Fiona looked like a tall glass of milk. “We came this far,” she agreed. She turned to the kestrel on her shoulder and said, “Lady Esme, stay with me, all right?”
As Moth moved, the star machine turned with him, pointing through the trees. The image of Merceron began to fade.
“If he’s nearby we’ll hear him,” whispered Moth. “I hope.”
He tucked the thing back into his pocket, stalking forward, leading Fiona and Lady Esme. Their feet crunched against the roots and fallen branches. Moth ducked low, watching the trees grow ever whiter, the sunlight ever more dim. Sweat dripped down his face, but his mouth was cottony dry.
Then, a noise.
Moth and Fiona peered hard through the forest. A glimpse of movement flashed up ahead, just like in the mirror. Fiona froze, her eyes widening to saucers. Moth tried hard to see, but the trees blocked his way. He put a finger to his lips, then took Fiona’s hand. Together they tiptoed closer, closer, until at last they saw it.
There in the shadows it hunched among the trees, its claws scraping a tree branch it held. To Moth it looked like the dragon was… whittling?
“What now?” whispered Fiona. Her mouth was right up against Moth’s ear, yet he could barely hear her. He sucked his lower lip.
“We can’t just hide,” he decided. “We have to face him.” He looked into Fiona’s eyes for strength. “Okay?”
Fiona hesitated. “What? Just walk over and say hi?”
“Yeah.”
He stood up, surprising even himself, and readied to face the dragon. Fiona managed to stand as well, and with Lady Esme on her shoulder, remained at Moth’s side as they took their first bold step.
“Hello!” Moth called. “Merceron?”
Utter silence. The world just froze. Moth and Fiona continued one more step, then another. Then…
Trees cracked and vines snapped. Movement exploded before them. Moth and Fiona jumped back. The shadowy mass ripped through the forest. Moth held up his hands, his mouth opening to shout, then realized the thing was not coming toward them at all.
“What…?”
“He’s running!” cried Fiona. “Moth, he’s running away!”
Moth shook off his terror and bolted after him.
“Hurry!”
Fiona followed, Lady Esme leaping from her shoulder to take the lead. Moth didn’t need the star machine anymore—Merceron left a gaping trail to follow. Even in the dark they could see his massive outline, but the dragon moved so quickly it was like chasing a leopard through the trees. Trees collapsed as the creature muscled them aside, his four thick limbs speeding him through the forest. Moth and Fiona kept up as best they could, vaulting over the fallen trees. Already they were losing sight of Merceron.
“No!” cried Moth. “Merceron, wait!”
The darkness swallowed the dragon whole. A ground-shaking noise followed, like the gate of a castle slamming shut. Moth stopped running, putting his hands on his knees and panting.
“Where’s Esme?” asked Fiona as she skidded up beside him.
From somewhere up ahead, the kestrel answered her call.
“She’s all right,” gasped Moth.
“But Merceron’s gone! We lost him!”
Again Lady Esme gave her throaty cry, this time sounding farther away. They rushed after her, over the trampled grass and past cracked, dangling branches, finally coming to an enormous hillside. Rows of white trees surrounded the hill; mud-colored moss clung to its rocks. At its foot was Esme, hopping impatiently in front of a gigantic slab of metal nearly invisible in the gloom, its surface grimy and drooping with vines.
“Merceron’s lair,” Moth whispered. “This door—that’s what we heard. He’s inside.”
Lady Esme flew back to him, landing on his shoulder while he pondered the door.
“He’s hiding?” erupted Fiona suddenly. “From us? That’s ridiculous!”
Moth couldn’t remember ever seeing her so exasperated. “We can wait,” he suggested. “Maybe he’ll come back out.”
“What? Uh-uh.” Fiona pulled off her coat and tossed it to the ground. “I didn’t come all this way to have him slam a door in my face.”
“Fiona…”
“I’m sick of waiting!” she fumed. Her eyes flashed as she turned toward the door. “And I’m sick of running. No more!”
Red hair askew, Fiona marched, rolling up her shirt sleeves as if spoiling for a fight. The door in the hillside loomed above her, and when she pounded against it her fist made no sound at all.
“Hey, dragon!” she bellowed. “You’re running away? Are you kidding me? We’re just kids!” She pounded again. “Do you have any idea how far we’ve come? Huh? You don’t even know who we are!”
Moth slipped from the tree cover, glimpsing Fiona’s desperate face. It wasn’t anger he saw anymore, but anguish.
“Please,” she cried. “I know you’re listening to me. We need your help. Lady Esme needs your help.”
Fiona put her head against the giant portal as if listening for something. Her whole body seemed to collapse. The hillside was silent. Fiona peeled herself away, her eyes rimmed with frustration. She looked at Moth hopelessly.
“It’s all right,” Moth told her. “We’ll find another way.”
Behind Fiona the door creaked open, revealing a sliver of perfect darkness. From inside the hill issued a resonant, velvety voice.
“Esme.”
THE PACT
ONCE THE DOOR CLOSED behind them, all was darkness. Moth could feel Merceron in the giant chamber, the dragon’s breathing swelling like some great machine.
“Merceron?” called Moth. “We’re here. We have Lady Esme.” He paused, holding on to Fiona. “We know you’re here. Please speak to us.”
A slithering noise echoed through the room. Moth squinted, wondering how something so large could stay invisible.
“Don’t try to scare us,” said Fiona. “We’re not afraid of you.”
“Please, Merceron. We can’t see you.”
“Oh,” came the resonant voice again, “but I can see you.”
Moth blinked, and there before his face was a massive, devil-horned head. He jumped back, nearly falling over.
“Moth!” cried Fiona, her arms shooting out for him.
From a dark corner of the chamber came a sudden glow of light, the soft flicker of a newly lit lamp. The light crept through the chamber, slowly revealing their reptilian host.
Merceron reclined on a bed of old, lumpy cushions, a pair of wings tucked beneath him. His spectacled eyes stared adoringly at Lady Esme, perched in his upturned palm. The thin ridges of his long jaws curved in a smile.
“Esme,” he crooned. “My beautiful friend.”
Next to Moth, Fiona stood pale with astonishment. Merceron was just as they had seen in the mirror, both humanlike and mythical, as big as an elephant and refined as a scholar, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses, his body cloaked in a red velvet jacket. Greenish scales covered his hide and a crest of horns ran down his back and along his spiky tail.
“You do know Esme,” said Moth. “Leroux was right.”
“Leroux?” Merceron examined Moth, then Fiona. “Neither of you have the features of his family.” His head coiled forward, sniffing the air. “But you, girl, have the blood of Rendor in you.”
“That’s right,” said Fiona. “How’d you—?”
“Let me see you better,” said the dragon, bringing fire to his free hand with a snap of his claws. His tail came around and plucked the flames from his talons, then bounced like a tentacle around the chamber, lighting a trio of lamps. “Better?”
“Yes,” nodded Moth. The place was gigantic, its smooth walls lined with messy, overstuffed bookcases. Near a cavernous fireplace rested a cupboard and a big, lumpy chair. Merceron’s pipe, the one they’d seen him smoking in the mirror, lay on a rickety table. The dragon stretched his sinewy neck toward the children as Lady Esme hopped to the top of his wrinkled head.