Chapter Nine warnings: Discussion of death, character death, violence, gore
Chapter Nine, Part I
Come On, Eileen
This was how Mick saw it:
First, there was fire. Burning. Pain. More pain than he had ever experienced in his life, like every cell in his body chose that very moment to explode like a collection of stars going supernova all at once.
And then, the world winked out. Just . . . gone. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed from one moment to another. Maybe it had been seconds. Maybe it had been days. All he knew was that at some point, he was floating. Or falling. Something between the two, in pitch black. Above him was a sky full of color, hazy and rippling, like the surface of a pool. There were sounds, somewhere off in the distance. Screams? His? No. Somebody else’s. A cacophony of screams, echoing far above him.
Over that, there was a song. Freddie Mercury underwater, pounding through his ears like the voice of a god. He was aware that he was sinking. Something wrapped around him like a warm hand, like the arms of his mother when he was a child, and it was pulling him down, down, down.
At first, he fought it—thrashed against its hot iron grip. But then, a calm washed over him.
Let go, something told him. You’ve done well. It’s time to rest.
Rest. When was the last time he had rest? Even when he slept these days, his muscles ached, yearned for movement. His brain screamed that he wasn’t doing enough, wasn’t enough. Restlessness chased him into his dreams and flooded his nightmares with anxiety, and each morning, he would wake up more exhausted than the night before.
How wonderful it would be, then, to let go. To rest. To drift into a dreamless sleep. The cacophony above him faded away—all the screams, all the fire, everything, until all that was left was Freddie Mercury. A broken tape underwater.
He closed his eyes. Or maybe he didn’t. He couldn’t feel himself anymore. He was weightless, massless, a blissful nothing. Come on, sleep. Let go. Let’s go. He hovered at the edge of it, at the border to a frontier of oblivion, one foot raised in the air.
And then there was Eleanor.
He stopped. Her voice came through, threading its way quickly and carefully through Freddie Mercury’s like a mouse around the legs of a dragon. What was she saying? He stopped to listen but found himself straining to hear. Whatever it was, she sounded serious. It sounded important. Urgent.
Scared.
He turned away from oblivion to look up at the surface of existence. How far had he sunk? The light looked so far away now. And yet, beyond it, he could hear Eleanor’s voice again. Scared. Scared. Very scared.
His soul reached up, struggling against the weight pulling him towards sleep. He had to get to her. She needed him. A part of him was awake again, screaming at him to go, go, go, you idiot! Protect her! Save her!
Suddenly, he had hands again. They felt so heavy, so sluggish, like they were actively fighting against him. No! Keep going! Break through!
Freddie Mercury continued singing. Only it wasn’t Freddie Mercury. It was someone familiar—not Eleanor, not his siblings, not even Astrid. And it was telling him let go. Sink. This time, it wasn’t a warm, comforting hand. It was a cold mass, a cold moon, a cold wall of ice slamming down on him, pushing him down into the darkness.
Let go, you worthless piece of shit. You can’t save her. You almost abandoned her, didn’t you?
His grip loosened again. He had. He’d left Eleanor there, hadn’t he? He’d spent four years building a wall between them to make her go. He couldn’t save her. He couldn’t save his family. He couldn’t even save himself.
How many times had he failed these past four years? He was sinking, tied down by the weight of his mistakes. His family was sinking, and he could do nothing to help them. Even Eleanor was sinking—and that one was because of him, wasn’t it? She was throwing away her future for him. He was a curse. A burden. Useless, except to drag everything and everyone down with him.
Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Down, down, he sank again.
But . . . just as he neared that border to oblivion . . .
There Eleanor was again.
“Oh, believe me, if all those endearing young charms that I gaze on so fondly today . . .”
An Irish folk song. He knew where it came from and why she was singing it, of course. Tail end of “Come On, Eileen,” just as the music faded out, the lead singer tacked this on, as if to serenade his lover on the streets of Dublin.
Guess Mick couldn’t fool Eleanor. She knew it was his favorite song, no matter how many times he tried to pretend it wasn’t. It was such a stupid song, a pop ballad one-hit wonder, mostly about freedom and a little bit about sex and all the way about both at once. Yet Mick liked that it was stupid. It didn’t have to be anything more than a song about two kids swearing to stick together despite poverty and religious oppression. They had each other, and screw what the rest of the world had to say.
Why was Eleanor singing it?
Actually, why was she still there?
Mick left her on the stage with a witch. Why wasn’t she running?
And the screaming. The screeching. Those monsters were back, weren’t they?
Mick fought against the cold wall, the warm comfort, everything. All that mattered was Eleanor’s voice. He could feel it fight back, press into him, pull at his back. And yet . . .
Eleanor, why didn’t you run?
Was it . . .
No.
No, it couldn’t have been because of him, right?
Why was she so persistent? Why wouldn’t she leave him? He was dragging her down, wasn’t he? He left her to fend for herself, didn’t he?
Unless . . .
Unless she didn’t see it that way.
“. . . were to suddenly leave you or fly in the night . . .”
A warmth flooded his soul, his heart, his entire being, like her voice was both gasoline and flame. She was here for him. She was reaching out for him. She wanted him there.
And he felt like he always did when she looked at him like he was the most important person in the world. He felt like his body was struggling to contain the sun, like he meant something, like he was alive.
She made him feel like he was alive. Those antics, that smile, that sharp wit, that everything. How could he have forgotten? Not just now, but for the past four years?
He loved her. And for once, even though he knew she didn’t see him the way he saw her, he felt like he was loved in return.
Maybe he had messed up. But here she was, offering a hand nonetheless. And maybe, when all of this was over, he’d fix things, one person at a time.
But first . . .
“. . . just like fairy gifts gone in the sky.”
He reached up and took that hand and exploded out into reality.
---
When he opened his eyes again, he knew at once something was wrong. He stood over Eleanor, but his body . . .
Oh.
Oh no.
His mind filled that strange form. Claws. Tail. Snout. What was he? He looked down at Eleanor in confusion but found her staring up in concern and panic.
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no, she was terrified of him. Was this why she was scared? Was it because he—
Did he hurt—
Calm. Stay calm. Get a grip and keep gripping. Mick clenched his jaw—oh gods, that snout—and tried to keep himself from panicking. The last thing he needed was to sink back into himself again. How long had he been out?
His tongue searched his mouth. He had to speak. Could he speak? He opened that snout and tried to shape it into words, but his teeth clacked together clumsily.
“Mick?” Eleanor whispered.
It’s me! I’m fine! he tried to say. But those stupid jaws!
Above them, a new song started. “Bohemian Rhapsody,” Queen. Mick lifted his eyes to the ceiling, only to finally take notice of the destruction around him. The courtyard was in ruins. Had he done that? Or had . . .
Demons. So many of them, crawling up the walls. Ah, so that was the source of the noise. They opened countless mouths, perfectly round holes dotting the walls like obscene honeycomb, and from each hole screamed an ear-piercing noise. Mick flinched as his sharpened hearing funneled that screech directly into his brain like an ice pick lobotomy.
Okay. One problem at a time. Protect Eleanor from these things, then figure out how to talk to her. He planted his claws on either side of her and lowered that lizard-like mess of muscle and scales until he was confident the demons couldn’t get to her.
Step two: Figure out what he could do. He looked inward again, only instead of sinking, he turned and directly confronted his own body.
I don’t know what you are, but we’re stuck together for the moment. What’ve you got?
Something stirred within him, and his own voice echoed back. Ah, Mick. Don’t you know? You’re a dragon. What do you think you can do?
As the waves of demons poured down from the walls, Mick’s lips curled back into something that was half smirk, half snarl. A growl rumbled from his chest, and he dug down deep until he found what he was looking for.
Anything I want, he told that voice.
He opened his jaws and let loose with a roar and a stream of fire. An inferno engulfed swarms of demons whole and burned through the floor. He turned, carefully maneuvering his body over Eleanor’s prone form to arc his flames around them. Little by little, those needle-sharp screams died, and those demons were reduced to burnt-out matchsticks, until Mick completed a full circle around Eleanor. A few demons remained, cowering and snapping their jaws at the edge of the ring. He growled in warning, his throat already full of flames, but the demons stayed where they were, as if the dragonfire had carved out an invisible wall to keep them at bay.
Only one threw itself forward, loping on spindly arms and legs straight for Eleanor.
That wouldn’t do. Mick lifted one set of giant claws and smashed the creature into the floor. It screeched and scrabbled beneath his grip, thrashing a set of claws towards Eleanor’s face, but he thrust his weight down and twisted. The demon’s bones crunched beneath his palm, and the creature fell still, and Eleanor stared at it in horror.
Oh. This probably didn’t look good, did it? She was shaking, her wide eyes shifting until they locked onto his. He had to say something. He had to reassure her it was him and that she was safe. Or, well. From him.
He bowed his head low and gently nudged her side. See? He wasn’t going to hurt her.
And now, to drive his point home . . .
“E-Eleanor,” he whispered, against the limitations of his body. “Hi.”
As if by magic, her expression changed instantly. All that terror, all that uncertainty, all of it melted away to pure relief. Tears welled in her eyes, and she pulled herself up, only to throw her arms around his snout.
“You’re back!” she murmured. “You’re back . . .”
“Are you serious?” another voice snapped. “Kill her!”
Mick swung his head up to look over his shoulder. On the stage, in front of the portal, was Adelaide. Mick gritted his teeth and growled at her at that command. Kill her? What did she—
Ah, of course. She was that cold wall, wasn’t she? That voice that drove him back down. Mick glanced down at Eleanor to find her shrinking back. Adelaide was a witch. Of course she’d have a spell to . . . what, mind-control him? Charm him into giving up? Mick wasn’t sure, but he knew two things. One, that Adelaide was behind this somehow.
And two, whatever she did wasn’t going to work a second time.
“Fine,” she huffed. “Guess we have to do this again. Mama, just killed a man . . .”
Mick opened his mouth and let out another roar, drowning out Adelaide’s voice. And to further make his point, he breathed a jet of flames in her direction, until he heard her squeal and her body slam against the floor of the stage.
“Don’t just stand there!” Adelaide flailed her arms above her, first at the demons still clinging to the walls and then at Mick. “There are more of you than of him! Restrain him!”
The demons responded with more needle-piercing screeches. But the thing is, though it was true that there were more of them than of him—more even appeared on the edges of the second floor and tumbling out of the portal—Mick knew he had one leg up on them.
Or, rather, wing.
He swept his snout down again and bumped Eleanor’s side.
“Eleanor,” he said.
She grabbed his snout to steady his face. “Mick! Are you okay?”
He wanted to laugh. More concerned for him than for the army of demons around them or the fact that Adelaide tried to get him to kill her. Ah, good ol’ Eleanor. Someday, he’d teach her about priorities.
“Yeah,” he said. “Not easy to talk this way.”
“It’s fine. You don’t have to,” she said.
And here, he did smile.
Then bucked his head to toss her onto his back.
“Hold on!” he said, half-ignoring her shouts of protest.
That was his one warning before he flapped his wings and shoved off the floor. The sea of demons closed in beneath him, a second too late to grab so much as a scale. He lifted them higher, higher, until he was thoroughly out of reach. The army screamed, stretching foot-long claws in their direction. Did they not have magic of their own? Or maybe they were too mindless to use it. Maybe they needed a specific direction from Adelaide.
Mick didn’t want to find out.
“Got a plan?” he asked, turning his head slightly until he could just see Eleanor clinging to his shoulders.
“Sort of?” she replied. “It hinged on you being a little more human.”
Mick snorted, his nostrils flaring. “We’ll work on that.”
A demon flung itself off the second-floor walkway and directly into Mick’s line of fire—literally. Mick blasted it out of the air and followed it down with his breath, scorching walls and demons until he left another scorch mark on the floor. When he was sure it wasn’t moving, he cut off his fire and shifted his attention back to Eleanor.
“What is it?” he said.
Eleanor leaned against him, as if she was about to share a secret with him. “There’s something called the Godcleaver. Adelaide took it somehow, and we need to get it back and use it to close that hole she’s got.”
Mick blinked. Something about that word sparked familiarity in his brain, as if it was a thing the now-magical part of him knew too well.
“Godcleaver?” he repeated.
“Some kind of artifact that can slice through magic, according to that short shopkeeper you met,” she explained. “They said you can convince it to not listen to her?”
Mick looked inward to the magical part of him.
Probably, it said back. If you can find it.
“No pressure, sure,” he muttered, both to it and Eleanor. “So where is it? And what does it look like?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know,” Eleanor said.
Of course this wouldn’t be easy. Mick incinerated a crowd of demons on the second floor, then landed. He needed to think. Adelaide had a magical device capable of cutting through magic, but . . . what? He crawled to the edge of the floor and looked down, watching Adelaide scramble to her feet and squint up at him. Think . . . think . . . what did she have at the trailhead? Railroad spike. Athame. Crystals. Books . . .
“Ooh, you two are so annoying!” Adelaide barked. “Fine! Forget you! Let’s wrap this up then.”
She snapped her fingers, and the song changed, mid-Rhapsody, to “Killer Queen.”
Click.
Mick’s eyes widened in realization. Railroad spike, athame, crystals, books, and the thing that triggered his transformation.
A tape deck.
Adelaide turned back to the portal and sang along to “Killer Queen,” and the hole in reality opened wider at her command. Something big and white and bulbous started bulging into the world.
It was now or never. And Mick knew exactly what to do.
He slammed his claws against the wall along the edge of the second floor. His jaws opened wide, and he summoned as much magic as he could muster into one bone-vibrating roar. He could hear nothing but that roar—not Freddie Mercury, not Adelaide, not even the screaming of the demons around him. It was as if the world silenced itself to let him speak.
And so he did, in that roar.
You’re mine. Do you hear me? he said. Do as I say. I’m giving you someone new to listen to.
And with those words, fire blazed through his soul and out into his voice. It filled his body, rushed across his bones, set his muscles aflame. Yet unlike all the other transformations he’d felt so far, this one felt right. Felt good. Like it was exactly what he needed to do.
And somewhere out there, at the edge of his awareness, another ball of magic shuddered to a halt. Yielded to his fire. Changed direction, like it was a stream and he was a rock.
He found it.
Yeah, sure, it said. Just cool it with the magic, yeah?
When he was done, his body felt lighter and like it was made of gelatin. He fell backwards, next to Eleanor, who had apparently fallen off his back halfway through his spell. And as he lay panting, it took a second for his mind to settle back into his body—a body that had once again changed on him.
He was back. Or one step back. He lifted his hands to examine them. They still had claws, were still covered in scales, but they were hands again.
Well. Guess he figured out how to fix one problem.
He stared up at the ceiling, and only then did he notice how quiet it was. No screaming, no Adelaide . . . but also no Freddie Mercury.
At his side, he could hear Eleanor whisper, “What did you do?”
The second he finally caught his breath, he shrugged. “The Godcleaver.” He pointed up with a single claw. “It’s a tape.” With a wince and a bit more effort than he really liked for being smack in the middle of a magic battle, he sat up. “Just used a bit of magic to do what you said: convince it to listen to someone else.”
Eleanor pulled herself to her seat to give him a bewildered look. “Who?”
He was two seconds from telling her—the look on her face was going to be worth it—before Adelaide interrupted.
“You clever bastard!” she shouted. “Gotta hand it to you, Mick. For someone who wants nothing to do with any of this, you sure take to magic like a natural!”
Mick grimaced. He really didn’t. He was pretty sure this only worked because the mechanisms that turned him into a dragon crammed him full of ridiculous amounts of magic. It was really more luck in circumstance than anything else.
But of course he wasn’t going to just say that. He and Eleanor peered over the wall along the edge of the second floor to gaze down at Adelaide. She had her hand on the white bulge in the portal, and just like that, the sobriety of the immediate situation smacked Mick back into reality.
Right. He and Eleanor still had to beat the all-powerful witch and close that portal. Except the all-powerful witch now had something even more powerful emerging from that portal, literally in the palm of her hand.
Whoops.
“Of course,” she drawled, “it’s not like you’ll figure out how to use the Godcleaver before I kill you.”
The bulge exploded out of the portal, unfurling above Adelaide into something that left a sick, cold twist of dread in the pit of Mick’s stomach. This thing was a demon too, but it was bigger and uglier than the ones that infested the mall. A giant skull lifted itself to the ceiling on a centipede body with thousands of claw-like legs. Six pairs of wasp wings fluttered at its back, lifting it further into the empty air above the portal until it emerged completely. The thing was big—far bigger than Mick had been as a dragon. Black eyes the size of the Rabbit reflected the moonless sky through the hole in the ceiling, then slowly swept down until they settled on Adelaide.
Adelaide grinned with way too much of her teeth, and a cackle bubbled up from deep inside her. Her hand reached up, fingers splayed toward the demon . . .
. . . just before the beast dove down and swallowed her whole.
Mick curled his fingers against the banister until his knuckles went white. This was bad. This was extremely bad. Even the magic in him shuddered and clenched, flapping against his bones like a wild bird in a cage. Far below, the demon twisted. Writhed. Violently shook. And lifted its body calmly until it stood once more.
And then it laughed with Adelaide’s voice.
Oh yeah. This was bad.
“What was the rest of your plan?” Mick asked.
He turned his head to find Eleanor staring down at the demon for a second, until she moved her half-terrified, half-sheepish eyes onto him.
“Get to Bard Records and somehow resolve this with the power of music?” she replied.
Mick nodded slowly, taking in those words.
There was really just one way he could respond to the insanity of a plan consisting only of attempting to beat a giant demon possessed by a murderous witch by playing music at it.
“Did you get my violin to Alistair?” he asked.
[Part II coming next week!]