The smile did not falter. “Once we have the Dragonheart in our hands, we will, of course, renegotiate. Watch and learn.”

As if called by their conversation, the boy wizard Joseph McCauley emerged onto a second floor gallery, dressed all in black, glittering with wards. A few over-enthusiastic wizards (mostly Red Roses) directed a smattering of fire at him, which he brushed aside contemptuously. The boy surveyed the assembly as one might an infestation of fire ants— unpleasant, but, for the most part, manageable.

He was admittedly handsome, though he'd already mastered his father's habit of squinting down his long nose at his betters. Too bad he carried so much bad blood.

I should have kept hold of the girl, she thought. Perhaps McCauley still could have been turned.

The boy's voice rang out over the churchyard. “We've discussed your proposal,” he said. “And we have a counter offer.” He paused, as if to assure that he had everyone's attention. “We propose a new Covenant of peace and forgiveness. If you all go back where you came from and swear off violence, coercion, and attack magic, we will allow you to live.”

For a moment, Wylie couldn't conjure a response. “Are you out of your mind?” he sputtered. “What kind of proposal is that?”

“If you refuse,” McCauley continued, unperturbed, “we'll strip you of magic and leave you Anaweir.”

A buzz of outrage erupted from the assembled wizards.

Jess couldn't help but admire the boy's arrogance. Apparently McCauley had also inherited his father's inability to recognize when he was beaten.

Wylie was less impressed. “Why, you self-important young…”

“A generous offer,” McCauley s voice boomed out again, drowning out the commentary from Wylie and the rest of the crowd, “given the other crimes committed by some of you. Including the murders of Jason Haley and Madison Moss.” His voice trembled a bit at the end, whether from rage or grief, Jess couldn't tell.

Jess was finally goaded into speech. “The girl's dead?”

“She was killed by falling debris during the attack.”

Jess sniffed. “Haley got what he deserved for not delivering what was promised. And if the girl is dead, it's your own fault, for resisting.”

McCauley went very still. “Well, she's still dead, isn't she?” he said softly. “And if not for you, she'd be alive.”

“Enough of this posturing,” Wylie said. “Give us the Dragonheart.”

McCauley inclined his head, and came up smiling, an awful smile. “Be careful what you wish for,” he said. He turned and looked back into the church. The windows kindled, illuminated by a light so bright Jess had to shade her eyes.

There was movement in the doorway: a long, sinuous neck uncoiling, wrapping itself around the tower of the church, a glittering body following, an armored tail clattering against the stone walls, the suggestion of wings that remained imprinted on Jess's vision when she closed her eyes. Slate roof tiles clattered down, followed by a gargoyle downspout, as the beast settled itself into the architecture of the building, its serpent's head questing out toward the wizards on the ground, its clawed forelegs gripping the stonework over the door. Wizards toppled, landing hard on the pavement of the parking lot, driven down by raw and irresistible power.

Dragon! The word rippled through the crowd.

Jess managed to remain standing, though just barely. The apparition was so bright, it was difficult to look at for any length of time. The image wavered, and for a moment coalesced into a human figure, a woman, tall and terrible, with brilliant blue eyes and a cloud of glittering hair. She had a rather startled look on her face. Jessamine frowned, thinking she recognized her from somewhere.

Wylie had fallen. Now he gathered himself, forcing himself upright. “We've seen this before,” he gasped, his face a fish-belly white. “At Second Sister. It's just a shade. A … a glamour. N-nothing to be afraid of.” He sounded totally unconvinced.

Jessamine was filled with a cold and consuming dread. This was different from Second Sister. Horribly different. Raw power pulsed from the beast, pounding against her consciousness like storm-driven surf.

A dozen wizards surged forward in a charge across the cobbled square. Flame erupted from the ragged line, arcing toward the beast coiled around the base of the church steeple. The gouts of flame connected, but it was the wizards who went down screaming.

Another wave of twenty wizards washed forward, attacked, and went down.

After a moment's hesitation, the remaining wizards on the plaza turned and scrambled for the perimeter. Only, Jess had a bad feeling that she still had a principal role to play.

“Geoffrey Wylie,” the monster said. It was a female voice, softly cadenced, oddly familiar. Wylie flinched and covered his head with his arms, as if he might hide himself from view. The erstwhile Procurer of Warriors for the Red Rose rapidly back-pedaled until the dragon fixed him with its serpent eyes. Then he stood frozen, as a mouse caught in a snake's gaze.

The dragon shimmered, coalesced once again into the Lady, dressed in what looked like a rough-spun monk's robe, her brilliance making it impossible to make out her features. Slowly she descended the church steps, fabric whispering over stone, stopping three steps above the bottom. “Come forward,” she said in a terrible voice.

Wylie shuffled forward, eyes downcast.

“You have perverted and slandered my gift to you,” the Lady said, almost gently. She extended her hand until she touched Wylie's chest. “And so I take it back.”

Wylie stiffened, eyes widening until the whites showed all around, gripped the Lady's arm with both hands, and tried to shove it away. Then he screamed, a high, wailing, desperate note, and collapsed to the ground, weeping.

“You are now Anaweir. Your link to the Dragonheart is broken. Live on in the knowledge of what you've lost.”

Jess had nearly made it to the shelter of the alley before the Lady called her name.

“Jessamine Longbranch!”

Jess turned to run, but something slammed her to the asphalt. “Leave me alone! I've done nothing wrong.” She tried to scramble away on her hands and knees, but the Lady's voice froze her.

“Come.”

The link between them drew her forward. Unable to resist, Jess turned and stumbled back across the plaza to where the Lady stood.

“You are a murderer, a slavemaster, a ruiner of lives,” the Lady said. “Jason and—and Maddie are dead, and Ellen's hurt, and believe me, I've about had it up to here!' The Lady paused, as if to collect herself. ”You have desecrated the gift of power. And so I take it back."

The Lady reached deep inside Jessamine, gripped her Weirstone, and pulled it free, as one might remove a pit from a cherry. It felt to her as if she'd been disemboweled, though her skin was unbroken. Jess rolled onto her back, screaming in agony.

“You are Anaweir,” the Lady said.

Jess looked up at a world that had been drained of all color. She wrapped her arms around herself, breathing in great, heaving gasps as if she could somehow fill the void inside. She was a magical eunuch, exquisitely aware of what she had lost.

Jess felt the touch of the monster's mind, and another wave of terror rushed over her. Over her rage and pain, Jessamine heard the Lady say, “Now the rest of you had all better go on home and change your ways and preach to your friends and pray I don't call your name.”

Wizards stampeded out of the churchyard. They didn't stop to help their fallen comrades.

Madison was just so full up with anxiety that she was afraid if she opened her mouth, the worry would spill out and make all the possibilities real. So she kept her mouth clamped shut and looked out the window, the familiar landscape blurring with speed and unshed tears.

Seph was just about as quiet. Now and then he asked a question about the road they were on, or how much farther it was to Booker Mountain. She could feel the tension in him, could see in the set of his jaw and the way his hands gripped the wheel that he felt entirely responsible for what she'd become and what she stood to lose.

Everything had changed. She'd lost the raw craving in her belly that she hadn't recognized until it eased. Seemed like an elicitor is just an empty vessel, always hungry for power. Raggedy mad, she'd called it. She couldn't help wondering if it was Seph's gift that had attracted her to him in the first place.

She and Seph were still circling each other, wary as stranger dogs. She felt a connection with him that hadn't existed before. His power was linked, entwined with hers. No one who hadn't experienced the flow of power from within could understand its intoxication. But she was like a child with a powerful weapon, the safety off: all crammed up with power and no idea how to use it, which Seph immediately pointed out.

“Try to settle,” he said, resting his hand on her knee, forcing a smile. “You're sparking. We'll have to walk the rest of the way, if you short out the electrical system.”

“You should talk.”

“I'm just saying.”

“Then teach me.” She couldn't help herself. Madison was desperate for knowledge in a way she'd never been about anything except painting.

Seph removed his hand from her knee. “I told you. I will. But you can't learn it overnight. I was a disaster before I was taught. You're a lot more powerful than me, so more can go wrong.”

Seeing his pale, haggard face, she felt a rush of guilt. “You should be going after your parents.”

“I will. When this is done.” He paused, groping for the right words. “At least they're grown-ups. They can defend themselves.”

Truth be told, she was glad he'd insisted on coming. She would have welcomed an army at her back. Anything to bring the kids home safe.

If she was really any kind of dragon, she would soar over the blunted hills of home and swoop down on Warren Barber, lift him high in the air, then drop him off the nearest cliff after she'd wrung from him the whereabouts of Grace and J.R.