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Snapped out of their haze, they dashed forward. One began tossing aside the rest of the debris that pinned Taylor; the other took her hands, began to pull her free.
And then we heard the sound of a voice in the sky.
Sorcha and the dragon.
I took a step forward, trying to nail down their position, but the sound echoed across the buildings. “Ethan,” I said, a warning.
“I hear it. Nearly there, Sentinel.”
“Taylor!”
I glanced back as the humans pulled a slender and dirty girl from beneath the rubble.
As Ethan and Catcher returned the concrete to earth, Taylor’s mother screamed and pulled the girl into a fierce embrace, both of them crying, the tears carving more streaks in the soot that marked their faces. “Taylor, Taylor, Taylor,” her mother sang, rocking the girl, who sobbed in her arms. “My baby girl.”
“It’s because of Tootsie,” Taylor said. “Where’s Tootsie?”
“She’s right here,” said the human who’d held the fuzzy dog, walking it to the pair, at least until it leaped into Taylor’s arms. Taylor sobbed and hugged the dog, and her mother embraced them both.
This is why, Sentinel.
I looked up, looked across the mound of debris, and met Ethan’s gaze.
This is why you take chances, with love, with life . . . with children. Because sometimes you lose them . . . and sometimes you don’t.
The dragon’s scream interrupted the thought—angry and shrill.
“Incoming!” Catcher yelled.
“Inside!” Ethan said, guiding the humans back through the hole and into the remains of the building, where at least they wouldn’t be visible.
We stepped into the street: Sorcerer. Sorcerer. Vampire. Vampire.
“Just four crazy kids against the world,” Catcher said, warming up.
“They should make a Lifetime movie about us,” I said.
Mallory snorted. “It’s cute you think he hasn’t already written to the company with a proposal.”
The dragon burst through the haze like a rocket. And even after what we’d seen last night, the shock of seeing a dragon fly past the tony shops on Michigan Avenue was nearly visceral.
They came in low and trailing blood. The dragon was wounded, bleeding from a gaping hole in its back driver’s side flank. The Guard had hit their target; it just hadn’t been quite enough. In fairness, I didn’t know who manufactured tank rounds, but I was pretty sure they hadn’t calculated the effect on a giant flying lizard.
“Attack!” came Sorcha’s demand, followed by a greasy pulse of magic.
The dragon turned, swooped back, but it was whipping its head from side to side, as if trying to dislodge the magic and its creator.
PAIN.
It dove toward us. Ethan and I dodged, rolled, and came up with katanas lifted, scraping swords against the dark, wide scales on its abdomen. It sounded like we’d slid metal against metal, the friction throwing sparks into the air.
I didn’t think we’d done any damage, but the dragon shrieked again as it flew forward, arcing toward the sky to get space enough to make the turn. But it misjudged.
Its wings brushed the building, and it lost its balance and pitched to the right, throwing Sorcha to the ground. Ethan held out a hand, holding me back as she climbed groggily to her feet.
She’d changed her ensemble today, exchanging the jumpsuit for an emerald dress with flowing silk sleeves, her hair loose again. I imagined she’d tried to pick an outfit appropriate for the Busy Dragon Rider on the Go. Bummer she hadn’t added a pointed hat.
“You are mine!” Sorcha said. “Under my control and within my sole power. You will bow to me and do my bidding.”
