The Girl at Midnight (22 page)

The tiny dragon hovered before him, wings churning air as it quirked its head. Its bejeweled eyes blinked, as if it was asking a question.

“What do you want?” Caius said.

The dragon gave a mighty flap of its wings, buffeting Caius with a hot breeze that was stronger than it should have
been able to produce. He’d asked the wrong question, but he still didn’t know what the right one was.

“Why am I here?”

Because this was a dream, and in dreams, anything was possible, the dragon winked at him. The right question, then.

“I don’t understand.”

But you will
.

The voice was not the dragon’s, nor did it belong to anyone living.

“Rose?”

The voice went silent.

The dragon flitted around Caius, beckoning him to follow. A hole opened up and the warm light of the morning sun penetrated the darkness. The dragon flew through the opening, and Caius followed.

He was in a library, but not one he had ever seen before. There were books everywhere, piled high on mahogany desks and packed tightly on shelves. The ceiling was painted with clouds, white and puffy on a sea of pale blue. The room’s deep reddish-brown paneling shimmered in the sunlight. Windows peeked out on a city Caius didn’t recognize. There were buildings outside, human-made, that touched the sky, like steel and concrete steeples.

“Where am I?” Caius asked. The dragon flitted around his head.

Home
.

“This is not my home.”

Not yours. Hers
.

And then, one by one, the books on the shelves burst into flames, bits of singed paper floating on the air like autumn leaves. The shelves crumbled as the wood popped and
crackled, and the fake clouds in their fake sky slowly began to melt. With a keening wail from the little dragon, its wings caught fire, thin membranes crumbling into ash.

Smoke seared Caius’s throat, and the scent of burning paper and melting glue made his stomach churn. Covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve, he choked out a single word.

“Why?”

So you will learn
.

“Learn what?”

What will happen if you do not find it
.

“Find what?” Caius wheezed. “The firebird?”

Yes
. The word held an echo, as though it were spoken by many voices all at once.

His eyes watered as the library around him burned. A part of him knew that one could not die in dreams, but another part feared that if he perished here, he would never wake up. There was something dark at the end of the aisle, something that refused to catch fire. Choking down lungfuls of smoke, he stumbled toward the figure.

It was a woman, silhouetted by flames. Her long hair whipped around her face, obscuring it from view. The fire around her was as bright as she was dark. Caius couldn’t make out much beyond her softly curved form against the blaze, but she stood still, unafraid. She held a hand out to him, beseeching, pleading, offering. When Caius reached for her, tongues of fire licked at his hand. His skin blistered and peeled, but he felt no pain as he touched her skin. Her flesh was strangely supple, like overripe fruit, and cold as ice.

Like a corpse
, he thought. When he tried to snatch his hand away, the woman’s grip tightened, refusing to let go.

“What are you?” he asked. “What is all this?”

The consequence of your failure
.

The smoke cleared, just enough to let him see the hand that held his own. The skin was mottled and gray, sallow the way skin turned in death. The stench of rot mingled with smoke, and though Caius breathed through his nose, he could still taste it on his tongue. He tried to yank his hand away, but the corpse held on, delicate fingers digging into his flesh hard enough to bruise.

Death touches us all
.

He watched in horror as the rot spread from the corpse’s hand to his own. His flesh sloughed off his bones, falling to the floor with wet, meaty slaps.

“How do I stop this?” he asked, frantic. “How do I find it?”

The only response he received was a great, yawning silence.

“Answer me!” he shouted.

The muscles in his arms, his chest, his legs atrophied as the decay spread. He tried to demand an answer again, but his tongue shriveled in his mouth. The voice was gone, the dragon was gone, the library was gone, and Caius was dying, dying, dead.

“Caius, wake up. Caius!”

Caius blinked blearily to find Echo crouched in front of him, silhouetted by the early-morning sun streaming in through the loft’s stained-glass windows. For a second, he was back in his dream, with the woman on fire and burning books all around him. He swallowed thickly, the sour taste of his own breath doing little to quell the unease in his stomach.

Echo cocked her head to the side, expression soft. “Are you okay?”

Caius shook his head, as if he could knock loose the cobwebs of his dream. “Yes,” he lied. “I’m fine.”

“Oh.” Echo looked down at the floor, eyelashes dark smudges on her cheeks. “Did you sleep okay?”

“No,” he said. “Did you?”

“Not really.” Echo met his eyes once more before standing,
enthusiasm slipping on like a well-worn mask. “Up and at ’em. I cooked.”

Jasper piped in from the kitchenette, “Consider yourself warned.”

Echo stuck out her tongue at Jasper’s back. Caius rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pushed himself up, stretching when he got to his feet.

“You seem chipper this morning,” Caius said. A small, curious part of him wanted to find out if she was like this every morning.

Her eyes narrowed, and he had his answer. People wore all sorts of masks when they wanted to hide themselves, and cheer was the one Echo had chosen for today.

“Guess I’m just a morning person,” she said. The lie was obvious. She was silent, waiting for him to call her bluff.

He didn’t. All he said was “After you.”

Without another word, Echo led the way to the small round table around which Dorian and Jasper sat. Ivy stood by the counter, arms wrapped tightly around herself, staring at the waffle iron as if she could will it to work faster. She looked cold, even though the kitchen was warm.

Dorian tried to rise as Caius approached, but the motion made him wince. Caius rested a hand on Dorian’s shoulder, pushing him back down before taking the seat next to him. Jasper watched them, lips hidden behind the rim of his mug, eyes giving away nothing. The scent of coffee was strong, and Caius’s stomach lurched.

Echo shoved Ivy over with a bump of her hips, busying herself with plates and cutlery. “I made waffles.”

“And not just any waffles,” Jasper said.

“Damn right.” Echo slid a plate in front of Jasper, who in
turn slid it in front of Dorian. It was piled high with crumbling waffle bits dappled with small brown chunks. Dorian looked at Jasper, who simply arched an eyebrow in response. The dynamic between the two of them had shifted since the night before.

Interesting
, Caius thought.

“What is it?” Dorian asked, poking at the pile of food with his fork.

“Bacon waffles!” Echo chirped. She had a frilly floral apron tied around her waist, leaving Caius to ponder why Jasper owned a frilly floral apron in the first place.

Dorian remained dubious. “Bacon waffles?”

Echo leveled him with a glare that dared him to question her culinary choices one more time. “Bacon waffles.”

“I’m sorry, is there an echo in here?” Jasper said, entirely too pleased with himself.

Puns
, Caius thought.
How droll
.

Echo slapped Jasper’s wrist with a dirty spatula. “Yes, bacon waffles. And you want to know why?” She shoveled a sizable serving onto another plate. “Bacon next to waffles? Good. Bacon inside waffles? Great.”

“Listen closely,” Jasper said, leaning in to Dorian. It was gratuitous, as his stage whisper was loud enough to be heard by the whole table. “You can hear the sound of your arteries clogging.”

Echo handed Caius and Ivy their plates, though she hadn’t touched her own. Ivy remained standing, poking listlessly at her waffle. Of the five of them, Jasper was the only one who had the audacity to look well rested. Dorian wouldn’t eat until Caius did, and so, despite his better judgment, he took a bite.

Four sets of eyes looked at him expectantly. He chewed, self-conscious. The waffle was both too salty and too sweet, but he choked it down anyway. “Delicious.”

Echo’s smile flashed by so quickly Caius wasn’t certain he’d even seen it. She placed the last plate in front of Jasper. He eyed it warily, sipping his coffee.

“Try it, Jasper. They’re good, I promise.”

Jasper peered up at her, unconvinced.

“Don’t you trust me?” Echo asked.

“When it comes to food, yes.” Jasper cut into the waffle with cautious movements, as if he expected it to bite him back.

“Wait a minute,” Echo said. “What
don’t
you trust me with?”

Jasper kept his eyes on his plate when he said, “Most other things.”

“That’s the last time I make you bacon waffles.”

“Thank the gods for small miracles,” Jasper said, dropping his fork. “So, are you going to tell me what you’re running from and also what you’re running toward?”

The question was met with silence. Dorian looked at Caius. Caius looked at Echo. Echo looked at Ivy. Ivy looked at no one.

“Anyone?” Jasper asked. “I’m sheltering what I’m assuming are refugees from both the Avicen and the Drakharin in my home, I think I have a right to know.”

The silence continued.

“Or you could all just leave,” Jasper said. The short feathers on his arms ruffled slightly.

Removing her apron and setting it aside, Echo took the lead. “We’re looking for something. Something a lot of people
want, but it wouldn’t be safe with them, so we have to find it first.”

“We?” Jasper waved his mug at the four of them. “This motley crew of misfits? Tell me, what could possibly capture the interest of a Drakharin mercenary, his loyal manservant, an Avicen healer, and a human pickpocket?”

Dorian tensed. Caius could tell he desperately wanted to argue the “manservant” part of that question, but he held his tongue. Echo didn’t.

“Pickpocket?” The word was so salty Caius could almost taste it.

Jasper plowed on. “The only thing that could possibly bring all of you together is something major. Now, someone tell me what it is, or I find out which side is offering the best price for your heads.”

If it hadn’t been for the hand Caius laid on Dorian’s arm, Jasper would have had a fork protruding from his neck. Echo looked ready to jump into the fray, but her eyes darted from Dorian to Jasper as if she wasn’t sure whose side she was on. Caius hoped his next decision was the right one.

“We’re going to find the firebird,” he said.

Of all the reactions Jasper could have had, his bark of laughter really shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

“You’re joking.” Jasper set his mug down and looked from Caius to Echo, taking in their solemn faces. “Echo, please tell me this clown is joking.”

Caius resented the clown bit, but if Dorian could hold his tongue in the face of Jasper’s jabs, then so could he.

“Nope,” Echo replied. “This is officially a joke-free zone.”

“The firebird is not real,” Jasper said slowly, as if he were talking to idiots. A sneaky, vicious part of Caius thought that
he just might have been. “The firebird is a bedtime story. It’s our version of the Holy Grail. It doesn’t exist.”

Caius removed his hand from Dorian’s arm, praying that Dorian would curb his violent impulses for a few minutes more.

“We have reason to believe it does,” Caius said. He met Echo’s gaze and wished he knew her well enough to read what he saw there. “Echo?”

He didn’t miss her hesitation. She trusted Jasper as far as she could throw him, but if it was between trusting him and going on the run, this time with no place to hide, the choice was simple. So simple it wasn’t really a choice at all. Echo looked at him, a question in her eyes, and he nodded. She reached into her back pocket, sliding out a map with frayed edges. She smoothed it down on the table.

“The firebird is real,” Caius said. “And Echo knows the way.”
Hopefully
.

Jasper studied the map for a solid minute before he looked up at Caius. “And you’re sure?”

“I would bet my life on it,” Caius said. “I
am
betting my life on it.”

Jasper held his gaze with his strange golden eyes. Caius waited for his answer.

“Good,” Jasper said. “I want in.”

Echo blinked, once, twice, three times, not quite sure she had heard him correctly. “Come again?”

Jasper enunciated his words carefully, as if she were being deliberately slow. “I. Want. In.”

Echo had heard him right the first time. It still made no sense. “Why?”

“I pride myself on my ability to read people.” Jasper gestured toward Caius, who sat there, as unreadable as stone. “And there isn’t a shred of doubt in this man. If he thinks it’s real, I’m inclined to believe him.”

“Yeah, but I know you, Jasper, and I know that you don’t do anything without a reason.” Echo pushed away from the counter, crossing her arms. “What’s in it for you?”

“Are you kidding?” Jasper’s smirk blossomed into a full-blown grin, blinding in its loveliness. “I make a living acquiring elusive items for an extremely select clientele, and
nothing
is more elusive than this. Finding the firebird would
be the biggest score the world has ever seen. I want my fingerprints all over it.”

“You won’t get to keep it,” Echo said.
Not unless you pry it from my cold dead hands
, she thought. She tried to not consider what it meant that those words had become a running theme in their relationship.

“Not the point,” Jasper said. “Imagine what wonders it would do for my reputation. I want to be known as the guy who found the firebird. What happens to it afterward is your business. Avicen-Drakharin politics are not my department.”