Last Dragon Standing (Heartstrikers #5)(17)
“Estella was petrified of her death,” the Black Reach said before Julius could ask. “She did not speak of me. As for the Golden Emperor, I stayed away from him, as all seers must. Even before dragons fled to this plane, the Qilin’s magic caused distortions in the future. We avoid him at all costs.”
He shot the golden dragon a dirty look as he finished, but Julius still didn’t understand. “If you’ve always avoided him, why are you here now?”
“Because I must be,” the Black Reach said, folding his arms in front of him. “The time has come. I am here for Brohomir.”
A sharp gasp went up from all the dragons, but Julius almost laughed in relief. Maybe he had done something right, because he could say in all honesty, “Bob’s not here.”
“That’s all right,” the Black Reach replied. “He will be.”
“He won’t,” Julius said angrily. “I’ve already figured out his plan. We’re all in position to fight the Leviathan. He doesn’t need to be here.” And he definitely wouldn’t come if he knew the Black Reach was waiting, which he must. “He won’t come.”
“He doesn’t have a choice,” the Black Reach said, meeting Julius’s determined scowl with a sad look. “He must come, because you are here. You are the point around which his entire life’s work revolves, and now, fittingly, you will be his end.” He smiled, a cold turn of his lips that didn’t touch his eyes. “I like things to be fitting.”
Julius didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to shout that the seer was wrong, that Bob would never be stupid enough to walk into such an obvious trap, but that was a trap of its own. He’d learned long ago that seers didn’t lie. They didn’t have to. They were the only ones who saw the entire board, but unlike everyone else in the house, Julius had changed his future before. He’d beaten Estella when every vision of the future said it was impossible. He could beat this too. But just as he was opening his mouth to say so, he was knocked off his feet by an enormous crash as something very large going very fast collided with his house.
***
Three minutes earlier, Brohomir, Great Seer of the Heartstrikers and topic of much conversation, was standing in the bed of the once swollen Detroit River, digging the point of his Mage’s Fang into the too-dry mud and muttering to himself like the madman most dragons assumed he was.
“Not good. Not good, not good.”
A coo sounded a few feet farther down, and he jogged over to his pigeon, who was drinking from a small pool left in the hollow of a long-abandoned oil drum. The only water left in the entire riverbed.
“This is not good,” Bob said again, scrubbing his hands through his long black hair. “How much water does she have left in Lake Erie?”
His pigeon shrugged her wings, but it didn’t matter. Bob knew exactly how much water was left in every Great Lake because he’d already seen this future a thousand times. He’d seen every possible incarnation of this day, enough to know that this wasn’t the one he’d been hoping for.
“Very not good,” he muttered, pulling out his phone to glance at the clock on the tiny greenish screen. “Looks like we’re stuck on a faster-than-preferred track. It’s going to be tight.”
The pigeon hopped onto his shoulder with a reassuring coo, and he turned to kiss her feathered neck. “I suppose it had to be late, didn’t it? I promised you a grand adventure, and no grand adventure has ever ended with time left on the clock.”
That was supposed to be a joke, but he couldn’t keep the tremble out of his voice as he raised his head to look at the shadow above them. The pigeon looked as well, her dark eyes ancient and calm.
We are big from your perspective, aren’t we? She tilted her head. How interesting. I’ve never seen an End from this perspective before.
“I told you I’d show you new things,” Bob said, craning his neck as he tried to spot the Leviathan’s end.
There wasn’t one. The devil Algonquin had bargained with took up the entire sky, blocking out the sun behind an endless expanse of matte black shell and thousands of beady insect eyes. Below the giant body, thousands of whipping tentacles were hard at work, sucking up every bit of the remaining water from Algonquin’s lakes. One actually dropped down beside him as he watched, descending from the sky like a long, undulating pipe to suck up the small puddle of water his pigeon had just been drinking from. When it was done, the tentacle moved on, its bulbous tip digging through the riverbed like an anteater’s snout as it hunted for more water to absorb. Bob kicked the black flesh as it went past, earning himself a bruised toe for his efforts.
“Time to go,” he said, taking one last look at his bloody clothes. The scarlet jacket had been one of his favorites, but it was getting a bit frayed at the edges, which was why he’d decided to wear it. A duel with Chelsie was a fine way for any garment to go out. Between his shoulder and the bloody finger holes his furious sister had put in the front, the jacket was definitely done, so Bob didn’t spare it another thought as he changed to his true shape, shredding the once beautiful clothing to ribbons as he flapped into the sky with his transformed Fang of the Heartstriker sitting across his claws like gauntlets, protecting him from the swirling, glowing magic below.
“Hop on!” he called to his pigeon, who was struggling to keep up with his much bigger wings. “We’ve got to move fast. I’ve already seen every way this ends, and if we don’t stick millimeter-tight to the schedule, this whole thing could blow up in our—”