On a long sigh, she took another sip of wine. “There is only one way to kill the dragon. It must be struck in the eye, pierced through. The left eye only,” she added, tapping beneath her own. “Only then will it fall, will its flame gutter out. Only then will a sword cleave through its armor to take the head. You must burn the head to destroy it. These three things you must do, or it will not die.”

“Thank you.”

“Kill him, end this. I will have another glass of wine. And will take the whole of the cake home.”

Fallon had to smile. “And welcome.” Then she gripped Vivienne’s hand, let the truth inside her flow. “When I kill it—him—I’ll do it in part for you, the flame from the north, to strike that blow for the beauty of what you are, and what he refused to be.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

She felt it moving on the air, stirring in her blood, whispering in her mind. In the weeks since she’d met with Vivienne, she and Duncan and Tonia had trained with the specific purpose of destroying a shifter dragon and its rider.

And still, she’d found no answers to when.

Yet she knew a storm gathered, dreamed of the lightning and the circle of stones. Of the spill of blood, and the throbbing heart of what waited in the murdered wood.

That throbbing heart whispered, too. She heard its alluring promises, its silky lies, saw the mask it wore that was handsome, seductive when it crept into her dreams.

It broke her sleep as she shoved her way out of fitful dreams to restlessness. Every night, she lit the candle Mallick had given her as a baby, to keep that spark of light constant, to keep the dark at bay.

When the fractured sleep and strain began to show, Lana made up charms and potions for rest, but Fallon didn’t use them. Though it lied and lied, there might be something said or thought she could use to end it.

But when?

Come now, it murmured. Come to me through the crystal. I wait to embrace you. We’re meant to be as one, meant to know all pleasure, all power. Your blood released me. Come drink of the freedom you unlocked. Take it, taste it, know it.

She woke, found herself standing, staring into the crystal that swirled with shadows. Had she been reaching for it? She couldn’t be sure, but it had through nights and nights of stalking, found some weakness.

Shaken, she held her hand over the candle flame so that small light brightened, brightened and cleared the shadows.

She needed to take action, to try again.

She dressed, gathered all she needed, and went out into the night. Though summer held gamely on past the equinox, she scented the first hints of fall. Before long the harvest, the gathering, the sweep of color over the trees.

Thinking of it brought a deep yearning for the farm, the rambling house, the fields, the garden, the woods that had once held every adventure she could have wanted.

Would she see it again? Would she ever again sit under a tree with her nose in a book and her fishing line in the water? She wanted to know her mother would work the garden again, her father the fields. Wanted to know there would be bread dough rising in the kitchen, candles lit in windows.

She’d done all that had been asked of her, she thought. How much longer did she have to wait?

She went into the stables thinking to fly Laoch, but found the faithful Grace, already awake, her head—so much gray on the muzzle now—over the stall door.

“You couldn’t sleep, either?” Fallon stroked her cheek, saw a world of love and patience in Grace’s eyes. “All right then, you and me, just like we used to.”

She saddled the horse, stowed her tools in the saddlebag. “No hurry,” she said as she led Grace out, mounted. “We can take a nice easy walk.”

But when they reached the road, Grace broke into a trot, brisk as a filly. “I guess you’re not feeling your age tonight.”

As if to prove it, Grace lengthened into a smooth, rolling gallop. And nothing, Fallon realized, could have cleared the strain and fatigue more completely.

For just a little while, she was a girl again, and Grace a young filly. It wasn’t the woods, the fields of home they rode, but there was freedom in the night, in the beating heart of the land, in the joyful speed of a faithful horse.

And in the absolute quiet broken only by the brisk beat of hooves, the soft, stirring sigh of the breeze over rows of corn, wheat, through trees and grasses.

Starlight sprinkled down on pumpkins growing fat on vines, on plump grapes in vineyards, glowed in the eyes of deer grazing late, on the slink of a fox on the hunt.

She heard the cry, looked up to see the wide, white spread of Taibhse’s wings, the silver glint of Laoch’s. Faol Ban leaped out of the shadows to pace the horse. Even the dregs of the dream faded as they made the last turn to New Hope.

She slowed Grace to a trot again, then to a walk as they approached the gardens.

“I don’t know why I wanted to try this here,” she said aloud. “Maybe just because nowhere else has worked.”

After dismounting, she slung the saddlebag over her shoulder. “And I have to try.”

She cast the circle, brought white candles to flame with her breath. In the center, she placed a small statue of the mother goddess, and her offering of wine and flowers.

With her athame she gestured north.

“Powers of the north, hear me. Powers of the east, I beseech thee. Powers of the south, I call to thee. Powers of the west, see me. I am your daughter. I am your servant. I am your warrior. I cast this circle in faith, in trust, in respect, and in honor.”

In the center of the circle, she floated a small cauldron, filled it with blessed water, spread the flames under it. From a pouch she sprinkled crystal dust over the water’s surface.

“Here for insight, for wisdom, for a clear eye. Now mix and meld and bubble and brew, stir away the mists for visions true. For strength,” she said as she added herbs, “for knowledge, for understanding the reply. Now heat and boil and release your scent, now rise the wind to carry the question sent.”

She stirred the air, brought it lifting.

“And now to seal this my quest, three drops of blood upon the rest.”

She pricked her finger, let the three drops spill into the brew.

“At this hour, on this night, I renew my vow to carry the light.”

Power whipped through her. She shot her arms up as shimmers of lightning woke above the western hills.

“In this place, in this hour, I call upon my source of power. Mother goddess, accept my offering from earth and vine. Hear your daughter, Ernmas divine. Grant me an answer, show me a sign.”

Inside the circle, the wind wailed, pulled the smoke from the cauldron up, spread it like fog. For a moment, it seemed a thousand voices spoke, a thousand hands reached out to touch her with a power that nearly buckled her knees.

Lightning cracked across the bowl of the sky, and in the answering roar of thunder, the fog cleared. Silence fell.

But she was no longer alone.

“Max.” She breathed out his name. “Dad.” And reached for him.

Her hand passed through him.

“I’m not corporeal.” His voice held the faintest echo. “The veil’s not thin enough.”

“But you’re here.” Disappointment at not being able to touch him warred with gratitude. “You’re here. I’ve tried so many times, but I could never find you.”

“You didn’t need to before this. Look at you. You’ve grown up. Beautiful, you’re just beautiful. You’re a woman now, and a warrior. You carry the sword.”

She saw, clearly, both pride and sorrow in his eyes. More than anything she wanted to deserve the first, somehow ease the second.

“There’s so much to tell you. The sword, the shield, the book. We took back New York. We— I don’t know where to begin. It means so much to see you again. We came to New Hope. We’re in New Hope.”

“Yes.” He looked toward the cornfield. “I know.”

“If I’d known you— I shouldn’t have done this here.”

“I’m here because you did. I told you before, I have no regrets. How can I when I look at you?”

“He’s dead, Eric’s dead. Allegra, too. I’m sorry if it hurts you.”

“No. I lost my brother in the Doom. What he became wasn’t my brother.” If there’d been regret in his words, on his face, it cleared away like the fog. “What he became would have tried again and again to kill you if you hadn’t killed him.”

“I didn’t. Simon did.”

“Simon.” Max nodded. “Here? I can’t see, but I can feel. They came back here.” Once again, he looked toward the cornfield, rustling, rustling in the autumn breeze. “Eric died here, as I did.”

“Yes, here. And only a few months ago, I killed Allegra here. Maybe that’s why this, I think, you coming again was meant to be here. They have a daughter.”

“Eric had a child? Eric and Allegra,” Max said, slowly now, “have a daughter.” He looked up, seemed to search the stars. “She’ll be like them.”

“Yes. She’s darker and more powerful than they were. We’ve come so far, Dad, done so much. The cost, it’s a terrible cost, but we’re winning this war. But I can’t end it, I can’t finish it until Petra, Eric’s daughter, and what she serves is destroyed. All this power.”

She pushed her hands through her hair, tossed them up. “All they’ve given me, but I can’t have the answer to the one question I need. When to strike. I don’t ask how, I don’t ask the cost. I don’t ask if I’ll survive. I don’t ask if the sister of my heart survives, or the man I love. Just when.”

“You’re wearing a ring.”

“What? Oh, yes. Duncan.”

“Katie’s boy.” With a nod, he looked out again, not to the cornfield, but to the gardens. “He makes you happy.”

“Yes. You’d like him. I know he was only a baby when you died. I wish you could meet him now. He’s on rotation, tamping down a flare-up of DUs—Dark Uncannys—out west.”