Draft of Dragons

by T S Paul

  Several rows of shops and small cafes encircled the city square. City hall was on one side with a parking lot across from it. Like most small towns, there was a statue in the center square, surrounded by trees.

  “Let’s go in there.” Cat pointed to the shop directly in front of us.

  Reading the sign, I recognized the name but couldn’t remember if Grandmother recommended it or not.

  “Sure. I haven’t been in town since I was small,” I replied.

  Cat rubbed her arms like she was cold. “Do you feel that?”

  I’d felt it as soon as we took a single step into the store, a warding so thick that it felt like I’d been dipped in wax. Casting out with my senses, I could tell it was mostly benign. Violence, theft, and general mischief were forbidden. Anyone with those things in mind would instantly change their minds and go somewhere else.

  “Magick. A lot of it. The owner must be part of the Coven,” I told her.

  “And you would be right, Miss Blackmore!”

  Both Cat and I turned to our right to see a woman standing next to the cash register counter. She looked older than my grandmother, but with Witches age was relevant.

  “Why didn’t I even sense her there?” Cat whispered to me.

  “Young lady, you weren’t supposed to. It has been many a year since a child of Bast has entered my shop,” the older woman mused. “Your kind is a rarity in these parts.”

  “There aren’t any Weres here?” Cat blurted out.

  The Witch smiled. “A few here and there, Wolves mostly. Although we have had Bears here, as well.”

  I gave the woman a closer look. “Do I know you?”

  “Of course you do. We’ve met. It was a very long time ago, but you used to call me a variety of not so nice names.” The old Witch gave me a stern look. “Do I really look like a sourpuss to you?”

  Instantly I knew who I was talking to. Agnes Pickleberry. She was both a bane and a supporter of the town. She hated progress but supported growth.

  “Mrs. Pickleberry, I apologize for anything I might have said as a child. I didn’t know any better then,” I tried to explain.

  The old Witch snorted. “You knew exactly what you were saying back then. Don’t try and fool me, young Witch. I’m well aware of how I’m considered around here. Once you’ve lived as long as I have, you yourself will understand that opinions and rumors are nothing to be concerned with. It’s what you do that leaves an impression.”

  “So your cursing the highway department is on purpose?” I asked the older Witch.

  “You knew about it, didn’t you? It’s a lesson that they have yet to learn. In some ways it’s punishment as well,” she replied.

  “Punishment?” Cat asked her.

  “Never manhandle a Witch. I know that the both of you are in law enforcement. If someone says no it should mean no.” Mrs. Pickleberry pointed toward the square. “They’ve made this a tourist attraction but have ignored the how and the why of things. Serves them right to not have better roads.”

  Cat glanced at me and I slightly shook my head. Getting the hint, she replied, changing the subject. “May we look around in here?”

  Mrs. Pickleberry’s face went from a frown to a smile. “Of course! This is my shop of strange and unique. It’s a lifetime of collecting. Let me know if I can explain anything.”

  Just as she had appeared, the older Witch disappeared. Cat gave me an even funnier look and asked, “Can you do that?”

  “Have you ever seen me do it? It takes a bit more pizazz than I’ve got to do that,” I told her. “Let’s look around.”

  The shop was more interesting than any antique or curio place I’d ever been in before. Glass cases sat in rows in the middle, with bookshelves and furniture lining the walls. There were uniformed mannequins tucked into odd corners here and there. It was like an explosion of history and knowledge.

  “Are you seeing this, Agatha?” Cat whispered to me. She was standing in front of a revolving glass case. Inside it were heads...shrunken heads to be exact. Each was sitting upon a small pedestal, complete with identifying plaque.

  I peered closer to read the first row. “James Cook expedition 1778. Captain and select crew represented.”

  “Why does that name sound familiar to me?” Cat asked.

  Tapping my finger against the revolving case, I shook my head. “Not something we covered in school. Could these be the real thing?”

  “Everything in here is real. Selling falsehoods will only get you in trouble in our world, my dears,” Agnes spoke from behind me.

  Both Cat and I literally jumped as the older lady appeared. “Oh! Sorry. You scared me.”

  Agnes tapped me on the shoulder. “You should keep your senses wide awake at all times. Those bracelets of yours can do it for you if you ask it of them. What’s the use of being a guardian if you don’t use what the Goddess has given you?”

  “The heads in question belong to a British officer too full of adventure and pride to listen to common sense,” she said. “I got those from a friend of mine in the Hawaiian islands. They were somewhat of a curiosity for the people there. A remnant of British colonialism and exploration. I wasn’t sure about them myself, seeing as how it was Hawaii and not Polynesia. But one of the members in the coven has excellent psychometry skills. She verified them for me.” Agnes waved at the other heads. “The rest of the heads are mostly military leaders, a few lost explorers, and politicians. Nobody you’d know unless the names Wintour, Rookwood, Keyes, and Fawkes mean anything to you. They don’t really teach that bit of history here, except for in the movies. Before you get all excited about the heads, you need to know that I have permission to own them under clauses in the 1959 Magical Secrets Act. Witches are allowed to own certain types of things for the express purpose of either Magical research or spellwork. Necromancy is excluded of course, that being the only way to turn them all into talking heads.”

  Agnes pointed to the bookshelves across the room. As we turned to look, she teleported away to stand next to them. “Take these shelves of Magical history, for example. This is the finest collection of Magical works outside of your grandmother's locked rooms. There are things here that our brethren overseas would kill for. You’re still young, but the pursuit of knowledge can be cutthroat sometimes. The furniture behind you…”

  She teleported again, this time across the room. “That furniture came to me from the home of Aleister Crowley. The most evil man in the world, according to the mundanes. It’s said that his spirit still haunts the desk. Cursing those who would ridicule his great works.”

  We spun around to look at the large Victorian desk. I imagined I could still see the blood and other fluids that must have soaked into the desk where he performed his rituals. I had not dug into the Divisions files on the man, but history painted him as a lunatic, murderer, and brilliant magician. The fact that Director Hoover had a hand in naming our country’s premier magical prison after him said something. It was said that he and cult members killed more than fifty people trying to awaken the Magick inside of them in 1915. Death Magick didn’t quite work that way.

  “I thought it was destroyed after his execution?” I asked.

  Agnes shook her head negatively. “Always a market for stuff like this. People actually collect the possessions of killers. They get off on it. You should be able to feel it, the miasma of hate and death that the desk exudes?”

  Concentrating, I cast my senses outward. All of the furniture glowed, but the desk and several paintings along the wall were the brightest.

  The old Witch nodded. “Good, good…I can sense your reach and your power. Marcella trained you well. Trust your feelings and let go. Examine it deeper.”

  “Why keep something like...like…that desk? The horror of it all. I wouldn’t want to be within a mile of it,” I told her. The screams and death wails of hundreds of people were embedded in the wood of the desk. In terms of evil, it was second only to the cave where I first confronted the Strega.
<
br />   Agnes crossed to the piece and smiled. Without touching it, she circled the desk. “It’s warded quite well. Marcella’s work, if you really want to know. Would you be surprised if I told you the Smithsonian offered me seven figures for it? Good or bad, history should never be ignored. Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it.”

  “And those paintings?” I asked her. I sent a silent message to the bracelets. They strengthened my shields just a bit. I knew this woman was a friend of my grandmother’s but she was kind of scary.

  The paintings in question took up the entire back wall of the shop. They looked to be landscapes and set pieces of buildings. Professionally framed, they could have hung in a museum anywhere in the world.

  “Those were smuggled out of Germany almost a day before the Demonic invasion. Painted by the Dictator himself. Were you aware that he was a Thulist Magician? It is suspected that he was the one to read the incantation that opened the Portal to Hell,” Agnes explained. “Your recent run in with the Demonic should make you that much away of things.”

  “So all this is for history?” I swept my arms around.

  “No. All of this is for sale,” Agnes replied. She gave me a very stern look as she spoke. “I use it for training sometimes as well, but a woman has to eat. I’ve been collecting things a very long time. Much longer than anyone in town save your grandmother knows.”

  Cat stepped away from me and continued to explore. She gave me the look I took to mean that this was Witch business and not really hers. But I knew that unless I blocked her, she would be listening.

  “What sort of training do you do?” I asked her.

  “The important kind.” Agnes stepped away from Crowley’s desk, crossing to my side of the room. “Mack and his people can only help you with the mundane sort of things. There are things in this universe that can kill you with a blink of their eye. The Legion cannot protect you from them.”

  I blinked at the mention of the Legion. “And you can?”

  The old Witch motioned to the cabinets nearest her. Several doors popped open. Reaching inside one of them, Agnes pulled out what looked like a wand. Smiling, she pointed it at me and mumbled a phrase.

  “Agatha!” Cat cried out as a flash of light lit up the room.

  My bracelets screamed danger at me, but I was far too late to throw up a larger shield, summon a fireball, or pull one of my knives. A glowing cage of Magick encircled me!

  Cat was still in motion and instantly shifted to her warrior mode. Four-hundred pounds of enraged teeth and claws were heading straight for the enemy that had revealed itself.

  With nothing more than a glance and a wave of her hand, Agnes stopped Cat in her tracks. She was frozen in place not ten feet from me.

  “What did you do to her?” I cried out.

  Agnes Pickleberry smiled again. “You have a minute and a half before you lose consciousness from lack of air. What do you do to survive?”

  Chapter 6

  “What do you mean she’s gone?” Blake yelled.

  “Exactly what I said. Director Mills and her two assistants vanished during the California incursion. I received notice that they were leaving the office enroute to Los Angeles. All protocol was followed. She just didn’t return like she was supposed to,” Melissa reported.

  Blake pulled out a notepad from his new desk and picked up a pen. “What was the name of the OP and who was in charge of it?”

  “Not a clue. I’m just the receptionist here. They don’t have to tell me that stuff,” Melissa explained.

  “Not acceptable! You were put into position by the Master himself to watch these animals. Find them, now!” Blake yelled as he threw both the notepad and pen at Melissa.

  “I’ve looked but I will look again. To do that I need authorization to access Director level files. Do I have it?” Melissa asked.

  Blake glared at her. “If that is what it takes.”

  Melissa smiled back at him. It wasn’t a nice smile, but one filled with malice and hate. “In writing, please.”

  Misunderstanding the look, Blake muttered, “Fine. Take this to IT and to IA. Tell them you have my complete trust and authorization for access.”

  Blake scribbled out a note on another pad and handed it to her.

  “Thank you, Director,” Melissa said, accepting the authorization note. “I won’t fail the Bureau.”

  “You better not. There are dire consequences for those who fail the Hammer. Go do your job.” Blake pointed toward the door.

  Melissa inclined her head and left the room muttering, “Director.”

  The hallway outside the office was stark and cold. Not at all like under Director Mills’ administration. Madeleine preferred to cast a warmer presence with rich colored carpet and landscape paintings. Not every student here was a soldier. There were children here after all.

  “Identity please.” A stern security guard stopped Melissa halfway to her office.

  Stopping her walk, the former receptionist froze for a minute before turning around. “Identity? Do you know who I am?”

  Resting a hand on his sidearm, the guard barely moved an inch. “Identity card please, I won’t ask again.”

  Melissa whipped out her credentials faster than the man could draw his gun and held them in front of his eyes. “What does this say?”

  The guard blinked a moment as his eyes focused. Leaning to one side, he looked first at the picture and then at Melissa’s face. “Sorry, but I have to ask.”

  Melissa brushed past him and continued down the hallway. “I know.”

  Three security checks later, she stood in front of the lead Agent in charge of the Academy’s Internal Affairs department.

  “Did the Director say why you were to be given almost complete access to our systems?” Agent Peter Hunt asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Melissa replied.

  Agent Hunt made a come-on motion with his hand. “And?”

  “I believe that is classified sir. You would have to ask the Director,” Melissa replied with a slight grimace. Hunt would be in a world of hurt if he called.

  Hunt turned to his computer and typed in a few commands. Peering at the screen for a moment, he looked back at Melissa. “You were appointed to your position more than seven years ago? Why have you stayed as the lead receptionist? There are plenty of opportunities within the bureau.”

  Melissa sighed. “Sir? Please just sign the form and authorize me. My background is my own. I really don’t want to go back down the hall and bother the Director again.”

  Hunt scowled at her but signed the form before giving it to her. Melissa turned to leave, and he called out to her. “There will be a reckoning, Agent. Running roughshod over the Bureau won’t stand.”

  It was Melissa’s turn to glare. With malice in her voice she replied, “If you wish to continue here, I’d watch what you say to me. There are lots of nasty places you could be reassigned to out there. Learn your place.”

  Hunt didn’t reply as Melissa stormed away. He was still staring at the door when his assistant appeared in the doorway.

  “Agent Hunt?” the young woman asked.

  Hunt sat back down in his chair and motioned to the young woman to come in. “Yes Samantha?”

  “I know it’s not my place but sir, are you insane? That woman makes people disappear! Rumor has it that it was her that did away with Director Mills and the Bs. Anyone that could do that is trouble. She just has to be a spy for the new director. Haven’t you noticed how strange it’s gotten around here?”

  Hunt started to correct her but stopped. He’d been around the day that Mills and her two assistants vanished. He knew they went on a mission, just not what it was. The fact that they didn’t return was troubling, though. Melissa was a fixture around here and always a bit of a bitch, but this was a new high or maybe low for her. The new security guards and restrictions were technically within the rules but should have been cleared with his department. They were internal affairs after all!

  “Everything
is within the guidelines set by the new Director. Melissa’s just the receptionist. Don’t worry about her,” Hunt replied.

  Samantha shook her head. “You cannot be that naive? That woman is a snake in the grass. She’s been lying in wait among us for all these years and the new director? Isn’t he the one you yourself investigated for corruption?”

  Hunt nodded. Samantha was mostly correct. Director Offenberg had been investigated but the findings were inconclusive. Several members of Congress and the White House Chief of Staff had crushed the investigation almost as soon as he’d started it. “Director Offenberg was appointed by the President. Nothing I can do about that, Sam. Don’t worry about it. Things will work themselves out.”

  “But sir!” Samantha protested.

  Hunt shook his head. Grabbing a notepad, he scribbled a short note. “Forget about it. We’ve got a ton of work to do. Get started on this list and then move on to the monthly reports. OK?”

  Samantha stepped forward and took the note. Looking down, she blinked a couple of times as she read it. “Oh. I’ll get right on it, sir.”

  She crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash can next to Hunt’s desk, then returned to the outer office. Hunt sighed. This was going to be bad. He just knew it. With slow and obvious movements, he policed up his desk, throwing a number of things into the can including a full cup of coffee which splashed everywhere.

  “Damn it to hell!” Crouching down on one knee, Agent Hunt started mopping up the spilled coffee with napkins off his desk and paper from the trash can. He was extra careful to destroy the crumpled note he’d given Samantha, the note that read, “my office is bugged.”

  Melissa kept a scowl on her face the entire way back to her desk. Most, if not all of security gave her a wide berth. The Academy was one big rumor mill after all, and the word was out on her.

  Two of the newer guards were leaning on the surrounding reception area while others looked out the broad windows in the front of the building. Craning her head, she could see several scantily clad students, wolves if she was guessing, prancing around on the lawn. Men.