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“Mrs. Black,” he said, surprised but then his eyes narrowed. Presco stepped out from behind the curtain and Caliban’s brows shot up. “Presco?” He glanced back and forth between them, and a slow smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “My grandfather once told me you were the pet of the night goddess.” His reptilian eyes shifted to Layala. “And I wasn’t entirely sure you were Valeen, but now I know my hunch was correct. I wrote an essay about the great war of the realms last week for a class, and my focus was on the goddess of night. The timing is—interesting. So, I presume if you’re Valeen thenMr. Blackis the god of war.”

“Mr. Black isnotthe god of war.” Hel’s deep voice cut in. The door closed quietly behind him. “Mr. Black is someone much more ruthless and sinister.”

Caliban took a step back, scanning him like he’d never seen him before. “What do you three want?”

“My wife needs her belongings back. Bring her to her vault and I won’t kill you and your entire family. They’re all here in one place. It would be easy.”

The evening sunset reflected off Caliban’s silver scales creating sparkling light on the wall behind him. He moved another step back, closer to the window. “You’re… Zaurahel, aren’t you? The god of mischief and magic.”

The pressure of Hel’s magic enveloped the room with a heavy cloud. It was like a rabid animal locked in a cage too small and fought to break free. “You know, you’re too clever for your own good Mr. Drakonan.”

“If threats were all it took to be let into the vaults, we wouldn’t be the Drakonans.”

“I thought you might say that.” Hel raised his arm.

Layala rushed forward and grabbed hold of Hel’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “Don’t kill him. We need someone of Drakonan blood to open the vault.”

Hel frowned, and with the snap of his fingers said, “Nighty night.”

Caliban crumpled to the floor, his scales turning back to flesh. Layala gritted her teeth, watching for signs of life. His chest moved up and down, and she loosened a breath in relief.

“Since you’re here, Presco,” he started. “Pick the boy up. I’ll set the stage on fire and buy us some time.”

Chapter43

LAYALA

Screams drifted up from the lower levels of the Drakonans’ home, and then the scent of burning wood. Hel only disappeared for a moment but that was all it took to set the stage on fire and cause a distraction. With the snap of Hel’s fingers, Layala’s dress changed into black pants, a loose-fitting tunic with her usual black corset overtop, and her boots.

“Thanks. Now I’ll be able to move easier.”

Presco threw Caliban over his shoulder and nodded.

“And you’ll probably need to fight, too.” Hel gripped both their arms. “I can get us inside the treasury but the magic there will stop us at the door to the vaults. Ready?” Layala and Presco nodded.

The pressure and darkness of shifting through space surrounded them and was gone as quickly as it came, and they stood at a giant black door with rune markings carved into its wood illuminated only by blazing torches on the walls. Layala peeked over her shoulder. Down the long, stone corridor the walls opened into a room with golden pillars, a large dark wood desk with stacks of papers and piles of gold and precious jewels the workers counted. Luckily everyone in the main room had their backs to them and were none the wiser they had intruders at the vault chamber door.

Presco set Caliban on the gray stone floor and rested his back against the wall. He pulled a glass vial from his suit pocket. Inside a vivid blue liquid bubbled. “What’s that?” Layala asked.

“It will stop him from being able to shift into dragon form. But we only have an hour at most. Caliban may seem like a sweet young male, but his dragon is ferocious. He fights in the underground fighting ring and has been champion for the last year even against much older dragons.” He pulled the cork, parted Caliban’s lips, and poured in the liquid. A little stream trickled out of the side of his mouth, but he swallowed most of it, and then his eyes fluttered.

“He’s waking up.” Wide eyed, Layala turned to Hel. “Get the door open before he yells for help.”

Hel ran his fingers over the runes, and murmured under his breath. “Clever,” he said, “I can fly but I have no wings. I can cry but I have no eyes. Do you know what I am?”

Caliban groaned and pressed a hand to the side of his head.

“Now would be good, Hel,” Layala urged, peeking down the hall again. The sounds of coins clanking, patron chatter, and paper shuffling came from down the main chamber. Footsteps came next. Someone was coming.

Hel pressed his finger to each runic letter, which glowed faintly after he touched it until he spelled out the word within the riddle, “C-L-O-U-D.”

The shiny silver vault door slowly opened inward, not making a sound. Presco dragged Caliban in, and Hel promptly shut the door.

“I hope we weren’t seen or it’s over already,” Layala said.

They waited quietly for an alarm bell or raised voices, but none came. “I think we’re in the clear,” Presco said and bobbed his head to continue.

Torches on the walls lit with their presence and led down a long windowless brick passage. The air was stale and a little damp. There was no telling how long the tunnel would go. It went as far as she could see.