“I’m more worried about you than the car! You must be shaken up.” Maureen gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I was so concerned for you today, but look at you.”
“I just took a swim….”
“But your eyes are shining like diamonds.” Maureen nodded with satisfaction but held up a hand. “You don’t have to tell me a thing. I’m just glad that Hawai‘i is agreeing with you so well.” She rolled her eyes. “Despite all that’s going on. I’m glad you’re here. I forgot to give you a key to my room this morning. They managed to dig out your luggage—it doesn’t look as if you’d unpacked much—and that’s all been moved.”
“That’s great. Thank you.”
“We have some last-minute changes, so I hope you don’t mind me abandoning you again.” Maureen’s brow furrowed.
“No, that’s fine. I really appreciate everything, Maureen, and don’t want to be a pain…”
“Never!” Maureen gave Liz a quick hug, then waved at two students carrying a folding table. “No, no. We need that in the other hall. I’ll show you.” With a cheerful wave, she was gone, doing what she did best.
Liz headed for the room, knowing what she had to do.
Brandon had disrupted the entire spiral, and the floor of the room looked like a beach. The sand wasn’t making any electrical charge when he kicked through it anymore, so he believed he had dissipated its power. He did feel more in control of his dragon. That had to be a good sign.
Especially if Chen came back.
Brandon’s two scales were still perched in the sand in the middle of the room. They glowed faintly, as if they were hooked to an alarm system. He wouldn’t have put that past Chen.
Since the Slayer wasn’t answering his summons so far, Brandon would trip the alarm.
He strode across the room and bent to pick up his scales. His fingertips had just brushed the closest one when there was a brilliant flash of light.
The blond guy was right in front of him, crouched on the other side of the scales, grinning like a maniac. Jorge. The other Slayer. Before Brandon could make sense of the way he had abruptly appeared, Jorge decked him. Brandon fell backward, and Jorge seized a scale.
“I’ll just take these,” Jorge said. “Seeing as you don’t need them anymore.”
Brandon tasted blood and roared in pain. He was sprawled on his ass, blood running down his chin, but he rolled to his feet. “No chance! They’re mine!”
“Dead dragons don’t need armor,” Jorge sneered. His eyes glinted with malice as he turned the scale in the light. “But why don’t you just come and get it?” He deliberately lifted the scale, as if displaying it to Brandon, then snapped it in half.
Brandon felt as if he’d been knifed in the gut. He bent over, the pain excruciating. He was bleeding again, and he was sure the wound would correspond to a spot where he was missing a scale.
Jorge chuckled and pocketed the broken pieces. He obviously enjoyed Brandon’s anguish. He reached for the last scale in the sand. “Guess you’ll have to decide who to answer to soon,” he said, looking so smug that Brandon wanted to rip his throat out.
For once, Brandon’s dragon had the right idea.
“Maybe there won’t be much left of you for Chen to claim.” Jorge glanced down at the final scale, his expression malicious, and Brandon guessed what he was going to do.
Brandon’s dragon roared, and he let the beast loose.
He shifted shape quickly and bounded forward. He seized Jorge by the throat, then breathed a plume of brilliant orange dragonfire, aiming it at the man caught in his grasp. Jorge’s hair burned and his skin reddened.
Jorge snarled in fury, then shifted in Brandon’s grip. He became a topaz yellow dragon that was as slippery as a snake. His scales were already singed, which made no sense, but Brandon would worry about that later. He breathed fire and turned more of them black.
Jorge twisted and snapped at Brandon. His sharp teeth caught at Brandon’s shoulder. Jorge bit deep and tore Brandon’s flesh, ripping out a chunk and spitting blood on the floor.
Brandon caught the Slayer by the throat and slammed his head into the wall so hard that the building shook. It was satisfying to see the black blood flow from Jorge’s temple, so satisfying that he did it again.
Jorge snarled and thrashed within Brandon’s grip.
“Give me that broken scale.”
“Get it yourself.” Jorge drove his tail upward, slamming it into Brandon’s genitals. The blow was enough for Brandon to loosen his grip a bit. He saw stars for a moment and fought his nausea.
Jorge slithered away.
The Slayer dove for the last scale, but Brandon jumped on to his back. He bit at one wing, tearing it loose from the joint, and Jorge screamed as he fell to the floor. Hard. He still reached for that second scale, but Brandon breathed fire at his outstretched claw. The scales blackened and smoked, crackling as they burned, until Jorge withdrew his claw.
He reared back then, slamming Brandon into the ceiling. Brandon wound his tail beneath the Slayer quickly, getting even for that blow to the genitals. Jorge roared in pain, and that was before Brandon bit down and ripped his right wing free of his body. Black blood flowed from the wound, dripping into the sand on the floor and hissing on contact.
Jorge spun in Brandon’s grasp and jabbed his talon straight into the third undefended spot on his belly. All the breath went out of Brandon at the strike, and he faltered just long enough for Jorge to slash across his face with his claws.
Brandon fell backward from the blow, and braced himself for Jorge to land on top of him.
But the Slayer stood before him, one wing stretched high, his tail coiled across the floor.
He exhaled slowly, his eyes glittering like cut glass.
Brandon felt the temperature of the room drop; then a barb pierced the wound that had bled first. The pain was excruciating and it burned like acid.
Dragonsmoke.
Jorge was breathing dragonsmoke. Brandon narrowed his eyes and looked more closely, only then seeing the tendril of frosty white dragonsmoke that stretched like a cord between himself and Jorge. He started to get up, intending to attack his opponent, only to realize that his strength was sapped.
Jorge chuckled, never breaking the thread of dragonsmoke.
Somehow it was stealing energy from Brandon. He watched as the Slayer smiled more broadly. He looked larger and brighter. He was feeding on Brandon, like a kind of vampire, stealing Brandon’s power and making it his own.
Fury gave Brandon new strength. He bellowed and breathed a stream of fire at the offending tendril of dragonsmoke. The dragonsmoke was unaffected. He tore at it with his talons, but each time his claw passed through it, the smoke burned. Then he leapt at Jorge, who was enjoying his pain far too much.
But Jorge lifted that broken scale high and crushed the two pieces to cinders in his claw right before Brandon’s eyes. The pain was overwhelming, so excruciating that Brandon thought he would pass out. He felt as if a chunk of his gut was being ripped out of him and shredded before his eyes.
Brandon fell to the floor and shifted back to his human form. He panted and tasted his own sweat as well as his blood. He was exhausted and terrified that this would be the end of him. The pain was more than anything he’d ever borne before. He was more battered than he had ever been before. He shifted back to his dragon form as soon as he could, not at all ready to surrender the fight.
Somehow he had to protect Liz.
Somehow he had to keep Jorge from finishing him off.
He had to trick the Slayer into underestimating him.
“Rotating between forms,” Jorge muttered with satisfaction. “A classic sign of a Pyr near death. Maybe Chen will come home to find a corpse.”
Brandon knew he could work with that assumption.
He could fake out Jorge. Because he not only knew that Jorge would collect the second scale and leave Chen’s lair, but that Jorge would leave the same way he’d arrived. He’d spontaneously manifest el
sewhere.
Jorge was Brandon’s ticket out of captivity.
Brandon repeatedly changed to his human form and back to dragon again, keeping his eyes nearly closed. He wanted to look as if he were out cold, but he kept one eye open the barest bit so he could keep track of Jorge. It made him dizzy to shift so quickly and frequently, but he had to have the element of surprise on his side again.
The Slayer chuckled, then shifted back to human form. He went back to pick up that second scale. He turned his back on Brandon, and Brandon coiled his power to move. Jorge bent over, his fingers touched the scale, and he started to shimmer.
Brandon leapt and seized his ankle. Jorge roared and tried to shake him off, but Brandon held fast. He locked both hands around Jorge’s ankle, determined to not let go. Jorge punched Brandon, obviously trying to leave him behind, but Brandon knew salvation when he’d found it. Jorge kicked him in the face and probably loosened a tooth, but Brandon had more to lose than his teeth.
He held on.
Because his life depended on it.
Just as he’d anticipated, Jorge had been in the act of spontaneously manifesting elsewhere. Just as he’d hoped, Jorge couldn’t stop his disappearing act once it had begun. Brandon was soon surrounded by that strange silvery fog again and felt nauseated. He held tightly to the Slayer’s ankle, not at all sure where he’d end up if he let go.
In fact, he wasn’t sure where he’d end up, anyway.
But wherever it was, he’d have to kick Jorge’s butt to get free. He needed energy for that.
Maybe it was time he learned to breathe a dragonsmoke conduit himself.
Liz opened her suitcase on the cot that had been set up in Maureen’s room and rummaged in it a bit, to make it look as if she had been unpacking. Then she emptied her wet purse on the bathroom floor. Her phone was dead after its dip in the bay, but that was to be expected. The purse was not in very good shape, but she would sponge as much water as possible out of it later. She could also lay out her ID and cash to dry.
First, she had to do something more important. She opened the zippered pocket in the purse lining and took out a small black velvet bag. It was wet, as well, the silk velvet dripping and smelling of the sea.
But then, her mother had always loved the ocean. Liz smiled sadly to herself as she undid the drawstring and tipped out the contents into her hand. The pendant was sterling silver, about the size of a dollar coin, and it hung from a silver chain. A lump rose in Liz’s throat at the sight of it.
She would never forget that night.
Maybe that had been the point.
She turned the pendant over in her hand, her tears rising at the sight of the incomplete pentacle etched on the back side. A Wiccan pentacle has five points, one for each element and the one pointing skyward for the element of spirit that presided over fire, water, air, and earth. This pentacle had only three points drawn. One of the lower ones—for fire—was missing, as was the point for spirit.
Her mother had died in a test of fire and spirit.
Liz didn’t want to think about that night. Still her chest was tight, as if her body would remember what her mind preferred not to recall.
It had been her fault.
She knew that she’d been ducking that night’s memory and understood that her period of grace was over. She had to accept the truth before her own challenge began.
Liz held the pendant, pressing it between her palms and folding her hands together as if to pray. She dropped to her knees and touched her forehead to her index fingers.
And for the first time in fourteen years, Liz let herself remember.
She was weeping when she heard her mother’s voice in her thoughts. That was when she realized she had been giving Brandon the advice she’d been hearing all her life. She spread her hands and looked at the pendant. One tear fell and shone on the silver—one tear for the anguish of seeing her mother killed.
“You have a gift,” her mother whispered in Liz’s thoughts, her words filled with familiar conviction. “You were born the third daughter of the third daughter, the one who can pierce the veil between the worlds. Like us, you can see the dead and the gods. Like us, you can see the fantastical beings whose worlds intersect our own. But only you can move between magic, death, and life to heal. That is the power of the Firedaughter.
“Three by three, your gift is strong. You are strong, my Elizabeth. Your gift will frighten you with its power. But like all ghosts with purpose, it will not be denied. It will summon you, and if you do not reply, it will fetch you. If you fight it, it may abandon you in one of those other realms and seize your innate ability to pierce the veil. If you turn your back upon it, you can never be what you were born to be. If you mean to survive, if you mean to fulfill your destiny, you must learn to use your gift. Embrace it, for it is the only thing that can ensure you survive the test.”
After her mother’s death, Liz had lived in denial. Until coming to Hawai‘i, she’d thought she was winning against the powers that had once shaped her life. City concrete had kept the voices of the elements at bay. Working in solitude had diminished her connection to others and dulled her sensitivity. A rigid focus on science and intellect, at the expense of magic and emotion, had made her feel that she was in control.
But her gift had only been slumbering. Embers glowing in the ashes, awaiting only a breath of wind to be kindled again.
Or maybe a firestorm.
Now she would face her own test, when she had so much to lose.
Liz had no more time to weep. She pulled the chain over her head and her mother’s pendant settled between her breasts. The weight of it was reassuring. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw the diamonds Maureen had mentioned dancing in her eyes.
If the prize was a future with Brandon, Liz was ready to take the test. If her son’s life hung in the balance, Liz was prepared to fight any force that came against her.
First, she had to ensure that she had sanctuary. There wasn’t time to protect the entire island. She’d focus on this room so that she and Maureen would have a haven. She needed salt to mark the perimeter and secure the openings, and Liz was pretty sure she could find some in the kitchen.
There wasn’t much time before the party.
She had better get to work.
Jorge manifested on a deserted cliff, then flung Brandon into the dirt. Brandon had time to recognize Ka‘ena Point; then the Slayer shifted shape and fell on him with claws extended.
Jorge wasn’t missing any scales.
Brandon shifted shape to his dragon form to defend himself, figuring he had a better chance against a dragon even though he was missing scales.
Jorge wasn’t taking any chances this time that Brandon might survive. The Slayer tore at Brandon’s chest, ripping open his flesh so that the blood flowed. Brandon bit deeply into the Slayer and tore off his other wing, spitting it into the dirt. The black blood flowed copiously, burning Brandon’s hide wherever it touched. Jorge snarled and bared his teeth to breathe either fire or smoke, when Brandon had an idea.
Jorge’s wings were destroyed.
He decked the Slayer, then snatched him up, racing out over the ocean. He flew fast and hard, ensuring that the island was left far behind them. If he left Jorge with no choice, maybe the Slayer would disappear.
If he left Jorge with no strength, maybe the Slayer would have no ability to disappear.
Brandon hovered in the air with Jorge in his clutches and deliberately breathed a long, slow stream of dragonsmoke. He had never put much effort into mastering this particular skill, but he found it came fairly easily to him. He coaxed the dragonsmoke to unfurl and wind its way toward Jorge. He drove it into one of the injuries he’d given the Slayer and immediately felt a surge of power move through the conduit of smoke.
Jorge must have felt it, too.
“No!” he screamed, struggling with new vigor.
Brandon breathed slowly and evenly, the power he was gaining from Jorge helping him to remain ea
sily at the same altitude. Jorge struggled and bit. He slashed at Brandon’s belly in a frenzy. Brandon soared high into the sky, carrying Jorge to the clouds.
Then he dropped him. He descended after the Slayer, keeping pace with his fall and ensuring that the ribbon of dragonsmoke remained intact.
Jorge thrashed in the air, obviously trying to fly. His instincts were stronger than his knowledge of his situation. He flailed, his black blood spraying in every direction. He swore. He tried to fling a tendril of dragonsmoke toward Brandon, but evidently the stress of plummeting toward the ocean ruined his concentration. His dragonsmoke was like a string of hyphens, a line broken at regular intervals.
Brandon could feel the Slayer weakening, just as he could feel his own strength growing. Jorge looked like he was trying to summon that power to move through space and time, but only a faint flicker passed over his silhouette.
“Save me!” Jorge cried when the choppy surface of the sea was close.
Brandon laughed. “Save yourself,” he retorted.
Jorge screamed as he splashed into the ocean, dozens of miles from the coast of O‘ahu. Brandon dove into the water after his opponent and watched the Slayer sink toward the ocean floor. Jorge rotated between forms, transforming from a man to a dragon and back again repeatedly, but he kept sinking.
When the darkness of the ocean’s depths obscured the sight of him, Brandon returned to the surface in triumph. He soared out of the sea, glad of his dragon’s power, and turned his course toward Kane‘ohe.
And Liz.
By the time Liz was dressed for the cocktail party, she had reviewed every spell and charm she had ever learned. She’d forced herself to recall the wording of the incantations and the tone of voice, the mood, and the gestures. She wasn’t entirely sure what powers she’d need, but she wanted her entire arsenal at hand.
No wonder she was also buzzing with adrenaline. Trouble could strike at any time. As soon as she stepped outside of this protective circle, she could be attacked. There was no word from Brandon, which made her fear that he was in danger. She should never have left him in Hale‘iwa with Chen. Pele was right: it was Liz’s task to heal Brandon.