“We’ve found the crucible,” Jeff said, his voice crackling in our ears. “Going to destroy it!”
They were a moment too late.
Sorcha kindled the magic. Thick swirls of sickly green power began to compose themselves in the air, spinning and blossoming, and obscuring her completely behind them. The air filled with the chemical scents of the city.
Mallory shuddered. “No,” she said. “No, no, no, no, no!”
“Get out of there!” called a voice over the communicator.
“I’m here, right here,” I said, and she curled into me. “You’re stronger than she is. Never gonna run around and desert you!”
“Merit!”
“Here!” I called out, leading Catcher and Ethan to us. They scrambled up the side of the hill.
“Sorcha’s been draining Mallory,” I said as Catcher lifted her into his arms.
Ethan offered a hand, helped pull me to my feet. “I’m okay,” I said. “Just a little unsteady.” The earth shuddered, sending ripples across the lagoon’s surface. “And that is not helping.”
“To the evac point!” Ethan yelled, as another concussion shook us, and the cloud of smoke and magic blossomed larger yet.
Catcher scrambled down the hill, snow flying as he tried to keep his balance. We followed suit, hands linked together, my vision not quite focused, and slipping every few feet in snow that was becoming slushier.
A hot and hazy wind blew across the island, carrying the scents of sulfur and smoke, and warming the air by at least twenty degrees. Cracks echoed across the island as the ice in Burnham Harbor began to split with the sudden temperature increase.
“The snow and ice are melting!” I said. “Be careful!”
We made it back to the looping trail around the lagoon when a sound cut through the darkness, something hard and sharp, a blade meeting stone, that sound bouncing against the city’s glass and steel and echoing back again.
It was loud. It was close. And it sounded very, very angry.
It screamed again, and we clapped our hands over our ears, but the scream still pierced through, furious and cutting. The sound wrapped claws around my heart and squeezed, and for a moment I couldn’t find my breath.
Sorcha had made a monster of the Egregore. And her monster was coming for us.
“I hope to God that is Chris Pratt riding a velociraptor,” Catcher said.
“I don’t think we’re that lucky,” I said.
“I honestly wouldn’t be surprised to see the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse right now,” Ethan said, gripping my hand with steel force.
There were two more pounding concussions. And one more minute of silence—the horrible silence of anticipation, the blissful silence of not yet knowing what monster awaited us.
The ground shook as it lifted off the hilltop, screaming furiously.
It moved on four legs, had a long and serpentine neck, was covered in gleaming black scales. Or I thought they were black. They were so dark it was hard to discern a color, but they gleamed in a shimmering rainbow of luminescence that shifted as the creature moved.
Its wings were thin and veined, mottled dark and red, with claws at the ends of the supporting bones. Its body ended in a long, whiplike tail, and steam rose from its length like it had ascended directly from the depths of hell. Its tongue, long and black, was forked like a swallow’s tail.
I stared at it, my brain trying to catch up with my eyes, trying to process what I was seeing.
Catcher got there faster than I did.
“Holy shit,” he said. “She made a dragon.”
• • •
There was no breathing of fire, at least as far as we could see. No medieval maidens in pointed caps, no armor-wearing knights. But the thing Sorcha created sure looked like a dragon.
We just stared at it, trying to comprehend what we were seeing.
“Get them!” Sorcha screamed.
Like a newborn fawn still getting used to its feet, the dragon lumbered forward, tripped on the curb, crumpled. It stood again on wobbling feet and stretched its wings, flapping them awkwardly and out of rhythm, still learning the syncopation of flying.
The hollow sound of an outboard motor drew our attention, and we all turned around. Jonah steered a boat to the south end of the island, negotiating through slabs of ice. He sent waves over the shore as he moved in, then gestured us forward. “Let’s go!”
“That’s our ride!” Catcher said. “Run!”
“Get everyone off the island,” Ethan yelled into his comm as we ran. “She manifested the Egregore into a dragon. Yes, I said dragon,” he repeated, in case anyone hadn’t yet seen the monster flapping its way across Northerly Island.
We hauled ass toward the boat, splashed through mud at the shoreline, and climbed into the boat.
“Where am I going?” Jonah asked.
“Back to shore,” Ethan said. “And step on it.”
• • •
Jonah steered back into the harbor, moving as quickly as he could through the chunks of ice that still floated in the water, ignoring the NO WAKE signs and sending the other boats swaying.
It had become suddenly and swampily August. I pulled off my jacket, stuffed it beneath my seat.
“What the hell was that?” Jonah asked.
“Dragon,” Catcher said. “She made a damned dragon.”
“Quit saying that,” Mallory snapped, lifting her head from Catcher’s shoulder. “Dragons aren’t real.”
“I’m pretty sure that was a dragon,” I said.
“Dragons aren’t real,” Mallory insisted, gaze narrowing at me. “It is absolutely not a dragon.”
“You can call it a fluffy bunny if that makes you feel better,” Catcher said. “But it’s not gonna change what we just saw.”
“Dragons aren’t real,” Mallory said again. “Also, batteries just about . . .” Her eyes rolled back.
Catcher caught her before she could hit the deck. “Empty,” he finished.
The dragon lifted, wings sending snow and ice and mud into the air, and went airborne, made it forty yards before touching down again, scrambling for another running start.
“Advantage,” Catcher said. “It’s not great at being a dragon.”
It tried again, this time made it to the top of the planetarium. The dome burst as the dragon settled atop it, talons grabbing at the steel structure between the panels. It had to work to stay balanced, and flapped its wings for support, their tips slamming against the dome and sending more glass shattering.
“Although that may not matter,” Catcher said.
“At least we know which form she picked,” I said. “Maybe we can use that—look through the Danzig, see if Portnoy left us some clue about taking it out.”
Jonah pulled up to the dock. Ethan jumped out first, took the rope Jonah offered him, tied up the boat. We all scrambled out of the boat, Mallory in Catcher’s arms, and ran back toward Solidarity Drive, the street that bisected the peninsula, toward the aquarium and Northerly Island.
We reached the street, found the Ombudsman’s van and a mess of people running away from the aquarium—probably the skeleton crew who’d stayed behind to care for the wildlife.
Luc, Lindsey, Juliet, and Red Guard members in their Midnight High School T-shirts were hustling people off the peninsula and into the city, including a limping Baumgartner, who’d given up any pretense of helping out.
“What the hell happened?” Jeff asked, running toward us.
“Simpson,” I said. “She got a wild hare and threw a fireball at Sorcha, which broke the concealment spell. Oh, and then Sorcha manifested the Egregore into a dragon.”
“You all right, Mal?” he asked, tilting his head at her.
“Sorcha’s been stealing her magic,” I said as Catcher handed her off to Jeff. “Get her into
the van, and keep her there until we’re done.”
Jeff didn’t bother to answer, just nodded and ran back toward the van.
I looked at the sky, my watch, calculated we had half an hour before the sun rose and we were all fried to a crisp.
The dragon launched again, this time managed to stay airborne on the flight between the planetarium and Shedd Aquarium. As it landed, I could just make out the silhouette of Sorcha on its back, planted at the base of its neck like a cowboy, her blond hair flying.
The dragon landed atop the aquarium’s pointed dome, sending tiles streaming down the sides, where they crashed on the ground.
And then it turned our way.
“I got this,” Catcher said, pulling in enough power to make sparks fly across his skin. “Come at me, you asshole.”
It pushed off, buckling the dome and sending stone and steel flying. Water splashed into the air as it burst the tanks below. The dragon shrieked and trained its reptilian eyes on us, squawking as it dipped into a deep descent.
After a moment, Catcher held out his hand, the blue spark glowing into an orb. He wound up, pitched it forward, and it streaked like a star across the night. It hit the dragon’s driver’s side haunch. But instead of wounding him, digging into scales and flesh, it rebounded at an angle, launching back at us nearly as quickly as he’d thrown it.
“Hit the deck!” Catcher yelled, dragging the hem of my shirt to pull me to the ground.
The fireball flew above our heads, exploded behind us. We looked up at the smoke pouring from a window in the aquarium building.
“Shit,” Catcher said. “I guess that’s not going to work.”
“What the hell happened?” I asked.
“The scales are reflective,” Catcher said. “Magic bounces off.”
It may not have been hurt, but the fireball didn’t do anything for its attitude, either. YOU CANNOT HURT ME.
It was less a sound than a rumbling in the air, a deep bass note somehow split into words that we could understand.
“Holy shit,” Lindsey said, staring openmouthed at the flying lizard that was circling above us, looking for a spot to land. “Tell me someone else heard that.”
“Say hello to the Egregore,” Ethan said, and glanced at Catcher. “What do we do now?”
“Maybe we can’t hurt the dragon with fireballs,” Catcher said. “But we can hurt the rider.”
I could tell he was getting tired. His form wasn’t as good, his shots not quite on target. But the dragon, even if protected from the fire, was skittish enough. It shrieked at the exploding sparks, turned directly into one of Catcher’s blasts.
The shot hit Sorcha in the leg, and she screamed in furious pain. The dragon screamed with her, and we covered our ears at the horrible, grating sound. Then it flapped its wings, lifted into the air, and disappeared into fading darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SCALES OF JUSTICE
We’d rushed the dawn, made it back to the House in time to seal the door before sunlight speared across the yard.
We woke to find the city had thawed, and no reports of further delusions, at least according to the Tribune. On the other hand, in addition to temporarily freezing the city, Sorcha had killed a sorcerer. She’d created a dragon that had killed two humans and injured five downtown, not to mention the near destruction of two of the city’s favorite buildings.
We hadn’t managed to do anything but goad Sorcha into finishing what she’d intended to do all along—create her brand-new flying weapon.
Ethan’s office at dusk looked like the losing team’s locker room. No smiles or champagne. Just supernaturals, blood, black coffee, and dour expressions.
“Well,” my grandfather said from the doorway, “this is a rather grim room.” Jeff walked in behind him in an Ombudsman T-shirt.
I looked up from my spot on the floor, where I’d been cleaning my sword with oil and rice paper. Sorcha’s magic had done a number on it.
“We’re feeling sorry for ourselves,” Mallory said from the couch, where she lay with her feet in Catcher’s lap.
“Because?”
“Check the papers,” Mallory said.
“I’ll agree last night was not what you’d call a victory,” my grandfather said, taking a seat in one of the club chairs in the sitting area.
“Drink, Chuck?” Jeff asked, then glanced at Ethan, gestured to the fridge in Ethan’s bookshelf. Ethan, who’d been reviewing contracts at the conference table, nodded, walked toward us.
“Water would be appreciated,” my grandfather said. “It’s gotten sticky out there. So much humidity.” He took a long look at Mallory. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” she said, and held up her wrist, where she’d tied on what looked like a friendship bracelet with a small gold charm.
“Ward,” she said. “Not unlike Merit’s apotrope. Keeps the bad juju away.”
“Keeps Sorcha from draining any more of her magic,” Catcher said. “Although it will be a while before she’s in top form again.”
Mallory gestured to the green drink on the coffee table. “And in the meantime, he’s making me drink grass clippings.”
Catcher rolled his eyes. “It’s kale, and it’s good for you.”
“I don’t see how it could be,” she said, and I grimaced on her behalf. It did look like grass clippings.
“Any signs of the dragon?” Ethan asked, as Jeff took a bottle of water out of the fridge, brought it to my grandfather.
“No,” my grandfather said. “There’ve been patrols across the city. No sight of it here, or in Wisconsin, Michigan, Indiana. They’re running patrols across Lake Michigan, and there are copters in the air over the city.”
“She’ll bring it back,” Catcher said.
“Undoubtedly,” my grandfather said, uncapping the water and taking a long sip. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. “Let’s debrief,” he said, and we walked him through what we’d seen on Northerly Island.
“You think you were there so she could use your power?” my grandfather asked Mallory.
Mallory nodded. “Even with the power sink, she didn’t think she had enough power to manifest the Egregore.” She looked at me, eyes full of emotion. “And Merit was the incentive in case I didn’t play ball.”
I nodded. “She was working that theft magic pretty hard last night.”
She paused, blinked, then looked at me. “Did you Rick-Roll me?”
“Yeah,” I said. “To block out some of her chanting. You were sweating it out pretty bad. Did it help?”
She considered. “I think, yeah, a little.”
“Then sorry, not sorry.”
“So she gathered up all that energy, and waited for her moment to give the Egregore physical form—to manifest it into the dragon,” my grandfather said.
“Yeppers,” Mallory said.
“Magical Trojan horse to Egregore,” Ethan said. “And Egregore to dragon.”
“Pretty much,” Mallory said.
“And the dragon,” my grandfather said. “What do we know about it?”
“At the moment, not much,” Mallory said. “We know it’s theoretically under her command.”
“Theoretically?” my grandfather asked, and worry came into his eyes.
“It’s a monster created from the collective unconsciousnesses of lots of Chicagoans. It’s angry and ornery, and she finished the magic in a hurry. I’d say it’s unpredictable, at the least.”
“So we have a dragon in Chicago, and a rider with an attitude,” my grandfather said.
“It’s a shitty time to be a Chicagoan,” I said. “But a great time to be a medieval scholar.”
They all looked at me. “I’m just saying,” I said, and hunched my shoulders a little. “We read manuscripts about dragons—fearing them, fighting them. The
re are dragons painted in the margins, gilded with gold. Dragons everywhere. You work assuming they’re fictional, trying to figure out what they represent. Turns out, they may not be so fictional.”
Ethan smiled. “You’ve been fighting monsters for more than a year, and you only just thought of that?”
“I’ve had my mind on other things,” I pointed out. “Including those monsters I’ve been fighting.”
“And speaking of manuscripts and fighting,” my grandfather said, looking at Mallory, “I don’t suppose your manuscript has anything to offer?”
“If Portnoy wrote about how to deal with a rampaging Egregore,” Mallory said, frustration souring in her voice, “we haven’t found it yet. Maybe that’s because it’s not in there; maybe it’s because we haven’t arranged the damn foldout pages in the damn right positions to trigger the damn magic. Screw Portnoy.” She pointed her index finger in the air angrily, like she could stab it into his chest. “Screw him and his manuscript.”
“And Sorcha,” Jeff said.
“And screw Sorcha!” Mallory agreed, pointing again.
“Have more lawn clippings,” Catcher said, handing her the drink. “You’re getting hangry again.”
She just growled.
“Although I don’t disagree with the sentiment,” Ethan said, walking over to squeeze Mallory’s shoulder, “we’ve got the complete text now, and two of the best damn sorcerers in the country, if not the world. You can do it, and we are at your disposal.”
It was the Master in him, the leader in him, that filled his voice with confidence. And I hoped he was right.
“In the meantime,” my grandfather said, “is there any chance we can reason with it?” It was precisely the kind of tack he’d prefer. “It can think, communicate, right?”
“We can talk to it,” Catcher said. “But can we change its mind? That seems unlikely, especially if she’s got power over it.”
“And we know the fireball juju doesn’t work,” I said. “So what will?”
“The world’s largest bear trap?” Mallory asked. “Extra-large elephant gun? Freeze ray?”