“I didn’t know mages could levitate without a platform,” Fred said, his voice preternaturally calm.
“They can’t!”
“Then how’s he—Oh, I see.”
“See what?” I asked, heart in my throat. I couldn’t see anything—except the creature coming up fast, ponderous wings beating the air, great maw gaping for another bite. And then veering off at the last moment for no obvious reason.
“He’s using his shields like a rope.” Fred pointed up at the chewed-off floor, to where a faint glimmer of blue was wrapped around the drive train. “He must’ve slung it up here when he got close enough.”
I stared from the flimsy lifeline to Pritkin and back again, paralyzed by a fear that made my previous panic seem like nothing. Because no mage could project more than one shield at a time. And if Pritkin was using his like a rope, he wasn’t using it to protect himself.
The thought broke my panic fast enough to leave me dizzy. “Keys!” I screamed, grabbing Fred.
“What keys?”
“Our keys!”
“Car keys?”
“Yes!”
“Oh, I don’t know where those—” Fred said, before I threw him aside and lunged for the steering wheel.
The keys were still in the ignition. I ducked under the driver’s seat, forcing myself not to panic, but I was shaking so much, it took two hands to turn them. I mashed my hand to the overhead gas pedal, but for a long second, nothing happened, not even the ominous clicking of a dead battery or a flooded engine. Goddamnit, please—
And then it caught.
“Is it working?” I rasped.
“Is what—Oh,” Fred said. “It’s pulling him up. That’s really—”
He broke off as Pritkin slammed into the drive train and the creature slammed into us, almost at the same moment. And for a brief, horrible second, there was nothing but shrieking metal and screeching creature and a car literally exploding from the inside, as everything behind the front seat disappeared in another huge bite.
I grabbed the back of a seat, staring at the sight of the thing hanging in midair, powerful wings beating madly as its outstretched claws ripped at something above us. I craned my neck, but I still didn’t see anything but black sky and a sliver of moon, looking serene and ethereal in the midst of the chaos. But a moment later, a huge gash was ripped in our attacker’s wing, and it gave a screech that I felt all the way through my skull.
And then I saw them, Caleb and four war mages I didn’t know, hanging over the edge of Pritkin’s beat-up jalopy, firing spells and bullets that bounced off the impermeable hide, appearing only to be making it mad. But not for long. The great tail lashed out, sending both cars tumbling backward, and in the case of the convertible, end over end. But I didn’t get a chance to worry about Caleb.
Because the creature was coming straight at us.
It turned in a sinuous, flowing movement like an eel in water, all sleek muscle and shining scales, and then it dove, the bulk of it blocking out the sky. Breath caught in my throat, my chest, spiked heavy through my lungs. I tried to swallow, but my throat was too dry. Fred was babbling something incoherent beside me, or maybe I just couldn’t understand him. Not with beautiful death slicing through the air toward me.
And then Pritkin grabbed me and a gun and before I had time to wonder what he thought he was going to do with that, he fired. But not at the creature. Instead, he aimed at the mass of crumpled metal still clamped in its huge maw.
Including one shiny, like-new gas tank that he nailed dead center.
The tank ignited in a whoosh of deadly flame, and since it was halfway down the creature’s throat, that’s where the majority of the blast went, too. For a split second, fire boiled under its skin, red and orange and roiling, glowing between those glittering scales. It was strangely beautiful, separating each into a single, perfect diamond of polished ebony for one last, trembling instant—
And then the creature exploded, sending bones and blood and dark, wet meat flying everywhere—along with about a thousand knife-edged scales.
Pritkin had gotten a partial shield up, which saved our bodies, but the SUV was sliced to ribbons around us, peeling away even as the blast hurled us backward. One second we were kneeling on the curve of the mangled roof, staring out at a beautiful nightmare. And the next we were falling, his arms around my waist, my legs wrapped around him to keep him close, cinders and smoking ash stinging my skin.
I saw Fred get snatched out of the air, a lasso spell grabbing him by the ankle and jerking him up like a great elastic band. I saw part of a wing go spinning into the night, visible because of the fire eating its way across the surface, highlighting the delicate tracery of veins. I saw the ground rushing up at us with impossible, deadly speed—
And then something caught us with a lift and a jerk, sending us hurtling back up on a great wash of air.
At first I thought it had to be a lasso, that Caleb had somehow gotten one around us, too—only he hadn’t. I looked up to see an amorphous mass of blue over our heads, like a shield chute, only not. It was flat instead of rounded and lumpy instead of smooth, with thinner areas here and there that the dark showed through. It was also sort of wedge-shaped, with filaments that had reached down to attach themselves to Pritkin’s arms and—
“You can hang glide?” I asked incredulously.
“It isn’t . . . recommended.”
“Why not?”
“Steering problems.”
“Steering problems?”
And then I didn’t have to ask, because a building was coming straight at us. Pritkin tried to miss it, but apparently he was right—shields weren’t designed for aerial acrobatics. We sluggishly moved to the left, but the arc was too faint and the wind was wrong and we were going to be bug splatter on the bricks before we could turn or land or—
And then a spell detonated against a window in front of us, sending an explosion of shards inward as we burst through what was left, slid across someone’s desk, tore through a flimsy partition, and took out half a dozen cubicles. Right before something the size of a semitruck came crashing through the wall after us. I got a glimpse of a huge head and glowing eyes, and then a wash of flame obscured them both as Pritkin flung us through the fire door.
It must have been pretty highly rated, because it actually lasted a couple of seconds before bursting out over our heads. But by then we were down a story, jumping over the railing and landing painfully. But not as painful as burning to death, I thought wildly, as we tore down the stairs, taking three and four at a time and barely touching down, almost fast enough to qualify as flying again.
Only it wasn’t fast enough.
Pritkin slammed us back against a wall, just in time to avoid a column of crimson fire that ripped down through the middle of the stairs. I only got a glimpse of our attacker through the flames, but that was enough: blackened, smoking bones, some still burning, ruined wings with one tip missing, great rib cage half gone and outlined with gory flesh, huge maw edged with cracked, charred teeth that were nonetheless still hideously sharp—
I stared at it in utter disbelief. It was dead; it had to be dead. When the gasoline ignited, the car parts in its mouth had turned to deadly shrapnel, literally ripping it apart from the inside. Nothing could have survived that amount of damage. Nothing.
And yet there it was.
And for some strange reason, the emotion uppermost in my mind wasn’t terror or even incredulity; it was outrage. I felt cheated, bitter, furious. You killed the dragon and you got to go home. It was some sort of rule—dead dragon=game over. Every video gamer, Hollywood producer and sixyear-old kid knew that.
Only it looked like my life hadn’t gotten the memo.
And then the firestorm ended and we were running again, through a door and down a hallway, four tons of pissed-off dragon crashing through the wall behind us.