The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(108)
Honeysuckle. It was unmistakable after being around Arianna. But where Ari’s floral magic was mixed with other scents—there was always the soft hint of something woodsy—this scent was cloying and powerful against the nose. Florence put her finger on the difference immediately as she rounded the last step and into the doorway of the bedroom.
Shannra stood at the double window, just where they’d huddled underneath the blanket the night before Florence left. She turned, greeting Florence with a familiar smile. The fading daylight glinted off her white hair and she opened her arms invitingly.
“It’s so good to see you.” Florence spread a smile across her face with great effort at the visage that was every bit as familiar as it should be, yet incredibly off-putting. She dropped her bag at the foot of the bed, rummaging through it. “I was hoping I would catch you.”
Every hair on Florence’s body stood on end. Magic was thick in the air, potent and powerful. It was overwhelming and unlike anything Florence had ever experienced before.
She didn’t quite know what specter was before her, but she knew it wasn’t Shannra.
Right at the top of her bag, where they should be for any self-respecting Revolver, were her canisters and weapon. “Ari did a great job.” Florence held up a canister, putting it on display. “They’ll be manufacturing these soon, I’m sure.”
Imposter Shannra kept her arms outstretched, motioning in a sort of “come hither” way. Florence popped her spare revolver into the empty slot on the left side of her under-arm hoister.
There was only one entry and exit to the room—the door she had come through. The creature would, no doubt, expect her to flee in the direction she came. Whatever magic this animal possessed, it was a safe assumption to think it could run her down. Until she knew what she was fighting, she wasn’t going to waste ammunition fending it off.
Until she knew what she was fighting, she also wasn’t going to give it the benefit of predictability.
Florence took a step toward the Shannra-shaped specter. She held out her hands as if to accept its embrace. Every muscle coiled with tension around her bones. At the very last moment, she let it spring.
The specter half-lunged forward, dropping her head. Florence drew her weapon and thrust it to the imposter’s chin. Her hand disappeared straight through—an illusion. The muzzle of the gun didn’t find the creature’s head, as Florence had hoped, but she brought the hilt of the gun hard against its chest, firing in the process.
It roared, a feminine sound, but not like those she’d heard from any Fenthri or Dragon before. She took advantage of the creature’s surprise, and bolted.
“Get back here!” Imposter Shannra grabbed for her wrist at the same time Florence’s hand twisted the handle of the window. It swung open as she was grabbed back by a hand that felt much larger than what her eyes saw wrapped around her forearm.
Florence used the release of momentum to twist, crossing her arm over her, to draw her second gun. She pressed the muzzle into the air just above the creature’s hand, meeting invisible flesh.
Florence pulled the trigger and gold blood flew through the air—a Dragon.
Even still, the monster didn’t release its hold on her. Florence yanked her arm, once, twice; on the third time, it snapped free with the Dragon’s claws raking across her forearm.
Florence was face-to-face with one of the most unnerving creature she had ever seen. The Dragon was nearly the size of the Dragon King, but lacked the stoicism and composure of the man. She had a hooked nose and narrow jaw, adding to the severity of her overall look.
The eyes were the only familiar part of her. Like the smell of her magic, the woman had a nearly identical set of lilac eyes to Arianna. But the similarities ended there, as these sharp and angry eyes were framed by the rich green skin of a Dragon.
Florence had no doubt this was the animal who had killed everyone at the factory. The one who had called for her demise.
She didn’t spare more than that glance. It didn’t matter what foe she was up against. She’d kill it, or perish.
Florence launched herself over the windowsill. The roofing over the entryway broke her fall with a clamor. Florence’s knee popped painfully as she tried to soften the impact. The pitch of the shingles pulled her downward and she did a quick two-step, landing on the ground with a roll.
She didn’t waste time looking back at the Dragon. She had no doubt it would follow, and the loud thud on the ground behind her affirmed the fact. Florence loaded a cartridge into her gun, whirling around a lamppost as magic pushed into her knee, mending the torn ligaments and knitting flesh brutalized in the fall.
With a straight and steady arm, she aimed true at the woman who did little more than jog behind her. Arrogant Dragon. She no doubt assumed that it would be a bloodbath like last time. Florence squeezed the trigger. The Dragon was in for a surprise; last time, the Vicar Revolver hadn’t been in charge of protecting the factory.
The canister shot forward, the chemicals inside reacting to the sudden motion. It exploded halfway to the Dragon, a plume of thick purple smoke erupting from it. Florence heard coughing but could no longer see her assailant.
She loaded a different canister into her pistol and took aim toward the sky. This was another plume of smoke, but unlike the one before her, it exploded bright red and harmless—a signal, if the gunshots alone weren’t enough to alert other Revolvers to her plight.