The Stone Demon - By Karen Mahoney Page 0,2

gaze. “Of course they can. But can they also create flames that fly in the shape of dragons?”

“What?” Donna leaned forward, gazing harder at the ribbons of fire that coiled in the smoke-filled air. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see what Miranda saw.

That curl of smoke, like a tail. Tongues of flame, like giant wings. A column of fire that formed a neck, supporting a burning head with black eyes and nostrils that billowed some sort of noxious gas …

How had she missed it? Donna looked sharply at her mentor, raising her eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.

Miranda didn’t disappoint. “Before, you could only see what everyone else saw. That’s part of the illusion.”

Hope gripped Donna’s chest. “Illusion? You mean, this isn’t real? There aren’t really people who are hurt … or dead?”

“No, no, you misunderstand me. This is completely real. The only illusion is in hiding the true nature of the fire.”

Donna squeezed her iron-clad hands into fists, clenching the soft fabric of the gloves she always wore to cover them. “It’s the demons, isn’t it?” She tried not to think of how beautiful the Demon King’s voice had sounded the last time he’d spoken her name. She remembered the cruel turn of his mouth, and realized that in using dragon-shaped flames in his attack, Demian was mocking the alchemists. All the Orders, not just the Order of the Dragon, held the mythical creature sacred. For the alchemists, the dragon was a symbol of transformation.

“Yes, it seems that Demian has made his first move.” Miranda’s reply was so matter-of-fact, it chilled Donna to the bone. “He’s calling us out. Look—the image is changing.”

Now the flashing flames split off into multiple figures. This time they became smaller, winged creatures, their fiery beaks open as they swooped and soared in a strangely chaotic formation—a murder of crows.

“But why the museum? What the hell does Demian gain by attacking the British Museum, of all places?”

Miranda smiled grimly. “The alchemists have had many artifacts on display there over the years, especially in the Enlightenment Gallery.”

Donna turned back to the TV screen, watching as a wall crumbled and hit the ground in a cloud of dust and flying debris. There was no sound, just shaky camera images filled with a historic landmark’s destruction on a scale that London probably hadn’t seen since the Second World War. The silence made it even creepier.

She swallowed. “I don’t think the Enlightenment Gallery exists any more.”

“No,” Miranda agreed. “I don’t think it does.”

Banished to her room “for her own safety,” Donna tried not to dwell on how this was all her fault. But how could she not think about the way that the Wood Queen had tricked her into opening the doorway to Hell? She wanted to call her mom, but knew her mother would be part of the emergency meeting that was taking place upstairs.

The conference between the four alchemical Orders—of the Crow, Dragon, Rose, and Lion—was supposedly to figure out what the Demon King’s next move would be. They were communicating via Skype, of all things. Donna would have laughed at that, if she didn’t feel sick every time she thought about the people who’d died in the museum fire. While the news reports said there’d been minimal fatalities because the attack took place after closing, that hadn’t meant the building had been entirely empty; a handful of office workers, night security, and cleaners were still inside. Six human lives had ended. And of course even more people were injured, although those figures hadn’t yet been officially confirmed. Maybe a dozen. Maybe more.

Donna hated that she wasn’t involved in the alchemists’ discussion. Shouldn’t she be part of things? Sure, she knew it wasn’t All About Donna Underwood, but what was she even doing in London if they weren’t going to talk to her when Demian—whom she had released—attacked? It was crazy, although she should hardly be surprised given the super-secretive way the alchemists always acted. She’d just hoped things would be different in London. Even Robert was at the meeting.

Thinking of Robert Lee made Donna remember how lucky they’d both been to escape from the Ironwood last month. They did make it out in one piece, but Robert had been barely hanging on to life when the alchemists admitted him to their super-secret, super-private wing of Ironbridge Hospital, back home in Massachusetts. Her home, that is. Robert was about as American as tea and scones.

It had taken him more than a week to be considered well