Firedrake - Volume Two

by T. Mike McCurley

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Drake murmured. “Well, you know, again.”

  “How’ve you been?” asked Angelo.

  “Ah, you know how it is… Catch the bad guy, lose your job. Piss off the boss, lose your family.”

  “Oh. That good, huh?”

  “Pretty much standard these days. Come on in,” Drake invited, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. It had been placed there, ostensibly, for use while interviewing subjects in the course of an investigation. Drake had never used it. His preference was more for a hands-on form of interrogation.

  “Thanks,” Angelo said, twisting it around so that he sat on it in the same manner Drake was forced to use a normal chair: back exposed and hands folded over the top of the chair’s rear support. It was a unique gesture of respect that Drake found somehow appealing.

  “Like the suit,” he said, jerking his chin at the charcoal ensemble. “Hope you ain’t applyin’ for a job here.”

  “Got one,” Angelo said. “Looking for new people. That’s why I stopped by here.”

  The words were so casually dropped that the implication was momentarily lost on Drake. He nodded and started to turn toward the coffeemaker behind him. His eyes took in the molded sludge that occupied the bottom of the pot only a heartbeat before his mind caught up to what had just been said. Slowly, he turned back to face the legendary booster that stared patiently at him from across the desk. For a moment, nothing was said and each simply looked at the other.

  “You want…” Drake began hesitantly, scarcely able to believe what he was thinking.

  “Well, not to sound, you know, overly friendly, but I want you,” Angelo said, finishing the thought.

  “Yeah? Got a town overrun by knights or something?”

  “Close enough.” Angelo stretched, letting the joints of his spine crack. “What say you and I go have a talk somewhere a little less…official?”

  As he spoke, he gestured around himself at the room in general, then brought his hand in close to tap at one of his ears. He grinned and nodded. This time, Drake had no difficulty discerning what the aging hero was saying. With a nod of his own, he stood from the seat.

  Ten minutes later, the pair was airborne over D.C. and winging westward. No one without hypersensitive surveillance equipment could have caught anything said between them, and their speeds made maintaining a microphone lock next to impossible.

  “So what you got in mind?” Drake asked. There was still a slight ache in the joint of his right wing where Thrash had repeatedly struck him, but it was more an annoyance than actual pain.

  “I need a teacher.”

  “A teacher?” Drake responded, laughing aloud. “I thought you were serious!”

  “I am.”

  “And you want me to teach. Teach what? ‘Breaking shit 101’ ?”

  “A little bit of a lot of things,” Angelo said. He turned his head to look squarely at Drake. “I’ve got a new business. A school, actually.”

  Drake made a face. “Not one of those schools for boosters where they teach ‘em all about how to use your powers and fit in with the world and shit, is it? Because I’ve been there, slick, and it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Hell, Hart herself used to run one of the things, and there’s a big problem with it. Don’t matter how much you tell ‘em they’re normal, they all know they ain’t. Sooner or later some dumbass is gonna prove it by setting the building on fire, or blowing up a classmate.”

  “Or getting tossed in jail on trumped up charges?” Angelo asked. He smiled in response to the dark look Drake threw his way. “Yeah, I know all about the stunt you and yours pulled to get that kid out of a cell. I know how much you risked for him, too. Just like I know how much you risked to save my ass when I was laying on that gurney with whatever the hell that was eating me alive.”

  “Just doing my job,” Drake said automatically. Angelo waved away the comment.

  “I’ve heard that line before. Usually comes from one of two types of mouth: the guy who’s humble about what he does or the asshole who’s trying to defend himself when someone points out how bad he screwed up.”

  “Yeah? Which one am I?”

  Angelo laughed, a long, strong sound. “I figure you’re who I need. These kids aren’t the normal breed of boosters you see in all the fancy academies. They’re the outcasts. The mutated, the decidedly freakish, the ‘left-behinds’. That’s why I signed up in the first place.”

  “So you want me ‘cause I’m as big a freak as they are, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Not in the least,” Angelo answered sharply. His expression showed how much offense he had taken at the notion, and Drake fell silent. They flew quietly for a minute before Angelo continued.

  “Don’t pity yourself, Drake, and don’t expect any from me, ‘cause you won’t get it. I don’t give a rat’s ass how many times someone called you a monster or ran away all scared that you were gonna eat them or anything like that. What I care about is the fact that you took all that, and you kept on going. Every day, you kept going, no matter the crap they slung at you.”

  “I ain’t got a choice.”

  “Sure you do. We all do. You can quit. You can quit fighting and let them win, or you can stand up and spit in their faces.”

  “So what is this? Some kinda pep talk?”

  “No. Just telling you the truth. That’s all I’ve got left.”

  Drake followed Angelo down to the ground, the pair coming to rest in a clearing within a glade of ancient trees. Uncaring as to the effect it would have on his tailored suit, Angelo dropped to a sitting position on the ground and looked up at the towering form of the reptilian booster.

  “So here it is,” he began. “I’ve got a school full of kids who look like animals, or rocks, or fireplugs, or whatever. Some of ’em got powers to help ’em along, and some don’t. They’ve got people telling them all the time just how useless they are. Telling them that they’re dangerous, or ought to be locked away, or that they shouldn’t even be here.”

  Drake listened to the words and nodded, but in his mind, he was hearing the statement of the Federal Judge who had spoken at his custody hearing as the man said exactly those type of things about both Drake brothers.

  “So what do you want from me?”

  “I need you to teach these kids what it means to be human.”

  Thank you for reading the second book in this series. If you enjoyed it, won't you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer?

  Thanks!

  T. Mike

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

  T. Mike McCurley lives in a small city in Oklahoma, where indeed, “the wind comes sweeping” and all that. He began writing superhero prose on a whim one day, and found it enjoyable enough to continue, leaving his family to bear the burden of insane keyboard clacking at all hours. His short stories soon formed the backbone of what became known as the world of The Emergence, describing events and players in a world of metahumanity that began in 1963 and has continued to grow since. From there came the stories of the metahuman cop known as Firedrake, which has now filled three books, with a fourth in the works. He is a founding member of the Pen and Cape Society, an online cabal of authors of superhero prose, and his Emergence setting will soon be featured in Lester Smith’s D6xD6 roleplaying game.

  In another (non-writing) life he has been a radiological monitor, an emergency medical technician, a private investigator, a videographer, a certified GLOCK armorer, and a dozen other things too varied and goofy to list in one space together.

  His works can be found linked at www.tmikemccurley.com and at the Pen and Cape Society, www.penandcapesociety.com .

  Follow T. Mike on Twitter at http://twitter.com/T.MikeMcCurley

  Also available from the author:

  Firedrake Volume One: Meet Francis Drake – your average seven foot dragon cop with an attitude, sent to hunt down the worst of the metahumans known as geneboosters. Drake is the one the government calls to do t
he jobs no one else wants, and he’ll keep on doing them because every mission completed means more time spent with his brother, a booster in his own right — but in government custody. Follow along as he battles criminals, meets legends, and pisses off his boss in spectacular style.

  Firedrake Volume Two: Drake returns to service in this second volume, standing beside the legendary Patriot to crush a riot at the annual Lady Justice Day parade, fight the racist members of Humanity First, and become a television star. Since nothing good can happen to Drake without the universe kicking him, a metahuman brawler places a worldwide bounty of Drake’s head, and the worst of the worst are out to collect! A trip to a shopping mall proves problematic when you’re a dragon, as our hero finds out.

  Firedrake Volume Three: Anger management classes for Drake? That's part of the punishment when Drake finds himself in legal trouble after taking Soundstage on a trip to recover wanted fugitives. What will happen when the new "kinder, gentler" Drake returns to his job just in time for an attack on the safehouse where his brother lives?

  Tales of the Emergence: An anthology of short stories set in the world of Emergence. An indestructible man who fears only his own hidden nature. An angst-ridden teen handed the power of a god. A street cop learns what it means to be part of the team that responds to booster crimes. A night in the life of a boosted kid who wants to be a comic-book hero and encounters more than he expects. Many others that set the stage for the Firedrake series.

  The Good Fight: A free anthology of superhero fiction by the fine men and women of the Pen and Cape Society – of which I am a proud member. Contains an all-new Firedrake short story!

  The Good Fight 2: Villains: A new anthology from the men and women of the Pen and Cape Society. This one is for charity: James Hudnall, long-time comic author, is battling some issues, and the PCS has banded together to show that even Villains can help a good cause! Contains the origin of Professor Pain!

  Deep Space Mine: The horrors of global genocide witnessed by the occupants of a space station. Short and sweet, suited for a quick reading fix.

  Golem - A Jericho Sims tale: After witnessing the ritualistic murder of fellow soldiers in the last days of the Civil War, gunslinger Jericho Sims travels the world in search of their killer. Along the way, he stumbles into situations he never dreamed could exist. Following an encounter with a hostile native, Jericho is left with an arrow in his back and not much time to live. Will the scientist he encounters be his saving grace, or will the man's invention be the death of a town?

  Check out this preview from Firedrake Volume 3, on sale now!

  “There it is,” called Angelo, gesturing with an outstretched finger at the blocky grey shape on the horizon. It was a tiny thing in relation to the enormous forested area that surrounded it, but the way it looked from the air let Drake know that the school was large indeed. As they closed on it, the scope of its size became undeniable.

  The campus was in a vast clearing, with two separate roads that led to and from its setting. A central building, long and wide, rose five stories into the air. It was made of mottled grey stone that could be seen, even at a distance, to be crenellated and decorated with more than a few gargoyles of matching stone. Surrounding that building were several smaller ones. Some had paved stretches that joined up with the pair of roads, while others did not. Sidewalks linked buildings together like veins of rock, and even grassy areas showed evidence of frequent traffic. An oval running track was visible behind the main building, and a simple square of plowed land easily an acre in size occupied space beside it. Gardens of not only flowers but also vegetables could be seen, and fruit trees dotted the campus seemingly at random.

  “Impressive,” Drake admitted. Angelo nodded.

  “Gets better,” he promised. The pair began a slow descent toward the campus.

  Drake pulled his wings in slightly, altering his angle and relieving some of the strain of what had turned out to be a longer flight than he had anticipated. Alongside the man he still thought of as ‘Patriot’, he had flown to the remote backwoods of the Appalachian mountains to investigate the school that Angelo had discussed with him. He had withheld any response to the legendary booster’s statement that he needed someone to teach the children there what it meant to be human until such time as he could see for himself what went on at the facility.

  “I’ve seen more than a few of these schools,” Drake had said, folding his arms and looking down to where Angelo squatted on the grass. “Usually they’re just there to indoctrinate the kids. Some kids need that, some don’t. Most of the time, they’re just getting stuff hammered into their heads that they don’t want.”

  “This one’s different,” Angelo had replied. His eyes never left those of his reptilian companion, and they never flickered or changed their intense focus as he spoke. "Hurst doesn’t care about who wants to be somebody’s municipal guardian, or who wants to be a firefighter, or who wants to go berserk and eat China. He wants to educate these kids. Period. He’s an old-school teacher, if you’ll pardon the pun. He’s never cared who you are or even what you are, so long as you’re willing to learn."

  “And now he teaches boosters?”

  “Started back in the late seventies,” Angelo had said, nodding slowly. “There‘s a whole bunch of history that goes with the place. I won‘t bore you with it. Hurst can tell you himself.”

  “I’ll take a look,” Drake told him, arms still folded across his powerful chest. “If I like what I see, maybe I’ll help. I ain’t making no promises.”

  “That’s all I ask,” Angelo had replied.

  The first road Drake saw came in to the school from the west. It was that road that the pair flew toward, Drake content to let Angelo lead the way. He could see the other, winding out from the south side of the campus and then angling gently toward the east.

  Together, they touched down on the pavement of the road. Drake’s claws clicked repeatedly on the asphalt as they walked forward. The gateway ahead of them was made of massive pillars hewn from the same grey stone as the main building, joined at a height of twelve feet by a curving arch. Engraved into the arch, the scrolling Old English-style lettering more than a foot high, were the words "Hurst Academy".

  “So how does this work, anyway?” Drake asked, coming to a stop.

  “How does what work?”

  “I mean, do I go talk to the boss, or do we stroll around looking for shit, or what? This is all kinda new to me, you know?”

  Angelo grinned. “We’ll talk to Hurst, then we’ll go looking around if you want to stay. I’ll show you what’s where.”

  “Sweet,” Drake said. His eyes flashed as he looked down toward the older booster. “So I have an escort.”

  “Guide,” Angelo corrected. “You don’t need an escort.”

  “There some kinda map to this place?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then I don’t need a guide, either. I ain’t trying to be a hard-ass here, slick, but you want me to know who these people are and what they need, then I don’t need anybody looking over my shoulder and telling me what I’m doing wrong.”

  “Oh, yeah? You planning on doing something wrong, then?” Angelo asked. The grin was still present.

  “Naw. Seems to happen a lot, but I don’t plan on it.”

  “I get your point, Drake, I really do. The campus is yours. Just let me take you to Hurst first.”

  “Great.”

  Angelo led Drake through the archway. The reptilian booster looked around himself, appraising the area with a practiced gaze even as he kept pace with Angelo. He saw flickers of motion behind windows, recognizing the hesitant movements as those of someone peeking out and then pulling their head back when Drake settled his gaze on them.

  “These kids scare easy?” he asked.

  “Some of ‘em,” Angelo said with a brisk nod. “Others wouldn’t blink if you shot them in the face. So don’t go getting all, Ooh-I’m-so-scary or some such. You may have frightened a few people in your ti
me, but there’s folks here that are way past looks.”

  “There are those here who cannot see you at all,” declared a throaty voice. Drake whirled to see a woman looking at the two of them. She wore a flowing dress of dark purple, accented with a black leather belt. Light flashed off the silver conchos that decorated the belt’s length. It was the woman, however, who garnered the longest look. Her skin was a brilliant polished silver in hue, sparkling with more reflection than the conchos.

  “Ahh. Miss Wilshire,” Angelo said, sketching a bow. “Allow me to present Agent—”

  “Francis Drake of the Department of Metahuman Affairs,” the woman finished, her tone reproachful. “I am familiar with Mister Drake. I do have a grasp of current affairs in the genebooster community.”

  “With your schedule, I didn’t know you had the time to watch television," Angelo replied. “Drake, this is Lucy Wilshire, one of the chief instructors here.”

  “Like your belt,” Drake said, with a cheery smile.

  “Hate your guns,” Wilshire said, without one.

  “Part of the job.”

  “This is a school, mister Drake, not a prison.”

  “Good thing. You don’t carry sidearms into a prison. Besides, the holsters hold up my pants.”

  “Perhaps you should invest in a belt.”

  “Got one. It’s connected to the holsters. That’s where I keep all my evil bullets.”

  “Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop,” Angelo began to chant, softly at first but gaining in volume until he had the attention of the pair. When they had ceased speaking and turned to look at him, he continued.

  “Look, let’s just cut all that right now. Lucy, stop harping on the pistols. Drake, stop baiting her.”

  Drake sucked at a tooth for a second, then nodded. He stuck out a scaled green hand. “Sorry about that, ma’am,” he said. “I’m naturally surly.”