We wobble violently, the helicopter shuddering like it’s about to shake apart.
Another claw suddenly lodges into the side of the helicopter right above my head with a metallic screech that makes my teeth hurt. The talons—each one as thick as my thigh—pierce straight through the reinforced metal like it’s aluminum foil. I can see the tips inside the cabin now, gleaming black and razor-sharp, just inches from my skull.
Oh god, we’re not going to make it!
Those things are going to drag us down out of the air before we can reach the portal. We’re going to fall into this darkness and whatever’s waiting below?—
We tilt wildly backward, the whole helicopter pitching up at what feels like a forty-five degree angle. My stomach lurches into my throat.
The snout of the beast holding onto the ramp comes into view, sliding up over the edge of the opening.
My breath stops completely.
His head is absolutely huge—easily the size of a school bus. Scaled in obsidian black that seems to absorb what little light we’re giving off. The snout is long and reptilian, ridged with bony protrusions. Steam or smoke billows from massive nostrils. And the eyes—god, the eyes are the worst part. They glow a deep, malevolent red, like coals in a forge. Slitted pupils focus directly on us with an intelligence that’s terrifying.
Rows of teeth—hundreds of them, each one as long as my forearm—line the partially open mouth. They’re yellowed and stained, some broken, some curved backward like fishhooks designed to hold prey.
But even as massive as this creature is, it’s clear he’s still much smaller than some of the other shadows we saw silhouetted in the distance. Those were the size of mountains. This one is merely the size of a house.
The entire helicopter tips further backward, now at nearly sixty degrees. My body strains against the straps, gravity pulling me toward the open ramp. Toward those teeth.
Hannah, Ksenia, and I would have tumbled out the open back and fallen into the darkness if not for the harness straps holding us in. Even buckled, I can feel myself sliding, the straps cutting into my shoulders and hips. Hannah has one arm locked around Raven, who’s screaming in terror, her little wings beating uselessly.
Kharon clings to the walls with four of his six hands, the other two holding his newborn daughter protectively against his chest. His feet have left the floor. He’s horizontal now, held in place by sheer strength and determination, muscles straining visibly in his arms. The baby in his arms wails—high, piercing cries that somehow cut through even the wind and engine noise.
“Get the fuck off my bird!” Layden shouts from the cockpit, and I can hear the edge of real fear in his voice for the first time.
A stream of fire erupts from his fingertips—brilliant white-blue runes that shoot down the center of the aisle like a flamethrower. They pass within inches of Kharon, so close I can feel the heat even from where I’m strapped in. The air crackles with power, smells like ozone and lightning.
The runes strike the dragon square in the face.
The creature’s eyes widen—the pupils contracting to thin slits. Its mouth opens wider in what might be surprise or pain, revealing even more of those nightmare teeth and a throat that glows from within like there’s fire in its belly.
It releases us.
The helicopter drunkenly rights itself in a stomach-dropping lurch, spinning slightly as we tip forward. My head slams against the headrest behind me with enough force to see stars.
We plunge toward the shimmering white portal ahead—that pearlescent mirror created by the newborn baby’s power. It’s maybe a hundred feet away now. Fifty. Twenty.
We hit it.
The sensation is like being turned inside out for a split second. A feeling of wrongness, of being in two places at once, of?—
Then we’re back in brilliant afternoon sunlight, and it’s so bright after the darkness that I’m temporarily blinded. I squeeze my eyes shut against the sudden glare.
Hannah and I scream in unison as the helicopter continues bobbing like a cork in rough water, then spins wildly. The whole world is rotating outside the windows—blue sky, green forest, blue sky, green forest?—
My stomach roils violently. I clap a hand over my mouth, tasting bile.
I try to glance at the ground through the floor window to see if the tanks are still there—my stuttering, shocked mind finally remembering the threat we were running from when we stumbled into that nightmare dimension. But I only catch a glimpse of black smoke rising in thick columns, of craters in the earth where the castle used to be, before we tilt wildly in another direction.
The centrifugal force presses me hard against the side of my seat.
Puking is about to be the least of my worries because we’re going down.
Oh god, we’re actually going down. The spin is getting faster, not slower. I can hear alarms blaring in the cockpit—shrill, urgent beeping. Layden’s cursing has taken on a panicked edge.
I don’t think he’s going to be able to right us in time!
