Even as that magic sweeps me from Mikkel’s power resonating with mine, something else slaps it back. I feel Lærke’s magnificent magic in the mix now, as it roars around me, just as potent as when we first met.
Her Bone Magic can paralyze—I feel it grip me now through this tiny talisman as it curls all around my chest like a boa constrictor. It’s inside my chest now, too, wrapped right around my heart.
And I know how people die when they swear false to this object—because Lærke’s power squeezes them to death.
That magic will stop my heart, I know as I gasp, realizing I have to do something. Mikkel’s power has approved me to come to the club tonight, but Lærke’s has judged me as an enemy. Her power squeezes all throughme now, making me cry out as my thundering heart struggles for its next few beats.
She’s crushing me, crushing everything inside me as her power works to stop my heart. Even as my power flares, it can do nothing; but I don’t feel that Lærke’s consciously controlling this power right now. It’s just her talisman doing the judgement for her.
I don’t know why Lærke’s magic has judged me as an enemy tonight; I’m down on my knees coughing now as I struggle for breath, my heart struggling even harder. Bjorn and Ström are with me, both gripping my arms as they pour their dual magics inside me to prevent me from succumbing.
Lærke’s power is mighty, however; maybe even stronger than my own Bone Magic, as I struggle and cuss now to fight back.
It’s then I feel my dual powers unite deep inside. As the dark power of my Bone Magic twists into the bright fury of my Blood Magic, I feel them become one. As that unified dragon of burning night and searing day floods me red, white, and gold like it has only a few times before, I rise, roaring.
I thrust up to my feet, my massive wave of Bloodwalker power launching Bjorn and Ström from me as a blast of Bloodwind surges from me. I roar with a thousand harpy voices down at the little charm in my fist as I close my hand, crushing it with my diabolical power.
The jeweled dragonfly crunches to pieces in my fist. The magic is gone. Gradually, my power calms from its former fury as I realize I bested Lærke’s magic, and am no longer being strangled by it.
But the little dragonfly lies in ruins in my hand. Not only that, Ström and Bjorn are gasping—drained by my power when it heaved out to best Lærke’s.
Thankfully, the chartreuse tattooing on my palm is already present, from my approval by Mikkel’s magic, but half the runic script is missing from the tattoo. I don’t have any idea what that means, as I offerthe shards of the ruined dragonfly back to Emil, and Bjorn and Ström push back to their feet.
I do know it isn’t good.
“The drakaina of Blood and Bone is mighty,” Emil says with a serious look now, as he receives the ruined object back, then eyeballs my recovering drakes. I’d thought he might be mad that I crushed his trinket; instead, he seems impressed.
As he slowly gives me a nod.
“Few dragons can best the magic of the Proprietor or the Proprietress.” Emil watches me, then glances at the recovering Bjorn and Ström. His gaze lands on Ström, as Ström smoothes his outfit and tawny hair, composed once more. “But then, I always knew you were far more than what you say you are,Axel Larsen. Perhaps one day I might hear that tale of how you formed your trio. For tonight, though, I shall let my curiosity rest.”
It’s clear that Emil is savvy and knows Ström is using a pseudonym, though he doesn’t pry as he nods at us all.
Then glances down at the incomplete marking on my palm.
“You’ll never get in to The Chartreuse that way,” he muses now, as he frowns. He lifts my hand, examining it for a moment, then nods to himself. “Time to get you three in another way.”
“Another way?” Ström blinks at him then, as Bjorn lifts his eyebrows. Both seem back to normal, though I can feel how shaken they are from what I just did, deep inside. But we have to deal with the task at hand right now.
Our metaphysical issues saved for another day.
“I thought there was no other way.” I glance at Ström.
“I don’t—” Ström begins, but Emil holds up a hand.
“Come.” Emil nods for one of his people to man the desk for him. “This way.”
I’d thought we were heading out to a taxi to get us to the club tonight. Instead, Emil beckons for us to follow as he maneuvers us behind the deskand around the corner, behind a group of potted palms and a large, gilded screen.
We’re in the employees’ area now and Emil has cleverly gotten us here without any of the other patrons noticing. As we head down a tight, ornately gilded hallway, he waves his hand over a beautiful door, unlocking copious Bone Magic warding upon it.
He ushers us in, and we head down a wrought-iron stairwell behind the door, which heads into a cellar. An ancient space, probably far older than the hotel above, this cellar of vaulted catacombs has a musty smell, like maybe it was even here a few thousand years before the Danish Blood Dragons founded the city above.
A wealth of priceless oddities are being stored down here in tastefully lit cases all around. I notice it’s not glass, but a clear crystal that is Crystal Dragon made; though one of my best friends is a Crystal Dragon, Blood Dragons and Crystal Dragons rarely get along. My eyebrows rise as Emil ushers us past the vaults of oddities in their dragon-made cases. We head into another short hallway.
Guarded by a snarling dragon gate, made of stunning wrought iron.
That iron has silver, copper, even gold woven all through it; with just one look, I know this is Blood Dragon craftsmanship, and a masterwork of sigildric protection, at that. Some of it is in a fairly modern runic vernacular, and I’m able to read it. Some of it is clearly ancient, like our Blood Dragon scrolls, as Emil whispers his magic over seven different parts of it now.
