The eagle circled below her, tilting its head this way and that, as if studying her. A few other smaller birds and even a lone bat were lingering around them, darting to and fro, but not quite daring to get close to the eagle that eclipsed them all in size. Some of them were chirping promises at her, if only she would let one of them take her back to their masters, or let them have a feather or two.
Lyra ignored the other familiars and took advantage of the eagle’s hesitation, flapping hard to climb as rapidly as she could. She had gotten lucky with that first shot and she knew it. If the eagle hadn’t been so cocky when it dived at her, she never would have escaped its claws.
This time, it was looking for her weak spot. She was sure of it.
As it had said, its “master” wanted her, and it couldn’t say no to a command. This was the first time she had realized that most mage’s familiars weren’t just dumb animals. They had minds of their own, even if their decisions weren’t theirs to make. Obviously Victor’s demon familiar wasn’t the usual, but then, a warlock didn’t get that title unless he had mastered the art of sorcery—drawing the power of magic from living things, not just from the earth like a regular mage—and had the demon familiar to prove it. Sorcerers and some very skilled magi could call demons, but only a warlock had the power to master one.
The subtleties of magic had never meant much to Lyra beyond a fascinating “oh, that’s interesting” conversation piece and knowing just enough to get by in conversation with clients. Perhaps she should have spent more time on the Wikipedia articles about familiars considering right this minute, she needed to ditch at least a dozen of them tailing her every move.
Just as she thought the eagle was going to let her slip out of the cavern, with a powerful rush of wings, it was after her again. A high-pitched squawk of alarm was startled out of her as it moved like a shot, impossibly fast, coming straight for her.
While the ceiling of the cavern was within reach, she’d never make it. The eagle was too fast, and too big; the moment it reached her, it would overpower her, and that would be that.
She should have been terrified, but instead, pure fury overtook her in a heady rush she was in no way prepared to deal with. The heat burning in her chest grew into a roaring furnace, spreading through her veins until an inferno of rage made her feathers burst into flames.
The eagle put the brakes on, eyes going wide as it jerked its wings out to fan backward in an effort to halt its upward momentum.
Fury drove Lyra into a full-blown attack, a scream like the roar of a raging bonfire trailing in her wake along with embers and ash as she dived at the eagle, claws-first.
The familiar didn’t have a chance. Fast as it was, and though it had managed to whirl around to get out of her way, it was too large and too close to avoid her entirely. Lyra’s claws and beak tore at anything she could reach, leaving scorch-marks and a flicker of flames behind. With half the primary feathers of its left wing flash-fried, the eagle went into a graceless, spiraling fall, wobbling its way back down to the now silent tents below.
Lyra hovered in place, surrounded by a halo of fire, issuing a challenging scream to the other familiars circling around her.
None of them answered the call.
With a last furious cry, she turned and continued on her way up to the nearest hole in the ceiling, using a combination of her claws and her hooked beak to hold on and help her clamber the last couple of feet through the gap in the stone.
When she reached the top, it opened up into a clearing somewhere out in the untamed dunes outside of the city proper. Small green and brown anole lizards scattered, disappearing into the underbrush, while birds sang overhead. The briny scent of the ocean was heavy on the stiff breeze stirring the fronds of nearby hip-high saw palmetto and trailing strands of Spanish moss on the towering sand oaks. She was grateful for the trees spreading their thin, twisting branches high above, providing some cover from the fading sun.
Now that she was out of immediate danger, she was wracked with adrenaline shakes, breaths coming short and sharp. The fire that had consumed her had engulfed her better sense, turning her into an animal. Sure, it had saved her in the moment, but now that the heat of rage had gone out, she was left with the cold certainty that she would have flown straight into the mouth of Hell itself and not given it a second thought.
Not that she was completely in the clear yet. There had been plenty of other familiars down there. No doubt the mage whose familiar had been injured wanted to take a piece out of her hide, and not just for his spells, too. The sooner she found a place to hide, the better.
As if on cue, a questioning chirp-like sound came echoing up from the hole in the ground.
Needing no more encouragement, she took to the air again. Considering she would probably have a tail in minutes, and there was the possibility of running into a non-magical bird of prey that might think she would make a tasty meal, she kept to the trees.
It was not as easy as she thought it would be. She hadn’t quite mastered the finer points of flying yet, so avoiding branches and hanging moss was a challenge that had her panting and aching in a number of places where she hadn’t quite been quick enough to dodge. Even doing obstacle courses in that one weekend warrior boot camp thing one of her girlfriends had talked her into doing last summer hadn’t left her feeling this worn out.
Putting some distance between herself and the hole, she waited until she could no longer see it behind her to dare fly above the trees to get her bearings.
There were a lot of trees around this place, and the ocean was not too far off to her right. Daring to gain a bit more height, she soon spotted the black and white spiral-striped spire of the lighthouse to the north, capped with a cheery red lantern room and gallery deck. Doing some mental calculations, she figured that must put her somewhere in the Anastasia State Park.
As she made her way back down into the tree cover, working her way north, she prayed that James and Moira had escaped and would meet her there as planned.
It took almost two hours for her to make her way to the meeting spot in the park by the lighthouse. Along the way, a few people spotted her and pointed her out or snapped pictures. A handful of children screamed excitedly about the pretty red parrot. Most ignored her. By the time she reached her destination, the sun was near to setting. Most of the other birds nearby were settling down in their nests, calling their goodnights to their neighbors. A handful of gulls continued to glide, idle in the breeze, watching for signs of small crustaceans or dropped crumbs from the roving packs of tourists that could be found at most hours, day or night, in this part of town.
Lyra settled in a tree, too high above the ground and surrounded by leaves for any casual observers to spot without looking up, and hunkered down to wait.
Day turned into night.
Crickets chirred their nightly song and palmetto bugs flitted between the street lamps. Owls had long since taken wing, replacing the gulls as the predators of the skies. The quarter moon shone bright, painting a silver trail to the horizon on the blue-black waves.
There was no sign of her friends.
She was alone.