“Why?” the Black Reach demanded, his deep voice shaking with frustration. “You know you are doomed. We’ve both seen it, so why do you persist?”
“Because seeing the future isn’t the same as understanding it,” Bob said, raising his head to smile at the pigeon who fluttered down from the clear blue sky to perch on his fingers. “You’re the one who taught me that a seer’s greatest weakness is his own expectations. We grow so used to seeing everything before it happens, we forget that we can still be surprised. That events which appear unquestionable from one angle can look entirely different from another.”
“Is that your strategy?” The Black Reach sneered. “Hide in my blind spot? Even though I’ve known every possible turn of your life since before you were born?”
Bob shrugged. “What other hope do I have? As you just said, you’ve been plotting all of this since before I was born. I can’t compete with that level of knowledge and planning. But the fact that we’re having this conversation proves there’s at least one angle you haven’t seen yet, and so long as that’s true, I have hope.”
He leaned down to press a kiss to his pigeon’s feathered head, and the Black Reach turned away in disgust. “Sometimes I wonder if you really have gone mad,” he muttered. “But I’ve said my piece. You can see the death that’s coming as well as I. If that’s not enough to scare you into changing course, there’s nothing more I can do.”
“But you’ll still try.”
“Of course I’ll try,” the construct said. “Until it becomes past, the future is never set.” He gave Bob a sad smile. “You’re not the only one who can hope.”
Bob smiled back. “Does this mean you’ve given up on taking my darling away?” he asked, hugging the little dragon-turned-human in the crook of his arm. “Since time is so short and all?”
“I shouldn’t,” the Black Reach said. “It’s not good practice, but…” He trailed off, studying the little dragon, who watched him curiously in return. “I don’t foresee any lasting harm to her under your care,” he said with a shrug. “You may keep her until the end. We both know it won’t be very long.”
“Your kindness is appreciated,” Bob said warmly. “Thank you.”
“If you want to thank me, then listen,” the Black Reach said angrily, glaring at Bob one last time before he turned and walked away. “I will see you two more times before the end. Let us hope you make better use of those chances than you did this one.”
“I always strive to improve!” Bob called after him, but the cheerfulness rang hollow even in his own ears.
The ancient construct was already gone in any case, his tall body vanishing into the glaring light of the desert beyond the mouth of the sheltered canyon. Bob was still squinting at the place where he’d been when something shot through the blue sky above him. Something very large, moving very fast.
Bob dove for cover, clutching the golden-eyed child to his chest as he rolled them into the shelter of the canyon seconds before the shadow of the hunting dragoness passed over them.
“That’s our cue,” he whispered when the danger had passed, staring warily through the canyon at the sliver of blue sky above. “Come along, love. This desert’s about to getverycrowded, which means it’s time for us to go.”
The little girl snapped her teeth and pointed angrily at the bag of rats lying abandoned on the ground.
“Later,” he promised, climbing out of the canyon’s lee. “Or Bob’s not your uncle.”
He’d been waiting ages to make that joke. Unfortunately, it went right over the little dragon’s head, leaving her staring in confusion as he carried her down the hidden path out the back of the canyon and up the slope into the copse of dry sagebrush behind it.
“Here, right?” he asked his pigeon, who’d flown ahead.
The bird cooed, fluttering up to perch in the thorny, twisted branches where another bird was already waiting. A huge black one with sharp, intelligent eyes that watched the pigeon as though she were the end of the world.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Raven croaked, taking a large step down the branch away from the pigeon. “I know playing with fire is a dragon’s first instinct, but this is pushing it. Even for you.”
“Ah,” Bob said, setting the little girl back down on her feet. “But if you didn’t also think it was worth the risk, you wouldn’t be here, would you?”
“Ididn’t have a choice,” Raven snapped. “Algonquin’s got us all by the tail feathers. Next to that, even your madness seems sane.”
He paused, looking at Bob like he expected the dragon to argue, but the seer just smiled. “Is everything ready, then?”
“Ready as can be, given the circumstances.” The bird tilted his head at Bob. “You?”
The seer pulled out his brick of a phone—an identical replacement to the ancient blue Nokia he’d sunk into a rice paddy in China, except that this one had slightly fewer scratches—and angled the green-tinted screen down so Raven could see the flashing message icon through the sun’s glare. He had over a hundred texts pending, mostly from Chelsie, but the newest was the one that mattered.
Unfortunately—and probably spitefully, given the source—the text was in Mandarin Chinese. Not Bob’s strongest language considering he hadn’t used it in over six centuries. He studied the pixelated characters for several seconds before giving up and turning the phone to Raven.
The bird gave him a horrified look. “Really?”
“You’re famous for speaking every language,” Bob said with a shrug. “Make yourself useful.”
He thrust the phone at the spirit again, and Raven shook his head wearily, hopping down from the branch to perch on the dragon’s shoulder where he had a better view.
