I was about to return to the house when a sort of fog swept over me . . . a cold, biting, familiar sort of fog.
“I will let you live only because you are my godson and namesake.” The man’s voice, deep and rich with sorrow, pierced the blinding whiteness.
I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself as I tried to peer through the wind and snow that were storming around me.
“I ought to kill you where you stand,” another man’s voice answered, and like the first, it was familiar. I moved toward them until two figures were visible in the nearly blinding storm. “You drove Baltic to this, drove him mad, and now he is dead. I may have killed him, but the blood is on your hands, Constantine Norka.”
“Flee while you can, Kostya,” Constantine answered, his shoulders slumped in weariness. “Go far away and hide until the remaining black dragons are no longer sought.”
“I am not afraid of you! I am not afraid of battle!”
“It would not be a battle; it would be a slaughter. Flee, I tell you. You are Toldi’s son, and I can do no less, but do not try me further. Go now, before we bring down the castle.”
“You don’t have to destroy Dauva,” Kostya said, his face dark with anger. “For god’s sake, I know you hate us, but there are innocent women and children who have sought protection inside its walls!”
Constantine shook his head, the flakes of white snow standing stark against the rich honey blond of his hair. “Ysolde sent them away. She herself told me that there was no reason to attack, since only Baltic and she remained with a handful of men.”
“Where is she? You will return her to me. I am wyvern now, and I will protect her.”
Constantine lifted his head, his expression stark. “She is dead.”
Kostya stared at him in disbelief. “How?” he finally choked out.
“You can see for yourself,” Constantine said, turning slowly and moving deeper into the storm. “I have not touched her body.”
Kostya staggered after him, both men disappearing into the whiteness that seemed to cut right through me, stripping away my breath and leaving me reeling.
It took me a while to recover from that vision, but it did tell me one thing. “This has to be about Constantine. But what am I supposed to do about a dead man?” I asked a little while later.
“That is the question, isn’t it?” May said, the cell phone connection cutting in and out a bit as we passed through a short tunnel. “Tell me again what you did to summon the First Dragon.”
I slouched into my seat on the train that was at that moment whisking me to London and an appointment with my former employer, who just happened to be the powerful head of the Otherworld, ruling a good percentage of the immortal world. Quickly I went over what had happened—or rather, not happened—ending with, “Do you think that time at the sárkány was just a fluke? Have I really lost all my mage powers? What am I going to do if I can’t summon the First Dragon?”
“I don’t think it was a fluke, and I don’t think you’ve lost your powers. There’s one thing missing from your attempt today.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Dragons,” she said succinctly. “I’m willing to bet that you pulled on Baltic’s fire to help you summon, and it seems very likely to me that the collective presence of all those dragons helped the summoning along.”
“Great.” I leaned my head against the window. “Now I have to wait until the next sárkány to summon the First Dragon.”
“Not necessarily. We’ll try it again tomorrow, when Aisling and I arrive for our assault on Burleigh House.”
“But you two are only mates,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but I have a connection to the First Dragon. Perhaps that will be enough to let your summoning work.”
“Possibly.” I sighed and gathered up my things as the train pulled into the station. “Time for me to go beard the magey lion in his den. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t think that maybe you should hold off petitioning Dr. Kostich until after you try summoning the First Dragon again? Perhaps it’s the interdict that is helping the summoning.”
“It could be, but I don’t really have a choice—I promised Baltic we’d have Thala out by the time he returned from Dauva, and that means my magic has to be in working order. I don’t think Drake’s guards are going to be too awed if I threaten them with bananas.”
May laughed. “No, I suppose not. Good luck, then. I’d have you pass along my good wishes to him, but frankly, I’d rather see Dr. Kostich in Abaddon.”
It didn’t take long to get from the train station to the hotel that Dr. Kostich favored when he stayed in London. I consulted the reception desk, gave them the false name I had used to book the appointment with the archimage, and was duly informed to proceed to the third floor suite where Dr. Kostich was waiting for me.
“Good evening,” I told the unfamiliar young man who opened the door.
“Evening. You must be Uma Thurman.” He stood looking at me for a second while I damned my inability to think of a good pseudonym. At last he stepped back and waved a gracious hand. “Please come this way.”
I was escorted to a living room I knew well from my previous time in Dr. Kostich’s employment.
“Your appointment is here, master. A Miss Uma Thurman.”
Dr. Kostich was looking out the window, his profile to me. He frowned for a moment, then looked toward the door, saying, “The actress? What does she—you!”
“Hello, Dr. Kostich. I hope you don’t mind me using a fake name, but I knew you would never see me if I used my own. You don’t mind if I sit down, do you?”
“Of course he doesn’t mind,” a woman’s voice said from the doorway that led to one of the bedrooms. I spun around, surprised, a smile forming when I saw the woman walking toward me with outstretched hands.
“Violet!”
“Tully, how lovely to see you again.” She took my hands and kissed me on either cheek, her faint French accent just as elegant as she was. Petite and dark-haired, she had a graceful air that I always coveted, since she never allowed herself to be ruffled by any circumstance life threw at her. It might have had something to do with the fact that she was over a hundred years old, but I suspected her placid personality was the underlying force. “It’s been . . . what, five or six years? Father, you didn’t tell me that Tully was visiting you. Sit down, my dear, and tell me how you are. Is that delightful boy of yours here? And what’s this about you really being a dragon? Father refuses to talk about it, so it must be something quite shocking.”
“She is not sitting down. She is not staying. Tully Sullivan, you are shameless and without any sense of moral rectitude, using my open-door policy in this manner,” Dr. Kostich said, storming over to us. “Adam, remove this person from my presence.”
The young man at the door hesitated, looking at me warily.
“Oh, Father, no. It’s been forever since I’ve seen Tully, and she’s just the person we need with our problem,” Violet begged. “Let her stay, please. We have lots of news to catch up on.”
Dr. Kostich’s frown deepened, and I could see he really did want to boot me out, but Violet had always been the favorite of all his children, and it was well-known amongst the mage apprentices that she could wheedle just about anything out of him. “She is not welcome here.”
“Of course she is. Sit, Tully. Oh, I suppose I should call you Ysolde now, since Father tells me that’s your true name. And such a pretty name it is. What brings you to see us?”
“Er . . .” I slid a glance at Dr. Kostich. He stood glaring at me, but finally, with a disgusted noise, dismissed the young man at the door with a gesture and sat down in a chair opposite us. “Well . . . it’s kind of a long story.”
“The best kind. I can’t wait to—What’s this?” Violet leaned forward, squinting slightly at my chest. She gaped openmouthed at it for a moment, then turned an outraged look upon her father. “An interdict, Father?”