Destiny Kills (Myth and Magic 1)

“Why not?” His voice was sharp, filled with the threat of anger.

“I had a nice chat with one of the men in the red car. Apparently, they no longer use key codes, but rather handprint scans.”

“He could have been lying—”

“He wasn’t.”

Again he paused. “And the man?”

“Still swimming deep, as far as I know.”

“Destiny—”

“No,” I cut in, ignoring the deepening anger in his voice. Ignoring the shiver that was part fear, part desire. “Sorry, Trae, but I’m not willing to let you pay the price that Egan did. They still have the means to find me, and enough is enough.”

“I won’t let—”

“I’m going to get my mother,” I cut in again. “I’m sorry, Trae. Sorry I can’t help you.”

“Damn it, Destiny, we had a deal—”

I hit the end button, cutting him off mid-sentence. For several seconds, I just stared at the phone, waiting for it to ring, for him to call back. When he didn’t, an odd mix of relief and disappointment ran through me.

Not wanting to examine that particular mix of emotions any more than necessary, I shoved the phone into the bag, then tied it up tight. Of course, the plastic wasn’t watertight, and the phone would more than likely be destroyed by the deeper ocean waters, but I’d rather that than leaving it here for him to find. I didn’t want to give him an easy reference point for my leaving.

It was time to go see my dad.

Before it really was too late.

I tied the plastic bag to my wrist and strode back into the sea. And tried not to think about how angry my dad was going to be when he saw me again. He might be crippled, and he might be dying, but I had no doubt his fury would be fearsome. I’d gone against his orders to go after my mom, and had disappeared for years. And yet I knew a lot of the anger would be aimed at himself as much as me. Aimed at the disease that was slowly killing him, and his inability to do anything to help either me or my mother.

Sadness rose like a tide, and suddenly I was blinking back tears. “What goes around comes around” had been a favorite saying of

his when I was younger. Well, where the hell was the payback for the scientists who were destroying my family? When was fate going to step in and say enough is enough?

Or was that now my lot? To mete out the justice they had coming?

I bit my bottom lip and dove under the waves. The problem was, I didn’t actually want justice. I just wanted my mother free. Just wanted us to live as a family again.

Of course, the scientists knew we were out here in the oceans now, just like they knew the air dragons were here. No matter what I did, that knowledge would remain. Surely it would only be a matter of time before the news spread through the scientific ranks and the hunt for us all became even more intense.

But there wasn’t a lot I could do about that, and gnawing over it like a dog with a bone would get me nowhere fast.

One step at a time, I thought.

I shifted shape when I was deep enough, and began the long trek down the North American coast, heading for the tip of South America.

It was a tedious trip. I kept myself amused by skimming the waves and chasing the sea life that darted like quicksilver flashes in front of me, but the day rolled into the night and back into the day until the hours just seemed to blur together.

For the first time in my life, I wished I’d taken after Dad more than Mom. Right now, wings would have been bonus. At least I could have flown directly across the continent rather than having to swim around South America before heading back home. It was time wasted—time that could be better spent with my dad.

But the only way I could have flown was to ask Trae. And not only would that have selfishly put him into danger yet again, there was also the worry as to whether he could actually do it.

Air dragons could carry people. There were enough myths and tales about fiery beasts dragging off human sacrifices to have at least some basis in fact—but could they manage it for long periods? Somehow, I doubted it. Even birds of prey didn’t carry their kills for great distances.

I wondered what it would be like to soar through the clouds. How different would flying be to cutting through the cold, wild seas? Would there be more of a sense of freedom? I’d always imagined that cutting through sunshine and wind would be far more pleasant than skimming through the ever-cold waters of the deeper oceans, but Egan would never really talk about it much.

I closed my eyes and imagined him soaring through the blue skies, his scales gleaming with fire, gossamer wings outstretched as he soared high and long. He’d been beautiful, truly beautiful, in his dragon form.