Blood of the Dragon

by Jay D Pearson

  Suddenly, his muscles tensed and goosebumps exploded up and down his arms so that the hairs stood straight out. Frantically he scanned the sky again, spotting it instantly: a huge, monstrous black shape, long and snake-like, with what looked like broad wings. It blocked out the stars as it glided above his house. It was clearly no plane, and impossibly big for a bat. It wheeled twice, circling as if hunting for something.

  Or someone, he thought, and huddled behind the curtain. He glanced at his desk where the scale was hidden, wondering if that was what the monster was searching for. When he glanced back up, whatever the thing was had disappeared. He waited at the window, not daring to move in case it was hiding, but it did not return. Finally, he crawled back into bed, pulling the sheets over his head.

  The sun was already up when awoke the following morning, stumbling groggily into the bathroom. Carlos was examining his chin in the mirror, as if a sixth-grader could already have whiskers.

  “Woah, Miguel!” exclaimed his brother, looking him up and down. “You look awful! Did you stay up playing a game last night?”

  He turned to the mirror. Dark circles outlined his eyes as if he’d been punched and his orange hair stuck out in more directions than normal. He instantly remembered his dream about the beast. At least, he was certain he had dreamed it, but then he remembered the scale.

  Ignoring Carlos’s shouts, he raced back to his window, staring out in all directions, then yanked open his desk drawer. The scale was where he’d left it. He reached out tentatively, lightly stroking its ridged top. It was still faintly warm.

  “What are you looking at?” said his brother, reaching past him and grabbing the scale away. He tried to stop him, but Carlos was too fast.

  “Wow, this is cool! Did you get this from Grandpa?”

  He thought quickly, then nodded, praying that his brother would not go blabbing about it to their parents. Carlos turned it over a couple more times, but quickly lost his fascination and tossed it back.

  “Dad’s making waffles. You coming down soon?”

  His stomach rumbled at the mere thought of his dad’s Mexican waffles, which were always delicious, but on the Friday after Thanksgiving, they’d be topped with his mom’s turkey and Grandma Sabina’s mole sauce. It was his favorite non-Irish breakfast of the year. He glanced back out the window.

  Did I really see that thing last night? Could there be another scale outside somewhere?

  “Go ahead, Carlos. I’ll be there in a bit. I need to check something first.”

  He threw on clothes as soon as his brother had left, ignoring his hair, and snuck out, creeping his way to the front door.

  Why does it matter so much if mom and dad find out about the scale?

  He knew his fear made no sense. At the same time, some sense warned him to not tell anyone else. Carefully, he opened the door, sidled through, and closed it as quietly as possible. He wandered around the front yard, examining the carefully manicured lawn and rock gardens, even peering at the wide branches of the acacia trees, but could see nothing. Then he realized that if he took his breakfast outside, he could check the backyard without drawing suspicion.

  His dad was cleaning up the waffle maker by the time he snuck back in.

  “Morning, bud!” his dad said brightly as he entered the kitchen. Carlos and his mom were eating at the table, still pulled out to its full length from yesterday, while Isabel played with her purple plush octopus on the floor. He breathed deeply, enjoying the smell rising from the stack of fresh cornmeal waffles. Bowls with shredded turkey and leftover mole sauce joined the waffles, and he promptly filled his plate regardless of how much he’d eaten the day before.

  “I’m going to eat by the pool, okay?”

  “Sure, honey,” said his mom.

  “I’ll join you,” said his dad. It was the last thing he wanted but was careful not to let his father see disappointment.

  The two of them sat at the wet bar, which let them look across the yard and the pool. He tried not to ignore his dad, but he couldn’t help but scan every inch of the yard as he ate, his eyes searching for any sign of another scale.

  “Grandpa said you found something unusual,” his dad said casually, and he nearly jumped.

  “Um…really?” he said between bites.

  “He thought maybe somebody had taken it from the Science Center.”

  There was no sense pretending, but something held him back from saying what he thought.

  Who’d believe me anyways? There’s no such creature. It had to be a dream!

  “Yeah, Grandpa said it looked like it had been made for the dinosaur exhibit. It’s pretty worn out, though.”

  “Where’d you find it, Miguel?”

  “It…it was just lying around. It’s all faded and everything. It doesn’t look new at all.”

  “How come you didn’t show me?”

  “Well,” he said slowly, “I thought it was some old Native leather thing. Grandpa knows all about those, so I just asked him instead. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

  His dad studied him, his face serious, and he tried to look as innocent as possible. If his dad started asking much more, he’d end up talking about his weird power or Balor, and he definitely didn’t want to talk to his parents about that.

  Finally, his dad said, “Yeah, that’s okay. I just have to check. It’s a dad thing, you know?”

  He nodded, and his dad started talking about the Arizona Cardinals and their big game on Sunday against Seattle. He didn’t really care too much but was so relieved his dad hadn’t pursued the scale any further that he chatted more about football than he had since the season had started.

  Finally, their plates empty, his dad took their dirty dishes in, leaving Miguel alone in the backyard. He glanced through the patio door into the kitchen. No one was paying attention, so he quickly rose and walked around the pool, his eyes scanning the yard, but especially the area around the grotto. However, he did not find a thing.

  It had to have been a dream! That thing couldn’t be real! Try as he might, however, he wasn’t convinced that what he’d seen hadn’t been real.

  Chapter 15

  The Boy

  Four days away from school seemed to be the break everyone had needed. Burton Peña, Michael Black, and the rest of the bullies grumbled and glared a lot from whatever wall they leaned against. Even when Mr. Matthews returned, they left Miguel and Javier alone. That, of course, was all he had ever wanted.

  He tried to bury himself in his school work, even studying during lunch some days, anything to avoid thinking about his dream or his power. He stuck the scale at far back of his desk drawer as if his life would return to normal if he didn’t see it.

  The first Thursday after Thanksgiving, he slunk to his usual seat at the back of the bus, ignoring Burton’s menacing stare, and collapsed. It had been a long day of tests in Algebra and English, and he still had to finish his World History report that was due the next morning.

  As the bus pulled away from his middle school, he rubbed his eyes wearily, glancing across the street at his old red brick elementary. A large, pale green cactus loomed like a sentry outside the fence, plump round branches sticking out like arms. A man leaned against it, his long black oilskin duster protecting him from the spines. Miguel started at the sight of the man’s hair: it was thick and grey. Then the man’s face turned towards him. A patch covered the right eye, bangs hiding the strap. The scar beneath the eyepatch seemed to glow.

  Carlos and his buddies laughed suddenly, but the sound was muted, fading away faster than it should. He wanted to hide, or at least drop down in his seat. His body rejected the instructions his mind tried to send. Then Balor’s good eye met his. Even from this distance, he could feel that icy gaze, and his power stirred deep in his belly.

  Balor nodded once at him, flipped his collar up, then turned away. Miguel’s eyes followed the man as the bus drove away, making sure that he didn’t magically disappear like before. Balor was still walking the opposite di
rection when the bus turned a corner. Sound returned in full and he sat up, startled, a bit groggy as if he’d woken suddenly in the middle of a lecture.

  His stomach rumbled as if he was hungry, but he knew better. His power wriggled in his belly, reminding him more of his mom’s tummy when she was pregnant with Isabel. He breathed deeply, and that calmed it, but he still trembled weakly.

  He wondered what Balor had wanted with him, why he’d appeared someplace where they couldn’t talk. If the man had wanted to scare him, he’d done it well. By the time he arrived home, he was still shaking a bit, and disappeared into his room with only a quick kiss for his sister and barely a hello to his mom.

  For an hour, he stared at his outline, unable to even write a topic sentence about the rise of totalitarianism in Europe following World War I. Instead his mind wrapped around Balor, his mom, and his family who had been murdered. Finally, he pulled open his desk drawer, reaching for the scale.

  It was warmer than normal, and he wondered if Balor had triggered the change, or maybe his own power. For a few minutes, he turned it over and over, running his fingers along the smooth edges and ridged sides. His body calmed and the fear that had stymied him stilled.

  Placing the scale next to his laptop, he began to write. The words somehow flowed, and he was halfway done by the time his brother burst through the bathroom door to tell him dinner was ready. He left the scale sitting there, returning immediately after he’d washed the dishes, and finishing his report before 9 pm. He didn’t even bother re-reading it, knowing instinctively it was the best report he’d ever written. Instead he stared at the scale for some time, wondering when he should ask his mom about it, and when Balor would appear again. Then he turned off his lights and sat by his window, watching the sky to see if the flying beast would reappear, finally giving up when his parents came in to kiss him goodnight.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The following three mornings, he got up, determined to talk to his mom about the scale, but by the time he walked into the kitchen, his resolve had faded. He continued to watch for the beast each night but was becoming more and more certain his Thanksgiving dream had been brought on by too much rich food. There’d been no more sign of Balor, and his power remained dormant.

  As they exited St. Augustine Cathedral following Sunday Mass, however, Balor was there, leaning against the lamppost on the far side of the street. Their eyes met before he and his family had taken five steps out of the church. He froze as the one-eyed man nodded at him. His power squirmed in his belly like a mouse caught in a cat’s claw, unable to free itself.

  His whole family halted and stared at him.

  “Is something wrong, bud?” his dad asked, clearly concerned.

  He turned to his mom, wanting to spill out everything about Balor and his power, but his mouth refused to work.

  She frowned for a moment, then her eyes widened as if she suddenly understood something. She whirled towards where he had been looking. He and the rest of his family followed her gaze, but Balor was gone, and Miguel wondered if he’d really seen the man or if his imagination had simply run wild.

  Before his mom could start asking questions, he said, “It’s all right, I’m okay. I just… felt sick for a moment.”

  His dad chuckled. “You gave me a scare, bud. Your face turned white.”

  His mom stared at him, then grabbed his chin, frowning severely as their eyes met. Her other hand felt his forehead.

  “You feel normal,” she said slowly, but he could hear the suspicion in her voice.

  “C’mon,” exclaimed Carlos impatiently, grabbing their mom’s arm and breaking her penetrating stare. “We’re going to miss kickoff if we stand here all day.”

  He blew out a long breath, relieved, but wondering how long it would be before his mom cornered him.

  His dad and Carlos jabbered excitedly about the Cardinals playing in Denver and what it meant for the playoffs as they walked to the nearby parking garage. He forced himself to pay attention, allowing the distraction to keep his mom from asking any questions. However, as they drove down the ramp, his eyes alighted on a black sedan parked near the entrance. The side windows were tinted, but not the windshield.

  He knew even before he looked that Balor was sitting behind the steering wheel, but this time their eyes did not meet. Then he looked at his mom. She was rigid and he knew not only that she’d seen him, but that she knew him, just as Balor had said. Her head snapped back and she stared out the window. He did not know if she felt the same fear he did, but she was clearly not happy to have seen the one-eyed man.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Strangely, the whole family watched the entire Cardinals’ game, and he and his mom cheered just as loudly as his dad and Carlos when Arizona scored the winning touchdown with less than 30 seconds left, then intercepted Denver’s Hail Mary on the final play. Strange, because he and his mom rarely watched more than a quarter before getting bored. Strange also because she sat in dad’s recliner rather than snuggled up next to him.

  Their eyes never met, and she disappeared into the kitchen as soon as it was over. Without any homework, he closed himself in his room, pulled out the scale, and set it next to his computer like a good luck charm before immersing himself in a video game. He kept expecting his mom to quietly open his door the entire afternoon but saw no one until his dad came in to announce dinner was ready. He checked his score one last time before rising: it was his highest ever.

  His mom continued to avoid any serious conversation with him not just that evening, but for the next week. There was no more sign of Balor, however, and gradually their routines returned to normal. Within a few days, he was no longer taking the scale out and his power settled like a hibernating bear.

  Dialogue between he and his mom returned to what it had been before that strange night at the All Soul’s Procession. However, any discussion of the weird things happening to him—let alone any mention of Balor—was left unsaid.

  Instead, she busied herself with decorating the house for Christmas so that by the start of Las Posadas, star-shaped piñatas, red and white candles, luminarias, and other handmade decorations covered almost every open space in the great room. A large nativity set made by Grandpa Gad took up one prominent corner and the tree the other. The tree was the only trimming not done in traditional bright Hispanic colors; it was decked out with silver and gold ornaments, all painted with green shamrocks and hearts, or pots of gold and leprechauns with faces like snowmen.

  He had never seen the house so thoroughly decorated. He must have dusted every cross and crucifix his parents had ever owned; they were now as prominent as family pictures on the walls. They did not remind him of Christ as much as they did of his mom’s face when she had seen Balor in the parking garage.

  The holiday spirit seemed to have infected his school more than usual as well. Teachers tried to cram in as much homework and as many tests before the break as possible, but spent more time struggling to keep the students focused than on any actual teaching. By the last day of class before the holidays, his English teacher gave up completely, showing them old Monty Python clips on YouTube rather than another grammar test, and his Algebra teacher held an impromptu math tournament ending with the winner getting to break a piñata.

  The good cheer of the school day ended abruptly for him, however, as he and Javier walked through the hallway towards the parking lot. Javier’s mom was going to take them and a couple of other friends to their favorite downtown arcade for the afternoon.

  The other two boys were waiting outside the admin office, but as he and Javier drew near, a low voice in a raspy whisper called his name. He froze. The chatter of his friends quieted and light dimmed except for a single glow to his right. Slowly he was turned towards the gleam as if some invisible hand forced him.

  For a moment, he was vaguely aware his friends were oblivious to his predicament. Then Balor was there in his long oilskin duster, leaning against the wall outside the office. Miguel found himself unab
le to move as the good eye examined him up and down like some prize racehorse.

  “You are almost ready to learn, boy. It will not be long now.”

  Miguel’s tongue suddenly loosened. Despite his fear, he blurted, “My mother knows you.”

  Balor nodded. “As I said.”

  “She wasn’t happy to see you. Why?”

  The one-eyed man pursed his lips briefly, then asked, “Do you think I killed her family?”

  “Y…yes,” he stammered.

  Balor regarded him for several seconds before responding.

  “I look the part, don’t I, but I am going to disappoint you. It was not me, although I know who the killers are.”

  “You do? Are they dead?”

  “No, but they are not free. They will escape their prison soon, however, and then they will come to finish what they started.”

  “What do you mean? Do you mean they want to kill us, too?”

  But Balor did not answer him. “Your mother and I have only spoken a handful of times, boy, and none of the conversations was pleasant. The last time, I told her I could ensure they would never escape their prison, but only with her help. She did not believe me. She thinks she is strong enough to stop them when they come. She is not, boy, and neither am I. The two of us together are no longer adequate.”

  In that moment, Miguel understood what Balor was hinting at. Fear filled him and for a moment he thought it would drown him.

  “Yes, boy, it is your power I am after. I told you before that you are unique and special. I did not tell you how special. Unless you learn how to develop and control your gift, you will not be strong enough to defeat the killers either. Your mother won’t teach you, because it will force her to admit truths about herself that even your father does not know. She knows truths about me as well. Those truths frighten her. That is why I must teach you. If you do not learn, your family and mine will all perish when the killers break free of their prison.”