her delicate shoulders. When she stepped forward, her sleek gown glided, and a slit revelead too much of her perfect legs.
“Prepare for war,” she said to Shiloh.
And before he and Rane turned, before they fled into the void, Shiloh thought he saw Ima smile.
Eighteen
Cops
The smooth cream walls were ridiculous. So were the leather couches and the subtle clouds of scented air that came from the air freshener.
Cale could hardly stand to be indoors. The world of people had never seemed more ordinary, more plain.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ava asked him.
“The ceiling fan is pissing me off.”
Ava glanced up at the fan. There was no nightfolk circling them from above. It turned nice and slow, just like it was supposed to. “I don’t know. Seems innocent enough.”
But Cale felt like he was overheating. “I want to rip it out and tear the blades off, one by one.” He sat in the O’Hara’s living room, glowering at the furniture.
“You can’t really be that mad at an appliance, Cale. Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
“No, thank you.”
“So it is something?”
“I hate the fan. Why do we have to keep talking about it?”
Ava walked away. She wasn’t going to beg him to talk to her.
Myra came down the stairs and handed Cale the phone. She was still staring at Ava. Everyone was still staring at Ava. The neighbors, the mailman. Every person who saw her on their walk to the O’Hara house couldn’t stop staring.
Do I really look that different? Ava wondered. She stood against the wall, consciously aware of the effort it took to keep her wings from showing. It created a ripping sensation in her back, even though her will was strong enough to hide them.
“Cale?” Karma’s voice was sharp on the phone.
“Mom? What’s wrong?” Cale didn’t catch his mistake. He should have called her Karma instead.
“There are policemen here. They say they need to take Ava into child protective services.”
Cale covered the mouth of the phone so he could curse. “Tell them you don’t know where she is.”
“Well, of course I’ve done that, Cale. I’m not stupid. They still won’t leave. Apparently, Ava’s foster father has claimed she’s been kidnapped. They threatened to take us into custody if we impede their investigation.”
“I really don’t have time for little human problems right now,” he shouted. “Just make them leave.”
Karma was silent for a second, thinking. “Are you in danger?”
“Everyone is in danger. And Shiloh and Emaline aren’t back yet. And Ava is….” He rubbed his temple. “Forget it. We’re coming.”
“Seriously?” Ava said. She would have crossed her arms if it didn’t hurt to move them. “Ava is what?”
Cale thought his brain would explode in his skull. “Ava, I didn’t mean anything by that. This is just…stressful.”
She chewed on her lip. “Sorry I stressed you out, then. I was just trying to—”
“I know, Ava.”
“Well, you’re shouting at fans, and I know you really want to shout at me. So why don’t you just do it?”
He rubbed his eyes. “Because you’re the perfect rothai, Ava, and I have to live the rest of my life feeling guilty that you did this for me.”
“Fine.”
Cale stood. “Fine.”
“Wait,” Myra said, interrupting the tension. She reached behind the counter and brought out an envelope. “Ava, you got a letter.”
Ava turned it over in her hands. It was crisp,
as if it had been soaked with seawater and left out to dry in the sun. She squinted at the scrawl and the lack of an address. “This is from Cameron,” she said to Myra.
Myra shrugged. “It’s not for me. So I don’t care who it’s from.”
“That’s not true,” Ava said as she tore it open. “We all know you care.”
“It will be true,” Myra said. She opened a bottle of strong drink and took a swig.
“Why is it addressed to me? I don’t want it,” Ava asked, trying to hand the letter to Cale.
But he put his hands up. “If it’s for you, it’s for you.”
So she opened it, stepping away so she could read it on her own. Cameron’s script was rushed, which wasn’t like him, but she could still make it out.
Cale tried not to stare at her as she read it, her eyes shimmering as they scanned the page. Then she folded the letter back up and ripped it.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“No.”
He walked over to Ava. “No? What’s wrong?”
“The moon.”
Cale ran his hands over his face until he realized they were filthy. Then, he realized all of him was filthy. He couldn’t remember the last time he took a shower or slept in a bed that belonged to him or had a meal with people who made him laugh. “Ava…use more words, for god’s sake. Why is Cameron writing to you about the moon?”
“The moon is threatening to shift. Which means—”
Cale stood up fast. “Wait, what? The moon can’t move. The whole planet will flood.”
Ava nodded. “And people—human people—are fighting, starting their own wars. Volcanos are active that have been dormant for years. Stuff like that.”
Myra hiccupped into her bottle. “The world is falling apart.”
“Apparently Cameron has his team studying the developments. Don’t know why he thought I should know.” She looked at Cale and wondered if he knew she was lying.
He stared at her as if he did.
“We…um…should go. The police—” And she headed to the door without bothering to finish her own sentence.
Cale stopped and walked back over to Myra. He took her bottle from her, leaned down to where she sat on the couch, and left a little kiss on her forehead.
“He’s still in love with you, Myra.”
She chipped the black paint off her fingernails. “I know.”
“Don’t give up.”
She met his eyes, and she didn’t look weepy or broken. She looked tired. “You don’t give up either.”
“I don’t know, Myra. I’ve never been mad at her before.”
Myra nodded, thinking. “Well, we wouldn’t be angry if we didn’t love them, Cale.”
“You think I love her?”
Myra laughed at him. “You’re crazy in love with Ava, Cale. I know you know that.”
“So what do I do now?”
She ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “Tell her.”
Tell her? He couldn’t even look at her without wanting to tear the world apart. Cale sighed, equal parts tired and angry as he headed out the door.
Outside of the Anders house, Ava and Cale stopped. “What do you want to do?” Cale asked.
“I’ll leave it up to you.”
“Okay, then. I’m going to break something.”
She shrugged. “I figured.”
He didn’t hesitate as he rammed his foot into his parents’ front door.
The lock splintered and the occupants stood, Rory and Mac unsheathing their dragonblades out of instinct. The police officers waiting in the living room drew their guns, because, out of nowhere the gentle, perfectly ordinary occupants of the house were wieliding weapons.
But Ava barely had to think to knock the guns out of their hands. She summoned her will, and the guns vanished.
“Change,” Ava said.
Cale roared a flame so wild it caught the sofa on fire. And though he was a dragon, like he was supposed to be, his coat had darkened, the fine red and blue scales glossed in a veiled black. He charged, pinning one of the officers to the ground.
Ava let herself go as well. Her wings took over, spreading from between her shoulder blades, ruining her shirt and invoking shrieks from the policemen.
But it wasn’t just the wings. It was the way she rose up, the dark that spilled from her and the swirling flash of her eyes.
“Hear me when I say…if you want your lives, you will forget the name Ava Johnson,” she said, and her voice pierced them.
When Cale let them up, they stumbled away, abandoning their hubris behind them.
Mac pocketed his dragonblade as he stared in awe at Ava. “My god.”
“I really don’t have time for a disapproving speech right now, Mac,” Cale said. He’d found clothes in his old room. The family hardly noticed he had left. Not while they looked to Ava.
“I wasn’t going to give one,” Mac said, tearing his eyes away.
While they stared each other down, Rory left the room and fetched the fire extinguisher for the flaming sofa.
“Emaline told me to make my peace before the war begins,” Cale said. “I’d like to do that now.”
Mac nodded, inwardly barcing himself, while outwardly, his broad shoulders and thick jaw didn’t budge.
Cale’s eyes were hard as he began. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. And you were right. I shouldn’t have done what I did. I shouldn’t have forced a pact that wasn’t supposed to be made.”
Ava couldn’t believe what she was hearing. There was no way to process it. But everything she’d held on to, the things she thought were true above all else, unraveled a Cale spoke.
“I made it work because I was selfish. I knew there would never be anyone in the world—not in all of history—like Ava. And when my core burned for her, I couldn’t resist.
“My selfishness hurt her. And even though I’ll be here with her for a few dozen years, one day I’ll die. And she’ll live on…she’ll live on in pain for an eternity, because I wanted her.”
Cale closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists so tight that they shook. “The worst part? I still want her. She shouldn’t have done it, but I’m glad she did. What kind of dragon does that make me?” He opened his eyes and looked at the man who used to be his father. “You were right. I don’t deserve to be Ava’s dragon. I don’t deserve to fly. I don’t deserve to be your son.”
Mac took a step toward him. “Cale—”
“No,” Cale interrupted. “Don’t.” He turned to Ava, who was trying her best to shrink into the background as she hugged her shirt and busted bra over herself. “Ava, let’s go get the others and take them to Great Nest,” he said, his teeth clenched. “War is coming.”
Nineteen
Tight
Peru sang to the night. The crickets lent their music, and the stars danced to the sway of it all. The village of Chimbote slept, rocked by the occoassional cluck of a drowsy hen and the creaking of floorboards beneath the weight of tin roofs.
Pendulus sat across from the old man, his boots crossed, Meel in his satchel fast asleep.
“Your fire is burning out,” he said.
Santiago grunted, a blade of wheat between his gruff lips. His chair groaned as he rocked back on it.
“Should I get more wood?” Pendulus asked.
Santiago glared over at the no-ir rider. “You should let the fire have a turn to speak.”
Pendulus nodded, staring at the flame, but not seeing all the things the old man saw.
“I am used to silence. We were forced to be quiet for long periods of time in the sky dungeons. Once, Shiloh said not one word for an entire year. But he is much better at it than I am.”
“Perhaps you should practice.”
“No. I’m tired of being so quiet all the time. It’s nice to hear the sound of my own voice.”
Santiago flicked his wheat into the fire and let it crackle. Then he spit into it for good measure, and the flame roared back to life.
&nb
sp; Pendulus heard Juliette rolling over in the room that used to be Santiago’s. The little house wasn’t large enough for all of them, but they made it work anyway. Even Santiago’s granddaughter, Lena, had come to visit with her little dragonling. The girl would help with the birth when Juliette was ready.
“You think Shiloh will come back in time?” Pendulus asked. He knew nothing about red dragon babies. He’d seen a few black dragon births, but they had been revolting occurances, the babies writhing around in the remains of a rotting black dragon corpse before they clawed their way to life. And moments later, they were strong enough to be sorted. The weak—the weak like he and Meel—would be left to starve to death in the cold of the birthing grounds.
“Seems like he won’t make it. She will be ready soon,” Santiago said plainly. “Her sleep is restless.”
“Will it be a quick affair?”
Santiago scowled at him as if he was stupid. “No, it will not be quick. But Lena will help. And the woman you brought—the human—she will help too.”
“And what will we do?”
“We will stay quiet.”
“Alright.” Pendulus swallowed. “For how long?”
Santiago grunted even louder as he stood, leaving his chair unoccupied. He closed the lopsided door behind him, off to build his own fire on the beach.
“Pendulus.”
He jumped to his feet at the sound of Shiloh’s voice, though Meel did not so much as stir. “You have returned!” The two of them didn’t embrace, but Pendulus wanted to shout even louder. “Something is happening. I feel the others coming near to us now that you are here.”
“They come for us, Pendulus. Do not travel the void. It will only lead them right to us.” Shiloh didn’t bother catching his breath. “Juliette?”
“Juliette is still with child. You are not too late.”
“Where is she?” He wasted no time waiting for an answer, and instead hurried to the first door he saw and pulled it off its hinges.
Pendulus paced a while, then sat back down on his chair and tried to stare into the fire once more. He sprang to his feet at the sound of the front door creaking open.
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