Fifth of Blood

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Fifth of Blood Page 17

by Kris Austen Radcliffe


  “Get in.” Ladon put the van in gear.

  Derek hopped up to the running board and dropped into the passenger seat. “You are okay? No more… flashbacks?”

  Ladon rolled the van down the complex’s internal road. “The building in the back?” He did not wish to talk about his memories.

  Derek frowned again but nodded. “There is a loading dock on the far side. Pull around and bring the van in with the other vehicles.” He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping Rysa. “She is okay? Are her calling scents ramping up again?” He sniffed the air. “I smell a hint.”

  “She will sleep another seven hours.” Ladon slowly drove the van between the buildings.

  “And Trajan just showed up and handed you the talon?” Derek scratched his head. “Trajan, not one of his lackeys?”

  “He wanted me to trust him.” Ladon drove along the front of the warehouse, through pool after pool of glare, finding himself trusting Trajan more than he should. But under the circumstances, trusting Trajan might be the safest route through this mess.

  He plays games, Human. Dragon lifted his head again. To maximize his profit.

  Of course he played games. As would Dmitri. The profit-seeking people always profit the most.

  Derek scoffed. “Hadrian says not to trust Trajan.”

  Ladon took the corner and peered at the wide area of asphalt between the docks and the next building over. Lower than the warehouse, with a large cooling unit on its roof, it had pallets stacked against its brick exterior. “Trajan says not to trust Hadrian.”

  Derek scoffed again. “They’re both right.” He pointed along the building. “Third one in from the other end. Anna’s van is in the second dock, the sedan in the first.”

  Ladon turned the van and backed up the ramp and into the building. With the vehicles inside, he would not need to transfer Rysa to another location.

  Derek looked over his shoulder again. “Before you take her in, there is something you need to know.”

  Ladon stepped on the brake. The “secret” was about to spill all over the inside of his van.

  His brother-in-law pointed at the window. “Roll it down. And do not freak out. They are here for a reason.”

  Behind them, Dragon sniffed. I smell Burners.

  Ladon groaned and slapped the steering wheel. Because having Burners in the complex would lead to a steadfast and worthwhile outcome. “Please tell me what reason could possibly be legitimate enough to allow Burners near you, much less Rysa.”

  Derek chuckled. “One of them says he knows you. He says you wrote no killing on his arm and that he is a new man because of it.” He pointed into the back. “His arm also says Listen to Rysa. He is convinced she is the Burner savior. Refers to her as ‘the princess’ and has pledged his undying devotion. Which I suppose is correct, since Burners are this world’s closest thing to the undead.”

  Billy is here? Agitation pulsed from Dragon.

  Seems so. “Burners.” Ladon slapped the wheel again. Not just any Burners. The Burner who attempted to kidnap Rysa and who started this whole fiasco. “Sister allowed Burners in here?”

  Derek shrugged. “Hadrian is using them to hide from Fates. He says enough of them in an area will throw the what-was-is-will-be into chaos and hide whoever is inside their bubble, including us.” He pointed at Rysa. “And her.”

  They do not eat Hadrian? Dragon’s disbelief mirrored Ladon’s.

  Derek opened his mouth as if to respond to Dragon, then closed it. “If burndust hides Fates and, to some extent, the Seraphim, a gang of living Burners should do the same.”

  Ladon did not want to argue. As with Trajan, his fatigue trampled his first, violent response into the Oregon mud. “Burners.”

  “The one named Billy has them under control. It is odd. It is as if he is their Bishop.”

  Ladon would have sworn, if swearing would have made the situation better. But it would not, and all he could remember was Trajan’s words about beliefs and religions and profit.

  He backed the van up the ramp. “I need sleep.”

  Derek nodded again as he hopped out. “We leave the dock doors open. Because of the Burner stink.” He tipped back his hat. “There are six total. Four outside. Billy and another stay near us. They all know to stay at least a dragon-length away at all times, but lock the van doors when you nap.”

  Ladon nodded.

  Derek shut the door and walked away.

  Burners.

  Ladon locked the doors before crawling into the back. Rysa breathed in the steady but shallow inhales of sleep, as she had for the past three hours. Her eyes still fluttered under her lids. She still dreamed.

  And, he hoped, healed.

  Dragon peered out the back window of the van. Rest.

  Ladon watched Rysa for a long moment, not touching. Not feeling at all, just looking with his human eyes at his human love.

  If I lay next to her, will I wake her up? She needed to sleep. She needed to be whole.

  Dragon touched Ladon’s shoulder before nuzzling his cheek with his snout. She won’t break.

  But what if she did? What if she shattered when he touched her? What if all her calling scents were still inside her throat and he jostled her flesh even a minuscule amount and they burst from her neck like a monster?

  Ladon could not shake the thought that he’d caused all that had happened to her. That he was at fault here, for not protecting her better. For not realizing immediately that the talon was her true talisman. Or that Vivicus would find them.

  Rest. Dragon tugged him closer. Her talisman is next to her pillow. I will give it to her when she wakes.

  They’d left it wrapped. Its edge was too sharp to have it bouncing around loose.

  Maybe I should tape it again. String it so she can wear it. Or maybe slice off a bit to—

  Ladon glanced at the step up to the back. Trajan had not asked for the swords back. He didn’t say one word about the blades.

  As if he didn’t know they were missing.

  I told you, Human. He plays games.

  Ladon frowned. How could the master of the Ulpi’s Prime Triad not know his blades were missing? Yes, you are correct. He plays games.

  In seven hours, the Draki Prime would wake up. And in seven hours, they would have answers. And, Ladon hoped, he would have a healed beloved.

  Slowly, carefully, he lay down behind Rysa. He didn’t touch. He didn’t place his hand on her hip or his forehead on the nape of her neck. Instead, he listened.

  Ladon synced to her, knowing full well it would agitate his body. But right now, his mind needed to know she was all right.

  Chapter Thirty

  Derek walked from one pool of bright overhead light to another, between the tall shelving stacks, in an aisle wide enough for a forklift. A yellow stripe ran up the center of the concrete under his feet, and up the supports of every other stack. On the opposite side, red stripes marked other shelves.

  Hadrian owned the warehouse. Or at least part of it. He rented most out but used a small portion to house his “less valuable” valuables, and had been hiding here since the Ulpi had Burnered his home.

  This place was full of modern American life: Pallet after pallet of countertop hamburger grills, a few piles of plastic hummingbird feeders, even an entire shelf of blow-up kiddie pools. But it got the job done. Ladon and Rysa slept in the back of Ladon’s van, safely locked in, a dragon curled around them.

  Brother-Dragon had watched Derek through the van’s back window as he walked away, but did not “say” anything. Derek got the impression that like him, the beast felt Derek’s hearing of the dragons was a strategic secret, and wished to stay silent.

  So Derek walked through the warehouse toward the break room and his wife and their host, smelling the now-unavoidable stink of Burner.

  “Russian man.”

  The voice came from above. Derek twirled, scanning the tops of the stacks. One of the Burners, not the skinny rock star but the big male in the plaid s
hirt, squatted in the shadows on the top shelf directly over Derek’s head. His face vanished into the ceiling’s gloom, but Derek saw his eyes flash. And his teeth.

  He smelled different from the British one. More pungent. This Burner stank not only of acid, but of unwashed acid.

  “What do you want?” Derek yelled. “You are not to be within a dragon’s length of any of us.” He adjusted his hat, but he did not take his eyes off the Burner.

  “You have an attitude, don’t you, boy?” The Burner swung off the edge of the top shelf and dropped onto the middle. He shuffled as he grasped the metal frame, and a small cloud of acid-ash puffed off the skin of his forearm. Plopping his ass onto the shelf, he swung his feet over the edge and stared down at Derek.

  This Burner carried no writing.

  Walking away from the Burner would show authority, but would leave his back open to attack. He did, though, pull the rubberized work gloves he had found in the break room out of his pocket. With Burners around, one should be prepared. “Again, Burner, what do you want?”

  “My name is Professor, you prissy little normal. I’m smarter than you.” The Burner scratched at the side of his nose and a new puff rolled off his skin.

  “And that makes you special how?” Derek walked backward down the aisle as he pulled on the gloves, his eyes on the damned Burner. This one was more of a problem than he was worth. Hadrian needed to send him outside.

  Or perhaps Anna should take him into the field behind the warehouse, the one between the industrial area and the new housing development on the other side of the road, and be done with it.

  Derek fought the urge to make rude gestures.

  The Burner jumped, his body arching outward and toward Derek. He landed with a thump three feet from Derek on the yellow stripe up the middle of the aisle. Slowly, he rose to his full height. When he ran his fingers over his plaid shirt, he left a new set of sear marks on his already singed clothes. The long burn lines added an odd cover pattern to the blue and red of his shirt.

  His stink increased. He grinned, his white-hot teeth luminescing on their own, and took a step toward Derek. “Why do we need to stay back? Your foreign nose sensitive?”

  Derek held his ground. Showing fear to a rabid animal would lead to being eaten.

  “Your foreign tongue all tied up? Maybe I’ll turn you, too. Make another foreigner beg for scraps.” The Professor lunged.

  Derek dodged left and snapped out his hand, catching the Burner by the neck. Using the ghoul’s momentum, Derek flung him head-first into a pallet of bright orange, large-engine oil filters. The plastic wrap holding the boxes in a neat stack crackled and snapped when the ghoul’s face slammed into it. An edge caught fire; a small, white flame danced along a line as it circled the pallet, and the stink of burning plastic mixed with the Burner’s already nauseating stench.

  The shelving stack on the other side of the aisle rocked. Pallets slid back and forth, grinding against the shelves.

  The rock star appeared and swung around a vertical support, his arms and legs wide like an actor in a musical would swing, and twirled his ass into sitting. He plopped down with great fanfare and a loud thud, and swirled his arms in the air like a magician. “You don’t like us foreigners, do you?”

  The Professor snarled. “Why are you taking their side?”

  Billy leaned forward. “Why are you such a git?”

  Derek dodged the Professor’s punch and caught his fist in mid-swing. He yanked the ghoul’s arm around his back and smacked his head against the vertical support next to Billy’s feet. “I want him gone.”

  Billy clapped his hands. “Oh, you are soooo manly. Is that why the princess has two boyfriends now? You part of her harem?”

  “He’s a fucking foreign—”

  Derek bent the ghoul’s middle and pointer fingers backward. Both fingers broke with loud snaps and the Professor yelped, his stench increasing.

  Billy pointed at the other ghoul and laughed. “You, my dear ex-acolyte, are hereby defrocked and decoupled from the bestest of the Burners! And you are really, really—and I mean really—lucky the old fart doesn’t want us exploding anywhere near him, or my guess is Second Boyfriend here would snap more than your widdle pinkie. Right?”

  Popping a Burner would leave whoever dealt with the problem exposed for the time it took to get back to the warehouse. Exposed and flashing like a Christmas tree in the what-is. “I want him off the warehouse grounds. Now. Make sure it happens.”

  Derek let go of the whimpering Professor. “Any of us see you again, you will implode, understand?”

  With his uninjured hand, the Professor gave Derek the finger.

  “I’ll run him off.” Billy dropped to the concrete floor. “Let’s go, you idiot.”

  Derek watched them jerk and jag down the aisle, toward the open loading dock protecting the Burner’s three cars. The Professor yelled something at Billy, who immediately twisted the other ghoul’s broken fingers.

  He should follow and pop that Burner away from the warehouse. But the risk of becoming visible to Fates right now outweighed the benefits of permanent monster removal. And odds were good the Ulpi would deal with him in short order, as they seemed to do with all the Burners in Portland.

  Whistling, Billy pushed the other ghoul out into the first glow of Portland’s coming dawn. After a moment, two other Burners appeared—the mousy little female and the equally young male she’d appeared with. Billy spoke to them both, making them show him their forearms before patting each on the shoulder and shooing them into the warehouse.

  They danced in, both smiling, probably because Billy had entrusted them with inside duty.

  “The two of you understand what you are to do?” Derek stood on the yellow line running up the center of the aisle.

  The girl nodded, her Burner eyes wide. “Yes, Mr. Dragon, sir.”

  Derek exhaled. “What is your name?”

  The girl frowned and looked to the boy. “I call her Jasmine. Because she’s pretty.” He took her hand.

  The girl looked at her feet.

  Derek wanted to hit a stack upright support. How the hell did these two kids get Burnerized? They looked like they weren’t more than sixteen. “How did you become connected with Billy?”

  The girl pointed over her shoulder. “We were with the Professor. I don’t remember why.” She frowned and the boy frowned, too. “Billy said he knew someone who can help us.”

  Burners who wanted help?

  “I think I’ve eaten people.” The girl looked at her feet again. “I don’t remember.”

  These two must be the kind of Burner who fizzled away. The kind that one day fell into dust without an implosion or an explosion. He had heard of such Burners. They generally did not cause problems, so they were not hunted.

  The Professor, on the other hand, was not a fizzle Burner.

  “I believe Billy made a good choice with the two of you.” Derek pointed at the stacks. “Be careful if you climb.”

  Both the girl and the boy nodded.

  Derek continued his walk toward the break room with a little nag pricking at the back of his neck, hoping the choice of maintaining cover versus monster removal had been the correct decision.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  In Ladon’s dream, he sat on the edge of the Dragon’s Rock, the flat plateau outside the cave’s entrance where the dragons sunned themselves during the summer. Behind him, the Rock spread out level and smooth, unchanging and solid. But his legs hung over the side, and the side dropped perpendicular to the world around him. It fell down and down into nothing but darkness and it could swallow a man. Take him to his death.

  He splayed his fingers over the stone, searching for a handhold. For a grip.

  Because something was wrong.

  The sun roared louder than a sun should. It took up half the sky. How did it get so close? It looked ancient.

  Behind him, the beast scratched his belly. “Careful. Don’t fall.” He rolled over, his hide sw
irling with more violence than the raging terror above their heads. “Use your talons, young one. Hold tight,” the beast said.

  Ladon saw Dragon’s words. Saw them play across his skin. Heard the beast’s voice loud and clear.

  “The dino-dog is right.” Next to Ladon and stretched out on a beach blanket, that Burner—the one who brought him his love’s mother—laid on his back, just as naked as Ladon. Billy adjusted his sunglasses before weaving his fingers behind his smelly head. “Don’t fall, mate. You fall and it’s just me looking after the princess. Can’t have that.”

  Where was Rysa?

  The Burner sniffed. “Do all Romans dream naked?” He scratched the rolling, unreadable scrawls across his belly, just as the beast had scratched at his own.

  Naked. Ladon looked down at his vulnerable legs. Where was his armor? He never went into battle with Fates and Shifters without his armor. “Give me your sunglasses.” He put out his hand to the Burner. At least his eyes would be protected.

  The Burner handed over the glasses, squinting and shading his eyes. “You better do your duty, dragon boy. Better see what you need to see.” He lay back down, basking in the roar of a dying star.

  Ladon pressed the glasses onto his face and the world tipped, no longer flat and steady. No longer filtered and blocked.

  Lines of force knotted into an unknowable cloud around the Burner. Lines moved away from the beast. Lines that connected them to each other, and other lines that flowed away, toward the other edge of the Rock. Lines that wove around Rysa as both weft and warp.

  She rocked back and forth, her knees to her chest, as naked as him. And as lost.

  “Rysa.” Crawling toward her should be easy on the Rock’s flatness but he felt as if he moved though quicksand. Through rubber. Through something that bent but would never break.

  She rocked, weeping.

  When she turned, he saw it. He saw what gave her so much pain.

  It had burst from her throat, the thing Vivicus left behind. It had clawed its way out.

  And she died, now, in front of him. Died because he couldn’t heal her. He didn’t have what she needed.

 

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