Finn could run, or he could stay and stop this woman and her kind from killing his friends.
She threw a fireball. Halfway to him it slowed perceptibly. Finn dodged it effortlessly, marching toward her now, one confident step at a time.
DIABLO FLEW DOWN the tomb tunnel, aimed squarely at Finn’s head. But in his current state, the bird of prey came at Finn more like a butterfly. Finn reached out, pinched its wing between his fingers, spun it like a stadium towel, and delivered it into the tunnel’s stone wall. Knocked unconscious, the raven fluttered to the floor.
Maleficent wailed, as if some part of her had gone dead. Finn continued his march through the dying flames of several fireballs.
I will not fear you. I will not be intimidated. Bring it on.
Maleficent’s eyelids fluttered shut; her lips moved almost imperceptibly. Her neck began to elongate disgustingly; her arms, held out to her sides, thickened.
In a normal state, Finn would not witness the stages of her transfiguration, only the change itself. But with time slowed to a crawl, the woman grew limbs, her chest and body widened and grew scales, her long chin became a dragon’s snout.
Just as it had been too small for Chernabog, the stone tunnel was too small for a dragon—Maleficent’s anger had misguided her. She’d misjudged.
A green dragon, on folded knees, plugged the tunnel. It scrambled forward, cried, twisted, but could not move.
The Queen was hidden.
The dragon opened its mouth.
Finn’s slow-motion world allowed him to turn and dive for the fallen raven, Diablo. He held the bird out as a shield—a sacrifice—making sure the dragon could see the crow as he advanced one cautious step at a time.
The dragon wiggled, could not move. It cocked its head, then roared so intensely the tunnel’s stones shook. Sand fell.
But no fire from the dragon’s mouth. Maleficent would not burn her precious Diablo.
As Finn continued his advance, Diablo in front, the dragon’s limbs began to shrink, its head changed shapes. Maleficent was returning to form.
But in Finn’s time-shifted world, he charged, dropped Diablo at the dragon’s feet.
He closed his eyes and willed away all thought, dropping into all clear.
Her transformation continued.
So did his.
He’d never tried this feat, but there was always a first time. Dillard’s voice returned in his head. “If you don’t take a chance…”
Finn spoke aloud. “You don’t have a chance.”
Eyes shut, mind calm, he plunged his hologram hand through the transfiguring flesh at the base of the dragon’s neck. His eyes popped wide open, and he felt his “self”—he felt Dillard’s self.
He lost his DHI, his arm and hand solid inside Maleficent.
The dragon wailed, a shrill, deathly cry. Flames rolled down the tunnel ceiling from a mouth half-human, half-dragon.
Finn pulled with all his strength, creating a fist-size wound.
The fire abruptly stopped.
He stepped back as this creature—half–woman fairy, half–green dragon—curled in on itself, blood flowing in great quantities from its neck.
As the dragon-woman’s eyes began to pale in the dwindling firelight, Finn remembered the same light leaving Dillard’s eyes. He cried out in agonized victory, turned and walked away as Maleficent choked and coughed wetly, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come.
The Evil Queen was a speck of dark, fleeing him, into the tunnel, away from any hope of finding the entrance.
Finn found his silver silk adhered to the wall. He collected it so that others could not follow.
Home…he thought.
A STONE-FACED FINN drove the white van, careful to obey the speed limit in case there were any police patrolling the Mexican back country. They had covered Dillard’s face with a rag, unable to look at him. Maybeck’s and Philby’s sleeping bodies were stretched out, the girls on either side of them. Willa was crying.
Tia Dalma was gagged and blindfolded, both wrists and ankles bound tightly. It had taken three of them to lift her into the back of the vehicle.
Charlene looked ready to choke the witch doctor. They’d covered her head with Dillard’s bloody shirt so they didn’t have to look at her either, and so she couldn’t aim a spell at them.
“Don’t do it, Charlie,” Finn said. “She’s for me.”
“What are we going to do?” Willa sobbed. “It’s like the Syndrome. You get that, don’t you? Both Philby and Maybeck are under a spell! They’re…gone.”
“Dillard’s gone,” Finn said in a brutal monotone. “Philby and Maybeck are still breathing. They can still be saved.”
“We’ll get them onto the ship,” Charlene said. “We’ll figure something out. Maybe Wayne can help. The Imagineers?”