Speedo Down

by Winnie Winkle

  “Piss off, you rancid urchin. The sea offers a rough life and a short one.”

  “The Keeper’s life fits that description. After your bumble-handed attempt to headline her as an entrée at Loboli’s, tell me, what’s your beef with her?”

  “Nothing. She’s not above using deception to get her way, and I respect that. Patra is no Athena; she’ll bend a rule or three.”

  “Nobody said Cleopatra’s a god, but she is an exceptional human. This Keeper is quick and brave.”

  “Brave. Bah. Leads a puny, boring life though. Original love. Who needs it? Why bother? Take pleasures where possible then slip off to Hades, a blip in the creation.”

  “Spoken like a true clown fish. Small lives are capable of big changes. Patra did that twice. You can’t say you’ve bested Zeus, you scurvy pufferfish, can you? He put you in the forever vacation in Tartarus where you sat and fiddled with crabs.”

  Poseidon heaved another tuna. “Hey! Eel wanker! The reason you aren’t still stuck mewling in the void is because of the so-called puny life you’re trying to set up as wolf bait. Stop thinking you have the answers, Nereus. The worlds’ changed while you were chilling.”

  “Harrumph.”

  “You cheat at cards, you twist lives, and you’re fine with blowing the creation apart to salvage a bet. Don’t be a floater; get on the right side of this.”

  Another unsuspecting fish landed at Poseidon’s feet. He murmured to it and pushed it back through the wall.

  Nereus looked up with a frown. “What’d you say?”

  “Nothing.” Poseidon shrugged, picking up a surprised grouper.

  Nereus started a game of solitaire, staring at the cards as Poseidon whispered to the fish before pushing it through and saving its life.

  “Find Keto.”

  Dracena sat in the shady glen, pen moving in penitent whirl, writing what she knew the coven expected to read. Deep, thoughtful, extrapolated, and apologetic.

  It was total bullshit.

  If the order of things unfolded properly, Dracena would stand as High Priestess with Chelsea scraping and bowing like a proper, subservient plebe. Instead, that night in the sacred space, the ribbon of smoke rose in a twisting rope, hovered over Dracena before rocketing across the circle and drilling into Chelsea’s heart. Gone was the chance for tremendous, innate magical ability, and lost was the opportunity for power and control. Now she couldn’t dally with a man without dealing with Chelsea’s crap.

  A faint pop and Glenna appeared.

  “Witch Dracena, the coven awaits your presence.”

  Another pop and Dracena sat alone in the glen, the soft light blurring the surrounding greenery to shades of greens and greys with the occasional happy flower peeking toward the sun. Resentment radiated, and she surveyed the tranquil scene, distilling her anger into purpose, and rose.

  “I’ll play her game this time, but not for much longer,” she told the trembling flowers, and snapped.

  The cool night air filled Drago’s lungs as he and Campe soared in the Mexican midnight.

  “Concentrate on taking stronger downbeats, then hold and soar,” Campe called. “You’ll use less overall energy and gain chest strength. Long distance flying requires balancing your stamina while using currents and winds to your advantage.”

  Drago nodded. For once, a useful lesson. The yammering about the darkness, balance, and peacemaking crap was an ass ache.

  “There’s a cow!” Drage scooped his wings and dove.

  Campe, spiraling, cut him off and knocked him sideways.

  “What the hell!” Drago glared as the frightened bovine bellowed and lights blinked on in the small farmhouse.

  Campe blew out a sigh, climbing. This demi was a slow learner, but his potential was worth the colossal pain in the tail he’d become.

  “Do I have your attention?”

  “Why, Campe? Did I hit a nerve?”

  A brutal hind claw sliced inches from Drago’s balls.

  “I missed by choice. Next time I won’t.”

  Agony radiating throughout his core, Drago moaned.

  “Again, do I have your addle-brained attention?”

  “Yes, Master Campe.”

  “Dragons must eat, as does every creature of the creation. But we are superior to them, and within that role, we have laws.”

  Drago gritted his teeth and nodded.

  “Never take a meal from the poor. A large, profitable cattle farm lies a hundred miles from here. We fly, grab one cow, and return to the cenote. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “As a demi, it’s not important that you breed. Keep that in mind.”

  “Shit,” Drago muttered as the small farms flashed below them.

  Eleven witches stood in the clearing as Dracena materialized and paused, shocked. Every coven had set patterns for each member’s position, depending on the situation.

  For a reckoning, the coven waits in a hexagram, with the High Priestess standing at the northern point and two witches each occupying the remaining five points. In this configuration, the offending witch stands in the center, grilled without mercy regarding her behavior. At the end, the group formed a circle, similar to a clock, with twelve witches in position. While it was possible to be demoted during this ceremony, its purpose was to air the grievance and release it.

  The witches faced her in a tight, eleven person circle. The configuration of death.

  “Surely I deserve the opportunity to speak my truth,” Dracena called, fright coloring her voice for the first time.

  The witch to Chelsea’s left spoke. “Your choices are not an aberration, but a chosen pattern. You place yourself above the coven.”

  She turned her back to Dracena and faced the center of the circle.

  The next witch spoke. “In my time of one hundred thirty years, you are the only known witch placing her own interests above creating and protecting our knowledge.”

  With a swoosh of skirts, she spun away, facing the circle’s center.

  Witch after witch spoke before turning until two witches, Glenna and Chelsea, remained.

  “Your anger at not being selected as High Priestess colors your decisions and leads you astray. This was a hurt that you should have released decades ago. The cauldron chooses and has always chosen. Your heart is black with resentment, and it fogs your mind. You harbor imbalance within and worse, enjoy it. We cannot help you,” Glenna gazed at Dracena and turned away.

  “Dracena,” Chelsea began, “your ten coven mates have spoken. Henceforth, you walk the world covenless, your protections pulled, and your life your own. Any witch that witnesses you acting against magical law can strike you dead and will. We broadcasted your disrespect to every coven; none shall accept you.” The wind picked up and blew Chelsea’s hair.

  Dracena shook, a sense of disbelief mixing with dread.

  “It was nothing! A trifling. The kitterling overreacted.”

  “You placed your hand on the penis of the Keeper’s original love, uninvited. You brewed and attempted to pull the child away, sparking her kitterling, and you interfered with the Keeper’s safety within her home, a space protected by magical law.” Chelsea snapped and pictures of the offenses rotated around Dracena. “You dare not deny it.”

  “I don’t deny it!” Dracena cried out, knowing she was lost.

  “Step to the center,” Chelsea ordered.

  Dracena settled her shoulders and lifted her chin, marching into the circle.

  “Dracena, you no longer bear the title of Witch, and we banish you to the fringes of the magical community to live the rest of your time in dishonor and chaos.”

  Chelsea rejoined the ten; then the eleven witches raised their arms.

  “Finite!”

  Dracena disappeared.

  A wolf stepped onto the patio, and Loboli glanced up and crooked a finger.

  “A witch is at the gate. She asks to speak to you.”

  “Interesting. Send her to me. Scare her, I want her off guard
.”

  The sentry nodded and slipped around the home, shifting and charging the single woman waiting at the bottom of the drive.

  “Why do you think that’s going to frighten me? I can snap and disappear at will.”

  The wolf shifted and opened the double gate. “It’s still fun.”

  Dracena laughed and followed him to the back patio.

  “Loboli, I have no coven and an axe to grind. I believe you and I could reach an accord.”

  “No coven? What in Hades did you do?”

  “Oh, I tried to bust up the Keeper’s home. In hindsight, I should have rocked it harder.”

  “That took balls.” Loboli rose and filled a glass with water and gestured to the fruit tray. “Afternoon snack? It appears we have business to discuss.”

  “Delighted,” Dracena sipped, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

  Chapter Twenty

  I rolled over on the bedroom floor as Ballard pulled me into his arms.

  “What happened? Did you trip?”

  “It’s my knee. I took a step, and it didn’t hold me. The foot and hip aren’t communicating.”

  We looked at my knee’s red, raised skin, covered with taunt, angry blisters.

  “Think it could be Dracena’s doing? It looks like a hex.”

  Ballard shook his head. “No. Your knee bothered you before she arrived. You hurt it in Russia, Babe, when you knelt on that stone, negotiating with Campe. My hunch is radiation poisoning.”

  I reached up and tapped the Gaelic friendship charm I wore around my neck. With a faint pop, Chelsea materialized next to us. She looked rough.

  “What?”

  I pointed to my knee. “We think it’s radiation poisoning from Chernobyl. I can’t walk. Can you or Glenna help me?”

  Chelsea ran her hands through her hair. It wasn’t an improvement.

  “No. Radiation is a primordial material, from the time of creation’s initiation. Only Clep could heal you. Well, any god, I suppose, but he’s the one who enjoys healing.”

  “Apollo told me the gods won’t help me. Crap. I never thought I’d die a slow death from radiation. Whoever had that on their Olympic bingo card must be happy as hell.”

  “Patra, I’ll petition Clep for you, but no promises. For now, I’m dealing with a situation.” She looked at me, worry creasing her flawless skin. “I’ll be in touch.”

  With a snap, she vanished.

  High above the cattle yard, the dragons circled to the lowing and shuffling as the herd settled into groups, enjoying the cooler night air.

  “Never separate a calf from a mother, never take the dominant bulls. Our point is to eat, not inflict disrespect on either the human or the animal,” Campe called. “Show me who you’d choose.”

  Drago checked the herd, stomach growling, and pointed a claw to a group of six clustered together.

  “A reasonable choice. Watch and learn.”

  Campe swooped low, doing a single pass to get the cattle moving, then made a sharp cut back and caught the one that separated from the group. The kill was swift and clean.

  “Never choose pain and agony. Show gratitude for the life taken for sustenance. This is our lore. To be the oldest race means our wisdom and ways set precedence for the world. Even death must encompass peace.”

  Drago, flying behind Campe, rolled his eyes. As top dog, how he took a life didn’t matter. He could, whenever he wanted. That’s a power Drago could get behind, big time.

  Circling into the cenote, the pair landed and feasted.

  “Man, I love beef,” Drago said, swallowing a huge chunk of meat. “This is a good life.”

  “We eat to live. Every creature does. Kill only what you consume. Never disrespect the creation, nor the efforts of each to survive.”

  Drago chewed, deciding silence was his best option. The constant blah, blah, blah of lore Campe kept pushing on him was bullshit, but for now, he knew learning to use this incredible body took priority. Once he mastered it, he’d slice Campe’s balls off for fun, take off, and see how much power that Keeper and those witches had when he fried their brains. Shifters, too. What’s a wolf got he didn’t? Nothing, that’s what.

  After a life of rejection as nothing more than a low life redneck from the South, he had genuine power. And they’d pay. He’d fill the air with death until these smug assholes bowed, pitiful and terrified. Because he could, and pity was a joke. Stupid fuckers.

  In the cenote’s gloom, Drago grinned.

  Poseidon stared at the water wall, no longer flowing.

  “She’s botching it,” Nereus chortled. “Gin.”

  Poseidon waved a hand in irritation. “Temporary setback.”

  “The lies we tell ourselves, amirite, crabbies?” Nereus laughed as the little crabs clicked.

  “Something changed,” Poseidon mused. “Without being interconnected with the world, I’m not sure whether it portends Patra missing the mark or her opponent gaining strength.”

  “Maybe both.” Nereus shuffled the cards. “Either way, we’re sunk if she can’t get in front of it and tame that fire.”

  “Stuck forever in time with your ancient barnacle butt? No thanks.” Poseidon poked the wall and wondered what the hell was up with his Keeper.

  “Tonight, you make the kill.” Campe nodded as they circled a different ranch.

  Drago eyed the cows, hungry, chose his victim and dropped, hurtling downward like a stone, smashing onto the animal, breaking its legs. As the cow bleated in terror, Drago lifted off, loving the struggling fear writhing in his claws. Campe shot below and sliced the animal’s neck, ending its life, before climbing to block Drago.

  “You listen to nothing, absorb no law or lore. You’re a disgrace to the Thundra and to the creation.”

  “Fuck you, Campe. Like I give a shit!” Drago dodged as Campe sliced his hind quarter, hanging onto his dinner as his brain roared in pain.

  “Either learn and follow your lore, or die,” Campe warned. “You cannot hide from the Thundra.”

  Drago swerved, blasting fire, and attacked. Campe feinted and slashed again, leaving an oozing wound on Drago’s neck.

  “You cannot beat me in a fight,” Campe called as Drago flailed, unwilling to drop the dead cow.

  With a groan, Drago wheeled and flapped toward the cenote. He felt weak and needed the meat. Tonight, he’d eat. Tomorrow, he’d kill Campe, fly to the States and take over the world. Shit’s gonna burn.

  “Get your own food!”

  “How’s your knee, Mommy?”

  Propped up on the sectional with the journal on my lap, I read and questioned, trying to find any morsel that might help me with my predicament. I patted the spot next to me, and Aegeus snuggled in, peering at the angry blisters.

  “That looks worse than this morning, Mommy.” She touched a blister, and it deflated.

  “Aegeus! What did you do?”

  “I called the water.”

  “Don’t do that again until I talk to Chelsea, Honey. I don’t want you to get sick, too.”

  “It didn’t hurt me, but that water is bad. You need it out of you.”

  I tapped the friendship charm, but no Chelsea. Crap. My fear was, as a demi, ergo half human, Aegeus was susceptible to radiation sickness. I hugged her tight.

  “As soon as she can come see us, sweetie, we’ll discuss it, you included.”

  “OK, Mommy. I love you.”

  Campe rose, shifting, and eyed the overfed and passed out shadow that was Drago, sleeping off his gorging. Campe settled for a pig, and his pupil’s determination to eat the entire cow, leaving nothing for his teacher, set the tone. Wings moving without sound, he floated above the basin, deciding before rising to the top of the cenote and closing his eyes. For now, they were two, and Campe used the power. Blood thrumming, he sent the call.

  Drago woke, admiring his protruding gut, before realizing he was alone. Good news, and unexpected, but it sucked he couldn’t beat Campe to a pulp before getting the hell out of M
exico. Bowels rumbling, Drago took a mighty dump and shot up and through the cenote’s top. Free.

  The sun slipped below the horizon as Drago flew in the Mexican sky. Below him, an old, boring town lit up, small boxes of light against the darkness. Drago circled, eyeing the enormous church with beggars crouched at its immense, arched doorway, the open square with courting benches. The scents of cooking filled his snout.

  “Peasants. Tiny meaningless lives. Y’all are about to make the papers,” Drago laughed. Below him, a figure in black closed the mammoth, carved wooden doors to the great cathedral.

  “Nice. Kinda poetic,” Drago murmured. “Even Jesus dropped a peg in this new world order.”

  Flames blasting from his throat, he descended, igniting the church, the square, and the few poor souls on the street in an ever-burning hellfire.

  Unbeknownst to him, Dracena popped onto an uninvolved rooftop, viewed the carnage, smirked, and snapped.

  “Your sense of humor is lacking.” Loboli eyed the witch.

  “I know what I saw. That demi dragon isn’t interested in aligning with dragons, he’s burning everything he comes in contact with, and he loves it.”

  “Why align with us? What’s in it for him?”

  “He’s beat up, sporting several deep words. My guess is whichever dragon found him can’t teach him a damn thing. Stubborn, we can use. While not aligned with the Thundra, he’s still a full-shifting fire-power. As a single against them, he’s toast; he needs an alliance, Loboli. Otherwise, based on lore we, well, that bitch Chelsea’s coven amassed, they’ll hunt and kill him. Dragons have a low tolerance for traitors.”

  “Witches too, it appears.” Loboli stared out across the sea. “Have you contacted the mer?”

  “Not yet. As a water species, they may be unable or unwilling to fight. I’ve heard that humans born under water signs are either sick or hiding. A big shift beckons.”

  Loboli drummed his fingers on the table as the silence stretched.