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Book: The Magician's Dream (Oona Crate Mystery: book 3) by Shawn Thomas Odyssey
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Authors: Shawn Thomas Odyssey
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cat through the house, the dragon plunged after the maid, Oona clinging to its back with all of her strength. The maid emerged into the central antechamber and ran toward the front door. She flung the door open so hard that it banged against the wall and bounced shut behind her. Oona could hear Mrs. Carlyle’s muffled shrieks through the house’s walls.
The dragon made short work of the door, crashing into it with the force of a battering ram. The door cracked down the middle, one side tearing off its hinges and flying end over end off the front porch. The beast ripped and clawed the rest of the way through the wide doorway before lunging down the front steps and into the garden. Oona could see Mrs. Carlyle running barefoot down the garden path toward the front gate in a dead panic. But out here in the open, Oona feared the dragon would easily outrun the maid.
“Stop!” she shouted, and pulled on the dragon’s spine in the hopes of giving the maid more time to reach the gates.
The dragon skidded to a halt beside the rosebushes. It roared to the sky, a haunting, monstrous bellow that seemed to rattle Oona’s very bones. And then Samuligan was once again in front of them, sword in hand, eyes blazing like bonfires. He placed himself between the dragon and the front gate just as Mrs. Carlyle disappeared from view.
Well, at least she’s safe , Oona thought. And then she just had time to wonder But am I? when Samuligan brought round his sword to attack.
The dragon raised its front leg and deflected the blow, the sound like steel striking iron. It lashed out with one of its hideous claws, the black bone coming perilously close to Samuligan’s unprotected face.
The faerie ducked back and then moved forward with a savage attack. Once more the dragon parried. Over and over they came at each other, their movements growing faster and faster, the sound filling the garden and Oona’s skull.
She wanted it to stop. She did not want Samuligan to get hurt, and yet he would not get out of the way. He’s very good at it , she remembered her uncle saying in regard to the faerie servant’s ability to keep apprentices from the gate. It may have been more than five hundred years since his last true battle, but Samuligan did not seem to have lost his skill. She knew he would not relent and was tempted to tell the dragon to back off, when it occurred to her that dragons could do much more than run around and rampage.
“Fly!” she shouted, and aimed her wand at the beast’s wings.
She had no idea if it could do so, especially considering the fact that it was a dragon made entirely of bones, with no flesh to catch the wind. But it was worth a shot. To her immense delight, the dragon responded by crouching like a giant cat and then leaping high over the faerie’s head.
Her breath left her body in a cry of both fright and exhilaration as they bound into the air, the wind whipping at her hair. She clung desperately to the dragon’s back, the two of them surging upward in a great curve that brought them level with the rickety tower that stuck out of the fourth floor of the house, and then took them even higher.
Oona had a moment of panic, fearful that she might fall, but just as she thought she would surely slip, the dragon banked in the opposite direction. They leveled out, giving her a breathtaking view of all of Dark Street.
It spread out before them in both directions, the glistening Glass Gates just visible some six and a half miles to the south, and the dark Iron Gates six and a half miles to the north. To the east and west, behind the line of buildings on either side of the street, there was nothing to see, just the vast expanse of nothingness known as the Drift, where Dark Street spun through the space between worlds.
Though spectacular, the view made her feel somewhat queasy, and it was not without a sense of relief that Oona pressed forward on the dragon’s back and they began to descend. She considered landing outside
The dragon made short work of the door, crashing into it with the force of a battering ram. The door cracked down the middle, one side tearing off its hinges and flying end over end off the front porch. The beast ripped and clawed the rest of the way through the wide doorway before lunging down the front steps and into the garden. Oona could see Mrs. Carlyle running barefoot down the garden path toward the front gate in a dead panic. But out here in the open, Oona feared the dragon would easily outrun the maid.
“Stop!” she shouted, and pulled on the dragon’s spine in the hopes of giving the maid more time to reach the gates.
The dragon skidded to a halt beside the rosebushes. It roared to the sky, a haunting, monstrous bellow that seemed to rattle Oona’s very bones. And then Samuligan was once again in front of them, sword in hand, eyes blazing like bonfires. He placed himself between the dragon and the front gate just as Mrs. Carlyle disappeared from view.
Well, at least she’s safe , Oona thought. And then she just had time to wonder But am I? when Samuligan brought round his sword to attack.
The dragon raised its front leg and deflected the blow, the sound like steel striking iron. It lashed out with one of its hideous claws, the black bone coming perilously close to Samuligan’s unprotected face.
The faerie ducked back and then moved forward with a savage attack. Once more the dragon parried. Over and over they came at each other, their movements growing faster and faster, the sound filling the garden and Oona’s skull.
She wanted it to stop. She did not want Samuligan to get hurt, and yet he would not get out of the way. He’s very good at it , she remembered her uncle saying in regard to the faerie servant’s ability to keep apprentices from the gate. It may have been more than five hundred years since his last true battle, but Samuligan did not seem to have lost his skill. She knew he would not relent and was tempted to tell the dragon to back off, when it occurred to her that dragons could do much more than run around and rampage.
“Fly!” she shouted, and aimed her wand at the beast’s wings.
She had no idea if it could do so, especially considering the fact that it was a dragon made entirely of bones, with no flesh to catch the wind. But it was worth a shot. To her immense delight, the dragon responded by crouching like a giant cat and then leaping high over the faerie’s head.
Her breath left her body in a cry of both fright and exhilaration as they bound into the air, the wind whipping at her hair. She clung desperately to the dragon’s back, the two of them surging upward in a great curve that brought them level with the rickety tower that stuck out of the fourth floor of the house, and then took them even higher.
Oona had a moment of panic, fearful that she might fall, but just as she thought she would surely slip, the dragon banked in the opposite direction. They leveled out, giving her a breathtaking view of all of Dark Street.
It spread out before them in both directions, the glistening Glass Gates just visible some six and a half miles to the south, and the dark Iron Gates six and a half miles to the north. To the east and west, behind the line of buildings on either side of the street, there was nothing to see, just the vast expanse of nothingness known as the Drift, where Dark Street spun through the space between worlds.
Though spectacular, the view made her feel somewhat queasy, and it was not without a sense of relief that Oona pressed forward on the dragon’s back and they began to descend. She considered landing outside
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