Blood of the Dragon

by Jay D Pearson

  “I don’t see why not. You’ve got your cell, don’t you?”

  As he held up his phone as proof, his dad reached into his wallet and pulled out a pair of twenties.

  “Get your mother something nice, okay? Then call me, and I’ll take you boys to Olive Garden.”

  “Thanks, dad!”

  “Can I have money too, dad?” asked Carlos, one hand extended.

  “You are sticking with me. One of you at least has got to help me find something for her.” Carlos frowned, but their dad was handing his brother some cash as well.

  “You can still pick out your own present for mom, all right? Miguel, we’re headed that way, okay? We’ll see you soon.” His dad pointed towards one end of the mall, leaving the other end for him.

  He was genuinely excited. Somehow, he felt more grown up. His dad trusted him to pick out the right gift without any interference. He’d saved twenty dollars of his own, so now he had sixty, way more than he’d ever expected, and decided a nice piece of jewelry would be the perfect way to show how much he loved her.

  The first shop he tried looked affordable, but he quickly realized this was really stuff for girls and dashed out. Maybe if he ever had a girlfriend, this would be a good place to come, but there was nothing here for a woman.

  He meandered past kiosks, glancing quickly into other stores, and then his eyes spotted a real jewelry shop with glass displays and salespeople wearing suits and dresses. He glanced at his money again, rubbing the paper between his fingers. Maybe, just maybe, he could afford something in there. But would a clerk bother to help a kid with funny red hair?

  “Well,” he told himself, “It can’t be as embarrassing for them to say no as it would be to follow dad around with that panda.” Steeling himself, he edged into the store and up to a display case, moving along slowly from rings to bracelets to pendants.

  “May I help you, boy?” a familiar raspy voice asked. Even as he glanced up, the world froze, and all colors blurred into pastels. Balor stood on the opposite side wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, although his grey hair still hung loose. He was certain the clerk had been older, with dyed black hair and glasses. Instead, Balor’s lone eye now stared at Miguel, and the boy shivered, the cold of their previous meetings returning.

  “What are you doing here?” was all he could think to ask.

  “You are ready after the arcade, aren’t you?” Balor said. “I will be at the park down the street from your house the day after Christmas. Come at nine am, preferably alone. If you must, bring your mother, although it is much too early for her. Your father and brother will not understand.”

  “Bring my mother?” He was confused.

  “Truth finds us all, eventually, boy, although I suppose your mother and I may interpret that differently. Remember, three days, nine, the park by your house, and I will teach you what you need to survive.”

  He stared at the man. The icy feeling still filled him. He should be frightened, but elation was building instead, warming his body. His mother should be the one to teach him about his magic, but he wondered if she really possessed any. Wouldn’t she have started by this time, with all that had happened? Javier’s mom had made certain his mother knew every little detail from the incident at the arcade, and that had scared her too much to be a normal reaction. At least, he thought so. She had to know he had magic. Maybe she didn’t have any. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t been killed. Maybe it was the rest of her family who had it and that’s why they were all dead. It made sense.

  Balor, on the other hand, clearly had some kind of magic. Miguel had no other choice.

  “I’ll be there.”

  The one-eyed man gave a sharp nod, then reached into the display case and said, “I suggest this ring for your mother.” He lifted out a silver ring that coiled until the two ends met almost like serpent heads touching, each with a gem in its open mouth. One gem was black and the other blue, and both sparkled. It was very pretty, but Miguel’s eyes spotted the price immediately: $95.

  As soon as he saw the tag, the world shifted back to normal. He blinked. Balor was gone, replaced by the older man with badly dyed hair he’d seen earlier.

  “Young sir,” the clerk asked, adjusting his glasses, “What do you think of this one?”

  Miguel stared. The salesman held up the same ring Balor had shown him. The price still said $95.

  “I...I don’t have that much money,” he said sadly.

  The clerk frowned.

  “But you’re holding a one-hundred-dollar bill! And I am most certain your mother will love this ring!”

  He glanced down, nearly dropping the wad of cash. He knew moments before he’d only held $60. He thumbed the wad quickly. $160! Where had the extra bill come from?

  A movement just outside the store caught his eye and he noticed a man wearing a black oilskin duster disappearing into the crowded shoppers. Balor wanted him to give this particular ring to his mother. Would she know it was expensive? Would she know what it was about? He thought of what connection his mother had to Balor, that the man knew who had killed her parents and brothers. He was instantly certain that the shape of the ring or the color of the gems had something to do with her family. Maybe it would be a happy token of the family she had lost.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll take it. Can you gift wrap it for me?”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “I just thought it was cool, mom. Why are you crying?”

  Up until now, Christmas Eve couldn’t have gone any better. Even Grandma Sabina had agreed the tamales had come out perfect and Grandpa Gad hadn’t complained once about the clove-studded baked ham. Cousins and aunts and uncles had piled into the house all carting desserts and presents until there was no room on the kitchen island or beneath the tree. Everyone had bundled into warm coats and hats, and even a few wore gloves, then trotted outside to serenade the neighbors with their annual Martinez Family Christmas Caroling. They marched around the block, singing a couple of songs at each house before returning to spicy hot cocoa.

  Opening presents was always loud and furious, with paper and bows strewn all over the living room and kitchen. With infectious joy of the children, even the parents could not resist ripping the wrappings off their gifts.

  As much as he enjoyed the family mayhem, Miguel always preferred to give his Christmas presents privately. He could rarely pull his dad and brother aside, but his grandparents understood, and they both made time to find him by the pool, where he usually retreated. His mom always came out last, a shawl around her shoulders, and he would snuggle up against her.

  This year, however, she had snuggled up to him on the patio couch, and he realized with some pride she was seeing him as more grown up. Other than a brief greeting, they did not speak, but just merely enjoyed each other’s company. He knew his magic was the wall between them, and he had prayed this ring might breach the gap. Instead, she’d held it up and burst into tears.

  “Mom?” he asked again.

  She sniffed. “How did you know, Miguel? Did someone tell you?”

  He frowned. “Tell me what?”

  She glanced down. The ring sat in her open palm, the dark gems sparkling in the patio lights.

  “Blue was my older brother’s favorite color, and black was my younger brother’s. The shape of the silver even looks like…like my family crest.” She turned, her eyes boring into his.

  “Miguel, tell me the truth. Who told you to buy this?”

  For a moment, he almost said Balor, but once more, something held him back. Hadn’t Balor said something about her not being ready yet? Didn’t growing up include protecting her?

  “The salesman, mom.” It was the truth, in this reality. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

  For a moment, she seemed to hesitate, then closed her hand tightly around the ring and hugged him close.

  “It’s beautiful, Miguel,” she whispered in his ear. “I am a very lucky mom to have you as my son.” Then she let him go and sat up straight. “Let’s see how
well this fits, shall we?”

  He’d never seen any jewelry of any sort on her hands except for her wedding ring on her left hand. She held up her right, trying his gift on her ring finger. It fit perfectly.

  “Nice, mom.”

  She smiled warmly as she admired the ring on her hand. “It is very lovely. Thank you.” As she kissed his cheek, the warmth of her smile spread to him. He hadn’t told her the whole truth, but he thought the wall between them had dissipated.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Christmas day passed quietly, just the five of them. Everything seemed back to normal. His mom was once more calm and serene, no longer ignoring him, but he was certain that if he asked any more questions about her family or anything hinting of his magic, she would revert instantly.

  After dinner, his dad plopped down on the sofa next to him where he’d been keeping half an eye his brother’s Avengers movie marathon while reading the book Carlos had bought him. He’d always meant to read The Lord of the Rings, but never had.

  “How’s the story, bud?”

  He shrugged. “It’s the slowest beginning I’ve ever read.”

  His dad chuckled. “That’s why I only watched the movies, although Mom loves it.” He tousled Miguel’s hair.

  “You did well, bud. Your gift for mom, I mean. I haven’t seen her so touched in years. You certainly raised the bar for me.” Then he reached around Miguel’s shoulders, pulling him into a fierce side hug. “Maybe next summer you can come work for me. Ooh, this is the best Marvel scene ever.”

  Miguel glanced at the big screen. Captain America and Iron Man were battling each other. It was a good scene. As it played out, it almost seemed a metaphor for his internal struggle. Was it a good thing he didn’t tell his mom about Balor? Or would it be better to tell her straight out about his magic? But the end of the fight held no answers for him, and he went to bed determined to learn whatever he could from Balor.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  When the next day dawned, it was dreadfully cold. Even the pool water atop the covers had frozen. He’d never felt such cold in Tucson, only in Flagstaff. He was certain Grandpa Gad would tell him how much colder it had been some winter when he’d been a boy. Then his dad burst into the kitchen where he, his mom, and Isabel ate breakfast. Carlos snored on the sofa in front of the big screen where his parents had let his brother fall asleep.

  “Twenty-two degrees, folks! Can you believe it? Twenty-two degrees!”

  “Ssssh!” his mom hissed, pointing towards where Carlos lay sprawled beneath a couple of blankets.

  Miguel gaped. This couldn’t be natural. He was certain Balor had something to do with it, that it was tied to his lesson. He checked the microwave clock. It read 8:37. He grabbed two more strips of bacon, stuffed them into his mouth, then hurried to his room. His winter jacket and the hat he’d worn for caroling two nights earlier still lay across his desk chair. He grabbed them, then hustled to the coat closet, digging in the box on the floor for a pair of gloves that still fit.

  “What are you doing, bud?” his dad asked and he jumped, almost dropping the pair he’d finally found.

  He didn’t want to lie, not after his dad had treated him almost as an adult last night, but he certainly couldn’t tell him the full truth. He blurted out the first half-truth that came to mind.

  “I’m going to the park. I…I want to see how frozen everything is.”

  His dad guffawed. “Yeah, I suppose that could be fascinating. Just take your cell and be safe, okay?”

  He relaxed and patted his pocket. “Sure dad. It’s right here.”

  Seconds later, he was out the front door before his mom could realize he was gone, throwing on his gloves and hat outside, then marched as quickly as he dared. He hadn’t passed more than three houses when he slipped on a patch of ice for the first time. He stared, certain the sidewalk had been dry before his sneaker had landed on it, although he’d been so busy blowing out his breath just to see the fog, he wasn’t sure. After that, he moved more cautiously. The closer he came to the park, the more ice patches he spotted and frowned. As he entered the park and passed the kiddie slide, he was convinced the weather was not natural.

  He quickly reached the pagoda by the ballfield at the center of the park and looked about for Balor. There was no sign of the familiar long oilskin duster, and he sat atop a plastic picnic table under the shelter. Pulling out his cell, he checked the time. It was 8:59. He frowned, watching until the numbers changed to 9:00.

  “Hello, boy,” rasped Balor’s dry voice from behind, and he jumped up with a whirl.

  “Why do you always have to scare me?”

  The one-eyed man chortled. “It’s good to see you’re only frightened by my words, and no longer by me. You’re already stronger.”

  Miguel spread his arms. “Did you do this?” he asked accusingly.

  Balor ignored him. “You’re ready for lesson one. Don’t worry, this shouldn’t take long, not if you’re truly your mother’s son.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Again, Balor ignored his question. “You feel warmth in your belly when your power starts, don’t you? I want you to reach inside and try to draw it out.”

  “Huh? Draw it out?”

  The one-eyed man rolled his eyes, then jabbed a finger at a patch of ice. “That spot right there! Melt it for me!”

  Anger surged in Miguel at the rude way the man spoke to him. Adrenaline raced so fast his entire body grew warm. As he threw his hat and gloves onto the table, he realized he liked Balor as much as Burton Peña. Fire seemed to blaze in his stomach and his chest was so hot he unzipped his thick jacket. His breath was no longer foggy and his mind focused, zeroing in on the patch of ice the same way it had zeroed in on the Donkey Kong game at the arcade.

  Suddenly, a boiling geyser of hot air erupted from his stomach in a gigantic belch. If he’d made that sound at the dinner table, he would’ve been both washing and drying the dishes. Instead, waves of heat rolled out of his mouth at the patch. It melted instantly with the first wave and evaporated by the third. Astonished, he shut his mouth before it finished, and hot smoke or foggy steam blew out of his nostrils, although he didn’t know which.

  He stepped back, frightened at what he’d just done, and grabbed the picnic table for support.

  “Good enough, boy. You see what your anger can do and now your power has you afraid. Stay scared and focus it on that garbage can over there.”

  His eyes followed where Balor pointed. A metal can was secured to the pavement with thick bolts, its lid attached with a heavy chain.

  “You want me to melt that?” he asked disbelievingly.

  “Fool child!” barked Balor, glaring at him. “Focus your fear, I said!”

  Any part of him that still felt grown up fled. He wanted to cower or run away from the park, from what he had just done and glanced about. There was no one in sight to rescue him. Biting his lip, he looked at the garbage can and tried to do the same thing he’d done with the ice patch. Again, the heat built inside, but it felt different, more distant and less intense. There was no belch, just a sudden gust. The can rattled, the bolts groaning a bit, but held. The chain, however, snapped like a twig. The lid flew off, spinning through the icy air like a Frisbee until it clipped a swing set pole with a resounding clang, then crashed to the pavement, bouncing and rolling until it clattered still.

  He cringed, glancing to see which neighbors were racing out of their houses to check the clamor. No doors flew open, nor even a single face peering through a window, and he swiveled to face Balor.

  “Don’t just stand there, boy. Go get the lid and pick up the litter.”

  He glanced at the can. Sure enough, several crumpled fast food bags and squashed pop bottles lay scattered like a trail leading to the escaped lid. He slowly jogged to clean up the mess.

  As he returned, Balor said, “That’s enough for today. Emotions are clearly your key, boy. You learn how to focus them, there’s no telling what you can do. You might be
your mother’s son, but you’ve inherited something from your father as well. No telling how much ancient Aztec blood runs in your veins. Like I told you, you’re unique.”

  The one-eyed man was also unique, at least in the way he spoke to or taught Miguel. No preamble or niceties. It was like being around a pitbull or Rottweiler. Balor made Burton Peña seem like a schnauzer. Despite his fear of the man, however, his need to know more overwhelmed his caution.

  “Where does your magic come from?” he blurted.

  The man’s lip curled, although Miguel wasn’t certain if it was a sneer or a smile.

  “I’ll tell you when your mom tells you the whole truth.” He raised a hand to forestall Miguel’s protest. “Her power is greater than mine, boy, and I dare not go any further than teach you how to unleash yours. The time will come soon enough. I will not stand by and wait for the killers to find us. Now go home. I’ll find you when you’re ready for your next lesson.”

  He did not move, but simply stared at Balor. The scar running beneath the eyepatch seemed more livid than ever. The man had just said his mom was the more powerful of the two, yet he was so certain his mom didn’t have any power. Who was this man? Who was his mom?

  “Go on, boy!” ordered Balor, shooing him. “Get out of here before anyone comes looking for you.”

  He took a couple steps backwards, then turned and began to run, forgetting his hat and gloves on the picnic table. As he exited the park, he glanced back. Balor was nowhere to be seen, but a couple of families had arrived to play. Fear gripped him and he increased his speed, not noticing there were no more patches of ice.

  Chapter 21

  The Boy

  Miguel did not see Balor again until a week after school had resumed. By that time, he’d begun figuring out how to call up his power by using his emotions. He was rarely successful using fear unless he practiced someplace where he might be caught, but so far, he’d avoided detection. Rage was much easier; all he had to do was think of Burton Peña and revenge and WHAM! Sometimes he’d think of Mr. Matthews or Mike Black just for variety.