Last Dragon Standing (Heartstrikers #5)(7)
Marci whirled toward Julius with a gasp. “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday!”
“I completely forgot,” Julius said, looking bewildered.
A lot had been going on, but… “How do you forget your birthday?!” Marci cried, gaping at him. “So you’re twenty-five now, right?”
He nodded, a smile spreading over his face. “Same age as you.”
Two months ago, Marci would have considered having a dragon boyfriend who was the same age as herself slightly disappointing. Now, though, she was too happy just having him to care. “Happy birthday,” she said, rising up on her toes to kiss his cheek.
He blushed again, lifting their tangled hands to his lips to kiss the back of her fingers before turning them down the hall that led to the kitchen. “Shall we go hear the bad news?”
She motioned for him to lead the way, clamping down on the grin that was threatening harder than ever to take over. It was serious game face time now, but when they walked into the kitchen, the sight waiting for them was comically surreal.
There were three dragons and two spirits sitting at their kitchen table. Chelsie had her human-shaped daughter in her lap, brushing the girl’s fine black hair with her fingers while the toddler struggled to fit an entire personal pizza into her mouth. The Qilin was right beside them, looking as perfect as ever, his golden eyes full of happy wonder as he watched his child eat. On the other side of the table, Amelia was tipped back in her chair, deep in conversation with Raven, who was perched on her shoulder. The only ones who weren’t sitting down were General Jackson, who was pulling another round of frozen pizzas out of Marci and Julius’s tiny electric oven, and Myron, who was standing in front of the back door, staring through the window at something behind the house. The disconnect between the powers in front of her, any one of which could be considered a national threat, and the cozy domesticity of the scene was so bizarre, Marci didn’t even realize they were two short until she noticed that Myron was standing alone.
“Where’s the DFZ?” she asked, alarmed. And for that matter. “Where’s Ghost?”
Just the fact that she had to ask made Marci feel like a failure. She’d been so busy with Julius, she’d completely forgotten about her own spirit, which she was pretty sure made her the worst Merlin ever. She fully expected Myron to call her on it too, but the older mage beckoned her over instead, pressing a finger to his lips with one hand while he tapped against the glass of the back door’s window.
When Marci looked out, she saw why. The stretch of dirt behind the house was filled with the same haze of multicolored magic as everywhere else, and bounding through the glowing drifts like kids in the snow were the Mortal Spirits. They were both in what Marci had come to think of as their “casual” forms—Ghost as a cat, and the DFZ as a large rat—and they were clearly having the time of their lives. Ghost actually flipped over as she watched, rolling on his back through the magic like a normal cat would in a field of catnip. The DFZ was just as bad. She hopped through the magic with happy squeaks, her beady orange eyes gleaming with sheer delight every time she landed in the soft, glowing piles.
“Well,” Marci said, grinning despite herself. “At least someone’s having a good time.”
“More than a good time,” Myron replied, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. “Can’t you feel it? It’s like they’re reborn.”
She could feel it. She’d been so happy herself these last few hours, she hadn’t noticed, but now that she was looking at him, Marci realized she could feel the Empty Wind’s joy like a wave in her mind. Power was pouring into him, filling the emptiness at last. For the first time since she’d found him latched to that poor old cat lady’s chest, the god of the Forgotten Dead felt alive, and it was beautiful. So, so beautiful.
“I can feel her delight,” Myron whispered, reaching up to wipe the suspicious wetness from his eyes. “It’s… I don’t have words, honestly. I’ve never been this happy, and I’m only experiencing a reflection.”
“Of course they’re happy,” Marci said. “This is how they were always meant to be. Ghost was around before the drought, but the DFZ is new. She’s never had proper levels of magic before. No wonder she’s celebrating.”
The rat changed shape as she said this, shifting back into the androgynous-looking human girl Marci had seen before. But though the spirit still looked like anyone you might see on the city streets, she was no longer dressed in black. The clothing she manifested this time was a riot of color as bright as the neon in the DFZ Underground’s most garish party districts. Even through the glow of the magic, she was shining, and the longer Marci looked at her, the more certain she became that—even if it had happened by accident—this was the right thing.
“If we’re all here.”
The stern voice spoke right in her ear, and Marci turned to see General Jackson standing behind them, tapping her makeshift body’s scrap-metal fingers impatiently. “Myron?”
“Right,” the mage said, clearing his throat as he pulled a piece of paper out of the pocket of his rumpled jacket. “Since we’re all in this together, General Jackson and I have decided to share information to increase our odds of survival. Over the last eight hours, we’ve been on the phone with UN Central Command, my lab back in New York, and various other magical institutions all over the world.”