Real Dragons

by Rebecca Shelley

  "I don't want to get you in trouble," Weldon said. "That Jonas, he gets me talking. I don't know how."

  "He says he won't ask any more questions, and he won't call the police. I think he just wants to help." Tom motioned for Weldon to come with him back inside.

  Weldon shook his head. "You go in. I'll just find an alley somewhere. I don't trust him."

  "You have to trust someone."

  Weldon grimaced.

  "He has a pencil and paper you can use." Tom stepped back toward the door.

  "I can't draw. I done tried on the subway." Weldon pulled the subway map out of his pocket and showed Tom the sketch of Haley sitting alone. "I've lost the story and can't find no way to go on."

  "Here." Tom took the map and flipped it to the opposite side. "Give me the pen."

  Weldon fished the broken pen from his pocket. Tom took it and sketched two little stick men with wings walking into a square house with a window and door. Then he drew a couple of swirls perched on the roof. "There, you see?"

  "What . . . in the world?" Weldon said.

  Tom huffed and pointed at the stick figures in the picture. "These are Barthelme and Haley." He pointed to the swirls on the roof. "This is the dragoness. She's led Barthelme back to Haley, and Haley has taken Barthelme to the safe house. Now come inside before I pass out."

  Weldon glanced up to the top of the Safe Home building as if he were looking for the dragoness perched there. "But the dragoness be trapped by Old Baxter in his precious things collection."

  "Then come inside and find a way to free her." Tom's head pounded.

  A girl in a pink shirt poked her head out the front door. "Hey you two, get your booties in here. It time for lunch."

  Weldon hunched his shoulders and shuffled toward the door.

  The dragoness's pearly black scales glittered in the sunlight as she sat on the old man's palm with her tail twined around his fingers. Her dainty head swayed back and forth to the music of his harmonica.

  She stretched her wings and sniffed as a woman tossed a half-eaten hamburger into a garbage can several yards away. With a chirp she took to the air and went after the food, diving into the can and tearing the paper away from the burger with sharp talons. The feast was more than a dragon her size could want, and she glutted herself until she heard the old man stop playing.

  She zipped back to his hand. He rubbed her neck with his finger, and she crooned beneath his affectionate touch.

  "My little pearl," Baxter said. "Where have you been? It’s been years since I lost you. Fancy you turning up here. Trouble must be on the way."

  The dragoness chirped at him and pecked his hand.

  "Yes, we always did have such grand adventures. Come on then." The dragoness curled to a ball in his palm and let him put her into his pocket.

  He pulled her out later, under the shade of an overpass. She fluttered around his head and settled onto a torn sleeping bag next to Baxter. Baxter gave her a whiskery smile and worked a loose chunk of cement up from the ground. From the hole beneath, he pulled out a muddy sandwich bag and dumped the contents out next to the dragoness.

  She let out a happy chirp and settled herself onto a shiny watch. Baxter brushed aside a coil of fishing line with a hook and picked up a Vietnam veteran service ring. The dragoness stuck her head up through the ring and chirped.

  "Yes, I still have it," Baxter said. "Now wasn't that a time? You and me, my lucky pearl. Wouldn't have gotten out of there alive without you."

  The dragoness let out a plaintive cry and pulled her head back out. She flapped her wings and jumped up and down on the watch.

  "All right. All right," Baxter said. "So you've been off helping other people. Those boys looked like they were in a good deal of trouble."

  The dragoness took to the air, flew a few feet and then came back.

  Baxter sighed. "I suppose you have to go and help them then."

  The dragoness cooed, wrapped her talons around the watch and tried to fly, but flap as hard as she might, she couldn't lift it from the ground.

  "You really good," Sonia said.

  Weldon jumped and instinctively covered the picture he'd been drawing. Sonia was the cute girl with the braids who'd called them in to lunch. The other girl was named Taneshia.

  During lunch Weldon had found out that they'd both been at Safe Home for a week after the friend they'd been staying with had been kicked out of his apartment. They were attending a nearby High School and both planned on graduating. Jonas had helped Sonia get a job at a local clothing store. As soon as Taneshia found work, they planned on sharing an apartment as roommates.

  Sonia's compliment about Weldon's drawing warmed him. He felt better after having put pencil to paper, like somehow he and Tom might find a way out of the mess they'd fallen into. Of course having a full stomach and safe walls around him probably helped too.

  Tom hadn't eaten much. Jonas gave him some pain medication. Tom now lay on the couch in the living room watching the History Channel on TV.

  The other boy, Victor, had eaten in silence and retreated back to his music.

  "Is Victor all right?" Weldon asked Sonia.

  Sonia looked through the doorway to where Victor sat with his eyes closed swaying back and forth to the silent music.

  "He's trying to come clean off some heavy stuff. Feels pretty rotten right now. Never has talked much, but he's harmless." Sonia picked up Weldon's empty soup bowl and headed for the sink. He'd gone straight to drawing after eating and hadn't cleaned up yet.

  Weldon jumped up. "I can do that." He tried to take the bowl from Sonia, but she dodged him. "Of course you can. Don't worry. If you stay, we'll make sure you get your share of clean up duty."

  Weldon slumped back in his chair and fingered the pencil.

  "Speaking of not talking, you pretty quiet yourself. You want to tell me how you two got beat up?" Sonia asked.

  Weldon shook his head. "Can't."

  "Gang?'

  "No."

  "You got family somewhere?"

  Weldon gritted his teeth. Sonia's attention made him feel good. No girl ever seemed to notice him before, but he knew better than to tell her about Barthelme and the dragons. She'd think he was crazy.

  "Weldon," Tom called from the other room just in time to rescue him from Sonia.

  He went to the living room and found Tom sitting up straight, pointing at the television. It seemed the story of the Bourbon Jewels in the news had caused the History Channel to dig up an old documentary about them.

  Weldon watched in disbelief as the show unfolded the history of the jewels. According to the documentary, the Bourbon Jewels were made for a French nobleman, Louis Adalhard de Bourbon, in 1789. But Bourbon refused to pay the artisan who set them in the broaches and wristband and had him hung as a thief instead.

  Just before the artisan went to the gallows, he put a curse on the jewels, saying that anyone who owned them would die a bloody death. Bourbon was later executed by Napoleon Bonaparte on false charges.

  Since that time everyone who owned the Bourbon Jewels had met an untimely end. The last known owner was trampled to death in a theater fire twenty years before. After that the Bourbon Jewels were sold at auction to an unnamed buyer and vanished from public view.

  "Until now." Tom clenched the bandage around his wrist.

  "That gotta be why Mr. Stevens never made it public that he the one what bought them," Weldon said. A lump grew in his throat. Cursed. Bloody death.

  The man on the TV turned his attention to the most valuable piece of the set, the diamond wristband. He showed a picture of it opened and then one with it closed. "Bourbon," he explained, "was worried that the diamond piece might be stolen from his wrist, so he had the artisan create a hidden catch. Once closed on the wrist, the diamond wristband could only be opened by pressing a certain point with something long and thin like a hairpin."

  Tom leaned forward and mouthed, "where?" But the man on the documentary said that the secret of the hidden
catch had most likely died with its last known owner.

  Weldon let a swear word drop from his lips. Then noticed Jonas staring at him and Tom from a bedroom doorway.

  Tom turned off the TV with the remote and leaned back against the couch. Weldon reached into his pocket and pulled out the core of the broken pen.

  "Got the beds made for you in here," Jonas said. "Tom, why don't you come in and lie down? You can have the bunk bed on the end there."

  Tom got up and headed for the room. Weldon pressed the thin pen into his hand as he brushed past.

  "You ready to call your parents now?" Jonas asked Weldon.

  "Um . . . okay," Weldon said. "I ain't got no cell phone though."

  "There's a phone on the counter in the kitchen."

  "Uh, I didn't see it. Can you show me?" Weldon had to get Jonas away from Tom for a while, so Tom could try to find the catch. Weldon hoped the broken pen would be skinny enough to go down in between the diamonds like a hairpin.

  Jonas walked into the kitchen, picked up a phone and handed it to Weldon. Then he sat down at the table and waited.

  Weldon took a deep breath and dialed his home number. He didn't know what to say, but he didn't want his parents to think he'd been abducted or killed.

  The phone rang and continued to ring until a recorded voice came on and said the party he was trying to reach was unavailable. Weldon hung up and bit his lip. "No one be home. Well, maybe my sister, but she not allowed to answer the phone."

  "Your parents may be out looking for you," Jonas said. "Do they have a cell phone?"

  "Mama does, but I don't have the number memorized. She always say not to call her at work unless the house on fire or someone bleeding to death." Weldon set the phone down, disappointed. As afraid as he was of getting in trouble, he kind of wanted to hear the reassuring sound of his father's voice.

  "Do you have any other family you can call?" Jonas said. "Aunts, uncles, grandparents? If your parents are looking for you, they may have given other family members your mother's cell phone number."

  Weldon knew he had a couple of aunts somewhere. His mama never talked to them much. Weldon had met them once at his grandmother's funeral. Weldon shook his head. "No one, sir."

  Jonas scratched his bare chest where the shirt hung open. "Do I look like a sir to you?"

  Weldon blinked, but could think of nothing to say in response.

  "Don't call me sir," Jonas said. "I'm far too young for that. At least I like to think I am. You can try calling your parents again in a little while."

  Weldon stared at the phone. An idea came to him. "Do you have a phonebook?" His father had told him the name of the hospital they'd taken Alice to. Maybe now she'd believe him about the jewels and the men out to kill Tom.

  Jonas opened a drawer below the phone and pulled out a fat phonebook. Weldon flipped through the pages until he found the hospital's phone number.

  "Who are you calling?" Jonas asked. He still sat slouched on the chair with his feet up on the table. Casual. Unthreatening, but the thoughtful look in his eyes still gave Weldon the creeps.

  "Alice," Weldon said when he realized Jonas wouldn't stop looking at him until he answered. "Tom's foster care lady. A friend of my father. She's in the hospital now. Hurt when they came after Tom."

  Jonas nodded, then got up and went to the fridge. Relieved to have Jonas not looking at him anymore, Weldon dialed the number and asked the hospital desk to transfer him to Alice Walker's room.

  "Hello." Alice's voice sounded strained and feeble over the phone.

  "Alice. I mean Mrs. Walker, it's Weldon." Weldon's hands grew sweaty.

  "Weldon, Honey, where you at? Your mama worried sick."

  "I'm with Tom. We's safe. Are you all right? I tried to warn you—"

  "Yes dear, I know. You told me, and I didn't believe you. They want that diamond wristband." Alice stopped talking, and Weldon could hear her breathing heavily on the other end of the line as if talking was a strain.

  "I hope you ain't hurt too bad," he said.

  "A couple of broken bones and a few bruises. The doctors tell me I'm gonna recover. Fortunately them thugs didn't touch my hands. I can still draw and paint. I'm supposed to go home tomorrow, but . . ."

  "I don't think they gonna bother you again as long as Tom stays away. Me too. I can't go home. They know my face, and if they see me and find out where I live . . . I don't want nobody touching my family." Weldon didn't need to look up to feel Jonas's eyes back on him.

  "Weldon, you need to go to the police," Alice said. "Let them help you."

  "Can't. Got to go. Just tell my parents I'm safe, at a safe house. It be guarded by fifty ninjas and—"

  "And a half dozen dragons," Alice finished his sentence and laughed.

  "May I talk to her?" Jonas said. He'd come over to stand beside Weldon with his hand out, waiting for the phone.

  Reluctantly Weldon handed it over. He wanted to hit the end button, but Jonas had him in his gaze. Weldon bit his lip as Jonas took the phone and started talking.

  "Hi Alice, my name is Jonas, George Jonas, and I run a youth shelter downtown. I got food and beds for Tom and Weldon and doors that stay locked at night. The boys are a little beat up and a lot scared, but they're safe here. Do you have a cell phone number for Weldon's mother?"

  Weldon moved to the table and paper and pencil waiting there for him.

  "No? Okay, if she contacts you, will you let her know that Weldon is trying to reach her? I'll have him call again around six. If his parents could be home then, that would be great." Jonas paused, listening, then glanced over at Weldon. "Yes. He's been drawing. . . . Yes, he is good. I'll let him have all the paper he wants." Another pause. "No. Tom hasn't been cleaning, but we keep this place pretty neat. Not much for him to do but rest and recover."

  Weldon lifted a clean sheet of white paper to the top of the pile, covering his picture of Baxter and the dragoness.

  Jonas hung up the phone and walked over.

  "You didn't tell her where we are," Weldon said. He felt relieved and a little sad. If his father showed up at the Safe Home door right then, he would be glad to run and give him a big hug. When Weldon thought about his family, he felt scared and empty. Homesick.

  "Did you think I would?" Jonas sat down at the table. "I know trusting someone isn't easy. There are certain laws I have to follow, but I promise I'll tell you when I have to do something that you don't want."

  Weldon sketched a set of fairy wings on the paper and wondered if Tom had figured out how to open the wristband yet, or if he needed more time. "I ain't never been away from home before."

  Jonas nodded. "Kind of hurts, doesn't it?"

  "Yep."

  "You should know that I gave Alice my name. This house is listed with the social services along with my name. If Alice calls them, they can tell her where you are."

  Weldon grimaced. "That's sneaky."

  "I think you want to go home. We just need to find a way to get you there safely." Jonas ran his hand through his spiky hair.

  "What about Tom?" Weldon added Haley to the wings and a shimmer of silver fairy dust around him.

  "I have a friend, a psychologist who may be able to help him get his memories back. I can make an appointment tomorrow if Tom wants to go."

  "Couldn't I just talk to you?" Tom stepped into the kitchen. He had his hands jammed in his pockets.

  "If you'd like," Jonas said, "but I'm just a councilor, not a psychologist."

  Tom shrugged.

  Weldon drew a dark crack at the top of the paper, and Haley looking up at it. All the baby dragons swarmed around him. The dragoness's mate sat on his shoulder. Haley's wings buzzed, and he took to the air, flying higher than he'd ever dreamed of going before, followed by all the dragons. The dragoness had not returned. Somewhere in the Realm Above, Barthelme needed their help.

  Tom came up beside Weldon. Beneath the table, he shoved something hard and round in Weldon's pocket. Weldon reached in and felt rough
diamonds under his fingers.

  "Haley has found his courage at last, I see," Tom said.

  "Yep." Weldon fingered the diamond dragon in his pocket. "Now what?" he asked Tom. Jonas still sat at the table, but appeared not to have noticed the secretive exchange of the wristband. Now Weldon had it, he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Somehow they had to get it back to Mr. Stevens without getting caught.

  Tom traced Haley's path up to the crack in the paper. "I liked your plan. It's time for Haley to fly."

  Weldon figured he meant run past and throw the wristband to the doorman. The doorman would have to turn it over to Mr. Stevens or be caught as a thief. Weldon set the pencil down and got to his feet. "I need some fresh air."

  Tom moved to go with him. Weldon shoved him down into the seat. "You stay and talk to Jonas like you wanted. I ain't abandoning you, just stepping outside for a bit."

  Weldon walked out before Tom could protest. He didn't want to have the cursed diamonds in his pocket any longer than necessary. He just hoped that giving it back to Mr. Stevens would clear Tom from the curse. If Stevens had it, maybe he'd call of his hired thugs.

  Tom's heart still beat hard from the time he'd spent in the bedroom, jabbing the core of the pen down in between the diamonds on the wristband, twitching every second in fear that someone would come in and catch him with the stolen jewels. It felt like eternity before he found the place that released the catch.

  The moment it clicked open and the wristband fell away from his arm, he felt a great weight lifted off him. The fear, dread, and hopelessness he'd felt since he woke up on the sidewalk in front of the shoe shop eased.

  Now as he watched Weldon leave the house, carrying the cursed diamonds, some of the fear came back to him. If the muggers caught Weldon, they'd kill him. If the police nabbed him, Weldon would go to jail for stealing the jewels. Tom winced and rubbed the picture of Haley, brave Haley, trying to help his friend. Tom felt he should have gone with Weldon, but Weldon was right to make him stay. Tom couldn't run fast enough or blend in with his face all beat up.