Dragons and their arrogance! Flicker fumed as he soared back up to Heaven. Little Densissimus Imber had been fine when he was just one of the youngest dragon kings, the tips of whose horns had just barely forked, but now that he’d gained a little power and a little influence on Earth, he was acting as if he controlled the Four Seas. If he were really that powerful and that influential, he could come up to Heaven and look for a cure himself.

  Still, Flicker had promised, and truth be told, he was worried about the mage as well. He made sure to finish his work a little early so he could leave work on time, and then he hung around the back entrance to the Bureau of Human Lives waiting for Shimmer.

  He waited. And waited. And waited. The Moon was halfway across the sky when he spotted the head clerk exiting the building.

  “Head Clerk!” Flicker called, hurrying to intercept him. “Good night, Head Clerk. Might I have a moment of your time?”

  “Of course,” Shimmer replied, looking as tidy and tireless as if he were about to start his workday after a good night’s rest. “Flicker, was it? What can I do for you?”

  “Might we talk while we walk?”

  Flicker didn’t want to have this conversation anywhere near the Commissioners of Pestilence. Or the Goddess of Life. Not that he really believed they’d stay so late at the office, but it never hurt to be careful.

  In between reincarnating souls, Flicker had examined and re-examined all possible angles for approaching Shimmer and concluded that the direct one was best. As the two star sprites strolled along a canal, he broached the issue of the North Serican plague.

  “I was wondering if there is any medicine for the Black Death? I know how it begins, how it spreads, and how it ends, but how is it cured?”

  The Black Death began when the Commissioners of Pestilence unleashed it on Earth, it spread through the bites of fleas carried by animals such as rats (including Piri), and it ended when the Commissioners decided that the humans had been punished enough. Flicker had never heard of a cure, so he wasn’t surprised when Shimmer shook his head.

  “There is no medicine that I am aware of. Humans who survive it appear to gain immunity against it, but that is the closest thing to a cure that I know of.”

  Even though it was the answer Flicker expected, it still made his starlight waver. “Then, if someone has already caught it….”

  “Then all you can do is wait to see whether they survive it on their own.”

  “Is there nothing that can be done? Nothing at all? The Bureau of Human Lives is so powerful – surely there must be something – ”

  Shimmer was shaking his head again, even before Flicker could finish the thought. “I’m afraid not. You might try the Bureau of Academia archives, but I would be surprised if you found anything.”

  So would Flicker. Still, he recalled Floridiana’s unfocused eyes and fever-flushed face, the reddish-black rash that mottled her skin and the tumors that erupted from her flesh. She was not recovering from the Black Death at all. And they’d told him that the condition of the Flying Fish Village boy was even worse.

  “I’ll try the archives,” Flicker told Shimmer. “Thank you for your advice.”

  The Bureau of Academia had long since closed for the day, but for a small “gift” (a token that could be exchanged for a cup of starlight tea), a janitor unbarred the gates and let Flicker in. The imp even led him to the archives, although she couldn’t explain how it was organized.

  Alone once she had returned to fishing leaves out of the ornamental pond, Flicker rotated in a slow circle. This late at night, not even the most dedicated scholars were still at work. The hall was pitch-black, although darkness was nothing to a star sprite. The shelves with their handstitched book spines loomed over him, stretching up and up all the way into the night sky.

  Flicker imagined what it would be like during the workday, with a librarian behind the reference desk and gods and goddesses – drifting? Marching? Bustling? – in to request documents, a cloud of clerks in tow to carry the books and scrolls. The former Star of Scholarly Song, whom Piri still insisted on calling “Marcius,” must have been among them once.

  Lady Fate had decreed that he reincarnate as Crown Prince Eldon of North Serica. He must be a boy of two by now. Had the Black Death spread to the capital? Flicker wondered whether the Goddess of Life had coordinated the plague with the Ministry of Fate, and how Lady Fate would react if Eldon died once more without fulfilling her now-five-hundred-year-old prophecy.

  Well, that was not Flicker’s problem. Right now, his problem was that he needed to research what the Bureau of Academia knew about cures for the Black Death.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Next to the reference desk, a wooden chest with rows of small drawers housed the card catalogue. Flicker set to work searching them, but it didn’t take long. It was as he had told Den: The Black Death had no cure. The best anyone could do was convince the Commissioners of Pestilence to recall the disease so that it stopped spreading to fresh victims. There was nothing to be done for the people who had already caught it.

  Flicker’s shoulders were slumped as he slipped out of the Bureau of Academia and trudged back across Heaven towards his dorm. He did not look forward to telling Den that no one in Heaven or on Earth could save Floridiana now. Even more, he did not look forward to telling Piri that her friend had died and re-entered the cycle of reincarnation as a completely new person. She was not going to take it well.

  Piri would find a way, he found himself thinking. She wouldn’t just accept it. She’d tear apart the Bureau of Academia, the Bureau of Human Lives, and Heaven itself if that were what it took to find a cure.

  Of course, tearing apart the two Bureaus and Heaven wouldn’t get her a cure, only more divine punishment. But she’d do it anyway.

  Think! There must be something else I can try! What can I do?

  “Out so late, Flicker?”

  The question made him jump so hard that his starlight flared and set a nearby peony bush on fire. Flicker beat at the leaves until they stopped smoking, and then turned guiltily to face the goddess responsible for keeping the gardens of Heaven pristine.

  Star was smirking. “That’s a new one. I haven’t seen you lose control like that before.”

  “Because I don’t lose control like that! Not since I was a star child!” Flicker patted the bush, as if that could fix the crispy petals.

  A cool hand covered his, and Star’s gentle silver light flowed throughout the bush. For a moment, Flicker could trace all the veins in every leaf, twig, and blossom. When the light faded, the bush was whole once more. She linked her arm through his and tugged him towards a nearby bench. “What has you so upset? Did Ca– something happen at work?”

  Only insofar as he’d met and befriended Piri at work, and then met Floridiana, Densissimus Imber, and the rest of that lot through her.

  “No, no, nothing like that,” he reassured Star. “The Assistant Director is much too busy to supervise me directly. It’s something else. Um.” He hesitated, wondering how much to tell her. She was the Assistant Director of the Bureau of the Sky. What could she do about a human disease on Earth? Telling her would only burden her with his troubles.

  “Whatever it is, knowing is always better than not knowing,” Star said, gazing out across the peony garden she maintained so perfectly. Whenever she got that distant look in her eyes, Flicker knew she was recalling Cassius and Piri and their long-ago court.

  “It’s the mage, Floridiana,” he blurted out. Anything to erase that sorrow from her face. “She and another human – a boy, just a boy – caught the Black Death in North Serica. Their friends begged me to find a cure.”

  “Floridiana…Floridiana…. I’ve heard that name before. That’s her pet mage?”

  Flicker didn’t think Floridiana would appreciate that classification, even if it were true. “Uh, yes. The boy comes from Flying Fish Village. He was helping them with the conquest of the Wilds and North Serica. In preparation for the New Empire,” he added, hoping it would take Star’s mind off Piri and remind her that they were doing this for the sake of the soul who had once been Marcius. “Would you happen to know…if there’s a cure for the Black Death?”

  “No. There is none.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Flicker shut his eyes briefly. He’d known, of course, but her flat statement still felt like a punch. He could already picture Densissimus Imber thrashing and ripping the clearing apart in helpless rage. “Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I told them already. But they still wanted me to try – ”

  Star raised a hand, uncharacteristically jerky, more like a convulsion, really. “There is no cure,” she repeated. “But there might be something that I can do.”

  Flicker hurtled down towards the Earth, with Star keeping pace next to him. Her hair and gown streamed out behind her, and she was giggling like a little girl. An answering grin split Flicker’s face. He tucked and flipped into lazy, lounging position in the air. She overshot him before she rolled onto her back and spread out her arms to slow her descent. The wind whipped her long sleeves and thin scarves as she crowed – actually crowed! – in delight. Flicker flipped again and dove, and she followed in a cloud of silk. When they thumped onto the grass at last, she’d lost her headdress and most of her hairpins, and her long black hair was tangled around her face and shoulders like a female ghost.

  “That was so fun!” she cried, pawing at her hair. “I had no idea it could be so fun!”

  At the sight of her, so happy that she was literally lighting up the mountainside with her glow, Flicker felt such joy that it choked his throat. Could there be a more perfect moment, in Heaven or on Earth?

  On an impulse, he brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Hadn’t you gone cloud-diving before?” he asked tenderly, before he realized that no, of course she had never gone cloud-diving before. It was something that star children did, that their elders (and the guards at the gates of Heaven) turned a blind eye to, not behavior suitable for a dignified, high-ranking goddess. “We’ll go again,” he promised. “As often as you want.”

  “Well, maybe not quite that often. I do have work, you know.” She slanted a glance at him. “Those peonies don’t regrow themselves.”

  At the reminder of the bush he’d roasted, Flicker snorted.

  An icy voice lashed through their laughter. “Having fun?”

  Flicker and Star jumped apart and spun around like guilty star children. Behind them, grown to the height of the treetops, towered a dragon king with his arms folded across his chest. Densissimus Imber stared down at them with the contempt that the gods directed towards the imps.

  “Uh, actually,” Flicker began, “it’s not what it looks like….”

  Star stepped forward, cloaking herself in an aura of dignity despite her matted hair and wrinkled gown. She slid her right hand into her left sleeve and produced a round object the size of a children’s handball. Pink and gold lights swirled languidly beneath its downy surface. Honey-sweet fragrance rolled off it in waves.

  Densissimus Imber’s nostrils flared, and his eyes bulged out of his skull.

  Star cupped the round object in both hands and raised it high. “Behold, dragon: a Peach of Immortality.”