The Dragon's Horde

by T Shadow

  I’m shutting my brain off from the heavy-handed topics, and I notice my second bottle is empty. But what I’ve failed to realise is that while I’ve been having a one-on-one conversation with myself about world issues, Winter and Mika have single-handedly polished off five bottles. Five bottles that I can see anyway. Mika’s still dancing on the table to the nine-hundredth repeat of “Kaleidoscope”, and when she jerked her hips to the side, I moved my eyes away from the offending motion. It’s only when I notice the clock do I realise that we’re bordering on three thirty am, which means I have to be up in six hours to open the store.

  Uggghhhhhh FUCK.

  As I go to get up, the floor vanishes from underneath me, and I stumble over thin air trying to stand up straight. The sudden motion of getting up disorients me, and now I’m seeing triple and have greeted the floor like it’s an old friend. Calculating the distance from the floor in front of my beloved armchair to my spare bedroom is a feat when sober, it’s an absolute mission when drunk as a skunk.

  Can a skunk even get drunk?

  Question for another time. The mission impossible right now is to get Mika and Winter into bed within the next ten minutes. Five if possible; in order to maximise the amount of sleep I’ll get. The floor is my best friend right now, and as comfortable as I am with my poor vision and jelly limbs, I’ve got to be a mother.

  I’m too old to be a mother for Christ’s sake.

  Hoisting myself up, I latching onto the coffee table for support before attempting to tackle the drunk tigress. Thankfully, my logic summarises that big cats are lazy as hell, so once you lay them down in a comfortable place, they’ll cuddle up and stay there. I’m testing my theory with Mika. I gently grab her arm, tugging her down from her club-inspired platform, i.e. my coffee table. I thought that I executed the task gracefully, however, Mika’s boot catches on the edge of the table, and she goes flying into the sofa, and her head lands in Winters meow-meow. Mika muffles something, but her mouth currently obstructed by the denim clad vajayjay. Winter giggles uncontrollably. She’s got a pussy on her pussy. Hot damn.

  Operation Get-the-Cat-in-the-Sack is a go. Sack as in bed. Grabbing a hold of her arms to drag her to the bedroom, I pull Mika’s head from its current landing spot. Mika’s a limp noodle as I drag her away, and Winter instinctively, bless her soul, has grabbed her legs and now we’re doing some drunken improvised version of a stretcher carry. It’s going terribly. I’ve slipped on the air, Winter’s dropped a leg three times, and we’ve only moved five feet across the living room.

  Fuck my fucking fuck fuck.

  The stretcher carry has descended into a drag and push because, whilst I’m dragging this limp tiger, Winter is pushing her by her boots between fits of laughter. Thank god the door is in sight and it feels like light at the end of the tunnel. We’re three feet away from the bed. The clock on the mantel now reads three-forty-five and it feels like this escapade has taken three hours, not fifteen minutes.

  Why do drunk minds speed up time?

  Right. Door’s open. Bed is in sight. Bed. Mika on bed. Mika shoes off. Mika tucked in. Five simple steps. Go time. I’ve got a renowned sense of vigor. Suddenly I have the strength of ten strongmen, and the determination of a predator on the hunt. As I’ve got Mika slouched over the edge of the bed, Winter and I collectively pick her legs up and swing her onto the bed. She’s laying along the width, rather than the length.

  Fuuuuck itttt.

  Throwing my arms up, silently communicating that I am clearly done with my part. I give the go ahead for Winter to jump in with her, though Winter is on a come-down from the continuous giggle fit. Bless her drunken heart, she cuddles up to Mika and awkwardly spoons her drunk ass. It’s cute. They’re cute. There’s a throw blanket that I gently lay over the two of them before I stumble out the door and slap the light off.

  Blackness envelops the spare room like someone has opened up an interdimensional portal straight into the void. Except if the void was comfortable like a fluffy blanket. Interdimensional-fluffy-void-blankie even in the dark. Making my way to my room is quicker and a hell of a lot easier than supporting a dead-weight drunk tigress. Due to my half-cut mood, I’m able to strip my clothes in record time. As I’m going to removing my trousers, I notice Lucius still hiding in his little pet box cave thing. He looks like he’s seen an active murder; his space has been disturbed, his hopes and dreams crushed, life ruined.

  Trousers wrapped around my ankles, I drop onto my knees, emitting a sound close to a bomb going off, which makes the poor little bugger jump in his bed. My bad. Shimmying on my knees towards his cavern, I hold out my hand as a peace offering, and the little vermin takes it as a genuine threat and jumps forward with teeth bared. That sends me sprawling back on my arse at the bottom of my dresser.

  Stupid pissing bloody red rat.

  Not in the mood for dealing with an emotionally distressed fox with a wild side, I shut off the lights and clamber under my duvet, cuddle up with my fluffy blankie, allowing the slow pull of sleep to lull me away from reality. The black encroaches from the sides of my shut eyes, until the dreamscape on the other side calls to me like a long lost lover, an old friend and a guardian; it wraps me in its embrace and coddles me like a newborn child offering a layer of protection and safety.

  And on that final note, I fall asleep.

  What’s that mysterious buzzing noise?

  The wine I had last night is only amplifying the severity of the incessant ringing. Five hours of sleep whilst still being ever-so-slightly hungover at nine in the morning is a sure recipe for disaster. Natural disasters are an uncommon appearance in Stonehold, however this type of unnatural disasters are not.

  I imagine that as I get out of bed, I’m going to be doing a stellar reenactment of the scene from Wolf of Wall Street, where that guy drives from the country club in his car whilst on enough drugs to put down a healthy horse. Mika made me watch it once. Now I know enough about penny stocks to bore someone and when I say I know a lot, I mean I know that it is very illegal. That doesn’t stop me from dragging my unresponsive limbs from the cushion of clouds that is my most prized possession. My bed is my favourite hello and my hardest goodbye, especially today.

  My limp form is at the chest of drawers when I hear a very small hiss from the corner of the room. I peak over my shoulder and I notice the small hairy, disheveled four legged creature staring into the back of my head with a ferocity that would rival the strongest of laser beams. I forgot that it’s breakfast, but thank my lucky stars that Lucius did not. Right now, I’m running late, so I’m prepared to take the fall, and get attacked for late meal times. I partly blame myself because I spoiled him, but I also blame him because he’s a massive arsehole.

  As I turn around to avoid the current issue, I am slowly but surely getting back to the task at hand. Coincidentally, this involves me getting dressed because I’m not fighting a creature one-tenth of my size whilst semi-nude. I’m not into fighting anything semi-nude, even though I’m currently doing just that with the need to go back to sleep, but the bookshop needs me. And it needs me fully dressed. I pull out any clothes that will do for today, including a pair of leggings and a long t-shirt dress. Throwing my coppery locks in a messy bun, I’m ready to get the hell out of Dodge. Not before I feed Lucius though.

  The morning after the night before is always worse than anticipated, and currently worse than expected. How much did I actually drink last night? I’ve never been affected this much by half a bottle of wine before. Shaking my head to clear my senses has the opposite effect, as it only disorients me more. Now my whole house is swimming around my head and my stomach is feeling a tad queasy. I should really sit down.

  But Lucius’s Hell-fox hissing cuts through the morning after haze, and the world quickly stops spinning. Tugging a long cardigan on over my t-shirt dress, I make my way not-so-silently into the front room. With the intention of going straight to the kitchen to feed the small, yet occasionally feral beast, when I am stopped in m
y pursuit. The sight I witness stops my feet from moving forward another inch. I’ve definitely pulled a Leonardo DiCapico moment. With the help of Winter and Mika, of course. I can’t remember shit.

  Wine bottles litter the floor like party-popper confetti. There must have been at least fifteen bottles on the floor. I swear Mika and Winter only bought six... Now, I’m not good at maths, so that means Mika found the vintage of wine I had stashed. Goddamnit. My vintage bottles, which would have been stood up in a neat row along the side of the armchair I adore, are thrown across the room like shrapnel from a bomb. One is even smashed into tiny little glass fragments, the light hits them from the window and casts a glitter ball effect all over the room. Cute. I remember the bottles being there of course, I remember how many I drank, but it’s the shattering of glass that escapes my memory. Probably happened when I was hauling Mika’s ass. Although cleaning this should really be a main priority, I’m going to be really late if I do it now and I’m already late as it is. Considering this was Mika’s idea, she can clean it.

  Grabbing Lucius’ bowl from the floor, I quickly fill it up with some chicken from the fridge. That way, he won’t hate me as much. He’s probably plotting from the safe confines of his cave my eternal downfall, prolonged solitude, or some way for my life to deteriorate dramatically. I’m sure if he had a working voicebox, he’d curse me to high Hell and fart in my face. Grabbing the notepad, I quickly scribble a note for Mika on it and leave it on the side propped up against the kettle. Tea is her first priority whether hungover or not so she should see it.

  Speaking of Mika, I better check she and Wint are okay, considering I just threw them into bed and shut the door on them. Just a quick peek to check that they haven’t choked on their own vomit. Less about vomit. Oh god, there’s my stomach turning again. Padding gently across the room, avoiding bottles like laser beams in a stealth mission, I quickly open the door to the spare room and peek in.

  Mika and Winter have somehow managed to wiggle out of their clothes during the night, and they’ve cuddled up and climbed under the covers. Thankfully, there’s no appendages on show, otherwise I may have been blinded for life. Although this kind of feels like I’m being a pervert, watching two partially-naked people sleep so I’m leaving those two to recover from the hangover of a lifetime. Mika may fare better than Winter, but they both will be experiencing something slightly awkward when they wake. I swear I’m meant to be doing something right now… Aha! I seriously need to get to the bookshop. Dead authors are calling me and I must continue my duty by remembering them.

  Leaving my quaint cottage and shutting the door gently behind me, I make my way down the street towards the center of the town where my eerie bookshop resides. The air is chilly out here, but not cold enough that I would choose to wear a winter coat over a cardigan. The trees surrounding the edge of the village are still going through their winter phase and in a month or three, they’ll be slowly shifting into their spring bloom. A sea of green that invades the village is a wonderful sight mid-March, but nothing compares to the mismatched amounts of red, orange and yellow in Autumn. Warm tones cut through the center of town and make it look as if the town is on fire. The walkways and roads appear as though there’s lava flowing through them. That, or someone has thrown a large quantity of rubies, yellow topaz stones and hessonite garnets on the ground, decorating the streets in vivid colour.

  I notice that there’s a large tree to the side of the bookstore, one that I may not have previously noticed. It makes the store look more sinister than it is; especially in the early morning. Maybe I should start blaming nature for my increased out-of-season sales. Though it only seems fitting that the woman who lives in the ‘haunted house’ also owns the ‘haunted bookshop’ I think the kooky-spooky look is cute and quaint. But I can just imagine it now - the kids gathered around during the summer, whispering heated questions...

  “Isn’t that house haunted?” One spotty youth whispers to another.

  “Yeah, I heard someone died there,” the kid with the glasses says.

  “The walls are coated in blood!” The smallest of the group shouts.

  “The l-lady who lives there is in l-love with the devil” stutters the only girl.

  “I dare you to run up to the door, knock on it and run away,” the ringleader comments.

  “No way!” shouts the boy from before as he pushes the glasses back up his nose.

  It’d be like all those bad movies Mika makes me sit through when we take our cinema trip every other week. Although I’m reluctant to let my home and shop step into the modern age.

  Mika was gobsmacked that I didn’t own a phone when she met me. We came to an agreement that if she ever needed me, she was to invite herself to my cottage at any time of the night or day, whether I was there or not. A note on the table was an effective means of communication. I would happily learn about the modern day lifestyle to keep up with her, but I drew the line at getting a mobile phone. Not happening. Though she still badgers on about those bloody phones!

  The lessons on modern day functions helped with the bookstore. We now had the ability to order online and receive orders. Couldn’t do that a few years ago. Reaching the sticky door, I kick it with my Chucks as I push, and it opens with a loud groan - the bookstore’s own version of a “good morning, hello” or a haunting “get out, leave now”. A familiar welcome, a possible threat, but always a constant sound that adds to the authenticity of the shop itself.

  It’s dark and dingy until I turn the lights on. I know I’m late and hurriedly switch the sign round to allow any passersby to wander in, announced only by the groaning door. Unfortunately, today is bill day. That means I’m officially hiding out in the back room and sorting out the rent payments and stock amounts until I can say “I did a lot of work today”, shut the shop and go home. Favourite part of my day, for me especially, but probably for anyone else who holds down a stable business as well.

  It might have been days since I decided to attempt to tame the beast that is my finances for the month, but I’m getting nowhere fast when I hear the front door open. No need for a bell, the door groans by itself to signal the arrival of a guest.. I hear the scuffle of shoes on the welcome mat as the individual wipes dirt and debris off of their shoes. At least they have manners and courtesy in an unappreciated book shop. Ignoring the potential customer for the moment, I attempt to finish the last couple of financial issues I seem to have accumulated when the bell on the counter rings once.

  I can’t stop myself from groaning, but I do lift myself out of my second-hand, charity shop chair to serve the only customer I’ve had today, and probably, the only customer I’ll have all week. Walking out from the back room, I notice a man standing there. Odd. He’s facing the window, whilst holding a couple of books in his hand, like he’s patiently waiting for the store assistant to arrive. Which is.. Uh… Me?

  Stepping behind the counter, I put a small smile on my face, pretending to be the best customer service assistant ever ,“Hello. How can I help you today?” I’m not prepared for the multiple shocks that goes through my body when the gentleman turns to face me. Gentleman? He must be the better side of twenty. He’s built lean like a swimmer, with broad shoulders that makes him look like Superman. As his eyes lock onto mine, his dark blue eyes burn into my pale green ones without conviction. As a small smile graces the side of his mouth, I knew that this guy wasn’t a town resident.

  “Hey, I’m looking for the third book in this series…” He holds up two books, the first two in the series.

  However, these books came from the dirty section - it’s a series I’m currently in the middle of reading. Thankfully, it hasn’t reached its peak in the sexy scenes department. I try not to blush.

  “I’m afraid she’s only released those two at the moment.” I gaze from the books to him, “As soon as she releases the next one, we’ll get it as I have it on pre-order.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realise.” He frowns as he looks at the blurb on the first book,
“Have you started this series?”

  “U-Uh... yes...” I’m stammering. Shit. “It’s very good so far, but I’m not giving potential spoilers so don’t ask.”

  “That’s fine.” He smiles as he places the books on the counter. “I’ll just take these for now and I’ll come back when the next book comes in”.

  As I’m ringing the books up, I ask him the all-important question. “You don’t look familiar.” I pause. “Are you from around here?”

  I pass him the bag and as he takes it, he replies. “No, me and my brothers are here because of the dragon’s gold. I’m guessing you’ve heard of it?”

  “Ah I see. The town legend, huh?” I do that odd laugh that everyone knows is fake. “Well, I hope you find something.”

  “We’re gonna be here for a while I think.” He moves the bag with the books he purchased from his right hand to his left, extending his free hand towards me. “My names Finnegan, Finn for short.” As I grab his hand in mine, he adds, “Nice to meet you…?”

  I know he’s waiting on a name, so I hand it over with a shake, “Remi.”

  His small smile widens so it stretches across his face, almost meeting his eyes in a sexy, smoldering version of a chelsea smile. Those blue eyes hold a humorous glint, as if there’s an inside joke with himself that I’m not privy to. “Nice to meet you Remi, see you later.”

  His hand lets go of mine as he turns towards the door and that’s when I notice it. The cigar smoke smell. Except it’s not cigar smoke; it’s the familiar, long lost smell of fresh smoke and ashes.

  Shit. I think I just met a Dragon.

  Fuck.

  I’m fucked.

  I’ve never been more fucked in my entire life.

  As Finn leaves the store, I not so subtly run to the back room and slam the door behind me. Leaning against it, I allow myself to start panicking. Dragons are in Stonehold. There haven’t been any dragons, in this town, in all the years that I’ve lived here. That’s why it’s a safe place and a haven. Now it’s been compromised by four fucking stupid bastard dragons. It’s all become a nightmare as my little slice of heaven has become a literal hell. Did I mention I have serious anger issues?