Dragon Dreams

by Chris A. Jackson

  "Thanks for the note." He sat down with his back to the room. "I bought you a coffee."

  Her mittened hands wrapped around the cup. "Thanks."

  "Are you okay?" He knew she wasn't but didn't know what else to ask.

  "No." She kept her eyes down, but her voice was husky, as if she'd been crying.

  "What can I do to help you, Aleksi? The police are watching me, so coming out to meet you probably isn't too safe."

  "Why did you bring them to your place?" There was a tremble in her tone, as if she didn't want to hear the answer.

  "Sorry about that, but they grilled me for about four hours at the police station, then insisted they see my home. No warrant, but they made it clear that I didn't have much of a choice. I wanted to call ahead, but they wouldn't leave me alone." He tried to peer under the brim of her hat but couldn't see her eyes. "How did you get out of there?"

  "Never mind that. Look, Hutch, they've probably got your phone tapped and reading your email, so I don't know how we can communicate. I can't go to the police, and I can't go to a hospital, but I'd like your doctor friend to have a look at my blood or something."

  "Something else has happened, Aleksi. The Kamchatka specimen has been stolen. Even the samples in Bob's lab. Someone took everything."

  "What?" Her head came up, and he got a glimpse of her eyes. He stifled his surprise—her irises were stark yellow, pupils vertical slits.

  "They were taken on Sunday by some fake shipping company. Jasper said it looked professional."

  "Why would someone take the samples?"

  "I don't know. It doesn't make sense. The only thing I could think was that Derrick arranged it to somehow cover himself, but the samples weren't the incriminating evidence anyway. He's vanished, too, by the way. The cops want you both."

  "Well, that's something at least." Her head came up again as someone else came in. "If he took the samples…" Her eyes snapped to his. "Hutch, he knows about the infection, the source. He's got to be infected, too. It's the only thing that makes sense. That's why…"

  "But why take them?" He shook his head.

  "I don't know, but I think I know how he killed Bob."

  "What?" He felt something cold ball up in the pit of his stomach.

  She answered him by pulling one of her mittens off. Each of her fingers was now tipped with an inch-long retractable claw, and the golden scales had advanced to cover her whole hand. A fine membrane webbed the space between her last three fingers, and trailed from the smallest up her wrist and under her sleeve. She looked at him then, huge brilliant yellow eyes snapping open and closed under a ridge of brow that glinted with golden scales.

  "Oh, Aleksi…" He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.

  "It's progressing faster now, Hutch." She put her glove back on. "I don't know how to explain this, but Derrick…smelled strange to me when I scratched his car. Those scratches must have given him an idea how to frame me, so killing Bob would get us both out of the way." She reached out with a gloved hand to clutch his wrist. "Hutch, these changes…they make me feel…they give me violent impulses. If Derrick was already aggressive or violent, they might put him over the top."

  "You've got to come in, Aleksi. We've got to try to help you, treat you, somehow."

  She let go of him. "I can't come in. Get a blood kit from one of the bio labs and keep it with you. You can take a sample to Bornstein. If I go to a hospital, they'll never let me out again." She took her coffee and stood. "Thanks for the coffee."

  "What else can I do for you, Aleksi?" He reached for her wrist.

  "I may need money. My ATM still works, but they'll shut it down soon, and I know they're getting my picture every time I use it."

  "Sure. Whatever you need." He squeezed her arm, but she pulled away.

  "Thanks, Hutch. Tell Lonnie…something, okay?"

  "I will. Be careful."

  "I am."

  It was all he could do to not watch her as she left the café.

  Aleksi sipped her coffee and started toward the Harvard Square transit station. The commute was beginning, and she was one more faceless worker bee in a hive of anonymity. She crossed Auburn and turned up JFK, casting glances into the shop windows as she made the corner. She had no interest in the displays but could see the reflections of what was behind her without turning fully. It was a trick she learned evading the police in the warrens of Boston. It was still early, but there were plenty of people out now, some going the other way, arriving for early classes, others moving along with her, going into the city.

  She slowed as she approached the intersection of Brattle Street when something caught her eye. There was a man in a charcoal overcoat, which wasn't unusual, but he wasn't keeping up with the flow, and his gait was strange, arms not swinging much with his stride, as if he was moving with some impediment. His gaze met hers, paused, then swept on. He raised a hand to cup his mouth, and she saw the muscles of his throat moving. He was speaking, but she couldn't hear. She crossed the street and went up the alley that led toward the Garage. At the first plaza she ducked left and sunk down into the shadows behind a dumpster.

  She heard his footsteps coming up the alley.

  Kill! Strike! Flee! the voice of her instinct screamed, but she fought it down and stayed hidden.

  The man in the overcoat emerged from around the corner, his eyes sweeping the little courtyard. He turned a full circle, and she tensed, but his eyes passed over her without pause.

  Looking for me.

  He hesitated then continued on to look down the narrow alley south into the Garage, and then back over his shoulder, scanning the shadows. She looked into his eyes, analyzing him. Clean shaven, maybe thirty, strong, but moving stiffly, like he was carrying a heavy pack. His gaze swept over her again, and she thanked the darkness, her blanket, her shield. He took the alley, but as he turned, she saw it; a tiny wire curled around behind his right ear to vanish under his stocking cap, like a hearing aid but not.

  Cop? She glanced back around the corner. If he had spotted her, which now seemed likely, there would be others.

  Aleksi hurried back the way she'd come and surveyed the moving crowd, but saw no other similar overcoats. Another glance confirmed that he was long gone, and she stepped out to continue her way. She headed for the train station, moving with the other people, wondering who the man was, what he was, and why she wasn't suddenly surrounded by police. Surely, if he had spotted her, they would have closed in.

  But they hadn't.

  Aleksi descended the steps into the transit station and swiped her commuter pass through the turnstile, recalling his face, his manner, his gait, forming a search image in her mind. She boarded her train and sat near the exit, eyes low, watching the other commuters via their reflections in the subway car windows. The door hissed closed and she started to breathe easier. Then, as the train pulled into motion, she saw them, two of them now, the man she'd seen and another emerging from the stairs onto the platform. They both moved the same way, hurried but heavy, eyes sweeping the crowd.

  A commuter bumped into one of them and she caught a glimpse as his heavy coat whipped open for a moment. The man's pants were bulky, like he was wearing pads under them. A glint of black metal caught her eye, like a pipe, or a stick…or a thick gun barrel.

  Darkness enveloped her as the train plunged into the tunnel.

  Not cops, but who? Aleksi had much more to worry about now.

  The fact is, Quinton, you wouldn't even know about the Kamchatka specimen if we hadn't discovered it, so you've really lost nothing." Hutch tried to keep his voice neutral and not squeeze his cracked phone too hard, but he was tired of fending off accusations of incompetence.

  "You're right, I've lost nothing, Hutch. You, however have lost a priceless artifact. You can't argue your way out of the facts."

  "I did not lose it. It was stolen. It was kept under lock and key. Come on, Quinton, you can't blame us because we were robbed!"

  "And what about Aleksi!
One of the brightest young students I've ever met, and now she's up on murder charges. You've lost her, too! What the hell is going on?"

  "One of my students is dead, Quinton!" Hutch's temper flared, his voice trembling. "Don't you dare tell me what I've lost!"

  "Alright. Okay, that was out of line. I'm sorry, but damn it, Hutch, what am I supposed to do? I've got the museum board crawling all over me screaming for blood."

  "Tell them to talk to University Police. If you want another ass to chew, try Sergeant Jasper with the Cambridge Police. He's investigating Bob's murder. He's the one who put out a warrant for Aleksi's arrest."

  "Why the hell did she run, Hutch? Did she tell you?"

  "No. I saw her the day before, and she was worried but nothing more." He felt bad about the lie but didn't know what else to say. "She told me they found evidence that Derrick Penningly stole some data from her computer. Data about the stolen specimen. Don't forget that he worked for you, Quinton."

  "Not anymore he doesn't."

  "Well, right now, I think he's the prime suspect in both the murder and the theft, but nobody knows why he would commit either crime."

  "Well, maybe if they find him, they can clear this up." Hutch heard Quinton sigh on the other end of the line. "Sorry for losing my temper, Hutch, but…well, you know."

  "I know, Quinton. Just hang in there. I'll be in touch." He hit end and considered turning the phone off. It seemed he'd done nothing but talk today, and he was tired of it, but there was one more call he had to make. He dialed Congressman Twain and put the phone to his ear.

  "Dr. Hutchinson," came the answer. "Been a while."

  "Yes, it has. I'm afraid I've got some bad news."

  "I heard about that poor Tomlin boy. Terrible, senseless thing."

  "That's part of why I called, Congressman," Hutch began, unsure of how to deliver the multiple blow of Bob's death, Aleksi's disappearance, and the loss of the samples. "We've had some additional setbacks as well."

  "Really? Nothing serious, I hope?"

  "I'm afraid so." He wondered why Twain hadn't asked about Aleksi. Every other time Hutch talked to him, he'd asked how she was progressing. "I'm sorry to say that we had a theft here on Sunday. The entire Kamchatka specimen was stolen from both Aleksi's and Bob's labs. Every trace of it, gone."

  "What?"

  Still no question about Aleksi. Hutch got a niggling feeling that something wasn't quite right with this conversation. "So, you can see we're a little over our heads. Everyone's upset, and the funding for the project is going to have to be put on hold until we can sort things out and get the specimen back."

  "Yes, yes of course. I completely understand."

  Still no question about Aleksi. "I'll call you when I know something substantive."

  "Any time, Doctor. Anything I can do to help, just let me know."

  "I will. Thank you, Congressman."

  "No problem at all."

  Hutch stared at the phone as the call went dead. Not a single question about Aleksi, when the man couldn't stop talking about her only a week ago. Something wasn't right.

  I'm sorry we haven't made more progress, Mister Penningly, but the DNA of the sample is quite degraded." Johansen stood just inside Derrick's door, hands in the pockets of his lab coat.

  Derrick could smell his fear. Good, he thought. He needs to be afraid of me.

  "If we could take another blood sample, and I've scheduled a session to collect bone marrow—"

  "No more blood." Derrick raised a clawed hand to scratch at the scales that were forming along his jaw. "And you're not jamming a biopsy needle into my pelvis. I'm not giving you anything else until the murder charges are gone and I get my life back."

  "But we can't cure you if we can't analyze your condition."

  "If you'd let me help analyze those samples, I'd have had an answer for you by now." He went to his refrigerator, jerked open the door, and picked out a flat white package. The paper peeled back from the cool red meat. He tore off a bite and turned back to Johansen, chewing as he spoke. "I am a scientist, you know!"

  "Actually, I was thinking of directing your specific talents toward another problem, Mister Penningly." Johansen took his hands from his pockets. One held a photo. "You know this woman, Aleksi Rychenkna?"

  "Know her? Of course, I know her! She's a lying bitch!" He took another bite and chewed. "So, the police haven't caught her yet?"

  "They have not, which doesn't surprise me, but neither have my men been able to apprehend her." He returned the picture to his pocket. "We believe that she also has contracted this infection."

  "I know she has." Derrick took another bite and narrowed his yellow eyes at Johansen. The scent of Aleksi's rage when she scratched his car wafted through his mind. "You need my help with her, don't you?"

  "You are as astute as you are perceptive, Mister Penningly. Aleksi Rychenkna seems to have developed a preternatural ability to spot and evade my people. You, however, might have better luck."

  "Luck has nothing to do with it, Doctor." Derrick stripped away the last of the meat and flicked the denuded bone into the trash. "It's all about skill."

  34

  Aleksi landed on his balcony rail like a dark snowfall and melted into the shadows. There was no note on the window, no sign of him and no light for the two hours since he'd arrived home. She listened, sampled the air, and knew he was inside, in the living room, waiting, alone.

  Staying in the shadows cast by the streetlights below, she tested the sliding glass door. It was unlocked. She thought about the men in long coats, about rooftops, high-powered rifles, night scopes, and assassins. Then she thought about Hutch and their brief, wonderful time together.

  She would risk it.

  In one motion, she eased the door open just wide enough, slipped through, and closed it. She crouched there, a shadow within shadows, listening to her heartbeat, his heartbeat, his breathing, and let the scent of him fill her. He glowed there in his chair, the heat of his body a beacon in her eyes.

  "I wondered how you got up to the balcony, but I guess it was easy." He started to stand up.

  "Stay down!"

  He froze and then sank back down into his chair. "Why?"

  "There are…other people, not police, looking for me. They might be watching through the window."

  "Aleksi, I don't think—"

  "I don't know who they are, but they carry guns under their coats, and have ear pieces like spies from the movies."

  "Spies?" He paused and cleared his throat. "I may have an idea who they are. You want to talk here, or—"

  "Your bathroom. It's the only room without windows. I'll go first, and you follow. Just sand up and walk like you're going there to pee, okay?"

  "Okay."

  His voice sounded strange, worried, rigid, as if… He's afraid of me. Good. He'd be a fool not to be.

  She crept across the floor and slipped into the dark bathroom. There was enough light for her, but she imagined he might stumble around, so she hunkered out of his way and listened to him get up and walk toward her. The door closed.

  "Can I turn on the light?"

  "If you want, but I'll warn you, Hutch, you won't like what you see."

  Light flooded the room. She watched him squint and shield his eyes from the glare. Hers adjusted more quickly, though she saw less color than she used to. His formerly royal blue eyes were now gray, his skin dusky instead of that healthy, ruddy hue. He blinked and finally focused on her, crouched in the corner near the sink. She pulled her hoodie back and took off her hat. He opened his mouth to say something, failed, and closed it.

  "Don't worry." She stood. "I won't hurt you. I couldn't ever hurt you."

  "Oh, Aleksi." He started toward her and a surge of panic shot through her.

  She held out one taloned hand and said, "No. Don't, Hutch." He stopped, so much pain in his face, so much sorrow… "You don't want to touch me. It's not safe."

  "You said you wouldn't hurt me."

  "Yes
, but…I don't know. It might…you might get infected."

  "I'll be careful, then." He took another step closer, one hand out to brush her scaled cheek. His scent felt like a toxin in her mind, a drug, drawing her in.

  She pulled back. "These people following me. You said you might know who they are?"

  "Not specifically, but Twain called the other day, and for the first time, he didn't ask how you were doing. Persephone knows him, and said he has a reputation with young interns. I thought back and wondered if he might be planning to come on to you. He asked about you every single time we spoke except the last, even when I gave him the perfect opening."

  "Twain…" Could the men in gray coats have been government? Maybe…

  He looked at her again, closer, and asked, "Does it…hurt?"

  "Some." She shrugged and a looked down at her hands, her ring and little finger now far longer than the others, the membrane between them fully formed, trailing all the way up her arm, down her side and leg to her ankle. "Like…growing pains."

  "Growing pains?" He gave her a look like he thought she was joking.

  "Just a dull ache, in the joints, mostly."

  "How do you…" He faltered, shook his head and took a deep breath. "God, Aleksi, how do you survive? How do you stay hidden?"

  "It's getting harder," she admitted. "I stay down during the day. At night, nobody pays attention."

  "How do you get…food?" He sounded afraid of her pending answer.

  "I can buy meat at the small groceries in town without much trouble as long as I can wear my gloves." She indicated the pair of heavy mittens at her belt. "That's going to get harder when the weather warms up. They've all got security cameras, and I'm afraid I'll get spotted. I've done some looking around for meat distributors. They don't have much security."