Bayang

Bayang trembled with rage and frustration as she watched her enemy escape. Her hatred for Badik was so deep, she felt it in the very marrow of her bones.

Get a hold of yourself, she scolded herself fiercely. Mindless fury won’t help your people. Badik is gone so think about what to do about the remaining target.

She took several deep breaths, rejecting all emotion and focusing on the hard facts as she had trained herself to do.

Her prey had saved her, a complete stranger, and later had been so heartbroken when his bodyguard had died. These were not the actions of a heartless monster who murdered brutally and wrecked so many innocent lives. Instead, he had shown a hatchlinglike trust when he had turned his back on her. She found it touching that, despite all his hardships, he still had the same kind of faith of the young: simple but deep.

Many believed that a person could improve with each new lifetime. She found herself hoping that was what had happened to her prey—the cycle of deaths and rebirths slowly washing away the callous murderer from his soul like dirt stains from a shirt. If that was true and she killed him, who would be the real monster then?

As she wound the discarded chain around her waist, she looked about the wreckage, searching for her prey. She saw him sitting on the floor with his friend and the bossy little Kushan hatchling. They were all looking very scared but also very determined about something.

The bossy little Kushan noticed Bayang at the same time. “When my mother wakes up,” she called to Bayang, “please tell her that I’ve gone after the dragon.”

The dragon? Bayang stared at the hatchlings skeptically. Had they all taken knocks to their heads during the battle? Then she noticed the rug for the first time. Its edges were rippling, curling, and then straightening out as if it were alive. The Kushan hatchling must be of the Old Blood and either she or her griffin could read the Old Tongue.

Bayang had thought there was only one flying carpet left in the world and she had flown on it several times while on a mission in disguise in the New Persian Empire. The secret of their creation had been lost centuries in the past, and since then no one had been able to figure out the complicated process of simultaneously casting the complex spells as the threads were woven.

This one might have flown when it was new, but slashed from its golden frame and lying on the floor, the threadbare rug looked more like trash than a valuable antique. She was sure that it would fall apart at the first attempt at flight, but even if it held together by some miracle, these hatchlings had no idea of the trouble they were getting themselves into. Carpet flying was not for amateurs.

Of course, one way or another that would eliminate her prey and solve her problem. However, Bayang prided herself that when she carried out a mission, no harm came to bystanders even if they might be as obnoxious as the Kushan hatchling.

She strode over to them, gesturing for them to stand up. “That old antique won’t take the strain of a chase. It’ll fall apart in no time.” She deliberately added, “Little girl.”

The young Kushan’s head jerked up as if Bayang had poked her with a sharp stick. “I fought just as hard as you did.” She paused as irritation and manners warred with one another. In the end, politeness won out. “But thank you for distracting that monster.” The Kushan hatchling’s shrewd eyes studied Bayang. “San Francisco certainly breeds muscular little old ladies.”

Her prey nodded. “You swung that chain like a piece of rope.”

Bayang took a breath and fought down her panic. The important thing was to keep her actual identity from her target.

“My name is Bayang Naga,” Bayang said. “I’m with the Pinkerton Agency, Special Operator for the Magical Division.” Somehow her purse had managed to stay strapped to her shoulder. She snapped it open now and took out her wallet, flipping it open to show the fake badge.

It was a magical object that became whatever she needed. If she had called herself a Canadian Mountie, the badge would have become that. She could also have been an Interpol detective, a chicken inspector, or any one of a dozen other professions and with an equal number of false identities. However, since she didn’t expect to be with the children long, she used her own name since that would reduce possible mistakes.

Together, the hatchlings stared at the shiny gold badge and then her prey’s friend swung his gaze up toward her. “So you’re in disguise.”

“That’s right,” Bayang said, relieved that the fake badge seemed to be holding up.

“The Pinkertons have a magical division?” the Kushan hatchling asked.

“We don’t operate openly, but then usually neither do magical criminals, so we like to operate behind the scenes,” Bayang explained. “I was sent here as backup.”

“How come no one warned the consular staff?” the Kushan hatchling demanded.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask whoever hired the agency,” Bayang ad-libbed quickly.

The Kushan upstart gave an amused sniff. “Well, I’ll repay you somehow after we get back.”

Bayang opened her mouth in astonishment, unable to believe any hatchling could be so mad. “I’m trying to save your life again. Only an idiot would try to fly this”—she waved a hand as she tried to find the right term—”this overgrown rag.”

The little twit stuck out her chin defiantly. “They hurt my mother and killed my sister. The carpet only has to hold together long enough to let me get even. So I don’t have any use for advice like yours if it’s just excuses to do nothing.”

“I couldn’t stay here either,” her prey said, sitting down behind her. “They murdered my friend.”

“And me, I’m just a fool,” Koko said, plopping down on the rug.

Bayang made a frustrated sound at the back of her throat. Why did the Kushan and her prey have to remind her about debts?

Until she had repaid her prey for saving her life, she would have to accompany him. Anyway, it suited her own purposes to pursue Badik, as well. If she saved her prey’s life during the hunt, well, she would wait until that happened before she worried about what to do about him.

Motioning the hatchlings to back away from the head of the carpet, Bayang said, “All right then, move back. I owe the boy my life.”

The Kushan hatchling stayed where she was. “Are you of the Old Blood?”

“No,” Bayang said, “and I know only a smattering of the Old Tongue. But that’s enough to provide something that you’ll really need.”