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Like a newborn fawn still getting used to its feet, the dragon lumbered forward, tripped on the curb, crumpled. It stood again on wobbling feet and stretched its wings, flapping them awkwardly and out of rhythm, still learning the syncopation of flying.
The hollow sound of an outboard motor drew our attention, and we all turned around. Jonah steered a boat to the south end of the island, negotiating through slabs of ice. He sent waves over the shore as he moved in, then gestured us forward. “Let’s go!”
“That’s our ride!” Catcher said. “Run!”
“Get everyone off the island,” Ethan yelled into his comm as we ran. “She manifested the Egregore into a dragon. Yes, I said dragon,” he repeated, in case anyone hadn’t yet seen the monster flapping its way across Northerly Island.
We hauled ass toward the boat, splashed through mud at the shoreline, and climbed into the boat.
“Where am I going?” Jonah asked.
“Back to shore,” Ethan said. “And step on it.”
• • •
Jonah steered back into the harbor, moving as quickly as he could through the chunks of ice that still floated in the water, ignoring the NO WAKE signs and sending the other boats swaying.
It had become suddenly and swampily August. I pulled off my jacket, stuffed it beneath my seat.
“What the hell was that?” Jonah asked.
“Dragon,” Catcher said. “She made a damned dragon.”
“Quit saying that,” Mallory snapped, lifting her head from Catcher’s shoulder. “Dragons aren’t real.”
“I’m pretty sure that was a dragon,” I said.
“Dragons aren’t real,” Mallory insisted, gaze narrowing at me. “It is absolutely not a dragon.”
“You can call it a fluffy bunny if that makes you feel better,” Catcher said. “But it’s not gonna change what we just saw.”
“Dragons aren’t real,” Mallory said again. “Also, batteries just about . . .” Her eyes rolled back.
Catcher caught her before she could hit the deck. “Empty,” he finished.
The dragon lifted, wings sending snow and ice and mud into the air, and went airborne, made it forty yards before touching down again, scrambling for another running start.
“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.”
