“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.”