Fox and Phoenix (Lóng City 1)

Behind me, Yún dragged herself to standing. She drew an audible breath and shouted. No, that wasn’t right. More like she trilled a waterfall of notes, high and clear. Magic. I recognized it right away. Just like the ghost dragon king’s but hers was beautiful, while its had been harsh.

The air shivered and drew taut. No one moved. Then, I felt a puff of cold air against my face. The faint metallic scent faded, even as I noticed it, and the tension leaked away. One of the men grinned, his jagged teeth white against his sun-darkened face. “Magic, is it? You think that will help?”

“I don’t think anything,” Yún snarled. “I know.”

She shouted the words again. Her voice was breaking. I could hear the edge of a sob. The magic isn’ t working, I thought. Why not?

Chen! I called out. Help us!

With a roar, Chen popped into this world, followed by Qi. Just as quickly, they both vanished. The air rippled. Inside my shirt, the griffin roused and scrabbled at my chest with its claws. And then, and then . . .

. . . and then the mountain shouted back. I felt a rumbling at my back and under my feet....

A river of snow roared down the mountainside. It hit the rock overhang and exploded into a burst of sparkling white. Our attackers scrambled to escape. In a heartbeat, the river of snow swept them all away.

Yes, I thought, then froze in horror.

Yún was slipping over the ledge. I grabbed her arm, started to fall with her. The pony bit my shirt and hauled me back. I fell to my knees and dragged Yún to safety. A part of me noticed that her sleeve had turned dark with blood. More blood streaked her face, and her mouth pinched shut against the pain. Without even thinking, I wrapped my arms around her. “Yún. You almost—”

“So did you. I thought—”

Her lips brushed against mine. We stopped, breathless. Our hearts were beating fast—I felt hers thumping in time with mine against my chest. Then I leaned forward and kissed her again.

Her lips were chapped from the wind, but warm and dry. She tasted of blood and sweat. Underneath the scent of damp wool and the metallic scents of blood and magic, I caught a whiff of the herbs she used to pack around our clothes.

“Yún.”

“Kai.”

Her breath hissed in suddenly and she flinched, eyes wide. She was staring at a point far behind me. Slowly, I swiveled my head around.

There, suspended above the valley, was a ghost dragon, a long, skinny creature, like a coil of gray smoke in the cloud-streaked skies. Every thought inside my head evaporated into nothing. This dragon was not nearly as large as the king ghost dragon in Lóng City, but that didn’t matter. Its fangs were just as sharp, and its breath just as poisonous.

Yún whispered something.

“What?” I whispered back.

She whispered again in that wordless language. This time I could almost tease its meaning from the rise and fall of each syllable. A dim memory of some lecture six months before fluttered through my brain—Ma mi telling us about ancient languages once used by wizards of all kingdoms, all kinds.

The ghost dragon tilted its head, as if trying to decide whether to rip us into shreds or eat us whole. Yún spoke in a firmer voice, a new series of tones that sounded like a command. The ghost dragon’s lips curled back from its fangs. Its breath—like puffs of magic flux made visible—hung in the air between us. If I squinted

hard enough, I could see the valley and distant mountains through its body.

Then, without a sound, it plunged downward to the valley.

7

UNTIL THE GHOST DRAGON VANISHED, WE HAD NOT dared to twitch even one muscle. Now, I was suddenly very much aware that I still had my arms around Yún. Our bodies were pressed close together; even through the double-layer of our clothes, I could trace the warm outline of her arms and legs. Embarrassed, I loosened my hold, only to have her go limp.

I caught her under her arms before she could slide over the cliff again. “Yún, what’s wrong?”

“My—my arm.”

Carefully, I eased her onto the ground and examined her. Her knife arm—the left one—was clean, but her right sleeve was dark and wet. I cursed softly as I cut through the cloth to take a closer look. Just as I thought—a deep slash ran along her forearm. She’d taken a wound in the shoulder, too.

Without warning, Yún lunged to one side and threw up noisily.

“Sorry,” she wheezed. “I’m sorry. I thought—”