Holstering my sidearm, I feel the first ripples of gryphon tugging at my bones. Then I let the shift take me fully.
The world expands into a rush of scents and sharp colors.
With a roar that shakes the remaining snow from the pines, Drakeward launches himself into the air.
I take off with much less machismo.
Beating my eagle wings, I catch a thermal rising off the mountain. The cold air is like a slap to the face, but up here, above the treeline, the world is silent.
Below us, there are tiny pinpoints of light scattered around the range. We’re a long way from a city, or even a small town.
Into the darkness we push ourselves, and time ceases to have any meaning; there’s just me, my gryphon and the wide, wild sky.
Incredible.
We fly for hours, our forms hidden in the night. Eventually, I pull myself from being fully absorbed in the experience, and focus on the land below us. My eagle eyes have no problem seeing in the dark.
The mountains are becoming low hills that lead into pasture land. Dotted collections of houses and farm buildings are becoming more frequent. Then in the distance, the skyline of Ashgrave appears. It’s an ugly, industrial silhouette—smoke stacks and cooling towers rising like dark fingers from the land.
I alter my course and speed, so I can dart in front of the dragon to get his attention.
He immediately slows, and we fly in tandem, maintaining eye contact for a minute. I hope he understands that we are close now, and I need to survey the land.
Pitching right, Drakeward follows. We have the GPS coordinates to get to our destination, but that doesn’t help us up here.
Or does it?
My brain in this form is a high-performance computer, easily wired for navigation. I’ve got the data—the gryphon has a photographic memory—so the latitude and longitude numbers are right there in the front of my brain.
I can feel the magnetic pull of the earth. It’s like a grid is overlaid across the darkness. If I orient myself to north, then calculate our distance from the last known waypoint—the facility—I can triangulate our exact position.
I start to do the math and come up with a destination.
Amazing.
Adjusting my glide, I look down for a specific intersection of ley-lines and topography.
There.
I tilt my left wing, banking hard to the east. Drakeward follows as I hone in on the coordinates. And then I see the Range Rover and box truck.
They’ve just pulled up outside a farmhouse.
The tiny figures of Max and Donovan exit the vehicle cabs and run around to open the back of the van.
I let out an eagle shriek to signal the dragon, then lead us into a dive.
We slam into the frozen earth. The impact kicks up a wall of snow and it takes a second to get both my bearings, and the understanding of what I’m hearing.
Shrill screaming.
I shift back instantly, lungs burning, but Cosmo lingers in his dragon form for a second longer.
The farmhouse door is wide open, and standing in the frame is a woman who screeches like a Valkyrie, while dressed in a nightgown and slippers.
She’s also carrying a shotgun. She fires once, thankfully over our heads.
“Aunt Opal! No! It's okay!" Willow screams, tumbling out of the van.
