and he felt it was practically echoing in this small space. It wasn’t just because of the firestorm, either. He could have done without the reminder that death comes as the end. He could almost taste death on his tongue, taste the ash of burning and the smell, that smell…
“Choose one and see,” Chandra invited, interrupting his thoughts.
She might have been suggesting he pick a sandwich from a tray. She must do this all the time. What was she and where was she from?
What exactly was her territory?
The last thing Thorolf wanted to do was touch a skull, no matter how long it had been without flesh. Still he sensed that Chandra didn’t think he’d do it. He wanted to surprise her.
“Bones don’t talk,” he protested.
“Ghosts do,” she retorted, so quickly he imagined someone had made that argument before.
So the ghosts and the skulls had a connection, and that had something to do with how she knew about the Pyr . Thorolf didn’t get it, but it was clear that Chandra intended to demonstrate rather than explain.
“Okay.” Thorolf looked around, trying to discern a difference between the skulls or at least something that would invite his choice. They all looked pretty much the same.
The falcon was sitting on one. If the bird was some kind of familiar for Chandra, or even if it just understood the rules of this sanctuary, its selection might matter. Maybe it wasn’t arbitrary.
It was as good a choice as any other.
Thorolf reached impulsively for the skull the falcon sat upon and the bird fluttered its wings, only taking flight enough to move to another skull. Thorolf lifted the skull in one hand, surprised to find it a little smaller than he’d expected and certainly lighter. He turned to offer it to Chandra, without knowing what she’d do with it, but she was gone.
In fact, the whole temple was gone. He was standing alone, a skull cradled in his hand, and it was raining blood.
He was impressed.
And more than a little spooked.
* * *
Rafferty didn’t expect Erik to be pleased that he’d been defiant. He was prepared for the annoyance of the leader of the Pyr when he returned to Chicago. Rafferty deliberately traveled in the form of a salamander, because he found the nausea less debilitating that way. His back hurt where Thorolf had burned his dragon scales and his chest was torn in a way that wouldn’t heal quickly. Worse, he was troubled by what he’d learned. He manifested in the middle of the glass coffee table, not really caring who saw him.
He was among friends, after all.
He immediately realized that he was among more friends than he had anticipated. Erik was pacing the floor of the loft, the strain of the past two years still clear on his features. It smelled as if his partner, Eileen, was making yet another pot of strong coffee in the kitchen. Rafferty’s mate, Melissa, was perched on the edge of one of the black leather sofas and gave a little gasp of relief when he appeared. He shifted shape and moved to sit wearily beside her on the couch. She took his hand in hers and squeezed his fingers tightly as he closed his eyes for a moment. Then she pressed a glass of water into his hands, knowing what he needed after such a journey.
“You’re hurt!” Sloane said with dismay. The Apothecary of the Pyr had arrived during Rafferty’s absence.
Melissa swore and pushed open his shirt.
Sloane knelt before Rafferty to examine the wound. He looked careworn and older than he had before, but then the plague in Seattle showed no signs of abating. It was spreading slowly, thanks to the efforts of medical authorities and the help of the Dragon’s Tooth Warriors, but Seattle had been devastated by the illness, and it was still spreading.
Worse, the Pyr knew the infection had been the result of the darkfire crystal sending the Dragon Legion into the past. Sloane had been working day and night to isolate the contagion and its source, but had only determined that it was both a resistant
“Choose one and see,” Chandra invited, interrupting his thoughts.
She might have been suggesting he pick a sandwich from a tray. She must do this all the time. What was she and where was she from?
What exactly was her territory?
The last thing Thorolf wanted to do was touch a skull, no matter how long it had been without flesh. Still he sensed that Chandra didn’t think he’d do it. He wanted to surprise her.
“Bones don’t talk,” he protested.
“Ghosts do,” she retorted, so quickly he imagined someone had made that argument before.
So the ghosts and the skulls had a connection, and that had something to do with how she knew about the Pyr . Thorolf didn’t get it, but it was clear that Chandra intended to demonstrate rather than explain.
“Okay.” Thorolf looked around, trying to discern a difference between the skulls or at least something that would invite his choice. They all looked pretty much the same.
The falcon was sitting on one. If the bird was some kind of familiar for Chandra, or even if it just understood the rules of this sanctuary, its selection might matter. Maybe it wasn’t arbitrary.
It was as good a choice as any other.
Thorolf reached impulsively for the skull the falcon sat upon and the bird fluttered its wings, only taking flight enough to move to another skull. Thorolf lifted the skull in one hand, surprised to find it a little smaller than he’d expected and certainly lighter. He turned to offer it to Chandra, without knowing what she’d do with it, but she was gone.
In fact, the whole temple was gone. He was standing alone, a skull cradled in his hand, and it was raining blood.
He was impressed.
And more than a little spooked.
* * *
Rafferty didn’t expect Erik to be pleased that he’d been defiant. He was prepared for the annoyance of the leader of the Pyr when he returned to Chicago. Rafferty deliberately traveled in the form of a salamander, because he found the nausea less debilitating that way. His back hurt where Thorolf had burned his dragon scales and his chest was torn in a way that wouldn’t heal quickly. Worse, he was troubled by what he’d learned. He manifested in the middle of the glass coffee table, not really caring who saw him.
He was among friends, after all.
He immediately realized that he was among more friends than he had anticipated. Erik was pacing the floor of the loft, the strain of the past two years still clear on his features. It smelled as if his partner, Eileen, was making yet another pot of strong coffee in the kitchen. Rafferty’s mate, Melissa, was perched on the edge of one of the black leather sofas and gave a little gasp of relief when he appeared. He shifted shape and moved to sit wearily beside her on the couch. She took his hand in hers and squeezed his fingers tightly as he closed his eyes for a moment. Then she pressed a glass of water into his hands, knowing what he needed after such a journey.
“You’re hurt!” Sloane said with dismay. The Apothecary of the Pyr had arrived during Rafferty’s absence.
Melissa swore and pushed open his shirt.
Sloane knelt before Rafferty to examine the wound. He looked careworn and older than he had before, but then the plague in Seattle showed no signs of abating. It was spreading slowly, thanks to the efforts of medical authorities and the help of the Dragon’s Tooth Warriors, but Seattle had been devastated by the illness, and it was still spreading.
Worse, the Pyr knew the infection had been the result of the darkfire crystal sending the Dragon Legion into the past. Sloane had been working day and night to isolate the contagion and its source, but had only determined that it was both a resistant
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