The flashes again; the enchanted scroll case smashing into Chameleon’s face, the blood flying. The power tingling in Turtle’s claws. The power to punish those who deserved punishing. The power to cause violence with a twitch of one talon.
No. No, no, no, that’s not me.
“Plus what if he actually is good?” he hurried on, pushing the images away. “Winter’s not the only one who thinks so — Peril does and I think Moon does, too. Then it would be really wrong to kill him. So then I wondered if I should do something to protect Anemone from him, right? Just in case? But I don’t want to do anything he might notice. You know? That’s the most important thing. I don’t want him to suspect there’s another animus out here. Just in case he’s evil. I don’t want him to have any clues that I exist.”
He shifted his tail, thinking of all the heroes his mother had ever written about, and how none of them would have ever said anything like that.
“I understand,” said Qibli. He took a deep breath. “This is something small. I was hoping you could tell me if there’s a spell on me.”
“On you?” Turtle said, startled.
“Remember that little fight I just had with Winter?” Qibli said wryly. “Applies to me, too. The thing that bothers me is, I like Darkstalker. He’s funny and charming and he does seem helpful and he acts like I’m an important, valuable dragon. Why aren’t I more suspicious? I can think logically of all these doubts and worries, but none of them seem to change the way I feel. And that makes me crazy, because I’ve always trusted my mind to figure things out for me when my gut is wrong.”
“All right,” said Turtle. “But the spell might not be on you. It might be on something else, like the earring Darkstalker is wearing, and it might apply to everyone around him.”
Qibli frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He tapped his claws. “Then what else can we do? Could you —” He hesitated. “You probably wouldn’t want to do this.”
“What?”
Qibli traced a crack in the cave wall with one of his claws. “Could … could you turn me into an animus dragon, too?”
Turtle’s stomach gave a guilty lurch. “I shouldn’t,” he said. “You wouldn’t want that. You think you do, but you really don’t.”
“I’d be careful,” Qibli insisted. “I’d protect my soul first thing, I promise. For my very first spell, I’d enchant something to make sure my soul was always good, or that I always made the kind and right choice that helped the most dragons. Doesn’t that make sense?” He looked down at his claws. “That’s what I would have done with Darkstalker’s scroll, too. In case you were wondering.”
Turtle remembered the fight Winter and Qibli had had, over who could keep Darkstalker’s scroll and use it for themselves. It had scared him — but not as much as Darkstalker did. What would the world look like if either Winter or Qibli now had all this power instead?
“I believe you,” he said, “but I still don’t think it’s a good idea.” Making him an animus would put Qibli in danger in too many ways. Turtle would always feel responsible for whatever happened to him.
“Sure, that’s all right,” Qibli said quickly. “Sorry I asked. I’d probably feel weird about making more animus dragons if I were one, too.”
“It’s not —” Turtle started. “I mean, it’s not you. I’m not trying to —”
“Don’t worry about it,” Qibli said, fiddling with his earring. “Maybe something else would make more sense anyway. Can you make me immune to animus spells?”
It was strange to be discussing his power openly with another dragon. Strange to be taking someone’s advice, and to know that the other dragon would never be able to stop wanting things from him, even if it was a friend like Qibli.
“All animus spells?” asked Turtle. “Are you sure? I mean, some spells are good, aren’t they? Like my healing rock, or the dreamvisitors — being immune means those wouldn’t work on you anymore. And if you’re completely immune, then an animus couldn’t even change you back if you changed your mind.”
“That’s true,” said Qibli. “What if you just made me immune to Darkstalker’s spells, then?”
“Don’t you think he’d notice?” Turtle fretted. “If he suddenly couldn’t control you, or he tried to cast a spell and you didn’t react … he’d get really suspicious, wouldn’t he?”
“I’ll take that risk,” Qibli said. He tapped his claws against the floor in a nervous drumbeat rhythm. “As long as he can’t use magic against me, I can handle anything else he does.”
“Oh,” Turtle said, feeling like even more of an inchworm. “I meant — yes, of course, suspicious of you, too, but then he’d know it’s a spell, and that could lead him to me. Which … I guess I’m not sure I can handle anything else he does.”
Qibli picked up a scroll that had rolled across the cavern and tucked it back into one of the racks by the door. “You are some kind of worrying expert, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Turtle said, his wings drooping. “I’m sorry. I like to think through everything as much as possible before making any big decisions.”
“That’s all right,” Qibli reassured him. “It’s smart. As long as you can also make decisions even when there’s not enough time to think about them.”
Turtle didn’t like that idea. It gave him a scrunching feeling in his chest.
“Listen, Turtle, it’s your magic. You’re the boss of whether you want to use it. But I look at Winter and I think, that is NOT the normal behavior of Her Majesty Queen Glacier’s nephew. And then I think, what about me? What if I’m acting like a hallucinating sunbaked lizard and I have no idea?”
“You seem normal to me,” Turtle said. “Does that help?”
Qibli shrugged and turned away, rolling up another scroll. “I need to know my mind is my own. That’s all. It’s all I have. No superpowers, no firescales, no royal family. Just me and my brain, if it’s working.”
I am the lowest of cowards. How can I say no to the one dragon who’s still willing to think twice about Darkstalker? To my friend, who needs protection?
“I’ll do it,” Turtle said. “Of course I will. Immune to Darkstalker’s spells — that’s what you want?”
“Really?” Qibli said, his face alight. “Yes! That would be amazing. Here, enchant my earring.” He took it off and dropped the small gold and amber earring into Turtle’s palm. “Do you know what you’re going to say? Want me to write down some ideas?” He seized a scroll and a pot of ink before Turtle could answer and started scribbling on a blank corner.
“If this works,” he went on, “we could do a spell like this for Winter, too, couldn’t we?”
“Sure,” Turtle said uncomfortably. Here I go again. Helping my friends, which could mean getting noticed, which will surely lead to getting caught and slowly dismembered by a giant nightmare dragon from the past.
There weren’t any stories in the scrolls like this. He didn’t know quite what role Qibli saw Turtle playing. Helpful wizard? Those often died by the end, too. Or maybe in Qibli’s story, Turtle was the enchanted fish who granted three wishes if you caught him. You’ve got two left, Qibli, Turtle thought wryly. Then I think I turn your nose into a sausage and escape back into the sea.
“Wait,” Qibli said, lifting his ink-stained claw from the scroll. “Have you made something to protect your soul yet?”
“Um … no,” Turtle said. “I mean, I think it’s fine.”
“You should do that first,” Qibli said. He started absentmindedly drawing a series of concentric circles around the words he’d written on the scroll. “Something like what Darkstalker and Anemone have. That’s more important than this.”
“Let’s do this first,” Turtle said, reaching for the scroll. “Since it’s all ready to go. It could take me all night to decide how to do the soul spell.” He tried to return Qibli’s grin.
“If you’re sure …” Qibli said. “And you’re feeling totally nonviolent …”
Turtle read the words carefully a
few times, then focused on the small amber teardrop in his palm, glowing like sunlight against the dark green. “Enchant this earring to make the wearer immune to any spell Darkstalker has cast or will cast, whether past, present or future.”
Qibli inspected the earring like a poorly drawn map, then picked it up between two claws to squint at it. “I thought it would get all sparkly or something,” he said.
“See if it makes you feel any different,” Turtle suggested.
The SandWing slipped it back through the hole in his ear and blinked a few times. “Huh,” he said. “I think so.”
“You think so?” Turtle echoed, somewhat disappointed. If he was going to use his magic, he wanted it to make a big obvious cool helpful difference.
Qibli started pacing, tipping his head from side to side as though he was resettling everything inside his skull. “Let’s see. I still think Darkstalker is funny and charming. But I definitely feel more anxious about that. There was this calm trusting feeling I had before, and that’s vanished.”
“Could be a coincidence,” Turtle observed. “Like, all psychological.”
“No.” Qibli stopped in front of him and met Turtle’s eyes. “I feel like my mind and my instincts are linked up again. Which is really important to me. Thank you.”
“Hmm,” Turtle said. This didn’t seem like a particularly useful use of his magic, honestly. He guessed Qibli hadn’t been under a spell at all. Darkstalker was charming and convincing enough to win everyone over without magic.
“I can help you figure out your soul spell!” Qibli offered. “I know how I’d phrase mine, if I could protect my soul with magic.”
“You’ve thought about it that much?” asked Turtle. “When have you ever had to worry about your soul? Aren’t you one of those naturally heroic dragons?”
Qibli let out a startled laugh. “No way,” he said. “I grew up in the Scorpion Den, remember? I was stealing before I could fly. My mother was an assassin who tried to teach me garroting and poisons instead of reading and writing. I’ve done lots of bad things, and the problem is, I know I’d do more if it was for — for, um, Queen Thorn.”
“I guess I could make you a soul spell, too,” Turtle offered, trying to hide his reluctance. What was wrong with him? Darkstalker was giving out powers all over the place, helping other dragons he barely knew. Why couldn’t Turtle be equally willing to share with his closest friends?
Was it just that he was afraid of being exposed? Or was he worried about how the magic might affect his friends?
“Thanks,” Qibli said, pinning down the scroll he’d been writing on. “But let’s make sure yours is safe first.”
Maybe that’s it, Turtle thought anxiously. Maybe my soul isn’t as fine as I think it is. Maybe using my magic has made me selfish and a terrible friend.
Qibli blew a small flame on the corner where he’d written the first spell. As it burned away, he checked the other side of the scroll and made a face.
“I probably shouldn’t have used my history reading for this,” he said. “Well, too late now! It was really boring anyway. All right, one soul spell, coming right —”
A sudden thud from above shook the caves. Qibli and Turtle looked up, then at each other as more thuds followed, and then the scraping of scales and claws against rock echoed down the tunnels.
“What is —” Qibli started toward the door, but before he could get there, black scales blotted out the fire globes and Darkstalker was squeezing his head and shoulders through the narrow space to peer into Qibli’s room.
Turtle scrambled to the back wall, as far away as he could get. Why is he here? WHY IS HE HERE? It took all his willpower not to close his eyes and curl up completely. He stood perfectly still as Darkstalker’s sharp gaze scoured the cave.
“That looks uncomfortable,” Qibli said to Darkstalker in a friendly voice. “I can’t believe you squashed yourself into our tunnels.”
“Not a problem,” Darkstalker said, a bit breathlessly. “I’m surprisingly squishy.” He grinned at Qibli, but there was something a little forced about his smile. “This is your cave? I thought it might be Anemone’s. What were you just doing in here?”
“Looking at scrolls,” Qibli said, waving at the ripples of paper that covered his sleeping ledge. “Trying to figure out if I should bother studying. Accidentally setting history on fire. The usual.” He waved at the thin trail of smoke that was still rising from the scroll on the floor.
Darkstalker studied each outcropping, each shadow with such slicing intensity that Turtle was sure he’d be seen, and not just seen, but peeled and flayed from horns to tail by those searching eyes.
“Is something wrong?” Qibli asked.
“Was Anemone in here a moment ago?” Darkstalker asked.
“No,” Qibli said cautiously. “I haven’t seen her.”
“Are you sure?” Darkstalker demanded. “Or maybe passing by? She might have been talking to herself or doing something unusual?”
A lightning bolt of fear scorched through Turtle’s body.
The spell on Qibli’s earring. Darkstalker showing up only moments later, asking about Anemone.
He was looking for the source of a spell. Somehow he knew magic had happened here, and he came immediately to find out what Anemone was up to.
Darkstalker’s given himself the power to sense animus magic.
If Darkstalker can tell when an animus casts a spell, Turtle realized, his heart floundering wildly around in his chest, then I can never use my magic again.
Turtle couldn’t tell from Qibli’s expression whether he’d figured it out as well. But then Qibli said, “Oh, Anemone — yeah, she might have gone by a little while ago. I’m not totally sure,” and Turtle knew that he must have made the same connections.
“Interesting,” Darkstalker mused. “If you see her, please tell her I wish to speak with her as soon as possible.”
“Sure,” said Qibli. “You bet. I’ll do that.”
Darkstalker gave him another appraising look. “Qibli,” he said, “please order that scroll to roll itself up.”
Qibli laughed. “Don’t you think I’ve spent my whole life hoping magic would suddenly pop out of my claws?” he said. “Hey, scroll, roll yourself up.” The scroll lay there, inert and uninteresting. Qibli shrugged at Darkstalker. “Disappointed again.”
“I think that’s for the best,” Darkstalker said, smiling at him a bit more genuinely. “With your mind, you’d be a very formidable animus.” He backed out of the cave. “See you in the morning.”
“You too,” Qibli answered. Darkstalker disappeared down the hall, with the sound of scraping scales jittering through the walls behind him.
“He knew,” Turtle whispered — not because Darkstalker might hear him, but because his voice didn’t quite seem to be working the way it should. “He knows when someone is using animus magic. He must have enchanted something to warn him.”
Qibli waited until the vibrations of Darkstalker’s passage had faded away. “Lucky you cast your hiding spell before he did that.”
“Yes,” Turtle said fervently.
“You’re also lucky he didn’t cast the enchantment to tell him exactly what the spell was,” Qibli mused. “That’s what I would have done. But he didn’t act like he knew what we did.”
Turtle couldn’t speak for a moment, he was so appalled. He’d come so close to getting caught! In a way he hadn’t even imagined worrying about! What other spells did Darkstalker have in place that might tangle him up?
“Now I can’t use my magic anymore!” he finally managed to say. “Or else he’ll figure out I’m out here, hiding from him.”
“His spell seems to be location-based,” Qibli pointed out. “Maybe if you were standing near Anemone or Stonemover when you cast it, he’d think it came from one of them.”
“Maybe, but then wouldn’t he ask them what spell they just cast? And if they say they didn’t use their magic, what then? Would he think they’re lying? I don’t wan
t him to think Anemone is secretly using her magic, maybe against him.” He worried the edge of a wing between his claws. “I don’t want to get her in trouble. I don’t want him to blame her for what I’m doing.”
“That’s true,” said Qibli. “Yeah, that could be bad.”
“Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh,” Turtle groaned, lying down and covering his head with his wings.
“Look, I know it’s terrible, but it’s smart, too,” said Qibli. “If you got trapped underground by an animus spell, wouldn’t you want to keep a pretty close eye on any new spells after you got out? He’s not going to let himself be fooled again. I’m sorry you didn’t get to cast a spell to protect your soul, though.”
“I’m going home,” Turtle said, leaping up and whirling toward the door. “I’m going back to the Kingdom of the Sea to hide in the Deep Palace. He can’t follow me there. Unless he can! He could enchant something to let him breathe underwater. Or something to make the entire ocean evaporate! HE COULD DO ANYTHING.”
“Moons above, stop panicking!” Qibli jumped in Turtle’s way. “It’s not the end of the world. This doesn’t prove he’s evil. All we know for sure is he’s protecting himself. So we keep watching him like you have been.”
“I can’t,” Turtle said. “He’s going to the rainforest tomorrow with the other NightWings.”
“All the NightWings?” Qibli asked. “Including Moon?”
“I don’t know,” Turtle answered. “I think so.”
Qibli thought for a moment, drumming his claws again. “I don’t have a good excuse to go along with them,” he said. “It’ll have to be you.”
“Me?” Turtle said, startled. “You mean follow him to the rainforest?”
“So we can see what he does next,” Qibli said. “I can watch things here — you know, keep an eye out for any thunder and ice coming to destroy the school. Then we’ll report back to each other and see what we think. If only we had a dreamvisitor, too, so we can send each other messages … maybe Sunny would let me use hers …”