Page 134 of Gemini Hunted
Fire in the hole down there, for real.
Sure looks and sounds like Pendragon’s work to me. He’s the Leo scion—flamethrower—and he’s in there raising hell. Hopefully with Max and the girls to cover his six.
Once upon a time, I woulda been okay leaving the dickwad to fend for himself. Ronin Pendragon’s been on my shit list for years.
Ever since he took Sparrow’s eye.
Even after we figured out what happened was a tragic goddamn accident, I’ve had a hard time letting that shit go.
But I did just kinda promise to give the guy a chance. Looks like we even got an actual date the night of Sparrow’s birthday.
Besides, we’re all Team Zara now. She’s gonna need all of us working together tonight.
Through a blurry mizzle of rain, my restless eye roams the impenetrable church walls to find the one breach in that Christian fortress. The round oculus window, shattered during some kinda scuffle that went down between Zara and Cleo while I was back in Avalon keeping the Unseelie throne warm for Sparrow’s royal butt. The school hasn’t had time to replace the glass, so the hole’s covered with a billowing tarp to keep the rain out.
I tilt my wings and soar into a spiral so I can sneak a peek.
I’m halfway there when the curtain of fog parts. The vast green bulk of Xhevith’s big-ass body soars into view, fully extended like a javelin, with Sparrow crouched over his shoulders and vicious with intent.
The dragon coughs. A shower of steaming acid sprays from his jaws. The tarp over the window dissolves in tattered shreds.
Xhevith screams with triumph, tucks his wings against his outstretched body, and sails through the oculus into the church. I tuck in behind his forked tail, riding his slipstream, and soar in right after him.
Inside, it’s a nuthouse.
Around a scatter of study nooks and carrels, the student commons is seething with junior witches and warlocks in Academy garb, hurling spells and ducking hexes, all mixed up with a snarling scrum of hyena shifters.
Geez, it’s like the climax of a Harry Potter flick down there. All that’s missing is Voldemort and a goddamn game of Quidditch.
The hootenanny’s centered at the head of the stairs leading down to the crypt—and the Academy Vault.
Right where we need to get.
That’s where we gotta hook up with Zara.
Because I can already see she’s not in the church. Neither are Neo or Mal or the others who went with her.
While Xhev overflies all this crazy, with his nails-on-chalkboard scream bouncing off the walls and his monstrous form spreading screaming pandemonium through Cleo’s rank-and-file (because dragons ain’t too common here, the way they are in Avalon), I sweep in a low circle to scout and get my bearings.
Like I figured, Pendragon’s raising hell down there, spraying psi fire like flaming gasoline from his outstretched hands, golden eyes all fiery, teeth bared in a snarl in his swarthyface, black hair swirling around his lethal frame in an inky cloud.
While every Aquarius stooge in the witch academy tries to take him out.
I ain’t a big fan of random slaughter, what with being a Light Fae healer. Plus I don’t much care for killing a bunch of kids who are less than half my age that I’m supposed to be teaching next term under the Academy exchange program. All that’s enough to make me hang back a tick.
But I’ll do what I gotta.
Right now, Max and our gal pals, they got Pendragon’s back. That butch blond Racetrack is hell on wheels, using fists and feet and wicked teleportation skills to keep Cleo’s cronies off Ronin’s ass. What Max lacks in finesse, he makes up for in vicious, no-holds-barred butchery, aided by a couple of good-sized knives that are already bloody. Little Dez mainly stays on the sidelines, but she’s stealthily creeping closer than anyone else to the stairs.
Clearly, that little witch has a plan.
Even as I watch, the gal dips a hand in her backpack, then hurls a fistful of what looks like silver glitter right at the clique of Aquarius witches in schoolgirl unis guarding the crypt stairs.
Dez yells a casting word, the glitter pops and flashes pink and lavender. When the sparkles settle, three witches are slumped on the floor.
Huh.
That’s a common magic sleep spell, used to good effect.
