Helpless before his blinding rage the ether seethed and surged and rushed to do his bidding. The other Gerald, startled, loosened his fingers and let the charred birdish skeleton in his grasp tumble to ash.
“Gerald? Gerald! What d’you think you’re doing?”
Reg.
He had no words for this creature with the two seeing eyes. No words, no forgiveness, no desire to redeem.
Somebody in the crowd of witches and wizards cried out. “Run! Run! It’s the dragon!”
Pandemonium again-and this time it won the day. Shadbolted or not every captive in the walled ceremonial parade ground broke free of obedient terror and fled. They stampeded from the dais, they stampeded to the gates. They crushed the hideous exhibits beneath their racing feet.
Bibbie was crying. “Gerald-Gerald, stop him. Make him stop this. Gerald! ”
The other Gerald turned on her. “ Shut up, Emmerabiblia, you stupid whining cow! ”
“What?” She stared at him, dumbfounded. “What did you call me? How dare you, Gerald, after I-”
“I told you to shut up!”
Emmerabiblia, like Lord Attaby, fell dead without a sound.
Hardly even noticing, the other Gerald raised both fists. “Think I’m impressed with your parlor tricks, Professor? Think you can scare me by waving a dead dragon in my face? I killed that dragon. I killed the man who had it made. And now, because you’re a moron, I’m going to kill you.”
He shook his head, shuddering. Reg. “No, Gerald. You’re not.”
The other Gerald-his counterpart-absolutely his evil twin-flushed crimson with fury. The ether trembled, twisting dark with his rage. A hot wind stinking of cinders and burned blood whipped up out of nowhere. Above them the airships began to plunge like wild horses.
And riding the scorching thermals came the dragon, reborn.
Feeling it, calling it, Gerald stood silent and stared at himself. Smiled as his counterpart threw curse after curse at him, tried to reignite that controlling incant, tried to set him on fire with a word. He was impervious to all of it, his potentia sheathing him like tempered glass. Every killing incant flowed down him, every murdering hex washed away. He was cold, he was so cold, yet something burned inside him. Burned hot, burned bright, burned itself as it burned.
Blimey. I think I’m dying.
But that didn’t matter-provided he watched his other self die first.
Reg.
The dragon came screaming, poison pouring from its mouth. Came beating the smoky air with its beautiful emerald wings. He heard Monk say something, and turned his head, and smiled.
“It’s all right, Monk. It’s not here for you. Stand still, and it’ll pass. Stand still. Don’t run.”
Exhausted, for the moment, the other Gerald let his arms drop. “You’re a fool, Professor,” he said, his breathing ragged. “I made that thing. I control it. It won’t come after me.”
He smiled. “You made it. You killed it. I brought it back to life.” Eyes drifting closed, he reached out to the dragon. Whispered sweetly into its dead, empty heart. “He’s the one, draconi. He’s the one who took your love.”
“Took what? I did what? ” The other Gerald stepped backwards. “What are you talking about?”
Gerald opened his eyes and laughed. “The Tantigliani sympathetico, you moron. It binds man and beast heart to heart. Kill one and you kill both. Kill one, and murder love.”
The other Gerald blanched to snow. “You’re lying. That’s a lie.”
He looked up. “Really? Am I? Well, you tell her that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The crimson and emerald dragon came swooping. The other Gerald, on a choked cry, threw his strongest incants at her. She brushed them aside like the smoky air. Like they were nothing. Like her bright shining scales were sheathed in tempered glass.
The other Gerald screamed once as the great talons caught him. Screamed again, blood dripping, as the dragon wheeled away.
Still watching, Gerald breathed out a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “But you were never meant to be.”
He snapped his fingers once… and where a dragon flew with a wizard in its talons, within a slow heartbeat the sky was full of fresh fire. And in another heartbeat even that vanished, and victorious airships filled the eye.
“Gerald. Gerald. Bloody hell, Dunnywood! Come on, mate, we’ve got to go! ”
He swung around and there was Monk, the portable portal in his hand. A few feet distant a small bluish-red light, expanding… and in the ether a dreadful deep, twisting moan.
“Gerald!” said Monk again, and gestured at the sky. “Are you with me? Get ready!”
The green and black UMN airships were drifting lower, rope ladders unfurling from their underslung passenger pods, close enough now to nearly touch the ground. Behind them the sound of heavy running feet. He turned and saw more UMN personnel, felt their martial potentias like iron in the ether.
He nodded, feeling dreamy. Feeling very, very tired. “I’m with you. Just say the word.”
There was a pile of charred feather and bone on the dais. He knew it was there, but he wasn’t going to look. He wasn’t going to look at this world’s Bibbie, either, whose lips were painted the same shade of pink as her gown. If there’d been time he might have saved her. And now I’ll never know. Instead he looked at Monk, who was weeping. Proper tears this time, not blood, as he jiggered with the portal.
“So is that it? Can we go?”
Monk checked the slowly widening vortex. “A few more seconds. We can’t afford to get it wrong. Gerald-”
Reg.
“No.” He shook his head. “Don’t. Not yet.”
“Yeah,” Monk said roughly. “Gerald-are you all right? You look-”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
The running feet were getting closer. Someone in authority shouted. “You there! You there-Gerald Dunwoody! You’re under arrest! Stand where you are!”
“Monk, I really think we need to-”
“I know! I know! All right. Bloody hell, we’ll have to risk it.”
The portal was a ragged blue and crimson hole in the air. Broad enough, certainly, but not quite the height of a tall, upstanding man.
“Bloody hell,” Monk said again, nervous, his gaze shifting from the portal to the soldiers. “If we duck we should make it.” He blew out a shaky breath. “On three, Gerald. Stay close behind me. One-twothree! ”
With a strangled grunt Monk leaped into the portal. But as he went to leap after his brilliant friend he heard a dreadful, familiar sound. Tail feathers, rattling… and a muted chatter of beak. He spun around. Looked down.
The other Reg, come out of hiding from under the trolley, looked up at him in silence. The tatty piece of red ribbon was still wound around her beak.
“No. No,” he whispered. His skin was full of tears. “You’re not her. You’ll never be her. Don’t you see? It won’t work.”
Running feet. More shouting. Another gunship fired overhead.
“Oh, bloody hell,” he said, and snatched her up, and leaped.
Feeling only a little bit trepidatious, Melissande took Sir Alec a cup of piping hot tea. She and Bibbie had spent the night in the parlor, dozing on and off, but he’d chosen to wait it out in the library. No explanation. No apology. Just a closed door in their faces.
Opening it now, she poked her head into the room. “Sir Alec?”
