above us, into the sky. A cloud of steam billowed from its fundament and coalesced into a dense
curtain of fog. In a moment the palace disappeared from view and the sky gained a small cloud.
I blinked a couple of times and held my arm to Jim. «Pinch me.»
Claws sliced my flesh. Ow.
I stared at a couple of red dots on my forearm and licked them, tasting the sharp bite of magic on
my tongue. Yep. Real. I did just see a golden palace fly off.
A small clearing marked the spot where the palace had rested. Sand-colored structures
interrupted the greenery: terraced roofs, an overgrown gateway, and in the distance a tall stone
spire.
«Home, sweet home?» I murmured.
«We should visit. I feel hungry.»
I nearly fell off the roof. Jim couldn't speak in a half-form. Until now, that was. His grotesque
jaws had shredded the words into rags, but I still recognized the meaning. «The jungle has been
good to you,» I said.
«My kind of place.»
«If we go down there, there's no guarantee we'll make it out.»
Jim shrugged.
«As long as you're game.» I looked around for a foot-hold.
A muscled arm swiped me by my waist. Jim pushed off and suddenly we were airborne, flying
above the ground very far below. My heart tried to jump into my throat. We punched through the
canopy and landed on a thick branch. I remembered to breathe. «A little warning next time.»
Jim made a raspy sound that suspiciously resembled a laugh. «Welcome to the jungle.»
THE BRUSH WAS DENSE. SLENDER TREES WITH oval leaves and vast crowns mixed with
teak choked by ficus. Here and there unfamiliar shrubs dripped pink and purple flowers reminiscent
of orchids. Acacias, their bark dark on crooked stems, sifted mimosa-scented pollen from long
yellow blossoms. Tall, twisted trees offered clusters of orange-red flowers, so vivid their branches
looked on fire. Vines bound it all, perfuming the air with a faint scent reminiscent of jasmine.
I did my best to move quietly, but Jim flashed his teeth at me twice. He glided through the brush
on soft paws like a phantom, sleek and deadly.
We climbed atop a low hill and went to ground at its apex. An ancient city lay below us.
Crumbling structures sat strewn across a wide clearing amid sand-colored granite boulders. Ruined
houses and square pavilions jutted like islands of granite from the sea of green grass. An overgrown
street, paved with smooth square slabs, ran diagonally to the left of us, terminating in an ancient
marketplace. At the far end of the clearing, a husk of a tower stabbed the sky: a tall, square base,
upon which smaller and smaller square stories were stacked. It looked like a Dravidian temple to
me, but I was far from an expert on India.
I looked to Jim. He slipped away, leapt up on the roof of the nearest structure, and slunk into the
depths of the old city. I sank deeper into the brush and settled for a wait.
Around me birds sang a dozen melodies. I studied the jungle. No sign of animals. No snakes
slithering along tree limbs, no paw prints, no scratches on the trunks. You'd think there would be
monkeys, foxes, maybe wolves. Nothing. Aside from distant bird songs, the jungle might as well
have been dead.
Jim leapt into the grass next to me. «One building in the back, several Reapers: three, maybe
more.»
«Hunters?»
«Could be. A lot of animal smells and blood.»
It made sense-flying away in a magical palace was all good and well, but the Reapers still had
to eat. In their place I'd leave small hunting parties in the jungle and park by them once in a while
to pick up the meat.
«Human blood, too,» Jim said.
Human blood was never good.
We headed into the ruin, Jim along the rooftops and on the ground, hugging the ancient walls.
Unfamiliar flowers, orange, lemon-yellow, and scarlet, bloomed among the husks of the buildings.
Heady fragrances floated in the air, spicing the breeze. I smelled sandalwood, vanilla, cinnamon,
jasmine, some sort of citrus . . . Maybe the Reapers made perfume on the side.
We reached a wide square punctuated by a statue of a large stone chariot. Four winged elephants
drew the chariot, all carved with precise detail, from the wrinkled tusks to the tassels on their gear.
Each elephant was about the size of a Saint Bernard. The chariot itself, resting on ornate stone
wheels that looked like they could actually turn, resembled a smaller, more opulent version of the
flying palace.
An unreasonably large stone man sat on the roof of the chariot; he was at least as big as the
elephants. Numerous arms fanned from his shoulders like feathers of a male peacock's tail. His
shoulders supported several heads. I couldn't see the other side, but if the statue was symmetrical,