The Dream Thieves

But that wasn’t it.

Because the readings were solid and screaming. Ordinarily, the energy spiked at the moment of the dream object’s creation, and then fell off abruptly. But the meters were still pegged. And remained so, despite the fact that the Gray Man was headed away from Henrietta at seventy miles an hour.

Behind the Gray Man, the first car had faltered. They doubted the Gray Man’s story, perhaps. Assuming, like the Gray Man, that someone elsewhere was using the Greywaren.

But the longer the flashing lights and wailing alerts went on, the more obvious it was that this was not the Greywaren’s doing. Not only were the readings constant, but they were coming from everywhere. It had to be the line Maura had talked about. Something had happened to it, and now it was alive, blasting these energy readings through the roof.

The car behind him was still following, but slowly. They had access to the same readings as the Gray Man — and they were confused.

A realization gradually occurred to the Gray Man. As long as the ley line was creating such dramatic readings, the Greywaren was invisible. An energy spike wouldn’t be noticed in this already existing riot.

Which meant Henrietta didn’t have to worry about any new hunters coming after the Greywaren. No one could use these readings to pinpoint anything but the location of the line. It meant that if the Gray Man could somehow get rid of this carload of treasure seekers, there was only one reason for the Gray Man to run from Henrietta.

His brother.

Ronan had created this night horror to fight Kavinksy’s dragon, and fight they did.

Up through the black the creatures climbed, snarled around each other. Fireworks burst past them, illuminating their scales. The crowd, drunk and high and gullible and desirous of wonders, screamed their support.

Down on the ground, Ronan and Kavinsky leaned their heads back, too, watching what they had made.

The creatures were beautiful and terrible. Sparks cascaded from them as claws and fire met. A wheeling scream like a firework escaped from the night horror.

Up, up, up, into the black. Ronan’s eyes darted through the crowd. Gansey and Blue had gone separate ways and he saw them now tearing open the doors on Mitsubishis, looking for Matthew. The cars were all stopped as everyone watched the dragons. There weren’t that many cars. Gansey and Blue would find him. It would be all right.

But then Kavinsky’s fire dragon broke off from the night horror. It tucked its gaseous forearms and dove. With a hissing blast of noise, it collided with one of the flood lamps. The impact had no effect on the dragon, but the lamp capsized. Shocked screams punctuated the air; the lamp tumbled like a tree.

Kavinsky’s face was alight. He’d leapt to his feet as the fire dragon hurled itself at another one of the lamps. Flames burst and dissipated. The bulb exploded.

Ronan’s night horror plummeted from the sky, snatching at the fire dragon. For a moment, the two hit the ground, rolling across the dirt, and then they were alight again.

No one was really afraid. Why weren’t they afraid?

It was magic, but nobody believed it was.

The music was still blaring. The cars were still wheeling. There were dragons fighting above them, and it was just another party.

The fire dragon screamed, the same horrible scream as before. It sped toward where Kavinsky and Ronan stood by the car.

“Stop it,” Ronan said.

Kavinsky’s eyes were still on it. “No stopping it now, Lynch.”

His furious dragon spun, wings outstretched. Tearing along the drag strip, it pulled a stretch of flames along the dirt behind it. It sprang off the roof of one of the Mitsubishis at the end. As its claws shrieked on the metal, the car burst into flame. The dragon charged into the air. The movement flipped the car behind it, easy as a toy.

Matthew?

On the other side of the strip, Gansey waved his arms above his head, shaking his head, catching Ronan’s eye. Not in that one.

“Tell me which car my brother’s in,” Ronan said.

“A white one.”

The dragon gathered itself up. It was obviously preparing to plummet down once more. It was curious, really, how clearly he could see its eyes from that great height. It had terrible eyes. It was not that they were empty, but rather that when you looked past all the flame and smoke and more flames, you could see that deep down inside the eyes was really just more smoke and flames.

There was a silence in the crowd.

In that silence, Kavinsky’s laugh was louder than anything.

A single scream erupted from the crowd. It was a sort of experimental sound, trying to decide if now, finally, fear was the correct response.

As Ronan’s night horror flapped toward the fire dragon, Kavinsky’s monster pinned its vaporous legs to its body. Sulfur clouded from its mouth. It was deadly like a cancer. Like radiation. It had teeth, but those were irrelevant.

Kavinsky snapped his fingers. Another firework shot up, smearing a glowing path between the two creatures. It exploded above them all like a toxic flower.

The night horror slammed into the fire dragon. The two of them crashed into the ground, rolling into the crowd. Now there was screaming as people leapt out of the way. The two creatures clawed their way over another of the Mitsubishis. Into the air. Back down again.

“Ronan!” Blue’s voice carried, high and thin. She had looked in another Mitsubishi — still no Matthew. The crowd was still scattering — somewhere, a siren howled. There was so much fire. It was as if Kavinsky’s dragon were slowly remaking the world in its own image. Most of the flood lamps were out, but the drag strip was brighter than before. Every car a lantern.

The fire dragon pitched toward Gansey and Blue.

Ronan didn’t have to shout to his night horror. It knew what Ronan wanted. It wanted exactly what Ronan wanted.

Save them.

The night horror tangled in the fire dragon’s wings. The two creatures sailed narrowly past Gansey and Blue.

Gansey shouted, “Do something!”

Ronan could kill Kavinsky. If he stopped Kavinsky, the dragon stopped. But it was one thing to know this solution. It was a very different thing to look at Kavinsky, his arms stretched over his head, fire in his eyes, and think: I could kill him.

And most important, it wasn’t true.

Ronan couldn’t kill him.

“Okay,” he snarled, grabbing Kavinsky’s arm, “We’re done. Where is my brother? No more. Where is he?”

Kavinsky threw his free hand out toward the Mitsubishi beside them. “He’s all yours! You missed my point, man. All I wanted was this —”