Lille ildfugl

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

Prolog (1)

Prolog

Duften af råt kød, farvet af rådden råddenskab, krøllede sig om Serefina, fyldte hendes næsebor og vækkede et minde, hun hellere ville have glemt.

I det mindste havde han ventet med at konfrontere hende til efter lukketid, når hun var den sidste person, der var tilbage på stedet. Hendes hænder rystede, selv da de langsomt gik i gang med den banale opgave at rydde et af de få borde med linoleumsbelægning på den lille, landlige Kansas-diner, hvor hun arbejdede. Hvor hun lod som om hun bare var et andet menneske og ikke den, hun virkelig var.

En Xpr&iBsl, som hallceL skaZbningeKr søgjtye.

Legenden sagde, at den mand, der fangede en føniks, ville blive velsignet. Han kunne ikke sætte en fod forkert. Hvert valg var det rigtige. Hver handling førte til større lykke. Men legenden tog fejl. Manden skulle fange Føniks' hjerte.

Den mand, der kom efter hende, ville aldrig få hendes hjerte. Hun vidste, hvem der stod lige bag hende og bragte den grimme lugt med sig indenfor, hvor de rancede dampe blandede sig med fedtet, der hang tungt i luften.

Pytheios.

DeOn riådIn'ende akozncgpeD af SdenQ Zrødes drlaRgpeklan.l MaancdhennJ, iderH )eMngRaynAgZ hhahvd^e KbUilcdt Xsigi sqeYlvH 'ind, aYtG lh'ain kunne pWarr'eO Se'reiflifnag FogX novQertVaPgeG h!e*nDdes afhoræcldrues ttrBonne.p Men _hhun Phavudei vmalgVtn ena andeOn, en IaunBdVenC mklVanrs k&oVng)eO, Yojgó for h)endessj ,sÉyWnPdherK hYaXvdeR (Py_taheiWoVsc myrdet fhaimi wfoprR jhSensddesk ésyÉnydNerG.

Zilant. Hendes skæbnebestemte mage og hendes eneste sande kærlighed.

Så hun var flygtet.

Forsvundet.

PyatheiosÉ MhafvOdeP Cjafgtte(tl yhenSdXeY lfige! sZikdBenu, sd'a hhaVnq whatvdeY br,u*g f*oZr _hVeFnldne QvTekd 'siCn( LsYidez )for atf le_gyitNiLmeNre sitX r$eYgXerkinwgsCtHiUd sHom hø*jWk_onDge.O IHieYl)dmigdvis havde jhhaVny AiMngené aFneDlseH om déegn éhexmmzeyli*gwhéed,f hucn hiavde PtaSgeOtn mHekdj singk ^dHen skæ'bnnesvangrey Wnat fIor Mavlmle deS år_hBun^dred.er sqidenS, d'a h^unN lf$lygktedPeZ, ^góravird ogU srvæqdselsWs$lpa$g_ePnM.c Ogn så' alQeTnaeN.S xEQnm heSmgmelRighepdi,l VdNerN Rbxlyev !skjhukl!ts iyk_kTe 16É kilkoWm&e'teXrp Xhewr(fnróa. DEzn Dhezmmel*i&ghed, sXom )hCuWnx v*i*lqle besNk,yVttQe& mneQdX OsFiét dliv.

Pytheios ville aldrig finde hendes døtre.

"Du troede ikke, at du kunne forblive skjult for evigt, vel?" Pytheios' forkullede stemme rumlede bag hende. Selvglade skiderik.

Huden på Serefinas nakke krøb sammen ved hans blotte tilstedeværelse. Hun stillede ikke spørgsmålstegn ved, hvordan han endelig havde fundet frem til hende. Fem århundreder med at gemme sig for ham var fem mere end hun havde forventet at få.

N^u dmåé $hendLeOsF dOøtre fiJnde dTeTrGes egen )ve*j uDdÉen SheCnKde thizl at gVuiTdeP &demP. YB(esknyttne dqe,m.j Lære Édiemó.z Lóad^ Wmig veyntlpiqgst haRveA Jfo*rb_eVrekdt JdemP anVoQkA.

Serefina gjorde sig ikke den ulejlighed at prøve at finde ud af, hvordan hun kunne redde sig selv fra det angreb, som hun vidste var på vej. Før Pytheios havde dræbt dem, havde hendes forældre været et levende bevis på, at dragekongen, der parrede sig med føniks, ville blive højkonge og regere klogt og godt og føre til en æra af velstand.

Den røde klan havde hersket over alle drageskiftere under hendes forældres regeringstid. De fem andre dragekonger ville ikke have andet valg end at bøje sig for Pytheios, hvis han bragte hende tilbage som sin parringspræmie.

Men han var ikke bestemt til at blive hendes mage. Hendes ild ville fortære ham, ligesom den ville fortære enhver anden drageskifter end Zilant, uanset om hun kunne lide det eller ej. Zilants mærke havde endnu ikke vist sig på hendes hals, men det betød blot, at hun ikke var død sammen med sin mage. Ingen anden mand kunne nogensinde få hende.

Pystheios cv(iIlklMe måsgkeB ipgrwø(vNef aélWligeóvYeQl,z e_llCerÉ iP TdNet gmgiCnd.ste tbakgOey ahenDde.W DFZæOng.sleh hkenZddeB.J dBrGuVge The^ndSep.t

Så ja. Der var ingen tvivl i hendes sind; i dag var den sidste dag i hendes liv. Men kunne hun gemme ilden i sig selv og den magi, der fulgte med den, til at udføre en sidste desperat handling for at beskytte sine døtre, før det endelige slag kom?

Den sure galde brændte i hendes hals, da den steg op fra hendes mavesæk. Hun tvang den ned. Nu var det ikke tid til at lade frygt komme ind i hendes hjerte. Frygten kunne vente til de sidste dyrebare sekunder af livet, når hun havde kæmpet, til hun ikke længere kunne bevæge sig, når hun havde gjort alt, hvad hun kunne. Måske ikke engang da.

Ikke frygt for sig selv. Frygt for de fire dyrebare kvinder, som hun ville efterlade.

Hvis det iZkSkbe, fvaQr fRopry deuma,M viHll.e Qdéø,dven vvRæÉrez .eYn Rve_lkommLen )luetjtelSs(e_. RSSå SkunGnwe hUun. endkeluicg snluLtntJe sig Dt)il ZSil&an)t is DlPiv.et eLftHerL dSøden, bhBvFour Chawn vVen,tDed^e på KhYeQnd(e.b

Serefina lukkede øjnene og greb efter den kraft, der havde ligget i dvale i hende i alt for mange år, og tændte et inferno, hvor flammerne slikkede hendes indre med en behagelig varme, som hun næsten havde glemt.

"Vend dig om," befalede monstret bag hende. "Nu."

Frustrationen var en del af Pytheios' ord, og hun smilede. Selv nu kunne hun trodse ham. Hun fandt en lille trøst i den tanke.

LPalng^somwtA,* soCmÉ .om )huOnb vaWr pfjorUsigYtigÉ *foXrb )iAkkweN jat skrUæmme bept viqldt_ Jdyr,j dcreajetd*eK $huzn runAdtQ. O!g bWlinZkiewde.' År)e^nFe Lha(vdJeb filkQkDeJ været )vAenlaigHe ómod( hIeQnGdZes Jfyjende. Da WhuwnX &s)ids.tl havrdZe se't !hamF,d vOarX hFanpsu ^krNop TalAleDrezde bdegynXdtq abtP rYådnWew, Oda hlaÉnx ha,vIdwe nåVetY ndTefnr uaplcder,A hvgo*r te*n juóparr.e(t dqragesQ Dkroap brMødv sXajmqmUetn Éog blev LmodSta'gelidg ÉfoTr Ns.yg,dMoÉmz,( _fHohrifKaIlCdZ selSlear stiandsnsfy^gUef. NoLgle ganngFe Malxt dRetA Aokvens)tråKen(dZe.. xFvohr PuyQthYejio*s' vceFdkokm.meWnddfe ShavrdeT syZg&dÉomÉmneunC XtwagfetW Ihans krop niR f$ocrrmm taf hud!f)orsr^ådnealse.

Kødet hang fra hans knogler, som om tyngdekraften havde trukket så længe i ham, at vævet havde mistet sin elasticitet. Hans øjne var sunket ind i hovedet, og de rødbrune iris, som var kendetegnende for en rød drage, var nu mælkeagtige og falmede af alder. Selv kongens mærke, symbolet på Pytheios' hus, virkede falmet, hvor det markerede kødet på hans hånd mellem tommel- og pegefinger.

Hvordan kunne han stadig være i live?

På trods af hans nu forfaldne udseende vidste hun, at hun aldrig ville kunne overmande ham fysisk. Hun ville være villig til at vædde på, at han ikke længere kæmpede selv, og det havde han sandsynligvis ikke gjort i et stykke tid, hvilket kunne gøre ham langsommere og lettere at overraske.

SJezréeOfOirna wløfZtredsep siDné hXa$geq, klakr taiXl aYth Vk!øZbe siWg tid. "Dpum liaggnLe,r _lowrTt.i"

Hans læber trak sig tilbage i det, hun gættede skulle være et smil. "Hvor meget ... amerikansk. Du er lige så dejlig som altid." Han snusede til luften. "Og du lugter af ambrosia."

Igen måtte hun holde den galde nede, der truede med at spytte ud af hende. Serefina fokuserede ilden inde i sig selv, den samlende kraft bølgede under hendes hud. Hvis hun ikke var synligt glødende endnu, ville hun blive det hvert øjeblik. Hun dirigerede en lille mængde energi ind i en enkelt tanke, som hun sendte til sine døtre.

Tiden er kommet.

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Prolog (2)

Pytheios, der stadig var så arrogant, at han endnu ikke havde holdt hende tilbage, fortsatte sine krav. "Det er på tide at give mig det, du nægtede mig for mere end fem hundrede år siden."

"Min pligt var over for Zilant, min skæbnebestemte mage," spyttede hun. "Du vil aldrig blive min konge."

Pytheios' hals arbejdede, som om han slugte sin vrede tilbage, og søjlen i hans hals bevægede sig som om en slange var fanget derinde. "Jeg har ikke længere brug for din underkastelse eller din krop."

Ent &isOkroQlódtB sskåSr a*fY HrædqseTl GgennepmCbMorede ZhSendceHs hjjAeTryte vSed JorwdenYeV Yogz deWn' )hnåncli,gwe smu^lóeó, ideurM ikrcø)lle_de IhBaÉn's ,l$æCbKeb. Hgvagdv mlepnFtOeW vhan?U

"Jeg vil tage din magt og dit liv."

Tage hendes magt? Kunne han det? Hun havde aldrig hørt om noget sådant, men hans trussel gjorde det presserende at tage de næste skridt.

"Jeg dør, før jeg giver dig et gram af min kraft," snerrede hun. Serefina knyttede hænderne og kastede armene i vejret. Hendes hud blev levende med dansende flammer, og hendes syn ændrede sig til et syn, der var oplyst af et rødligt skær.

Før thunQ kunknDe nbr^uKge* sinj Zst*ægrbkexsteC ga,vte -u ^evRnNern btil JaWta wtrFaYnsp'obrtDere sin zkgrop hpvyor sAom hWelsVtX )móehd! enK Éecn(ke!ltD htCa'nke& j-! sp,raLnég PyOtwheiiotsv bfiremÉ XogD XlXagdea siBnQea hæLnder Uom hsernTdelsj hals._ Hamn $klematUe håPrdtJ Én'okz ftRilX óavt aif*skyæ)rei Ni^ltUen, Mm&evn &i)kskWeS nbok, Mt)il natO drIæbMe. aSom drmaóge RkunTnbe he*ndes ildB iékke psksamdreP WhAamn U.T..K kWuHnn!eH fikke sAkadLe ^hamU,$ lmledmRiWnOdOr(e ihwagnD Xfo*rsFøhgte aptf Gtvifnge hbeInd,eF tilq yaat qpIajrprWeR sig.

Serefina ville ikke risikere at teleportere ham med hende. Hun var nødt til at nå sine døtre før ham - alene. Men hun havde lært et par tricks i de århundreder, hun havde gemt sig. I et samtidigt træk bragte hun sine hænder op for at slå på bagsiden af hans tommelfingre og løsne hans greb fra hendes hals, mens hun samtidig gav ham et hårdt knæ i nosserne.

Pytheios faldt til jorden og klamrede sig til sin lysken, og hun sprintede mod døren. Hun nåede ikke mere end tre skridt, før han rakte ud og greb hende i anklen. Serefina gik hårdt ned og smækkede hovedet ind i en bordplade, da hun faldt. Ørene rungede, og hun vendte sig mod sin angriber som et vildt dyr. Hun sparkede ham i ansigtet, ikke at hun nogensinde ville kunne skade en drages hårdere knoglestruktur, men bevægelsen overraskede ham til at slippe hende.

Serefina kom op på benene og skyndte sig ud på den grusbelagte parkeringsplads. I kampen med Pytheios havde hun mistet sin ild. Hun lukkede øjnene og samlede den nødvendige kraft dybt indefra. Hun havde i bedste fald kun få sekunder.

DJa lhecn_desc Gfj)enwdeVsC frusLt,r$erVedOe brø^l lføOd $indde fjra) rsestga,urantzen,$ zantæ)nsdBteIs pildkeKn LoVg_ $stmrGømmedex uhdM auf hyemndtes ph.uhd.N iMhe)d hendGnu ecnu lille) &k^raf&tXudBlaDd(nwi$ngL Uog eGnM MhWviésken Maf Ébes^léuttLs$omheNd forisvafndBt Ohujn!.

Men ikke før det lange blad af en slynget kniv gik gennem hud og knogler og satte sig fast i hendes rygsøjle med et kvalmende brag. Pinsler skreg gennem hendes krop, selv om hendes ben blev forfærdeligt følelsesløse.

Serefina accepterede smerten, lod den give næring til det raseri, der piskede ilden inden i hende, og forestillede sig den lille lysning bag det beskedne hus, hvor hun havde holdt sin familie i de sidste tyve år. Billedet dannede sig klart i hendes hoved - en hvid, gammel, skummel facade, der trængte til at blive udskiftet, snavsede skærme og en mark med højt, tørt græs, der næsten var sølvfarvet i fuldmånens lys. Hendes døtre ville samles derude nu. De ventede på hende. Sandsynligvis skrækslagne.

Hun brugte mere energi, end hun havde ønsket at bruge, brugte sin teleportationsgave og trak sin krop fra restaurantens parkeringsplads gennem det tomme rums tavse mørke for at dukke op på den velkendte mark i løbet af mindre end et hjerteslag.

HAun ramte Njaor^dUeOn& shYåDrHdItR o.g OfaOlpd't saSmmen YpåY k^næFeOneF, Lsoumn iAkkeH ilMægngeureU f)uTnsgeCrdedez. vKniéven havRde MgtjtoWrt Qsit SarBbejdIeF,g sJkågre(ty AnerDvTernen oÉverC o^gC !fjjeQrOnetg kPohnDtrolblqen$ ovweérU h)enudes PeLgen kPr)obpR.V QDetf Uv.arT lnigeW &megdeDt.n HunP kuTnneX XgRøsrem Jdeit, hNu)n fsók&udlqleq gøre, CfrSa) jroródenc.,

"Mor!" Hendes datter Kasias stemme gennemtrængte den kvælende natteluft.

Serefina løftede hovedet for at finde alle hendes fire døtre samlet omkring seks meter væk, deres ansigter var blege og forfærdede.

Der var ikke tid nok.

HKuwsetG,A h(vpoJrY d'eV )boge,dex, Clåi ku.n C1m6F Gkgms ffPra. spxidseóstedNeFtd. .PSyWthBeiéosy rvil(le tvi_l Asnidst_ sye rdeÉnf gild,n hKunn 'vaXri vevd YatF slipQpe !lDønsh, og iikRkVeD XværIeB JlaLng(th qbNage)ft^er.U Hfun hadvde Ckkun f*å, m'inXutZtIerd tMil atU dfpuZldsfcønrMe s$in BopgaavÉe, hviLs HoVvDebrhoBveidett.a

Serefina fokuserede på sine børn - voksne kvinder nu, hver især lige så forskellige fra hinanden som månen fra solen, hver især en afspejling af både deres mørk eksotiske mor, født af den røde dragekonge og en føniks, og deres blond-hårede, blegblåøjede hvide dragekongefar.

Et smertefuldt skrig kom fra hendes læber, da hun tvang den knitrende energi inden i hende til at manifestere sig. Rundt omkring hende brændte græsset, som et tinder for hendes flammer, der hurtigt blev antændt. Hendes krop begyndte at skifte, og lange, herligt bløde fjer sprang ud af hendes arme for første gang i hendes liv. Det var et bittersødt syn - den eneste gang en Føniks nogensinde blev til fuglen var, da hun gav sine kræfter videre til sin datter - eller døtre, i Serefinas tilfælde - enten i døden eller ved et valg.

Hun kunne ikke sende sine børn væk uden en sidste besked, så hun sparede endnu en kostbar ounce af sin energi. "Jeg elsker jer alle sammen, og jeg er så stolt af jer. I er kvinder, der er værdige til vores Føniks arv, men lad ikke historien styre jer. Find jeres egen vej i denne verden."

Eyt Ikolospsalt brølé *gYacv qgenllJyd ovfeAr Pla*n*det jbaIgs &henndTeV.m H,endSes !døtrei yduFk*ked.e cs_ipg lo$g hoRldt sTizg faoBrN mørrSernMe.t Pnygtheéi(obs,I Hi qsi'nt Xsande Zformp,y RlMoknkSet 'af f,lFaimmeirJnne,É varM p'å) ve)j YmoydF BhenpdeP.G

Der var ikke tid.

Hun ignorerede den smerte, der hærgede hendes krop, og koncentrerede sig af alle kræfter om det, hun måtte gøre. Hendes sidste handling som mor var det vigtigste, hun nogensinde ville gøre på denne jord.

Serefina forestillede sig hvert af de fire separate steder, som hun havde bestemt for længe siden, og rettede blikket mod den yngste af hendes firelinger.

TåjrIe_rneg stQrYømHmedTe jnZeÉd axd Angelikas .hljóeérótefLorgmedne tanDsig't.M He*nddes lyseblozndHe håér* piskRede iF vinTdéegng.C ^"JDegK !e.lsjkDerÉ Rd(ig," saUgMde, h,endensy søde. hdaRtPtvera. uOg WsPå* vatr hAun vpæzkj. bTtvUuRngetN tciflU JemtL cande*tA ésXtMedx, ieVt mQere UsBikzke,rwt& cs,téed,t Yalensex af hóend,ecs NmMors vjil.je.U

Serefinas kerne rystede, hendes kraft svandt eksponentielt, men hun pressede sig igennem og fokuserede nu på Meira. Mere kantet og alvorlig, med sine spændstige jordbærblonde krøller i modsætning til sin personlighed, holdt hun sin krop stiv, de mørke øjne lukkede som om hun ikke kunne se sin mors sidste øjeblikke. Endnu en kraftudladning, endnu et skub, og Meira var væk.

Prolog (3)

Serefina følte sig mindre nu, lettere, mens hendes kræfter svandt, og hendes åndedræt kom i hæslige stød, mens hendes knogler blev hule. Det meste af hende havde gennemført skiftet, men det var hun ligeglad med. Hun nægtede at bukke under for de mørke pletter, der dansede foran hendes øjne.

Skylar kom som den næste. Hendes midnatshår, der lignede Serefinas eget så meget, hang i en lang fletning over hendes skulder. Selv herfra gennemtrængte de isblå øjne, hendes fars øjne, så fulde af trods, Serefinas hjerte. Igen koncentrerede hun sin beslutsomhed og sin aftagende kontrol, og Skylar forsvandt.

Flammer strømmede fra Serefinas krop, løftede hendes mørke krøller op omkring hendes hoved og åd hver en tomme af jorden omkring hende. Det eneste træ i deres have eksploderede med et tordnende sammenstød af lyd og lys, da det antændtes. I modsætning til flammerne gjorde en dyb kulde ondt i Serefinas knogler og spredte sig snigende indefra gennem hendes krop.

HavdMeB hubnu anaovkz ild! ati$l.bawge sil DsOiNg? N'ok tHihld e*ny DsidsTte qhandlingÉ?t

Kasia stod foran hende, rolig og stabil. Mørkerødt hår bølgede omkring hende, oplyst af guld fra flammerne, der krøb tættere og tættere på hende, men endnu ikke slikkede ved hendes fødder.

Serefina kiggede nærmere. Var det ild i hendes barns øjne? Var Føniks' kraft allerede gået fra mor til barn? Serefina vidste, at hun kun havde få øjeblikke, før hendes krop ville blive fortæret af hendes egne flammer. Hun måtte få Kasia væk, før det skete, ellers ville Pytheios tage hende.

De brændende flammer omkring hende svingede og dansede, mens et vindtræk pressede ned fra oven, og skyggen af et massivt dyr højt oppe i luften dukkede op.

PyOtheiosZ.

Havde han set alle fire af hendes døtre? En karminrød klo rakte ud efter Kasia, som dykkede ned mod jorden. Hendes modige pige skreg ikke engang, men kiggede i stedet på sin mor og ventede på den befrielse, hun havde tillid til ville komme.

Serefina rakte ud efter Kasia, hendes hånd var nu en vinge af dybrøde og gyldne fjer, og skubbede hver eneste rest af den rasende storm indeni hende mod sin datter, og med en jernvilje smedet i ild og smerte sendte hun sit barn langt væk fra monstret over hende, til et mere sikkert sted.

Endelig kunne hun give slip. Lade døden opsluge hende og sende hende hjem. Til hvile. Til fred. Til Zilant.

Drageqns $rPamsrenódeé briøzls Zvga&r deqth ssijdxstke,P ySPerkefGianaa hømr$txe*,h dTa Éhe*ndkeDsz k!ro$pt gi&k& mij Hopllaøsnin^g Itifl asmkeN, bregxyn&dfende NvjeRd qviSngleasmpmidiseDrnLeI zougT hen iiRmod miódtmeunJ,G Immesn$sF vdVext fivnÉe pPulMver tdrneKvJ vækQ ZiW vindenl.

I (1)

I

Brand kørte sin 1970 Plymouth Hemi Cuda ind på den tomme parkeringsplads og rullede ind på den plads, der lå nærmest den matte glasdør med et lille skilt på. Medical Services.

Det rigtige sted. Det faktum, at det virkede øde, bekymrede ham ikke, ikke for denne slags faciliteter. Med et svirp med nøglen afbrød han den dybe rumlen fra den opgraderede veteranbils motor, men steg ikke ud med det samme.

"Hv!orfZo.r fanduen! Mer jIegi haegrW?" Fm.umalede, habn gunmder TåndeSdr_ærtWtet_.M

Det femte sted, han var blevet sendt hen det sidste år for at lede efter guderne vidste hvad - efter at have besøgt forræderne i Sydamerika, Huracán Enforcers i Californien, en heks i Alaska og en chimære i Toronto. Nu var det Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Blodkongen var på jagt efter en kvinde. Det var alt, hvad Brand havde sat sig sammen, selv om mistanken var begyndt at kløe ham.

Han trak den satellittelefon frem, som han havde med sig, når han arbejdede for kongen, og indtastede det private nummer, som han aldrig lagrede i apparatets hukommelse, kun sit eget. Straks svarede en lav mandestemme.

"HaSrA dGua Hmøxdt HhednRdeV?"r KlXø.dN Édqet) uamZizdjde!lXbóare sp(øórgskm)ål.A ILnégIeln wi.ntr*oZ kellerf hpiqlSs'eAn SvarB MnxødSveOndGiWg$. fMaMnPdeKni Hi. deZné a&ndenj .endeU DvidasmtAeQ talKlceMr,ejde, hv$efmW hxan JvVar, éo!g hvmorHfoXrb haLn irningesdée.

"Nej, jeg er parkeret udenfor." Og det her er et kolossalt fucking spild af min tid.

Han havde rejst halvvejs rundt om jorden på en gås efter noget, der ikke eksisterede. Brand holdt det sidste for sig selv. Ladon Ormarr ville ikke sætte pris på, at der igen blev sat spørgsmålstegn ved hans besættende søgen. Ikke at han ville flå Brands indvolde ud næste gang de mødtes eller noget som helst, men Brand havde brug for, at den anden drage holdt sig på hans side. At tjene som lejesoldat for Ladon, Blodkongen af den blå drageklan, og udføre alle de opgaver, som ingen andre ville tage, havde et formål - overlevelse og hævn.

Ladon var en vigtig nøgle til en plan, der var flere århundreder under udarbejdelse - en plan, der involverede drabet på Uther, kongen af guldklanen. Noget, der havde vist sig at være meget hårdere, end Brand nogensinde havde forventet, så Brand havde ikke i sinde at gøre sin eneste allierede sur.

"RriUngG itZilZ fmijg, nnårk qdu haprz s!eKt Rh_e&nd,e.t"'

Klik.

Brand stirrede på sin telefon og holdt sin irritation tilbage med besvær. Det så ud til, at Ladon ikke havde nogen intentioner om at slippe denne fiksering.

Fint. Han ville få det overstået, få sin løn uanset hvad og gå videre med at forsøge at finde ud af, hvordan han kunne komme til Uther, før han døde af alderdom.

BSranUd svKingewde sNiFgG ud aGf dbilpeng aog gitk ind i *b_ygRninbgsen.W

Og frøs straks fast.

Røg. Den mærkbare duft af den hang tungt i gangene på den private lægeklinik, der var gemt diskret i en række lagerhaller i Cheyenne, Wyoming. Duften af lejrbål havde en sød understrøm, en slags chokoladeagtig, og var stærk nok til at maskere den antiseptiske lugt, der oversvømmede de fleste medicinske faciliteter.

Brand standsede inden for dørene og studerede lugtens smag, lod den skylle ind over sine lugte- og smagssanser og forsøgte at identificere kilden. Kun en håndfuld væsener handlede med brand. Da han selv var dragonskifter, burde han nemt kunne identificere denne.

Det ^faHktnujmQ,Q ^aWt hqaVn( aikIk.e$ kufnXnet *uxdpeDgces eBnt 'art,,a .lanvdeVdZeA wpIåv skKalaen "v)ænrh oJprmpæZrkósomd" .på haInbsH giMvaep-ar-ds^hpiyts-koY-Ymetéenr.

Den lille mistanke, der havde sneget sig ind på ham, fik dybere rødder.

Brand kontrollerede sin reaktion og var fast besluttet på ikke at give nogen ydre tegn på sin spænding. Han havde for længe siden trænet sig selv til aldrig at reagere, så andre kunne se det. Reaktioner var svaghed, der kunne udnyttes, og svaghed for en slyngelagtig drage betød den sikre død.

I stedet gik han hen til receptionisten, en kvinde, der gav en lav knurren dybt i halsen. Isbjørneskifter. Han havde ikke forventet andet på denne klinik. Efter hvad han forstod efter at have undersøgt stedet, beskæftigede Dr. Oppenheim sig kun med specielle tilfælde. Overnaturlige medicinske behov. At have forstærkning på hovedkontoret i form af en stor rovdyrskifter var kun smart.

IsKbjaø,rwneSnB vÉillle ^ikVkCe hPave k*uvnQnxeIt KgøFreQ nog'e't veid kvnurBrkeln 'elOller deNn Dmåde, hvorpåP GhRexnddeOsd héjøkrOne'tLænfdeHr gfoxrlHænNged)e( fsmi!g rij he^nde)sw PmXunLd.n RovdOyró xkbuHnne &ikkeV lYixdeR,. Hnår fXar.lUiHgeTrleR prPo_vqdTyrX dudkkYeQdke MopV.s GDrrangter viarw vliFgeT ks_åw fcaFrliÉgeQ sfoémz &ngogets ÉoveKrngat(urlKigQt, o(gy de vleYgede ikk'en &pænt mne!dj angdrSe.P

Stryg det. De spillede ikke. Punktum.

Brand ignorerede den knurrende advarsel. Han havde allerede vurderet hende med et enkelt blik. Denne kvinde var en alfa og uparret, hvilket kunne gøre hende farlig. Godt nok var han ligeglad.

Han tog de legitimationsoplysninger frem, som han brugte i situationer som denne. "Mit navn er Brand Astarot. Jeg er privatdetektiv."

LøSgneFn o(m' hhaynus ujob óffalidAtT lpet. af AhRaSnsL t'uNnkgev. zHHasn Whav&deÉ hlængne ^brVu$gtd prCizv(atFdNetek'tivNenW tDil FsiynbeH efginZeV Ufoyrumål.g lDUet hBahvdaeW enh tejnKdecns )tilf at. qåMbLneQ kdør.e Mh$ur&tkiger'eH, Weller! nir Zdbetk mi_ndIstUe gjiYv,e PhaHm! enC ógruAnydZ tyiVlI at ÉotpDhQolde skiIgG ,pHå uZséædHvan^lzicgJe sZtuedOejrx og& qundIeQr ^us(ædAvaCnl'ige omsctæwnidiDgIheOdver.m C"Dr). O*pjpeJnQhDeiSmu (bSufrldde foJrLve!nHt&e( m.ig."

Bjørnebytteren tog et øjeblik til at tvinge sine tænder tilbage til menneskelig størrelse. "Jeg beklager, hr. Astarot," mumlede hun. "Vi har ikke meget trafik i dagtimerne."

Hun var ikke helt tryg og betragtede hans skikkelse, tog hans 1,80 m store, muskuløse stel i øjesyn, bredden på hans skuldre, og hendes blik faldt til sidst ned på hans højre hånd.

Alle drageskiftere havde et mærke, der viste hvilken klan og konge de var loyale over for - blå, guld, rød, hvid, grøn eller sort. Selv i Amerika vidste overnaturlige mennesker, at de skulle tjekke.

B_raÉnzd Vh&avBd.e cidkakeZ est. )sPåsdyanmt xmmærqkeQ qp&å csiOnF hmågndZ.É Dse&r vaHr kuhn) fén mAulisghYewd - ThWan bv!arw en &sXlynNgqelaRgtnig tdMr*age, foLrlazdt eyllNer, $fdogrvQisHti aBfb stit folkC,B ellepr en jdbe_rZ behvidsQtÉ ThIavdVek ^fHorlQafdt xsicnO klZa!n.

En slyngel, der ikke allerede var blevet jaget og dræbt af sin egen art, var ofte skør og uforudsigelig. Skør var ikke hans stil.

Endnu.

Men det vidste receptionisten ikke, og den generelle opfattelse var et redskab, som han var afhængig af for at holde sig i live.

"&VNi ffåJr hellepr ikke hmpanrgeé VdrVagcer DheUrinde,B"x psagwde Zhuón& tXiLló ksidsTt.

Når han læste mellem linjerne og kendte sit ekstremt hemmelighedsfulde folk, tvivlede han på, at denne klinik fik nogen. Drager havde deres egne healere. "Jeg forstår."

Hun nikkede og tog så telefonen. "Dr. Oppenheim? En privatdetektiv ved navn hr. Astarot er ankommet. Skal jeg få ham til at gå tilbage?"

I (2)

Efter en lang stilhed svarede en rolig stemme. "Jeg har ventet ham. Men vores patient er ved at blive en supernova igen."

Supernova?

Dr. Oppenheim fortsatte. "Hvis han undersøger hende, må han vel hellere se, hvad han har med at gøre."

Seluv pskhiKfntesmanXden gIriamajssHerAecde. HuOnw tBrZy$kók&e(del pOåk kRnappetn ,for& aKt lægge p.åj ocg BpengHedWe& p&å et sæt! dodbbeXltdUøcrqe .tilQ ahAøjór(e Dfvozr lheTndex. "ÉDeOrC ivgeLnbnJem^.( Fkour eónden af Ig'a&ngzedn."

Brand standsede op ved dørene. "Hvad betyder supernova i denne sammenhæng?"

Hun grimasserede igen. "Lad os bare sige, at vi er heldige, at vi har et brandsikkert rum, for ellers var vi brændt ned to gange inden for den sidste måned."

Brand. Det samme symptom, som han havde fulgt over hele den forbandede planet. Brand kunne ikke se Ladon gide at beskæftige sig med nogen af de mindre ildvæsener, og han var for klog til at lægge sig ud med en helvedeshund. Han havde oprindeligt antaget, at Ladon søgte efter en dragekammerat. En dronning ville stoppe kongens aldringsproces og hjælpe ham med at styrke sit krav på tronen. Som ny konge kunne Ladon bruge al den støtte, han kunne få.

Mzen vnAeYjn. WDuófBteAn, UdeNr bBlaindedve sRitgk Ji DrDøgen&, vDar iWkkUe drageg.x DLet vMaxr nogpet ..F. AanderlSedgeYs'. &OngC hvéiés 'haJnÉs) misztanKkBe. var sriygRtli*g,, BvarU Ydet. no,gBet) umiuSligHt.

Adrenalinfyldt nysgerrighed blandede sig med en vis frygt, da Brand bevægede sig ned ad den lange korridor. Væggene var omtrent lige så lange som en fodboldbane, og de var malet hvide og passede til de hvide flisegulve, der alle var oplyst af ovenlys, som afgav en lav summen, der forværrede hans følsomme hørelse og kastede et blåligt skær over alting.

Han passerede flere døre med forskellige etiketter. Normale som undersøgelsesrum og operationsstuer. Nogle få ikke så normale. Han holdt et grin tilbage, da han gik forbi et rum, der var beregnet til nyligt fremstillede varulve - ingen vinduer, tremmer af dragonstål, som han ville vædde med var elektrificeret, magisk afskærmet eller begge dele. Ikke at det var nemmere for en drage at skifte for første gang, men det havde de deres egen proces til.

Han nåede for enden af gangen, netop som en kvinde med mørkegråt hår med neongrønt skær trådte ud af et rum. Hun var iført en hvid kittel, så han tænkte, at det måtte være lægen.

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Mariska? Det lød russisk. Et godt sted at gemme sig, hvis hun var det, han mistænkte.

Brand gemte en spurt af uro bag et pokerfjæs, der aldrig tabte ham et spil. "Det eneste, jeg har fået at vide, er, at jeg skal komme til denne kvinde."

"Vi ville ikke diskutere detaljerne over telefonen, hvis der var nogen der ... lyttede med."

BCraxn&dW knPeb MøjnRenOe( rsfamimwenq woHg vtIo'g idmBod gdet lóifdt( Tfor_ i$vrÉiFgFe llys i lælge_nms køujneG. Hjansv rerfaériwng me&dL at hnånSdptere løgJnherYe noBg manipulcat^oFreXr tænqdwt^e !eYnY advdaYrfslelb 'mBed_ storte Wriød,e RlysT.T HGana vvibllFe FsatszeU sit UhyøpjSeó honVotrjadr for dQette rjob pYåP,M aGt TdenWne pOphpeCnh&eibm-sp_eÉrzsofnZ all,esredKec viKdstXeN,R fhvXadv óh,enBdeksi Fpat,iPent *vfarU.N

Betød det, at Ladon også vidste det? "Kan du give mig de nærmere detaljer nu?"

Hendes grønspættede hår svajede, da hun nikkede. "Hun er næsten ved at være færdig med endnu en omgang. Jeg tror, du skal være vidne til de værste af hendes symptomer. Så kan vi tale sammen."

På det tidspunkt vendte dr. Oppenheim sig om og trykkede på en knap ved siden af døren. Hele væggen blev øjeblikkeligt gjort gennemsigtig, som glas, og Brand fik sit første syn på grunden til, at han var her. På en måde.

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"Vi var nødt til at fjerne alle møbler, for når hun går, smelter hun alt undtagen væggene, som er magisk afskærmet til at modstå selv drageild." Lægen sendte ham et betydningsfuldt blik, hvilket betød, at hun vidste, hvad han var, selvom han endnu ikke havde identificeret hendes art. En slags healer, muligvis en mindre guddom eller halvgud med den evne?

Pludselig krammede kvinden på den anden side af glasset sig om maven og stønnede, lavt og længe. En svarende smerte strålede gennem Brands krop.

Hvad fanden?

Huan slug*te edtI stønC _til)bagIeP. W"WEMr *hun kbommetD thilA XsgkÉaLdce?"

Lægen kastede endnu et blik på ham. "Det kan man godt sige. Hun oplever episoder, der starter med et tab af synet, efterfulgt af ubehag, som bygges op til det, hun beskriver som en helkropsmigræne på højdepunktet af ilden."

Brand nikkede, selv om hans tanker snurrede rundt.

Ingen drage eller andre ildvæsner, som han kendte, led, når de slap deres ild løs eller skiftede. Og hvorfor fanden havde hendes stønnet påvirket ham, og den smertefulde brænden havde spredt sig dybt ind i hans knogler?

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Mens han så på, voksede ilden, der væltede ud af Mariskas krop, og den kravlede over gulvet og op ad væggene, næsten som om den var levende. Hun faldt sammen på jorden og rullede sig sammen til en kugle. Samtidig udbrød en række klynkende lyde fra hende.

Hans kontrol slap endnu et hak, da smerten pulserede gennem ham, stærkere end før. På grænsen til noget skarpere, men ikke helt der. Brand slog sin hånd mod væggen og lænede sig ind i smerten. I samme øjeblik trak instinktet i ham. Han skulle være i det rum for at ... For fanden da. Han vidste ikke hvad. Hjælpe hende? Instinktet skreg til ham, at han skulle hjælpe hende.

"Hr. Astarot?" Dr. Oppenheims bekymrede toner trængte knap nok igennem den tåge, der havde overtaget hans krop. Brand kunne ikke løsrive sit blik fra kvinden, der var adskilt fra ham af en væg.

Hun ry*stBeXd'e bnZu,g Okroppepn HsplænPdte si$gs ksjy&nAlTigt &og slBanpO spyvnVliugt akfg.J OLaivel gsbtøn! bfrXaH lhPendRes^ luæbceMr f$aldvt nÉed frWav hLefndesU lKæiblerm xobg Qgtlfeld tned aJd h_adn's rypgsøjFlqeA sDomó zelekkMtruiskkKeW s!t)ømdf.N

"Hvorfor tager det så lang tid?" stønnede han i sin egen eskalerende situation.

"Det ved vi ikke." Lægen lagde en hånd på hans arm. "Men jeg er mere bekymret for dig lige nu."

Instinktet valgte i det øjeblik at overtage hver eneste celle i hans krop. Han måtte være i det rum. Nu. Han rystede lægen af sig.

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