A Dragon of a Different Color (Heartstrikers Book 4) by Rachel Aaron (9)

Chapter 8

 

The Sea of Magic was roiling.

“What is going on?” Marci cried, clinging to the Empty Wind, the only thing in the entire place that wasn’t violently shaking.

“It’s the magic,” Ghost said, his glowing eyes round as he stared up into the dark. “It’s being forced apart. Something’s coming through.”

That didn’t sound good, but before Marci could ask what, where, why, or how big, something new appeared at the edge of her vision.

She jumped with a yelp, whirling around so she could face…whatever it was. When she stopped, though, there was nothing. Just the churning magic, twisty and nauseating as always. She was about to write the whole thing off as nerves when it happened again.

There was no missing the change this time. She was looking right at the floor of the Sea of Magic when the ground rippled like water, the rough, uneven, seemingly stone surface smoothing and rounding before her eyes into what looked like a manhole cover. It couldn’t be, of course, but that was what Marci saw: an iron manhole cover complete with air holes, tire scuffs, and the logo for the DFZ’s private sewer contractors conglomerate.

“Do you see that?”

“I see it,” Amelia said, squinting. “I don’t understand it, but—”

An echoing bang cut off whatever she’d been about to say as the manhole cover shot off the ground like a bullet. It landed a few seconds later, crashing to the right of the pillar with a deafening clatter of thick iron hitting stone. The sound was still going when a man’s hand reached out to grab the lip of the tunnel the blasted-open manhole had revealed, followed immediately by the man himself as Sir Myron Rollins hauled himself out of the ground and onto the floor of the Sea of Magic.

He collapsed immediately after, flopping over to heave on his back like a landed fish. The whole thing was so unexpected, so incredibly out of place, that Marci couldn’t speak a word until Sir Myron rolled over to push himself up, and his eyes found hers.

“You!” he cried, eyes flying wide. “How are you—What are you doing here? You’re dead. I saw your body. I—”

He stopped there, eyes going even wider as he finally spotted the Empty Wind standing behind her.

If things had been less dire, Marci would have relished watching Sir Myron Rollins have a mental breakdown over the abyss that was her spirit’s true face. But as entertaining as it was to watch him break beneath the crippling truth of his ultimate insignificance, they didn’t have time.

“Ghost,” she said quietly. “Would you mind?”

He sighed and turned around, putting his back to Myron, who fell gasping back to the floor. “I suppose that explains how you’re here,” he said when he could speak again. “You sold your soul to a death god.”

Since she’d made a deal with Ghost to escape her death and come to the Merlin Gate, that was technically accurate, but Marci didn’t appreciate the way he said it. She was about to tell him as much when Myron sat up, moving his hand at the same time as if he were yanking on something.

When his fist stopped, she saw it was a string. A silver ribbon, specifically, covered in spellwork and wrapped multiple times around his hand. She was trying to read what the spells did when ribbon suddenly became a minor concern compared to what was at the end of it.

Something was climbing out of the manhole beside Myron. It looked vaguely human in the dark, but it moved like a rodent, skittering behind Myron like a rat running for cover. The combination reminded her of the megarats she and Julius had hunted in the DFZ back alleys when money really got tight, but despite the urban legends, Marci had never personally seen one bigger than a Doberman. By contrast, the thing cowering behind Myron now was the size of a car, with eyes that glowed like orange streetlights and the gleam of silver wrapped around its neck.

“That’s a spirit, isn’t it?” she said, her voice quiet and angry as she fixed the older mage with a deadly glare. “What did you do, Myron?”

“Nothing worse than you,” he replied, clutching the silver line in his fist as he stood up. “Every Merlin needs a Mortal Spirit.”

The creature on the chain hissed and scurried away, its teeth flashing like knives in the dark as it gnawed at its bindings. When the silver didn’t give, it made a pitiful sound, and Marci’s fists clenched. “That is not how this goes,” she growled. “A Merlin works with her spirit. You have that thing chained up like a dog. What’s it even a spirit of? Terror?”

“That is none of your concern,” Myron said, looking down at her, which was rich given the circumstances.

“And you had the nerve to criticize Ghost.”

“Judge me all you like,” he replied haughtily. “But unlike you, I have no illusions about what I’m doing. You tried to make friends with oblivion, to reason with death, but I understand that these are forces that cannot be controlled. Mortal Spirits are not our allies. They’re our shadows, the imprints left by humanity’s lowest common denominator, and they’ll be the end of everything if we do not strike first.”

Marci stared at him in disbelief. “You sound like Algonquin.”

“She would know, wouldn’t she,” he snapped. “Algonquin has always been our enemy, but that doesn’t make her wrong. She understands better than any living thing that Mortal Spirits are monsters. Our monsters, made by our flaws, and like any other evil of humanity, they must be curtailed.”

Marci crossed her arms over her chest. So that’s what this was about. “I see Algonquin found someone willing to take the job I turned down. Let me guess: you’re here to clamp down the magic and shut off the Mortal Spirits before they can rise, and in return, you get to be the first Merlin.”

“Almost,” he said, pulling the silver leash tight. “But I’m not just here to be the first Merlin. I also mean to be the last.”

He turned on his heel and walked to the pillar, dragging his spirit behind him like a disobedient dog. When he reached the wooden door, he wrapped the silver lead tight around his palm, raising his fist to knock.

Just as when Marci had done it, the knock rang like a gong through the swirling magic. The door opened immediately, sending light flooding into the dark again as Shiro, Abe no Seimei’s shikigami, the same bound guardian who’d shut the door in Marci’s face, lowered his head in greeting just as he had for her.

“Welcome,” he said, his mouth moving not quite in sync with the words as they filtered through the translation spell. “He who would be Merlin.”

“Thank you,” Myron said, smiling warmly as if he’d come here as a dinner guest and not someone bent on destroying everything. “I’m Sir Myron Rollins, Undersecretary of Magic for the United Nations, Chair of Tectonic Magic at Cambridge University, Master of Labyrinths, and Bound Mage of the DFZ.”

Marci’s eyebrows shot up. “Mage of the DFZ?” she cried. “Since when?”

“He means his spirit,” Ghost whispered, nodding to the ratlike thing at the end of the silver ribbon, which was still pulling against Myron with all its might.

“No way,” she said. “That’s the DFZ? As in the place we live?” He nodded, and her eyes went wide. “A city can be a Mortal Spirit?!”

“Anything humans value can be a Mortal Spirit,” Amelia said irritably, leaning forward on Marci’s shoulder until she almost fell off. “Now hush. This is about to get good.”

Marci didn’t see how anything involving Myron becoming Merlin could ever be termed “good.” But that must not have been what Amelia was talking about, because while Shiro was still smiling politely at Myron as he had for Marci, his inhumanly dark eyes were as hard as slate.

“You have indeed bound a Mortal Spirit,” he said, glancing distastefully at the giant rat-thing pulling at the end of Myron’s leash. “But her magic is not her own. She has been flooded with the blood of lesser spirits, and she reeks of Algonquin’s water.”

Marci didn’t understand what he was talking about for that the first part, but now that he’d mentioned it, there was a strong smell of lake water coming off Myron’s spirit, but not the usual kind. Even when it was flowing under the Skyways, Algonquin’s water always smelled clean. The stench coming off this thing reminded Marci of the storm drain she, Julius, and Justin had climbed through what felt like forever ago. She was wondering if the spirit was sick when Myron stomped his foot.

“What does it matter where her magic came from?” he demanded. “She’s a Mortal Spirit, and I am her bound master. That gives me the right to walk through this door.”

“There you are wrong,” Shiro said, looking more disgusted than ever. “You have no rights here, mage. As I told the young lady behind you, Merlins are champions of humanity. They cannot be beholden to foreign masters. You have bound a spirit in servitude, but as long as you yourself are the servant of the Lady of the Lakes, I will not allow you to enter this sacred place. You may try again when you have freed yourself from Algonquin’s influence. Until then, you are unworthy to stand in the light of this gate.”

And then he slammed the door in Myron’s face.

Marci laughed out loud. “Serves you right,” she said as Myron stumbled back. “I can’t believe you agreed to work for Algonquin. You’re such a traitor. How did General Jackson not shoot you, too?”

“Because I didn’t give her the chance,” Myron said, glaring over his shoulder at her with a look of pure hate. “Don’t confuse us, Novalli. I am nothing like you. You’re a PhD dropout who lucked into a spirit she never deserved. You’ve never known what you’re doing because you did nothing to earn it. All you’ve ever had is dragons willing to use you and your own arrogant grasping, which apparently extends even after death. But I’m no dragon lackey, and I’m not Algonquin’s servant, either. I am the Master of Labyrinths, the greatest living mage! Everything humanity knows about Merlins or Mortal Spirits comes from my research. I am the one who deserves to be here, and I will not be kept out.”

The smile slipped off Marci’s face. “Hold up,” she said, putting up her hands. “Just what are you planning to—”

She never got a chance to finish. Myron wasn’t listening, anyway. He just turned back to the door, tightening his grip on his spirit’s lead as he ordered, “Break it down.”

The spirit of the DFZ roared in defiance, a horrible amalgam of breaking cement and terrified human screaming. When it didn’t stop, Myron pulled again, yanking the rat-monster forward until the silver cord choked it, cutting off its roar to a pathetic, defeated gasp.

After that, the spirit didn’t fight again. It just cowered, looking more like a rat than ever as it obediently turned to the Merlin Gate and slammed its body into the door.

The crash went through the churning magic like a bomb blast, knocking Marci back even through the Empty Wind’s protective gale. She was still getting her feet back under her when the spirit charged again, attacking the door with claws and teeth that sparked like the muzzle flashes from gunshots in dark alleys. And as it clawed and bit and clawed again, the thick wood of the Merlin Gate began to crack.

“Stop!” Marci shouted, stepping to the very edge of her spirit’s protection. “This is stupid, Myron. You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“On the contrary, I know exactly what I’m doing,” he said, raising his voice over the violent roar of his spirit. “You don’t rise as high as I have by taking no for an answer.”

“So you’re just going to force your way in?” she cried. “Smash and grab the Heart of the World?”

“If that’s what it takes.” Myron said, glancing back over his shoulder. “I’m a mage, Miss Novalli. Audacity is the base line for entry.”

Marci swore under her breath. She’d used that line so many times herself, she’d forgotten it was from one of his books. But while she absolutely agreed that a bit of recklessness was necessary to push modern magic to its full potential, this was insane. “Breaking something we know nothing about just so you can get what you want isn’t audacity. It’s selfish and stupid. What if you destroy something irreplaceable? It’s not like we know how to make another one of these. And even if you do break in, it’s not like Shiro’s going to suddenly change his mind and give you your Merlin ticket.”

“That’s not his decision,” Myron growled. “I’ve read enough to know a shikigami when I see one. He’s a clockwork, magic shoved into a binding net of spellwork that mimics human intelligence. But mimicry is not being. He may have been left as a watchdog by the last generation, but he said it himself: Merlins are the champions of humanity. He can close the door and lock me out, but I have more right to be inside that pillar than he does.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, exasperated. “You don’t know any of this for sure. All you know is what you’ve scraped up from thousand-year-old texts and stories. You say you’re the expert, but you have no more idea what’s actually on the other side of that door than I do.”

“Perhaps not,” he said. “But use your eyes, Novalli. Do you think this occurred naturally?” He pointed up at the perfectly smooth pillar of stone rising like a skyscraper from the flat floor of the Sea of Magic. “Of course not. It was made by the Merlins. Made by men, not gods. And what man has made, man can break.”

“Why would you want to break this?” Marci cried as his screaming spirit slammed into the door yet again, sending another boom through the black haze of magic that was now frantically swirling around them. “You’ve found the place that makes Merlins, and you’re smashing in the door like a barbarian!”

As if to prove her right, the spirit of the DFZ chose that moment to slam its claws into the wood again, only this time, one of the boards cracked. It started as a hairline fracture then quickly widened into an inch-wide gap that sent the warm light from inside spilling into the dark.

“You see?” Marci said, dragging her hands through her short hair in frustration. “I know you want to be Merlin more than anything, Myron, but this is too far. You told me once that the Merlins were humanity’s hope. The power that would finally put our species on equal footing with dragons and spirits. Now we’re finally here, at the place where that happens, and you’re punching it down. How can you risk something so vital to all of us for your personal ambition? Are you really that selfish?”

That last part was a desperate play, and for a moment, it seemed to work. Myron actually hesitated, lowering the hand that held his spirit’s leash. But then, just when she thought that maybe she’d gotten through, he turned his back on her again.

“You understand nothing,” he said, voice shaking with fury. “You think I don’t know what I’m risking? I’ve dreamed of being Merlin since before you were born. I thought the Mortal Spirits were our salvation, our weapons. You were the one who showed me I was wrong.”

“Me?” Marci said, but when Myron looked back again, it wasn’t at her. He was staring at Ghost, and his eyes were full of fear.

“I thought I knew our enemies,” he said. “But Algonquin and the dragons are nothing compared to the gods we made in our fear. Humans have always been experts at finding fates worse than death, and when I saw your monster and his army of ghosts walking through Reclamation Land, I knew that the only way to keep us from destroying ourselves was to stop the problem at its source.”

Marci’s jaw clenched. “You have been listening to Algonquin.”

“I didn’t need to,” he said. “I already knew what had to be done. The only reason I played along with Algonquin was so I could get the Mortal Spirit she was building. Now that it’s mine, I’m going to do what I’ve always done.”

She looked pointedly at the cracked door. “Destroy things?”

Myron gave her a look of utter disgust. “Save humanity.”

He yanked his spirit’s leash again. When it cowered, he unclenched his right hand from the silver lead and reached out to place his palm over the glowing crack in the door. When it was pressed flat, he squeezed his fingers together, lining up the wide metal bands of his rings so that the intricate mazes engraved into their matte titanium surfaces matched up to form one continuous path. Marci didn’t know enough about Myron’s unique style of magic to say if the alignment was for show or if he actually needed the physical maze for his casting, but the moment the pattern came together, the labyrinth opened, and the dark magic swirling around them stopped spinning in circles and started pouring into him.

“What is he doing?” Amelia yelled over the roar. “I’ve never seen a human work magic that way.”

“No one else does,” Marci yelled back, grabbing hold of Ghost as the Sea of Magic rushed past them into Myron. “Labyrinth casting is a Sir Myron Rollins original. I’ve read all three of his books on it, and I’m still not sure how it works, or how he’s not burning himself out. I can’t even touch the magic here.”

“That’s because you’re dead,” the dragon said, anchoring her tail around Marci’s neck so she wouldn’t get swept away. “He’s not.”

Marci scowled. “Then how is he here?” Because if Myron had gotten in without having to pay the piper, she was going to be pissed.

“Because he is not bound to death,” the Empty Wind replied, his glowing eyes fixed on the rat cowering at Myron’s feet. “I don’t know how the DFZ brought him to this side, but she did it without killing him. I’m not sure where his body is, but so long as it breathes, he has protections you do not.”

“Great,” she muttered, glaring at the mage, who was happily pulling down fistfuls of magic that would have killed her, folding the power into complicated mazes that he laid down on the door in brightly glowing patterns of green and blue. She didn’t know Labyrinth magic well enough to know what these particular mazes did, but it didn’t take a genius to guess it wasn’t going to be pretty. A blasting spell, a cutting charge, maybe something nastier.

Whatever it was, Myron had made it clear he wasn’t pulling his punches, which meant she had to do something fast. His glowing maze already covered a third of the wood around the crack. At this rate, he’d have the whole door marked for destruction in minutes, along with Marci’s hopes of ever being a Merlin. Or getting out of this alive.

“Screw this,” she growled, turning to her spirit. “Ghost?”

The name wasn’t out of her mouth before the wind surrounding them picked up. I thought you’d never ask.

She grinned at the eagerness of the voice in her head, but Amelia curled her body closer, wings twitching nervously. “Marci,” she whispered. “I’m not sure sending him out is a good—”

A howl of wind drowned out whatever she’d been about to say. The protective magic surrounding them didn’t budge, but Ghost himself was gone, his centurion’s body blowing away like dust only to reappear directly beside Myron. The mage snatched his hand away from the door, turning to block himself instead, but Ghost wasn’t going for him. He was reaching for the leashed spirit, snatching the black rat-thing up by the scruff of its neck and throwing it into the dark. But just as Marci thought they’d landed it, the DFZ twisted in midair, launching itself off of nothing to slam into the Empty Wind like a furious, sharp-toothed school bus.

“Ghost!”

He went down with a crash, his shadowy body crushed under the rat-shaped spirit, who was getting bigger as Marci watched. In the seconds they struggled, it had grown from bus sized to house sized, its orange eyes gleaming with wild fury. No matter how big or angry it got, though, Ghost was still a wind. When the monster tried to trap him, he simply blew away, racing through the dark to safety. The rat didn’t give up, though. Ghost was infinitely faster, but the spirit of the DFZ was stuck on him as stubbornly as it had been on the door. No matter how deftly he dodged, it just kept coming, forcing him to run again and again, retreating farther and farther back into the dark.

“Why is he retreating?”

“That’s what I was trying to warn you about,” Amelia said quietly. “It doesn’t look it, but Myron’s DFZ is a lot bigger than your Empty Wind.”

That couldn’t be possible. “How is the spirit of a city bigger than the fear of being forgotten?”

“It isn’t, but remember what the shikigami said: the DFZ was stuffed full of spirit magic. Ghost rose on his own. He has enough juice to be conscious and active, but he’s nowhere near full, and you’re not alive to feed him power anymore. That’s a double whammy. Not only did he start in the hole, but he’s still running on the magic that he came in with when you died. That’s nowhere near enough to face a full-blown, fully juiced Mortal Spirit.”

“Then I’ll feed him magic!” Marci said desperately, looking around at the swirling dark. “There’s plenty of it around.”

“Too much of it. That’s the problem, remember?”

How could she forget? The one time she’d touched the stuff without the Empty Wind’s protection, she’d nearly lost her hand. Even so. “I have to do something!” She pointed at Myron, who was already back to working on his maze. “He’s halfway done.”

“Then don’t help him by being stupid!” Amelia snapped. “I know you want to do something, but if you touch the raw magic out there without a physical body to help diffuse it, it’ll burn right through you, and then Ghost will really be lost.”

Marci clenched her jaw. Amelia was right. The spirit of the DFZ might not have looked like much at the beginning, but now that they were going head to head, it was obvious the Empty Wind was outmatched. If he hadn’t been so fast, he’d have already been ripped to shreds, and while he retreated, Myron’s maze on the door got bigger and bigger and bigger.

“Screw this,” she growled, taking a step forward.

“Marci!” Amelia cried, digging her claws into her shoulder, but Marci wasn’t listening. She didn’t care if she burned out. That pompous idiot was not allowed to win. Not after they’d fought so hard to get here. So, before she could chicken out, Marci lunged forward, thrusting her hand through the protective swirl of winds Ghost was still maintaining.

Touching the raw magic felt like sticking her hand into a roaring furnace. The swirling chaos around them might have looked like ink-black water, but it burned like acid. Even braced for the worst, it still hurt more than she’d expected, but Marci didn’t let go. She just took another step, grabbing as much of the raw pulsing magic as she could and shoving it through the spellwork that was still marked on the inside of her bracelets.

The chunky plastic held up better than she’d anticipated, probably because it wasn’t actually plastic. Like all the rest of her, the colorful circles were only echoes, the residual magic of a life. For all that, though, her spellwork held up fine, as well it should. The founding theory of Thaumaturgy was that spellwork was a tool, a way for mages to keep the immensely complicated logic needed to cast spells straight in their heads. No chalk or marker could actually channel magic. Even the circle, the base of all casting, was just a physical line to serve as a mental barrier.

That was the theory, anyway. Of course, since nothing was physical in this place, casting this spell meant Marci had just accidentally proven the theoretical basis of the most popular casting method in the world. That should have been an enormous deal, but Marci didn’t have time to think about the ramifications. She was too busy forcing the burning magic through the bracelet containing her trusty microwave spell and out into Myron’s back.

As theory predicted, the spell worked perfectly. The moment she let it go, heat exploded from Marci’s fist, shooting instantly across the distance to leave a blistering burn mark across Myron’s back between his shoulder blades. He screamed in pain, dropping the maze he’d been carefully crafting as he reached instinctively for the wound. A blow that would have felt more like a victory if Marci hadn’t been screaming, too.

She hadn’t felt it during the rush of the attack, but now that the magic was gone, her whole arm was throbbing in pain. Even with no physical flesh to scorch, the burning magic had still blistered her skin to her elbow. Her entire right hand from the wrist down was a bloody, scorched mess, far worse than the second-degree burn she’d landed on Myron. But even knowing she’d come out the worse in that exchange didn’t keep the defiant smirk off Marci’s face when the older mage whirled around.

“Are you mad?” he yelled, stomping forward to face her. “What is it you hope to accomplish here? You’ve lost, Novalli. I have the bigger spirit, the ready magic, and the physical life needed to safely handle it. Even if we were on equal footing, I would still have the advantage because I’m the better mage. I’m more experienced, more educated, and my labyrinth casting is infinitely superior to your pedantic Thaumaturgy. I am better than you in every possible way. You have a zero percent chance of stopping me, and you’ll only hurt yourself more if you try.”

“If you wanted me to stop, you shouldn’t have put my back against the wall,” Marci growled, tucking her burned right arm to her side only to raise her left instead, pointing her uninjured fist at his face like a cannon. “I’ll burn myself to a crisp before I let a cowardly, shortsighted, selfish man like you become Merlin!”

Myron rolled his eyes. “Is that what this is about?” he asked in a patronizing voice. “I never expected you to accept defeat gracefully, Novalli, but I didn’t think you’d stoop to denying reality. Your part in this is over. The dead don’t get to have a say in the affairs of the living. But I’m not a cruel man. Stand down, call off your spirit, and I’ll give you another chance.”

“A chance at what?” she demanded, holding her arm steady. “As you just so kindly reminded me, I’m already dead. This is my last chance.”

“Mine, too,” he said quietly, holding up his fist, which was still gripping the spirit’s silver leash. “You’re not the only one with your back to a wall. This is a mission I cannot fail. I don’t want to kill what’s left of you, but I will if I have to, and we both know I can, so be a good girl and stand down.”

Marci bared her teeth and clenched her fist, ignoring the pain as she yanked the burning magic into the bracelet containing her force choke this time. Unlike her microwave spell, which was capped specifically to prevent lethal damage, this one had no limit. With enough power, she could crush an armored truck, and power was no problem in this place.

“Marci, think about this,” Amelia whispered as smoke began to rise from her curled fingers. “If he’s talking to you, he’s not breaking the door. Don’t be hasty.”

That would have been a good point if there’d been a reason to stall, but Marci saw none. No matter how much time she bought, nothing would change. Ghost just wasn’t big enough to beat the DFZ, and even with the entire Sea of Magic at her fingertips, she’d burn out before she could give him what he needed to close the gap. She couldn’t help him, couldn’t beat the DFZ on her own, couldn’t stop Myron’s magic from blowing open the door.

The only win she had a chance at was beating Myron himself, but even that was slim, and stalling wouldn’t make it better. Attacking was her only chance. If she didn’t take it, what was the point of coming here at all? She’d left the safety of her death to become Merlin. Given up something precious, even if she couldn’t remember what it was. If Myron won, all that was wasted. He’d already admitted he believed Algonquin’s propaganda. She was the only thing stopping him from going in there and capping the flow of magic back down to what it had been right after the meteor hit.

If she backed down, if she let this happen, then all the Mortal Spirits would fall back asleep, taking humanity’s magical future with them. Ghost, the Champion of the Forgotten Dead, would himself be forgotten. The whole world would be diminished, and it would be her fault. If she didn’t fight, there would be no more Merlins. She would never be a Merlin, never know the truth of magic, never keep her promise to Ghost.

Never see Julius again.

That was the last straw. With a scream of pain and fury, Marci clenched her smoking hand tight. But just as she finished folding the roaring magic into a hammer that would bash the superior look off Myron’s stupid face, his own hand flicked, and light blossomed from the ground.

Her eyes flicked down in surprise to see a maze of glowing lines rising from the stone under her feet. They rose faster than she could believe, working their way up, and then into her body. She could actually feel them forking like circuitry through her organs, and as they filled her, the nearly done spell in her hand began to unravel. She clutched it tighter, fighting to finish, but the glowing lines got there first, racing down her arm and into her clenched hand. Once there, they began to split, dividing and subdividing into thousands of tiny fractals that wiggled into the magic of the spell itself like tiny wedges, each one prying and twisting and pulling the magic apart until she couldn’t hold on.

The spell exploded with a blinding flash. The backlash hit immediately after, slamming into her like the shockwave from a bomb blast. The only reason she wasn’t blown to pieces was because Myron’s labyrinth held her in place, the glowing, forking lines grounding her to the stone like roots. Dimly, she supposed she should be grateful he’d kept her alive—assuming a sentient ghost counted as alive—but it was hard to feel anything but fury as she blinked the glare out of her eyes to see Myron looking down on her in pity.

“I warned you,” he said, curling his fingers. The glowing maze that ran from the ground into Marci’s body obeyed the gesture, popping her up like a puppet before dropping her to her knees. Another flick of his hand shattered what was left of her bracelets and yanked her arms behind her, leaving Marci bound and kneeling on the ground in front of him.

“I can’t claim this gives me no pleasure,” he said as she struggled. “A lesson in the distance between your skill and mine has been long overdue. But whatever you might think of me right now, if you really have read my books, you know I’m not a murderer. That’s why I’m giving you one more chance to stand down.”

“Before you what?” she snarled. “Murder me?”

“Why can’t you see that this isn’t about you?” he snapped, pointing at the glowing labyrinth that had stitched her to the ground. “I just saved you from blowing yourself to pieces because you’d rather die killing me than lose your shot at being Merlin, but you have the nerve to call me selfish? Did it ever occur to you that I’m not doing this for me? That I might, given my decades as a public servant, be acting in the public good?”

“You’re not the only one,” Marci said desperately. “You’re clearly drinking Algonquin’s Kool-Aid, but did it ever occur to you that maybe she’s not telling the truth? That maybe Mortal Spirits aren’t the implacable world-destroying machines she’s made them out to be? For pity’s sake, Myron, you’re chained to one. Did you even try to talk to her before you did that?”

His eyes narrowed. “That is none of your concern.”

“But it is,” she said desperately. “All of this is our concern, because this isn’t human versus spirit, it’s mortal working with mortal. I’m not a Merlin yet, but there’s got to be a reason the bond between mage and Mortal Spirit is a job requirement. I won’t know the truth until I step through that gate, but I’d bet my life we weren’t stuck together so we could kill each other. Mortal Spirits aren’t some alien force. They’re us. Our spirits. We’re meant to work together. That’s why we’re here. Not to fight. That’s what Algonquin wants. She wants us to be afraid so that we’ll cut the magic back down to the levels where she was the big fish, and she’s keeping us terrified so we won’t notice we’re cutting off our magical inheritance in the process. That’s her game, and you’re playing right into it, which is why I’m trying to stop you.”

He turned away in disgust. “You don’t know anything about what I mean to do.”

“Then tell me!” Marci cried desperately. “If I’m wrong, let me know! We were on the same team once. If we still are, say something, and we can work this out.”

“Bold words from the mage who attacked me first,” he said, leaning over so that he could look her in the eyes. “But I have no intention of wasting more of my very limited time arguing with someone who’s already made up her mind. You can think whatever you like, but the only thing I care about, that I have ever cared about, is doing what is best for all. Next to that, everything else is meaningless, including you. I spared your life once because I am a civil man, but you’ve made it abundantly clear that your mind is set. I know now that you will not stop, and I have no more time for civilities.”

He sighed bitterly, lifting his arm so his free hand was balanced in the air directly above her head. “Farewell, Miss Novalli.”

His hand came down like an ax, and the magic binding Marci went with it. Each glowing line ripped through her like a metal wire, shredding the fragile magic of her naked soul. She was dimly aware of Amelia yelling and a flash of fire, but what she yelled and whom she burned were lost in the all-consuming horror of being torn apart. Even the pain from her burns couldn’t break through the knowledge that she was dissolving, collapsing into a pile of little shreds that were themselves unraveling. But then, just when the consciousness that was Marci Novalli was beginning to disintegrate, a blast of the coldest wind she’d ever felt rose up from the ground. It cut through the swirling magic like a knife, snatching what was left of Marci out of Myron’s glowing lines and into the dark.

 

***

After the recent turns in her life, Marci was getting pretty used to finding herself suddenly in the void.

Like so many times before, she was floating in the dark. Only this wasn’t the quiet, still blackness she’d seen after her death, or even the churning dark of the Sea of Magic. This void was blowing, the freeing wind sweeping and tossing her like a leaf through an infinitely deep abyss. The uncontrollable movement terrified Marci more than anything else that happened since her death, so much that she began to worry that maybe she hadn’t been snatched away after all. Maybe Myron really had gotten her, and this was what happened to souls who were torn apart. But just as she began to panic that this endless tumbling was her final destination, an icy wind blindsided her from below, stopping her cold.

“Don’t be afraid,” it whispered in Ghost’s voice. “I’ve got you.”

Thank goodness, Marci said, closing her eyes in relief. I thought I was gone there for a— She stopped, confused. Why am I a disembodied voice?

“Because I ate you,” her spirit said, uncharacteristically sheepish.

You ate me? she cried, or thought she cried. It was hard to tell volume when your words were more impressions than sounds. So that means I’m inside you?

“Yes,” Ghost said. “But not for the first time. This is where I brought you the time I saved you from Gregory.”

Marci remembered. He’d snatched her out of the way of Gregory’s fireball by yanking her into a black-and-white world. Her voice had been weird then, too, and again when he’d brought her into what he’d called “his world” of the dead during their attack on Reclamation Land. But weird as both of those times had been, they were definitely not like this.

Why did it change? The other times you brought me in, everything just went black and white. This is nothing but black. Way too much black.

“That’s actually your change,” the wind explained. “When you were alive, I brought you, body and soul, into my magic. That’s why you could still see the physical world, because we were both inside my magic looking out. Now—”

No body, Marci finished for him, looking down at the empty darkness where her chest should have been. Right.

“I’m sorry.”

You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Myron had me dead to rights back there. You’re the only reason I’m not gone gone right now, so I’m not going to complain about a bit more dark. She wiggled what would have been her hands. At least my arms don’t burn anymore. That’s a bonus.

“That was stupid,” he said angrily. “I was protecting you.”

But we were losing.

“Better that than losing you.”

Marci shook what should have been her head. There was no point in explaining the stakes again. He already knew. As always, though, the one who seemed most afraid of her death was death himself. She’d always thought that was sweet. Now, though, looking around, Marci realized that his desperation to keep her with him might run deeper than she’d originally realized.

Not much here, is there?

The wind tilted, and she got the impression he was shrugging. “There’s a reason I’m named ‘Empty.’”

She looked down at the howling void. I can see why you didn’t want me to leave you alone. But what about the forgotten dead? Aren’t they here, too?

“They are,” he said. “But I try not to bother them unless I absolutely must. It’s my job to bring them peace, and they can be hard to find if they’re not clamoring for my attention.” The wind blew in a wide circle. “This place is so large, even the dead can’t fill it.”

Marci looked up in surprise, eyes going wide. Wait, she said. I’m not just inside your magic this time, am I? She looked around at the looming dark. This is your vessel. The hollow our fear of being forgotten dug into the floor of the Sea of Magic that filled and became you.

“If you say so,” he said bitterly. “I’ve never had a name for this place. It’s just where I woke up when the cries of the forgotten reached me, before I met you.”

She nodded slowly, staring into the howling emptiness with new appreciation. The other times he’d pulled her in, there’d been too much in the way to see. Now, though, with no physical reality to obscure her view, Marci began to grasp for the first time just how big her spirit actually was.

Spirits were large by definition, but she’d always thought about them as being on the same scale as Algonquin: huge, but still understandable. The Great Lakes were enormous, but you could still look down on them from an airplane and think “that’s a lake.”

Ghost was different. She’d known he had the potential to be bigger than Algonquin ever since Amelia had explained the concept of Mortal Spirits, but it wasn’t until this moment that Marci understood just how much bigger. If Algonquin’s vessel was big enough to hold the Great Lakes, Ghost’s would have encompassed the entire United States of America.

The cavernous space was so enormous, so vast, there was no possible way to see all of it at once. The only reason Marci knew it even had an end was because she could feel the edges through Ghost’s magic. The longer she thought about that, the more she understood why Amelia, Raven, and even Algonquin sometimes called Mortal Spirits “gods.” There was simply no other word for something so large.

Well, she said at last. At least I don’t feel so bad now about never being able to fill you up. Now that she knew the truth, Marci was surprised her magic had made a difference at all. Even Amelia’s fire wouldn’t be a drop in a bucket this big.

“It’s because I was close to the edge already when you found me,” he said dismissively. “A little goes a long way when you’re talking about hitting a hard line.”

Just don’t ask me to fill the rest, she said, awed. I don’t know if there’s enough magic in the world to fill a space like this. It’s incredible.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said quietly. “I don’t.”

Why not?

The wind grew colder. “It’s too big. Big and cold and…”

Lonely?

“The dead are always alone,” he said. “Alone in their deaths, and then alone here. The only company they have is when I rescue them from their collapsing graves, and then they are terrified of my face.” The wind holding her began to quiver. “Everyone is terrified of me. Of this place. Everyone, except you.”

Never me, Marci promised. I’ll never be afraid of you, Ghost.

“I know,” he said as his wind squeezed her tighter. “Why do you think I try so hard to save you? I know your work is important, but you’re all I have. If I hadn’t been so fast, Myron would have ripped you apart.”

But he didn’t, she said firmly. Thanks to you. But you of anyone should know how hard I am to kill. The two of us together? Unstoppable.

“Not that unstoppable. Myron and his rat stomped us.”

Stomped us down, she said. Not out. But while the DFZ might have more magic than you right now, and Myron’s clearly got the casting edge on me, they don’t have what we have. They don’t have this. She ran a mental hand over the bond that connected them. That’s our strength, and it’s how we’re going to beat them.

The wind sighed. “I know I chose you for your determination, but I think you’ve finally pushed too far. Myron did enormous damage to you. I barely caught your soul before he shredded it, and the only reason your magic is still together is because I’m keeping it that way by holding you in the one place I have total control. If you go out into the chaos of the Sea of Magic again, even with my winds to protect you, you’ll be extremely vulnerable. A ghost.”

Then we’ll match, Marci said. I’m not giving up on this. You know what could happen if Myron blasts his way into the Heart of the World, assuming he hasn’t done so already. She wasn’t sure how long she’d spent flipping through the dark, but Myron’s maze had to be nearly complete. I know it’s dangerous, but we have to do this, Ghost. If we don’t become a Merlin together, you’re toast and I’m dead. For real, this time. Even if I could go back to my death, you wouldn’t be there to pull me out when it finally collapsed, would you?

“No,” he said gravely. “Without Mortal Spirits, no one would come to save you.”

Exactly, she said. That’s why we can’t stop. This is more than just our lives. I don’t even know enough to describe the full breadth of what’s at stake here, but we’ve already run the ‘personal safety or Merlin’ scenario, and we both know what I chose.

“We do,” he said, his voice resigned. “All right, what are we doing?”

Trying another angle, Marci said, peering out toward where she could feel the edges of his dark. I need you to take me to the DFZ’s vessel.

The wind went still.

I know you can do it, she said before he could argue. The two of you were born right on top of each other. Right in Algonquin’s shadow. I’m betting that means you know where her vessel is. I want you to take me there.

“I do know where she is,” the Empty Wind admitted. “And you’re right, she is close, but…”

But?

“She’s not like me,” he said at last. “Not like I am now, anyway. You remember how I was in the beginning? How lost and angry and eager to control you?”

How could I forget? Marci said, rolling her eyes, or where her eyes should have been. You tried to make me your pet human. But you had good reason for feeling that way. You’d just woken up with no help and your domain screaming at you to fix things. Of course you were angry and confused.

“So is she,” Ghost said. “Only she’s much bigger and has far more reason to be enraged. She is not a kind city, Marci.”

I know that, she said. But she’s my city. I didn’t run to the DFZ just to get away from Bixby. I’d always wanted to live there, because it was the place where anything was possible. That’s the dream of the DFZ. It’s the city where anyone can start over, and anything can happen. Myron can’t put a chain on that. No matter how mad she gets, if she’s still the DFZ I know, I’m betting I can talk to her.

“I’m sure you can,” he said. “I just don’t know if she’ll listen.”

That’s a chance we’ll have to take.

The Empty Wind heaved a long sigh, and then he started moving, whisking her through the dark at what must have been ludicrous speed. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

I don’t, she confessed. I can’t. We’re in brand-new territory here. There is no knowing. We’ll just have to give it a shot.

That was a terrifying truth, but in a way, Marci was used to it. From the moment she’d bound Ghost, everything had been new and strange and unknown. She’d been making things up as she went for months now, but that was the price of being at the cutting edge. She just hoped being on this one didn’t cut her to bits. But there was no turning back now. Ghost was already slowing down, his wind buffeting her gently as they reached the edge of the dark.

Like everything else in this place, the Empty Wind ended at a cliff. It rose from his depths like a wall. Unlike the hole at the top of Marci’s death, though, there was no upside-down pool of liquid dark or barrier of any kind. It was just a stone lip, the place where the floor of the Sea of Magic fell off into the chasm that was humanity’s fear of being forgotten, and over it, pouring down into the abyss below like a thousand-mile-high waterfall, was the swirling magic.

Wow, Marci said, staring in awe as her spirit lifted her over the silent spectacle of a black sea pouring into an even blacker chasm. Is that the magic filling you up?

“Trying to,” he whispered as he pulled her into the space above his vessel at a much slower speed. “It’s been flowing like that for a long time, but I am a very big hole to fill.”

So I see, she said, tearing her eyes off the waterfall of magic to look at what was up top instead. Or try to. They were definitely flying over the floor of the Sea of Magic, but there wasn’t actually much to see here. The chaotic swirls and nauseating waves that had made her eyes cross earlier were now so small she could barely see them. She was trying to figure out if this was because the magic had changed, or if she had, when Ghost explained.

“The magic is thin here,” he said, sweeping them low over the stony floor. “The Sea of Magic is still filling. That leads to uneven spots, especially in places where many Mortal Spirit chasms need to be filled. The magic pours into us faster than it can be replaced, creating localized shallows.”

Is that why we’re going so slow?

“No,” he said, setting them down on the sea floor. “We’re slow because we’re here.”

Marci jumped. Now that she was down, she could feel the stone beneath her feet, which meant she had feet again. A quick inventory revealed she had hands, too, along with the rest of her body. She still couldn’t see anything in the dark, but it was an enormous relief just to feel her physical parts, or at least the illusion of them. She was turning to ask Ghost if this was due to their leaving his domain or if he’d done something to put her back together, but the question died before it could form in her mind when she looked down and saw where they’d landed.

They were on the edge of another chasm with magic pouring over the edge just like Ghost’s, except this one wasn’t empty or dark. It was vast and shining, a Grand Canyon of glittering light below them that stretched down and out as far as she could see.

What am I looking at? she whispered, kneeling at the edge of the sea floor.

“What you asked me to show you,” the wind whispered nervously in her ear. “The city.”

Marci’s eyes went wide. It was so bright after the emptiness of Ghost’s void, she hadn’t realized until he named it that all that glittering shine below them was a city. An impossibly huge, double-layered city that stretched out in all directions.

With the exception of the sea floor they were standing on, every angle inside the canyon below them was filled. It was like staring into a mirror box. Look to the side, and it was all superscrapers rising to infinity. Look down, and there were infinite warrens of stairs, underpasses, and sewer pipes descending to the vanishing point in a neon-lit tangle. And if she looked straight ahead, it was just city. Miles and miles and miles of buildings and overpasses and advertisements and cars racing from elevated Skyways down to the grid streets below. But for all its impossibilities, every view was familiar, because this wasn’t just any city. It was her city, the one she’d come to think of as home, despite only living there for a few weeks.

It’s the DFZ.

“It’s the ideal of the DFZ,” Ghost said.

It would have to be. In addition to existing in a crack in the floor of the Sea of Magic rather than the shore of Lake St. Clair, the city in front of them was orders of magnitude larger than the actual DFZ. It was also architecturally impossible, not that that mattered here. The laws of physics only applied to the physical world. This was the realm of spirits, of magic and ideas, and this was humanity’s dream of the new Detroit: an endless metropolis where anything could and did happen. She was staring into the vessel of the Mortal Spirit of the DFZ. Not the rat it chose to represent itself. That was no more her than Ghost’s cat. This was the real DFZ, the heart of the human dream of the city itself, and now that she was here, Marci knew what she had to do.

I’m going in.

“I can’t go with you,” the Empty Wind warned. “That’s her domain, the place where all magic is hers. I can’t—”

I know, Marci said, smiling him. Don’t worry. This was the plan, remember? I’ll be fine, I’m just going to talk. Wait here. I’ll be back before you know it.

It was clear from his shaking that Ghost was not fine with this, but he didn’t fight her again. He just swirled tighter around her, his icy hand gripping the bond of magic that flowed between them with all his strength.

“I’ll pull you out if things get bad.”

If things went bad, there wouldn’t be much left to pull out. She was walking into the lion’s den. She was just a soul, the leftover magic of a human life. Once she dropped into the DFZ’s domain, she’d be at the city’s mercy just like all the other magic in there. But she knew her spirit well enough to know Ghost wasn’t holding on for her. He needed their connection, so she let him cling, giving the magical link between them a final reassuring squeeze before stepping off the edge.

The change was instantaneous.

The moment her foot left the ground, everything—the dark, the swirling magic, her Empty Wind—vanished in a flash, instantly replaced by bright sun cut up into thousands of reflections from the superscrapers overhead. She wasn’t falling, wasn’t floating, wasn’t anything strange at all. She’d simply stepped from being a soul on the edge of a magical crevice to being a normal person again, standing in the middle of a crowded square somewhere uptown on the Skyways under the blinding midday sun.

Ghost?

The word was soft in her head, which suddenly felt very small. Small and empty. Their connection was still there in her hands, but her spirit’s voice was gone from her mind and her ears. Just as she’d been in her death, Marci was alone in her head again, but not anywhere else.

Just like in the real DFZ, there were people everywhere. They crowded in around her, tourists and office workers, street cart vendors and kids cutting school. Normal people, the sort she’d seen every day, laughing and talking and going about their lives. That was what made the crowd so odd, because these people didn’t have lives. They were shadows, aspects of the spirit that ruled this place. The spirit who had to know she was here.

Sucking the city air deep into her lungs—which were also whole and normal again, just as they’d been in her death—Marci turned in a circle, scanning the crowd for a sign. Something that would out this for what it was: an illusion, an ideal, a home for a spirit.

But the more she looked, the more real the city felt. Down here on the ground, she couldn’t even see the weird infinite skyline anymore. The people looked and sounded like any other crowd on a sunny afternoon on the Skyways, and the smells coming from the street carts were delicious and nostalgic, exactly as she remembered. If she didn’t know better, she could almost have believed she was really—

“Home.”

Marci jumped a foot in the air. The voice sounded like it was right behind her. When she whirled around, though, Marci saw she was actually across the street, looking at her through the unknowing crowd.

When she’d first seen it crouched behind Myron in the dark, the spirit of the DFZ had looked like a giant, evil sewer rat. When he’d sicced it on Ghost, it had just looked like a monster. Now, though, the thing staring at her looked almost human. A very sickly and tragic human with a hunched back and a black cloak made from trash bags. Its bowed head was covered in a deep cowl from which huge eyes shone out like street lights in a dark alley. For all this, though, the thing staring at Marci still looked far more human than the monster that Myron had ordered to attack, and that gave Marci hope.

Hello, she said, hiding her wince at still being a disembodied voice behind what she hoped was a friendly smile. I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Marci—

“I know who you are,” the spirit murmured, her voice soft this time, like the white noise of a crowd. “I saw it all when you jumped in. You’re a mage of the DFZ. One of my own.” She smiled then, her orange eyes gleaming. “Welcome home.”

Thank you, Marci said nervously. But I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. It’s true I lived in the DFZ, but I’m not yours. I belong to the Empty Wind.

“Not anymore,” the DFZ said. “You came to me. You live here.” She pointed at the street under their feet. “That makes you mine. Someone must come home. A city can’t be empty.”

But you’re not empty. All these people, the buildings—

“They’re not mine,” the spirit snarled. “He put them here.”

The raw disgust and hatred in her voice went through Marci like shrapnel. Given that Ghost read her mind all the time, she really shouldn’t have been surprised, but it was impossible not to flinch at the sudden rush of bitter, toxic anger flooding through her thoughts. The only good part was that at least she didn’t have to wonder whom the spirit was talking about. The moment she spoke, Myron’s face appeared on every floating billboard and projected sign in the city, leering down at them like a hateful god.

“He chained me,” the DFZ snarled up at the pictures. “They did it together. The lake has always been my enemy, but I never thought a mage would turn. I am their city, their freedom.” She reached into her trash bags, scraping her clawlike fingers over the silver ribbon wrapped around her throat. “How could he chain me!?”

What he did was monstrous, Marci agreed. That’s why I’m here. I can help you.

“I know,” the spirit said, darting through the crowd like a rat until she was standing right in front of her. “That’s why I let you in. You’re not a coward like he is.” She smiled at Marci. “You walked with death, but you were not afraid. Now you can walk with me.” Her smile grew sinister. “I’m going to make you mine.”

No, Marci said firmly. I’m flattered, but I already have a spirit.

“But I’m better,” the DFZ argued. “I’m the best city in the world! Everyone wants me, including you. You lived here. That makes you mine, and if you’re mine, you can break this.” She pointed at the silver noose around her neck. “This is good business for both of us. Free me, and I’ll give you what he wants. We’ll tear down the door he’s obsessed with and make you Merlin instead. Then we will have power, and he will have nothing.”

Again, the spirit’s anger sliced through Marci like a rusty knife, but far more worrisome than the feeling itself was what it signified. She’d been with Ghost long enough to know what that sort of raw emotion meant. The spirit of the DFZ might be full to bursting, but she was still just as new and lost as Ghost had been when she’d found him. Unlike the Empty Wind, though, the DFZ had had no one to help her work through it, not even cats. She’d been born to Myron and his chains. No wonder she was so unstable. What she needed was a real Merlin, someone who could be her partner through all of this. But while Marci couldn’t be that for her, it didn’t mean she couldn’t help.

I don’t have to be yours to give you freedom, she said, looking the spirit in her glowing orange eyes. I’m sure he didn’t tell you this, but Myron had no right to chain you in the first place. Mortal Spirits are supposed to choose the human who suits them best, not the other way around, and it doesn’t happen through chains. I don’t know what he did to bind you so thoroughly, but if you’ll let me get close, I might be able to break it, and then you’ll be free to do whatever you want. You can go home, go back to your city and find a mage who won’t abuse you, and you don’t have to break anything.

That was more hope than fact. Marci had no idea if she could actually crack whatever insanity Myron had pulled off to subjugate a spirit this enormous. But as he’d put it himself: anything man built, man, or woman in this case, could break. She just had to convince the DFZ to let her get close enough to try. But it looked as though Marci’s play was working even better than she’d intended. She’d barely made the offer before the DFZ lurched forward and grabbed her hands.

“Yes!” the spirit cried, her voice as roaring and chaotic as a rioting crowd. “Do it! Free me, and I will make them both pay for what they’ve done.”

The hatred in her voice at the end was a new and terrible thing. It wasn’t as sharp as the anger, but it was bigger and stronger. It rose through the city like a haze, dimming the lights and turning the crowd that was still walking around them into a mob. The sudden roar of their angry voices was so terrifying that even Marci—who’d died herself as a direct result of the Lady of the Lake’s actions, and who’d suggested this idea in the first place—hesitated.

“What are you waiting for?” the DFZ demanded, clutching her silver noose with both hands. “Free me!”

I will, Marci promised, though she made no move to get closer. It wasn’t that she begrudged the spirit her anger. So far as she could tell, the poor thing had been bred in blood and chained the moment she woke up. Algonquin and Myron both had treated her like a tool, a crowbar to pry apart the Merlin Gate for the sole purpose of eliminating the DFZ and every other Mortal Spirit like her. She deserved to be angry. Marci was, too, but unlike the city, she hadn’t been born today. She knew that lashing out in fury, no matter how righteous, always came with consequences.

I’m not forgiving Myron or Algonquin anything, she said cautiously. You have every right to want their heads on a platter for what they did, but you’re a very large spirit. If you rage, you could destroy a lot more than just your enemies.

“So what?” she cried. “I am the DFZ! Whatever I destroy, I can rebuild. Everything can always be rebuilt.”

Not people, Marci said. Places and things can be restored, spirits can be reborn, but mortals just die. Look at me. She placed her hands against her chest. I’m dead. The fact that I am here talking to you right now is entirely due to a miracle named the Empty Wind. If I ever get back to the land of the living, it will be because I’ve had miracles on top of miracles, but not everyone gets so lucky. The rest of your city, your people, they don’t have what I have. If you lash out at Algonquin, it will be well deserved, but there’s nothing in it for you if you destroy your own domain in the process.

“If you won’t help me, you are useless,” the spirit snarled, getting closer. “I don’t have to let you be here, you know. You’re already dead. I can finish the job.”

I’m well aware, Marci said angrily. You think I don’t know what I risked by coming here? My spirit is worried out of his mind. But I did it because I can’t let Myron and Algonquin win. That makes us allies, and I never said I wouldn’t help you. I’m just trying to make sure you understand what’s at stake. Algonquin already flooded Detroit once.

“You think I don’t know?” the DFZ cried. “I was the one who was drowning! But things are different now. You talk like I’m walking into a trap by attacking, but Algonquin’s the one who should be afraid. Of the two of us, I am the larger spirit, which means I’m not her city. She’s my lake, and the only thing keeping me from putting her in her place for good is this.” The DFZ yanked the silver rope taut against her neck. “We both want the same thing. Free me from this binding, and I will strike Algonquin down so hard, she will never rise again.”

That was a very tempting offer. There was no question that unleashing a young, angry, and uncontrolled Mortal Spirit into the world was a very bad idea. At the same time, though, the DFZ was exactly the type of spirit Marci had been fighting for this entire time. She was a Mortal Spirit, human magic. Her rage wasn’t just the madness of a caged animal. It was humanity’s anger at Algonquin, the spirit who’d drowned them by the millions and taken their city for herself.

Unlike the humans who’d created her, though, the DFZ was big enough to push back. If Marci freed her, not only would she keep Myron out of the Merlin Gate, she might get Algonquin out of the DFZ as well. Permanently. Surely that was worth taking a risk.

Wasn’t it?

She bit her lip, trying desperately to think through everything logically, but it was impossible. Everything was too powerful, too volatile to be certain. In the end, it came down to the spirit in front of her. The spirit of the city whom she’d come to think of as hers, who’d been unfairly abused, bullied, and imprisoned. The spirit who, if Marci didn’t do something, would be used to kill all others, including Ghost. There was also the selfish but still terrifying fact that, if Marci didn’t get the DFZ’s help, she was likely never getting out of this city again.

Next to all that, a spirit’s righteous anger was a risk Marci decided she was willing to take. If the DFZ really was bigger than Algonquin, freeing her could prove to be the first real blow humanity had ever struck back against the lake. Even if it backfired, the fallout couldn’t be worse than leaving her to Myron and letting his fear hand Algonquin her victory. That was logic enough for her, so Marci reached out, touching the spirit for the first time as her fingers closed around the silver noose at her neck.

When Marci touched the metal, several things became immediately apparent, starting with just how big a hornet’s nest she’d shoved her hand into.

Whatever magic had gone into making the bindings that held the DFZ, it was way more than just Myron’s. The silver labyrinth the metal ribbon had been bent into was definitely his work, but the rest of it—the thousands of layers of overlapping spellwork that covered both sides of the thin-hammered metal, the incredibly sophisticated logic controlling the flow of the DFZ’s magic power—contained multiple magical signatures. It was incredibly sophisticated, the work of hundreds of hands, including what felt like a spirit’s touch, and not Algonquin’s. Which spirit, she had no idea, but one thing was certain: this was not Myron’s spell, and that was where Marci found her way in.

Proud as she was of her spellbreaking, the binding on the DFZ was far too complicated for her to crack on her own. The good part of that, though, was that Myron was in the same boat. He’d brilliantly manipulated the spellworked silver ribbon into the labyrinth that bound the city, but no amount of aftermarket tweaking could change the fact that this binding wasn’t the spell’s original purpose. Myron’s commands were all layered on, not baked in, which meant that if Marci could locate the bits he’d changed, she could switch them back and revoke his control.

With that in mind, Marci got to work, hunching over the DFZ as she started meticulously picking her way through Myron’s maze. It was tedious, delicate work, but not nearly as bad as it could have been. Though she hated the man with all her heart, Marci couldn’t deny that Myron’s spellwork was elegant. Even though he’d done some obvious jury-rigging to force the spellwork into a new function, the modifications he’d made were still masterpieces of elegance and simplicity. It was painful to pry such perfection apart, but anger kept her going, and soon enough, Marci found herself at the crux that held it all together.

The silver ribbon wasn’t just looped around the spirit’s neck. Once the trash bags came off, Marci saw the binding covered the DFZ’s entire body like mummy wraps, only they didn’t wrap around her in circles. Instead, the ribbon had been folded into a prison that was half origami box, half Gordian knot, which the spirit had grown into like a gourd growing into a mold.

As brilliant as that structure was, though, it had a clear weak point. A single piece of metal—not a ribbon, but a bar that ran like a horse’s bit across the base of the spirit’s throat. Even here, where nothing was physical, it looked old and battered, but one set of markings was new. Myron’s name, scratched deep into the metal’s scarred surface. The place where everything came together.

The moment she touched the letters, the entire spell unfolded like a flower. For a dizzying moment, she was touching the spirit directly, reaching right into her living magic until Marci could actually see Myron through the DFZ’s eyes. Or at least the orange eyes of the rodent version of her that was still cowering beside him.

Time inside the spirit vessels must have been different just as it had been inside her death. Marci felt like she’d been in here for hours, but when she spotted through the spirit’s eyes, he was still drawing his maze on the Merlin Gate’s wooden door. He must have felt Marci’s hand on his spellwork, though, because the moment she saw him, he stopped, yanking his hands off the almost-finished spellwork.

“No,” he said, turning on his spirit with a horrified look. “It can’t be. You can’t be doing this!”

Marci grinned, placing her hands on either side of the spellwork that surrounded his name. Wanna bet?

She didn’t realize he could hear her voice in his mind same as his spirit’s until she felt his panic flooding down the thread that connected him to the DFZ. By that point, though, Marci was in too deep to care. She squeezed with everything she had, crushing the spellwork he’d modified to hold the spirit captive. It was a brute-force solution to an incredibly elegant puzzle, and it never would have worked save for one factor: the DFZ was on her side.

The city was pushing along with Marci, biting and clawing and fighting with all her might against the binding Marci was ripping apart. Alone, neither was enough. Together, though, their combined force was more than any spellwork could hold, and Myron’s was no exception. Seconds after they began, the silver binding snapped like thread, and the DFZ poured out with a scream, leaving Marci alone in a city that suddenly was no longer there.

With nothing left to hold her up, she plummeted through the dark, but not Ghost’s dark this time. She’d been kicked out of a different spirit, which meant she was now falling through the swirling dark chaos of the Sea of Magic itself. Falling alone, with no protection and nothing to grab on to.

The moment she realized what was happening, Marci began to panic. Without the Empty Wind to shield her, the raw magic that had burned her arms was now burning everything, eating through what little was left of her soul at a terrifying pace. She couldn’t see anything but swirling, oily dark, couldn’t even scream for help. Whenever she opened her mouth, burning magic rushed in. But then, just when Marci was sure she’d finally reached the end of her train of miracles, a wall of wind slammed into her, knocking her to the ground she’d only just realized was there.

“Marci!”

She’d never been so happy to hear a voice in her life. Ghost must have broken a record to get to her, because he seemed as frantic as she was when he snatched her up off the stone, pushing her magic back together as fast as he could.

“Are you okay? Do you hurt?”

She hurt everywhere, but she was too excited to care. “We did it!” she cried, laughing in delight at the sound of her voice speaking out loud again. “I broke the binding. I set her free!”

“I know,” the Empty Wind said. “I felt her leave. She’s on her way to the other side, and she’s mad.” He shuddered. “I wouldn’t want to be Algonquin right now.”

The way he said that made Marci shudder, too. “Did I just kick something I shouldn’t have?”

“Probably,” he said. “But we ran out of good options a while ago. All we can do is work now with what we have. But I have to get you back to the Merlin Gate.”

“Why?” she asked, suddenly terrified. “Did Myron break it? Is it ruined?”

It was impossible to tell with his empty face, but Marci would have sworn her spirit was smiling. “No, it opened.”

He pointed down, and Marci turned to see that she hadn’t been lost in the dark Sea of Magic after all. Or, at least, not as lost as she’d thought. They weren’t off in some forgotten corner of the magical plane. They were right beside the pillar of the Merlin Gate, barely twenty feet away from where Myron had been working. The only reason she hadn’t been able to see that before was because the swirling chaos had blocked her vision.

Now that she was back inside Ghost’s calming winds, though, she could see everything again. Including Amelia, who was curled in a little ball on the ground, surrounded by a bubble of fire. A bubble that popped as soon as she spotted Marci.

“Never do that again!” the dragon cried, launching herself at them like a fiery arrow. She slammed into Marci like one, too, knocking her back down on the ground.

“Sorry,” Marci grunted.

“Don’t ‘sorry’ me!” Amelia snapped, her voice shriller than Marci had ever heard it. “Being alone here is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever been through, and I know terrifying! I was part of Bethesda’s learning clutch, remember? You’re just lucky I’m awesome enough to protect myself, but look what it did to my fire.” She spread her wings, which were indeed burning much less brightly than they had been before. “It’s not like I can get more of this stuff!”

“I’m sorry,” Marci said again, pushing herself up. “I didn’t plan for this to happen. If it makes you feel better, it was terrifying for me, too, but I think it worked.”

“Oh, it worked, all right,” Amelia said, scrambling onto Marci’s shoulder. “Look.”

She nodded at the Merlin Gate, and Marci’s eyes went wide. Just as she’d seen through the DFZ, Myron’s incomplete maze of a spell was still glowing on the wooden door. That didn’t seem to matter, though, because just as the Empty Wind had said, the door was now standing open on its own, shedding its golden light into the dark like an invitation. Unlike every other time it had opened, though, there was no smug shikigami standing in the way. Just the open doorway and a clear shot into whatever lay beyond, and on his knees in front of it was Myron.

If it wasn’t for his trademark suit, Marci wouldn’t have recognized him. He’d come in like a conqueror, throwing spells around and treating the Sea of Magic as if it were just another UN war zone. Now, though, his hunched body was even more transparent than Marci’s, and it was getting fainter by the second as he curled into a ball. A position Marci understood all too well, because she’d just been there herself.

“He’s being eaten by the magic.”

“Of course he is,” Ghost said coldly. “Without his spirit to shield him, he’s nothing here.”

“He’s nothing anywhere,” Amelia said, turning up her nose. “Let him dissolve. He deserves it after the mess he made.”

The Empty Wind nodded and started walking toward the open door, but Marci didn’t follow. When he looked back to see why, she sighed. “We can’t just leave him like this.”

“Of course we can,” Amelia said. “Just don’t do anything. Easy-peasy.”

“I agree with the dragon,” her spirit said. “He deserves no compassion.”

“I know,” Marci said tiredly. “He’s a terrible man who’s done terrible things, but…” She trailed off with a long breath. “He’s still human, and he’s not all bad. He gave me several chances to retreat earlier, if you’ll recall. And anyway, I can’t let him just die in front of me.”

They both looked at her like she was crazy, but Marci was already walking over to Myron, pushing right out to the edge of the wind in the trust that Ghost would follow. Which he did, albeit grudgingly.

“This is a mistake.”

“This is a tragedy,” Amelia said. “Think about what you’re doing, Marci. Leaving someone to suffer the consequences of their actions isn’t cruel. It’s natural selection at work. You’re only encouraging more bad behavior if you spare him.”

“Probably,” Marci admitted. “But I’d rather deal with that than knowing I walked off and left another mage to die. Besides, it’s not like he can do anything. I mean, look at him.”

The UN mage was little more than a shadow of himself. His body was even more transparent than Marci’s, and he wasn’t moving at all. He was just kneeling there on the ground, waiting for death to come. It was a truly pathetic sight, and angry as she was with Myron, Marci couldn’t stand to see him end like this. If nothing else, she couldn’t let him die before she gloated her victory over him, so she took one more step forward, forcing Ghost’s protective winds to expand until they covered the older mage as well.

The moment the Empty Wind swept away the burning magic, Myron collapsed, clutching what was left of his transparent body with a sob. The heartbreaking sound cemented Marci’s belief that she’d done the right thing, but Amelia rolled her eyes.

“Fantastic,” she said, crossing her forelegs with a huff. “Now we have this to deal with on top of everything else.” She shot Marci a dirty look. “Julius has been a terrible influence on you.”

Marci didn’t agree with the terrible part, but the rest was true. She certainly hadn’t shown Bixby or his men mercy, but a lot had happened in her life since then, and Marci was no longer so quick to kill. Besides, while he definitely didn’t deserve anything after what he’d done, letting the Sir Myron Rollins die when she could easily save him just felt like a waste. As she’d just seen from the DFZ’s binding spellwork, he was still a brilliant mage. The world needed those, even if they were jerks. Of course, now that she’d saved Sir Myron, Marci had to figure out what to do with him.

She was turning to ask Ghost if there was a way to just kick him back to his body in the physical world when Myron suddenly rolled over, collapsing on his back to stare up at Marci with a look of absolute incomprehension.

“You saved me.”

“I did,” she said, pausing expectantly for the flood of gratitude that usually followed such statements. But not this time.

“Why?” he demanded, sitting up in a rush. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m starting to wonder,” Marci grumbled.

“You know, a little groveling wouldn’t hurt,” Amelia said, hopping off Marci’s shoulder to land on Myron’s head, which she immediately started pushing down toward his lap. “Bow, idiot. You owe her your life.”

Myron waved the little dragon away furiously. An inconsequential gesture, since his transparent hand went right through her. “Why would I be grateful to Novalli? She just freed a Mortal Spirit!”

“That you raised and bound,” Marci said angrily. “Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“What are you thinking?” he yelled back. “I had to bind her. Do you not have eyes? She’s a monster!”

“My eyes work just fine,” Marci said, rising to her feet. “But the only monster I see is you, Myron.”

“That’s because you don’t understand,” he said, scraping his hands desperately through his graying hair. “You’ve ruined everything. Without the binding, she’ll run rampant!”

“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?” Amelia asked. “You guys were the ones who got her all riled up.”

“I had everything under control.”

“No, you didn’t,” Marci said, exasperated. “You tried to put a leash on something a billion times your size! Of course it went wrong.”

“Only because of you,” he snapped. “The collar was never meant to be permanent. I just needed to keep control long enough to become a Merlin. If you hadn’t meddled, I’d be one right now, and this whole spirit problem would be fixed.”

Ghost’s wind grew terrifyingly cold. “You should have let him die,” he growled.

“Not too late,” Amelia said cheerfully.

Marci was secretly starting to agree. But as infuriating as Myron was, her decision was made.

“Done is done,” she said, glaring down at him. “For better or worse, your life is saved. Go home, Myron. We don’t need you here.”

The haughty look fell off the mage’s face, leaving him with an almost sheepish expression. “I don’t know how,” he admitted, looking down at his hands in his lap. “The spirit brought me here by her own path. I don’t…I don’t know how to get back to my body on my own.”

Another time, Marci would have laughed herself sick at the irony of the world’s greatest expert on deep magic getting lost in it. Right now, though, it was just one more annoyance.

“Then you’d better stop complaining,” she snapped. “Because I’m out of time to waste on you.” She turned on her heel, putting her back to him as she walked toward the open door. “Suck it up or get left behind, but I’m going to finish what I started.”

Myron started to say something, but Marci wasn’t listening anymore. All this talk about Julius and death and things being ruined forever had only reminded her of how much was at stake. She didn’t care what it took or what she had to do—she would become a Merlin, she would fix this, and she would get home. She was going to make this right for everyone, and then, when it was over and she finally got back to Julius, she was never letting him go again.

With that certainty burning in her like dragon fire, Marci marched across the stone to the wide-open Merlin Gate, stepping over the threshold without hesitation out of the dark and into the streaming light.

 

***

 

At the same time, back in the DFZ, in the sealed-off cavern beneath the Financial District locals called the Pit, Algonquin clutched her water.

She didn’t even need to look at Myron’s still-unconscious body lying face down in the circle to know things weren’t going well on the other side. Her magic was there, too. She’d felt it just like everyone else. Something had broken in the Sea of Magic, something huge. Myron, however, had not woken up. He was alive, his chest rising and falling beneath the Phoenix’s head, but that didn’t mean much. Whatever was going on, he clearly hadn’t made the jump to Merlin. His spirit, though, was sweeping through the magic like a battering ram, which meant they were now in a worst-case scenario.

“Lady Algonquin!”

The human voice was more fearful than usual, so Algonquin forced her water into a passable semblance of a mortal face and turned to deal with the problem, which turned out to be one of her commanders. Which one, she couldn’t say. All mortals looked the same to her, and they died so quickly there was no point in learning their names. Fortunately, she paid her troops enough not to care about such things, and the armored woman didn’t even hesitate before she gave her report.

“Lady,” she said, saluting. “The mages are reporting that Sir Myron is no longer in control of his binding. The circle itself is holding for now, but no one knows how long that will last. The mage commander is requesting your permission to move the binding circle away from the city center to avoid infrastructure damage and civilian casualties.”

That was a sensible request. Mortals were easily replaced, but Skyways were expensive. Moving the silver circle made from the Phoenix’s innards would make it infinitely more difficult for Myron to find his body again, but if he’d failed to become Merlin as it appeared, then he was as good as dead anyway. Algonquin was through with him in any case, but as she opened her mouth to give the order to fall back to the wastes beyond Reclamation Land, the ground began to shake.

Algonquin bolted, abandoning her watery body under the Pit entirely as she rushed back to check on her lakes, but her fish were calm. This was no earthquake. Whatever was shaking, it only seemed to be affecting the city. It was still going when she returned to the Pit, animating her water there once again in a terrified rush.

“Evacuate the Skyways.”

Her commander’s head snapped up. “Lady?”

“You heard me,” she snarled, flowing over the ground to the unmanned circle that still contained Myron’s sleeping body. “I want everyone out. Empty the city.”

There was no backtalk this time. The commander didn’t even salute. She just started running for the trucks, yelling into her comm that they were now in Evac One, and this was not a drill. Algonquin shut her out after that, focusing all her water on the magic she could now feel rising from the ground beneath her like a fist.

This will confuse your history, the Leviathan whispered, his deep, alien voice sliding through her water like oil. They will call you merciful.

“What do I care how the humans remember me?” Algonquin said, expanding her water to surround the silver circle. “I’m not doing this to save them. I’m evacuating the city because a city without people is nothing but a shell.” And given the size of the magic bearing down on them, she was going to need every advantage she could find.

You can’t win, you know, the Leviathan said, creeping closer through the dark. I warned you at the beginning that this was a losing battle. The humans are too many, and their fears are too strong. They will destroy everything you love. Only I can stop them. Only I can save you. His tentacles rose to wrap lovingly around her. Rest, Algonquin. Let me fight for you.

“Not yet,” she growled, shoving him away as she called her water, raising Lake St. Clair to burst through the protective walls she’d built to stop the contamination and flood the Pit once more. “I’m not beaten yet.”

You will be, he whispered, his tentacles brushing her once more before sliding away. But I am patient. I will wait for you, and when the time is right, you’ll be mine.

“Good,” she said, pulling more water in. “Because until that happens, you’re still mine. Now keep your promise and help me hold this down.”

The monster chuckled. As you command, my Lady of the Lakes.

His whispering voice was mocking, but Algonquin had nothing left to put him in his place. Everything she had, all the water she could safely pull without stranding her beloved fish, was focused on pushing down the magic that was rapidly building toward critical inside the unmanned circle.

“Not yet,” she whispered, bearing down with all her strength. “You haven’t won yet.”

The trapped Mortal Spirit howled, an earsplitting cry of rage and vengeance that shattered every piece of glass on the armored convoy that was still peeling out of the Pit. Algonquin answered in kind with rage of her own, making the whole Pit tremble as she crushed it under a ten-foot wave of violent, rushing water.

And far, far away, farther than even spirits could comprehend, the Leviathan bided its time.