Master of Smoke

allow those fools to lead you into sin.”
    “I will not, Great One,” the gold promised. With another dip of his scaled head, he took to the air, his wings blowing a storm of leaves and dust around Smoke and the boy.
    When the dragons were no more than black specks among fat gray clouds, Smoke turned his attention to the child. He still lay huddled on the ground, eyes squeezed shut, shivering in waves as tears wet his dirty cheeks.
    Smoke tried a few words in all the Sidhe tongues he knew, but the child did not respond. With a sigh, the cat reached into the boy’s thoughts, spinning a delicate magical connection between them so that he could absorb the child’s language. Smoke went slowly, for if he wasn’t careful, he would burn out the boy’s mind with the ancient power of his own. So the cat was exquisitely careful as he plucked grammar and vocabulary and syntax like a village maiden gathering fat sweet berries that would bruise with a harsh touch.
    With them came other knowledge: the boy’s name was Logan, and his parents were Arthur and Guinevere Pendragon, a vampire and a witch respectively, both warriors sworn to protect the humans of an Earth that was twin to this one.
    Unfortunately, the child was also thoroughly terrified of Smoke’s huge cat self. With a mental sigh, the cat searched the child’s thoughts for a form he would find more reassuring.
    It didn’t take long to find it. He reached for his magic and shifted.
    “Logan?” Smoke said in his newfound English. “You’re safe now.”
    The child only shuddered, squeezing his eyes tighter with a sob that made the cat’s chest ache. Moving closer, Smoke extended his head, and rasped his small pink tongue over the dirt-smeared little face.
    Brown eyes sprang open, and the child jerked back, sitting up to frown down at him. “Hey, kitty.” Peering around in confusion, he scooped Smoke into his arms and scrambled hastily to his feet. “What are you doing here? Something’s gonna eat you. They’ve sure been trying to eat me.”
    “Yes, well, I put a stop to that,” Smoke said, settling comfortably into child’s arms.
    The boy stiffened and stared down at him in astonishment. “You talk?”
    “Among many other skills, such as tossing lightning bolts at homicidal young dragons.” He angled his head to the side in invitation. “Would you mind? I seem to have an itch just behind my right ear ... Ah, yes, that’s it. What are you doing here, child?” He knew perfectly well, of course, but it would be better if the boy told him.
    “I went exploring and got lost.” Logan sighed, still scratching gently behind Smoke’s pointed housecat ear. “Mama’s gonna kill me for sneaking off.”
    “Better your mother than other candidates for the job.” Flicking the end of his tail, he opened a gate to the magical city he’d seen in the child’s mind. “Let’s get you home, shall we?”
    David, dreaming, had no idea that he’d just called his magic.

    “That girl’s going to die,” Belle growled, and sucked down another swallow of her rum and Coke.
    “She’s mortal,” Tristan pointed out. “Dying goes with the territory.” He tipped up his bottle of Corona and drained half of it.
    “Yes, but being murdered by a werewolf doesn’t!” Across the polished surface of the bar, the bartender looked over at her, eyes going wide. Belle curled a disgusted lip and cast a quick spell. He blinked and shook his head, deciding he must have misheard. Collecting her drink, Belle headed for a booth on the other side of the Peach Pit, Tristan striding in her wake.
    They’d both switched their magical armor for jeans and cotton shirts, though the fabric wasn’t anywhere near as comfortable.
    “What is it with those people?” Belle slipped across the cracked red vinyl seat. Sweeping a pile of peanut shells out of the way, she plunked down her glass. “Merlin chose them for the Great Mission just as he did us. He and Nimue would never have tolerated the abuse of women, especially not by the same warriors who should be protecting them. And yet those bimbo Chosen seem to regard submitting to those bastards as their duty.”
    “Makes no sense to me, either.” His expression brooding, Tristan began absently peeling the label off his bottle. “I spoke to Diana ...”
    “King Llyr’s wife?” The lord of the Sidhe had met and married the pretty werewolf a couple of years before.
    “Yeah, that’s the one. Anyway, she said the Chosen were the