Chapter 23

As Ursula walked uptown, she wrapped her fingers around Excalibur’s hilt. The buildings loomed above her like dark tombs, the city deathly quiet. She needed a plan—her own plan.

The simplest would be to simply turn around and return to the plaza to wait for Bael’s fae army. The guy had a point. It wasn’t necessarily a brilliant plan of action to take on an entire dragon legion on your own just because you had a magic sword. And yet... how many people would die before she stopped the dragons? And what if this feeling in her gut was right, the one that said this was her fate? She’d never felt so sure about anything in her life. At least, as far as she could remember.

As she crossed by a broken shop window, a TV flickered. The volume had been turned down, but the screen displayed an announcer, standing with his finger to his ear. In the background, the Statue of Liberty loomed over him.

As Ursula stared at the telly, an inkling of an idea began to spark in her brain, and she leaned in for a better view. They were filming across from the Statue of Liberty itself.

Her pulse quickened, and she picked up her pace, heading for the part of the city that lay broken and burned.

It had beenhours now since she’d left the Plaza, hiking along Fifth Avenue. From under her cowboy hat, sweat trickled down her temples. Power blazed up Excalibur’s blade, curling around her body like an embrace, yet the summer heat seemed to steal her breath. She’d kill for a bit of air conditioning right now.

Around her, ruins smoldered. The dragons had decimated Lower Manhattan, demolishing buildings like they were sand castles. Dust and smoke hung thick in the air, burning her lungs. Ahead of her, light broke from between a pair of skyscrapers that leaned against each other. Beyond the buildings was clear air. Energy sparked through her veins. She was almost there.

With her sword by her side, she threaded her way between burnt-out cars and heaps of shattered concrete. As she neared the ocean, the smell of smoke receded, replaced by the briny scent of the sea.

As she walked through Battery Park, she found it surprisingly intact. Dust coated the benches, but apart from that it looked untouched. Sunlight streamed through leafy tree branches, dancing over the grass. Only the absence of people in the park hinted at the dragon apocalypse.

She bit her lip as she walked, trying to figure out where to go next. From what she’d seen on the telly, the news team had a good view of the Statue of Liberty, with the statue framed on the right side of the screen. That meant she needed to turn left.

Just as she veered left by a small stone building, voices echoed off the pavement. Instinctively, she jumped back behind a corner, her pulse racing. She strained to hear, and a few words floated along the sea breeze: “…Phil Rickter reporting live…”

Ursula smiled. She might be exhausted, but she’d found her camera crew. She pulled off her cowboy hat, dropping it onto the sidewalk, before peering around the corner. Sparse trees lined one side of a wide stone walkway, and the ocean lined the other.

The camera crew stood next to a low metal railing, right at the edge of the water. The entire crew consisted of a cameraman and a guy holding a boom mike. The gray-haired newscaster was pointing at the Statue of Liberty as Ursula approached. Her sword sang darkly by her side.

Maybe it was her bobbed hair, or the TV presenter’s focus on the statue, but the reporter didn’t seem to notice her at all. “—Gabby should be at the doorway at any moment,” he said solemnly.

“Hello?” said Ursula raising a hand.

Frowning, the reporter turned in her direction, irritated at the interruption. He looked about sixty, with a serious set of eyebrows.

Ursula spoke more forcefully. “Hello, I’d like to be on the telly please.”

The reporter nodded at the boom operator, who began lowering the mike.

Ursula’s jaw tightened. “Look, I would like to turn myself in to the dragons. And I don’t know any other way to get touch with them.”

A whole bunch of things happened at once: The reporter’s eyes widened, the cameraman spun to face her, and the boom operator lowered his mike to her face.

“It’s her!” he shouted, jabbing the microphone at her forehead.

Ursula took a step back, holding up her hands. “Look, I come in peace. Everyone relax.”

The reporter pointed at her, his face reddening. “Grab her before she gets away!”

“Stop,” she yelled, but the man was already barreling at her. Ursula dodged. “What is wrong with you?”

Before he could answer, a shadow passed overhead, and Ursula looked at the sky, where a dragon’s iridescent, green body materialized in the air, like a chameleon shedding its camouflage. With an ear-splitting scream, it swooped lower. The camera crew ducked, cowering on the grass. Ursula’s heart thundered as the dragon circled. Screeching again, it dove for them, landing with a thundering boom that shook the earth, shaking the leaves from the trees. She looked away, trying desperately not to stare into its yellow eyes.

Growling, it stalked toward her, and she tightened her fingers on Excalibur. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

“Ursula!” She turned, her heart skipping a beat. Someone was riding a lunar bat—in fact, it was Cera, her white hair streaming behind her, soaring on the back of Sotz. “Jump on! I’ll take you to the island.”

The dragon screamed again. It didn’t look like it planned to allow her to turn herself in. No, it looked like it wanted to eat her. Cera was right, she needed to get to the Statue.

As the sound of dragon footsteps thundered behind her, Ursula ran for the sea railing. She leapt, planted a foot on the edge of the railing, and launched herself into the air.