Flight of the Crow (12 page)

Priest gained altitude as he tried to escape her. Around the dragon's neck its flesh had been burned into charred meat. Scales fell from the burned portions leaving a trail of large chitinous plates that would, no doubt, be discovered in the morning and marveled over. Fenix's huge wings swooped as she rose into the early-morning sky, determined to catch the fleeing dragon. Fenix was blind to everything but Draak Priest and the exultant feeling in her breast. She had him on the run.

She created another fire ball and threw it at the dragon. The flames hit it in the back and spread as she slowly closed the gap between them. The dragon suddenly folded its leathery wings and dived toward the Seine far below trailing flames and sooty smoke. Fenix screamed and followed. The two shot toward the ground. Fenix was determined to catch Priest now while he was wounded, before he could recover as she knew he would.

The dragon glanced over its flaming shoulders and shot into the river. A huge geyser of water plumed into the sky as the dragon submerged. Fenix swooped low over the winding Seine. Her golden eyes spun as she stared through the murky river water searching for the dark shape of the dragon. But Priest was gone. Dragons could swim under the water. Fenix in her phoenix body could not. The air was her home. She shrieked with frustration and followed the snaking path of the river for miles hunting for the dragon though she knew in her heart the search was futile. Priest could turn back into his human form and exit the water anywhere. All he had to do was lay low and wait.

Dispirited, her hopes crushed, Fenix winged her way back to the Exposition. She landed on the roof of the
Galerie des Machines
and resumed her human form. Samantha lay where Priest had dropped her, unmoving and crumpled. Fenix ran across the roof and crouched beside the witch. She laid a hand on her chest to feel for a heartbeat. At first she thought the search was fruitless. Sam was dead. There was no saving her. She dropped her head to Sam's chest and willed Sam to live. Bryn would never forgive her if Sam died.

Suddenly, she felt a faint flutter and then heard the thin thready beat of her heart. There was still life inside Sam. Fenix clutched Sam close to her, rejoicing. All she needed to save Sam was the faintest, weakest sign she still lived. Her heartbeat was a mere whisper, but Sam was alive.

Tears fell from Fenix's golden eyes onto Sam's face. Each glistening droplet that landed on Sam's closed eyes brought more life to the witch. Her heartbeat strengthened, her eyelids fluttered and finally opened. Fenix drew Sam into an embrace as she sobbed with gratitude for the gift of her tears. The tears of the phoenix had saved Samantha. As she stared into the dear face with its round brown eyes, freckles and pug nose, she remembered all the moments they had shared. When Lazarus gave her this new life, he'd granted her access to hundreds of years of memories. She was able to remember the first time she met Sam in Salem when Bryn had saved her from the flames where she'd been condemned to die as a witch.

Bryn had brought Sam home and hidden her in the root cellar. A true witch hunt ensued for Samantha through the town of Salem, Massachusetts. The town elders led a horde of residents from door to door searching for Sam. Bryn had kept her safe and hidden and when the hunt was over, they'd left Salem and gone to Europe taking Sam and her familiar, Fingle, with them. Fenix had been only ten in that incarnation, yet she could now remember back even further.

Sam reached up and took one of Fenix's magic tears on the tip of a finger. She grinned and sucked the moisture off the finger. “Thank you,” she said. “I don't know how you knew, or where you came from, but my thanks are yours and I am in your debt.”

Fenix helped Sam to her feet and tried to brush some of the soot, dust and dirt off Sam's cotton shirt and leather skirt. “There's no need to thank me. I was scrying for Priest and saw you. Of course I had to come.”

Sam looked out over the city. The sun had come up and birds were singing. “Where did he go?”

“Into the river. I lost him.”

Sam took her hand. “Do not worry. The devil will return here. He has a lair somewhere inside the Exposition. We must get Bryn and help her find it.”

Bryn's eyes flew open as she erupted from sleep with a start. She shoved Quinn off her pillow. “Fenix is in trouble.”

Quinn groaned. “What's new? You were the one who wanted her to be an adult. I seem to remember you telling me it would be easier to take care of her.”

“Have a care,” Bryn snarled. “I'm not in the mood.”

Quinn snorted but obediently rose from the bed and went to his own room to dress. Bryn rushed out of the bedroom to Fenix's room. As she already knew, it was empty. She went back into the hall and ran into Fingle. “Where is she?” Bryn demanded.

“She went into the basement.” Fingle's voice was a monotone.

“Damn her!” Bryn raced into her room and threw on a split skirt and a blouse. Hopping around the room, she yanked on her boots and then rushed down the stairs. In the basement, she immediately realized Fenix had performed a scrying. The crystal in the center of the altar still glowed. Bryn placed her hands on each side of the huge rock and peered into its depths. A hazy vision of a gold and red bird filled the crystal. Bryn focused all her power on the phoenix and saw a black dragon spray fire at it. Behind the battling creatures a metal tower rose against the blush of a dawn sky.

Bryn ran from the room, bolted up the steps and right into Quinn. “You know where she is?” he asked.

“The Exposition!”

Quinn held her still. “Quiet for a moment. Don't go rushing off half-cocked.”

“You don't understand,” Bryn cried. “She's turned herself into a phoenix to fight Draak Priest. She'll speed up the aging process and die.”

Quinn released her. “She's a phoenix? I didn't know she could do that.”

Bryn raced up the stairs with Quinn right behind her. “It's worse than that,” she yelled over her shoulder.

“How could it be?”

“They're at the Exposition.”

“The deuce you say, Arthur's there!”

“And Sam.”

Dressed, her corset of weapons in place, they ran to the mews. Fingle had a fast curricle waiting harnessed to a team of speedy horses. They leaped in and Fingle whipped up the horses.

When they careened into the Exposition, it was early morning and workers and some visitors were arriving. Fingle avoided the crowds, tooled the carriage through the gates and turned toward the huge building housing the
Galerie des Machines.
When they reached the entrance, Quinn leaped out of the carriage and ran inside.

Bryn placed her hand on Fingle's shoulder. “Take me around the back.”

When they reached the rear of the building, they found Fenix, now a woman, supporting Sam. Bryn vaulted out of the curricle and grabbed Sam. The witch was as pale as a corpse. She turned on Fenix. “What did you do?”

Sam tried to speak and Fenix hushed her. “Why do you always think the worst of me?”

Bryn snarled. “I only respond to past experiences. You're unstable, Fenix. How could you transform into a phoenix? You know it saps your life force. You could burst into flames at any moment. Because of Lazarus, we have no way of knowing how old you are.”

“Lazarus,” Fenix's voice was filled with loathing. “And whose fault is that?”

“Mine,” Bryn said in a flat voice. “My fault for trying to save you.”

“Stop trying to save me!” Fenix screamed. “I can save myself.”

“Oh sure, when you're a sucking infant?”

Fenix immediately burst into tears and Sam wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. “She saved me, Bryn. If she hadn't shown up and fought Priest, he would have murdered me. His rosary was already around my neck.”

Bryn's eyes filled with tears. “How did he find you?”

“He's here,” Sam said. “He's got a lair somewhere in the Exposition.”

Bryn took Sam and Fenix home while Quinn stayed at the Exposition with Tomlinson to search for Priest's lair. When they got back to the house, Lazarus was waiting. He threw back the hood when Bryn approached. “Time is running out,” he said with an evil leer.

“Why are you here?” Bryn had no time for courtesy. She wanted to head into the basement and consult the crystal. They needed to find Priest now.

“I imagine for the same reason as you. Priest just swam down the Seine as a dragon. What have you been doing, my dear? You have the knack of stirring up the forces like no one I've ever met.”

Bryn stomped into her house followed closely by Lazarus and Fenix supporting Sam.

“Trying to survive. It gets harder every day.”

“You're supposed to be finding my dagger. I have made a discovery I think you might be interested in.”

Bryn stopped in the morning room. Babbette was there to greet them. “Babbette, take Miss Fenix and Sam upstairs. They need rest. Both are depleted from recent exertions and Sam was injured.”

“Yes, Miss,” Babbette said as she lifted one side of Sam and Fenix supported the other. “I'm not going to bed!” Fenix snarled. “I've spent centuries in the dark. I will be included in whatever you have planned.”

Bryn sighed. “Fine, just get Sam into bed and come back down. I need to find out what Lazarus has to say.”

Fingle brought a tea tray in and set it on the marquetry table next to Bryn's chair. “Tea?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Thank you, Fingle.”

Lazarus grinned, showing those fangs. “I'll pass, but I also thank you.”

When Fingle left the room, Bryn sipped her tea. It was a special blend designed to restore and provide energy. “So tell me.”

“The vampire who killed your friend
Chat
, has been dealt with. Apparently, it was merely a crime of opportunity. A starving beast taking advantage of a weak victim.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I don't care if you believe it. You asked for my help, I'm providing it, which is more than I can say for you. Where is my dagger?”

“Why is it so important to you?”

“That is not the issue. Its importance is moot. It is mine and it was stolen. I want it back. Where is it? Do you even know?”

Bryn blushed, heat filling her cheeks. “I'm working on it. As we speak, my partner is searching the Exposition for Priest. We know he has a lair there.”

Lazarus leaned back in the flowered-damask chair and crossed his thin legs. He tapped one of his fangs with a fingernail. “The Exposition? A strange choice but one that must have meaning. Do you know what that meaning could be?”

Bryn shrugged. “Not at the moment. I believe he must perform his ritual at the rising of the full moon. If I do not find him sooner, I will look for him in the tombs beneath the city. From his excessive interest in the catacombs I have deduced he will perform his ritual there.”

Lazarus nodded. “Very old evil dwells in those catacombs. I assume Priest knows what power lies therein and plans to make use of it.”

Bryn leaned forward. “Do not be concerned with Priest. I will get the dagger and I will kill him.”

Lazarus's dry chuckle filled the room. “You've not shown yourself up to the task so far, my dear. I count the moments until your sister is mine. The dagger or your sister, which does not really matter to me. Both are precious beyond price.”

Bryn swallowed the last of her tea. Its warmth and restorative nature had revived her. “Out! If you have nothing more to add, get out of my house.”

“Tut, tut, so much wrath and ire in such a beautiful woman. It quite destroys my image of you.” He laughed. “But, I will be gone. I believe you should search for Priest in the witch doctor's hut of the Negro village currently at the Exposition. Why France saw fit to display human beings in such a degraded and disgusting way is beyond me.”

“Why would he hide there?”

“The French made a terrible mistake with the village but outdid themselves for stupidity by bringing an individual from darkest Africa who has strange powers. By his machinations are the storms that have bedeviled the Exposition throughout the summer. His gods are angry and he controls the power of the elements.”

“Is he evil?”

Lazarus tapped his fang again as he pondered her question. “He can be and his power is like nothing I've seen anywhere else in this world. He's unique in this way and therefore very dangerous. He's like nothing you have ever encountered. He does not serve any dark masters. He serves only himself and his people, which makes him an unpredictable and dangerous unknown quantity. Who knows what his true goals are?”

* * * *

Draak Priest eyed the primitive witch doctor suspiciously from a dark corner of the hut. Why the French had seen fit to incorporate what was no more than a zoo featuring humans into their Exposition was more than he could understand. They'd made a huge mistake bringing the Bantu village here, and most especially their shaman, Kivunjo. Kivunjo had developed a deep and abiding hatred for all white men. He'd cast spells during what amounted to his family's incarceration in the village that brought terrible thunder storms to Paris, killing many and destroying structures and homes.

Kivunjo was dressed in furs; his dark brown, almost black body, covered in ashes making it a ghostly gray. The paint on his face was ochre. Strange swirling tribal tattoos covered his upper body and on his face, ritual scarring puckered his cheeks and forehead. He wore a feathered headdress like a halo around that scarred face creating an apparition frightening enough to scare Priest. And the man possessed amazing powers he garnered from the spirits of his ancestors that were forever with him no matter where he went. Some of these ancestors were dark and evil, some were good. It made Kivunjo terrifying and unpredictable. His motives and methods were purely his own. At times Priest had caught glimpses of these ghostly ancestors and they were no joke.