Rise of the Dragon: an Urban Fantasy (Moonlight Dragon Book 5)

by Tricia Owens

  His gaze darted twitchily to Uncle James as if checking to see if he'd jump in. But Uncle James didn't look at him, his attention seemingly fixated beyond the bookcases, where I knew the creepy chest sat. Did he sense it? Or was he trying to peer all the way to Orlaton's lab? Or somewhere I hadn't gone yet? Tomes was a veritable labyrinth of bookcases. All manner of freaky things were yet to be discovered within it.

  "So how did you know?" I pressed Orlaton. I was prepared to be a Rottweiler with this, but then something happened which changed my mind.

  Orlaton bit his bottom lip as though he struggled not to cry.

  "Wait," I said softly. "Don't." I wanted to be tough, but I just couldn't. "We're not going to attack you if you tell the truth, Orlaton. That's all we want from you."

  "The truth," he repeated shakily. He took a deep, tremulous breath and then visibly gathered himself. He let his arms drop and stood straighter, chin tipped up. "Very well, Miss Moody. If you truly want the truth, I will give it to you in all its gory details."

  When he chose a direction and headed for it with stiff, icy strides, I had a feeling I knew his destination. By the time we reached the chest that was wrapped in chains I was torn between apprehension and a piercing curiosity. Would I finally learn the secret of what was inside it? Should I?

  Orlaton stopped beside the chest and studied it for a long moment before turning to face us.

  "What's that?" Melanie asked, pointing at the chest. "It's got crazy wards on it. Is it full of pirate treasure?"

  "Not hardly," he snapped, some of the old Orlaton jumping to the fore.

  I recalled how I'd once found him: buried beneath books that he'd pulled down in an attempt to close the chest, his face ghostly and with terror written plainly across it. And I recalled the needle-like nails that had peeked from the open chest and the hateful voices that had seeped from it like an insidious poison.

  "Do you know what this is?" he asked my uncle.

  I expected Uncle James to share my ignorance, but he nodded, slowly. Thoughtfully. As though he wished he didn't have to. "I know of it," he said simply in a grave tone of voice. "I thought its existence was a myth."

  My blood went cold. "That sounds bad."

  Uncle James turned an apologetic look on me. "I had no reason to mention it to you, Anne. It was just another terrible thing that I didn't believe you needed to know about."

  "I get that, and I appreciate it. But I'm a big girl now. What the hell is it?"

  "It's a Devilment Box."

  Another chill rippled through me at Orlaton's flat delivery of his answer. It was sort of like him calmly stating, "I have cancer." It didn't matter how emotionless they tried to act, a person who said something like that was screaming inside.

  "That doesn't sound good." I studied the box again, still seeing locks and chains but unable to see its true threat. "What's the purpose of a Devilment Box?"

  "To corrupt," Orlaton whispered. His eyes shimmered. "To ruin and to make horrible. To deform into the worst things possible."

  I watched a tear slip down his cheek and it was then that I knew. A mystery that I'd never sought the answer for suddenly jumped front and center. I covered my mouth with my hand, my own horror reaching apocalyptic levels. "Please tell me no," I murmured.

  Melanie, who was rightfully on the verge of freaking out, whimpered, "What? Oh, my god, Anne, what's going on? You guys are scaring me!"

  "Uncle James thought we might find information here," I began, watching Orlaton with every word, "but not from Orlaton. From someone else. You didn't know either," I said as I looked to my uncle. His eyes had fastened, with a matching horror, on the chest. "Did you?"

  "No," he whispered. His regret leaked from every pore.

  I pointed at the chest, though I immediately curled my finger so it didn't look so accusing, so heartless. "You thought we might get answers from Orlaton's parents. But…they're not capable of that, are they?"

  Orlaton trembled violently. His entire body shook as though he'd stuck his finger into a light socket. "No, Miss Moody. They're not capable of much that is good these days."

  Because his parents were in the Devilment Box. The voices that had spewed vicious, hateful curses at Orlaton—they belonged to his mom and dad. I couldn’t even begin to understand how that must feel.

  "The Oddsmakers put them in here." Orlaton rubbed at his sweater-covered arms. "It was punishment for telling government agents how to find you, Mr. Song."

  That broke through the web of evil that felt wrapped around me. "Wait a minute. Your parents betrayed my uncle?"

  "Betrayed or assisted?" Orlaton lifted his chin. "My parents were aware that the Oddsmakers were desperate to use a dragon for their own ends. My parents were also aware that no matter how good a man might be, refusing the most powerful magickal beings in Las Vegas is not something done easily," he added with a nod at Uncle James. "They believed Mr. Song was in an untenable position, faced with doing the Oddsmakers bidding or risking his life as well as yours. So they removed the responsibility of choice from his hands by anonymously tipping off the FBI that a terrorist was in the desert."

  "And the government grabbing him and experimenting on him was supposed to help him?"

  Uncle James caught my arm and lightly squeezed it. "Anne, I truly believe that his parents did what they thought was best for all of us. And they weren't wrong. Since I was incarcerated, I couldn't be pressured to murder Vale's brother. Without the gargoyles, you might not be where you are right now. Everything that has happened has led to this: with you strong and in control, and with the Oddsmakers seemingly on the run." He released me and turned to Orlaton. "Your parents knew they were risking everything by interfering. We all owe them a debt of gratitude for their sacrifice."

  I was ill, not because I had trouble accepting that Orlaton's parents had done the right thing—in the scheme of things, they had helped in their roundabout way—but because they had suffered a tremendous price for their choice.

  "Can they be freed from there?" I asked, glancing uneasily at the chest. "Is whatever has been done to them reversible?"

  "What has been done to them?" Melanie cupped her cheeks. "I don't like knowing why everyone is so upset. I think I should be, too!"

  I hesitated to answer, but Orlaton spoke up in a voice that was haughty, perhaps to disguise his pain.

  "The Devilment Box is a work of high-level sorcery," he told Melanie. "It was created by a cult that sought to create their own demon."

  "Bonus points for creativity, I guess," I muttered. What was it with all these psychos wanting to hang out with demons? Didn't they get that those things were bad news and could never be fully controlled?

  "This might appear to be a chest, but inside it sleeps a creature of madness and evil. It is called The Devourer." Orlaton lashed his lips nervously with his tongue. "A person can be forced into the chest physically. Once inside, The Devourer begins to consume them, stripping away flesh and bone to bare the person's soul, which is warped by malicious sorcery into something that is…not kind."

  "Can their spirits be saved?" I asked softly, fearing the answer.

  Orlaton's eyes glimmered behind his glasses. "It's too late for that."

  "So they've turned into demon spirits?" Melanie clapped her hands over her ears. "I don't think I want to hear anymore. I'm so sorry, Orlaton! That is so awful."

  "It is what it is," he said, but I didn't like it. Not one bit.

  "There's gotta be something we can do," I declared. "No way am I shrugging after something like this was done to two people who were only trying to help."

  "The world will never be fair, Miss Moody. Nor will good and evil ever balance each other out. That imbalance provides momentum to the world."

  "Sorry, but I think that's bullshit." Also, something was beginning to nag at me. "This is a strange fate for traitors. You'd think the Oddsmakers would have wanted to make examples of your parents that would deter other magickal beings from doing the same thing. But
no one else knows about this. And it's a…protracted punishment, as though the Oddsmakers were really, really ticked off." I searched Orlaton's face. "There's more to this story, isn't there?" When he only stared back like a cipher, I turned to my uncle. "Do you know?"

  After a hesitation, Uncle James nodded. "Orlaton's father, he—"

  "Was a member of the Oddsmakers," Orlaton finished stiffly. Defensively.

  The hits just kept on coming. I recovered from my shock quicker this time. "You've got to be kidding me. That means the Oddsmakers are regular people, not monsters or spirits or whatever?"

  "Not necessarily." Orlaton looked grim. "My father didn't often speak with me of his work with the Oddsmakers, but he did indicate to me once when I was very young that he sometimes had trouble communicating with the others because some lived within the earth. Like worms."

  "Eww," Melanie said with a shiver.

  Eww, indeed. I wanted the Oddsmakers to be humanoid. They might be more predictable that way, or at least possess motivations I could understand. But creatures and spirits—or worms, for that matter—were difficult to relate to. Their brains operated in foreign ways, if brains were even part of their anatomy.

  "Your dad knows things that might help us find and defeat the Oddsmakers," I said. "But even if he didn't, I'd still want to help him and your mom. The Oddsmakers have gotten away with too much. I'm not letting them get away with this, too."

  Orlaton looked away and curled his hands into fists. I thought he was preparing to yell at me to mind my own business and not poke old wounds, but he said quietly, "I would be indebted for any attempts made on their behalf."

  No way was I letting him down, even if I had no idea what I'd just become involved in.

  "I think if there's a ritual for saving them you would have already attempted it," I mused aloud. He nodded and watched me warily. "But what about a combined approach? Your occult knowledge paired with Celestina's channeling abilities? I think she knows a lot. Way more than just reading the future."

  "She's a Spiritualist," Orlaton confirmed. His eyes widened slightly as though he'd only just realized the import of that.

  "That's right. So since we're dealing with spirits, she could make the difference. She contacted my mom, after all."

  The barest glimmer of hope lit his eyes. "It would be worth the attempt."

  "I may have something that will assist," Uncle James added with a curious expression on his face that I couldn't decipher. "It's in Moonlight."

  "Okay, you grab what you need. I'll go get Celestina and we'll get this started." I liked that we were taking action and I could see that Orlaton was grateful for it.

  "Another spooky séance?" Melanie audibly gulped. "I guess that's okay."

  "Not just a séance," I said. "A demonic one."

  She gave a wobbly smile. "Even better."

  ~~~~~

  As I jogged across the street, I kept an eye out for both government agents and shady magickal beings. As usual, I had enemies coming at me from both sides, though I did feel slightly better knowing that Kusahara was embedded with the big dogs. If shit hit the fan, he might be able to scrape some of it off, though not all of it. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

  When I entered Celestina's fortune teller shop, I found the privacy curtain drawn around the table where she did her readings. I settled restlessly on one of the ottomans in the living room-slash-waiting room and crossed my fingers that she was nearly finished. I couldn't make out any words, only the low murmur of my friend's voice and the occasional questioning lilt of a question from her female client. I heard a couple of gasps, likely of surprise, and I thought of what Celestina had told me about choosing her truths carefully and telling clients only what benefitted them to hear.

  I wasn't interested in knowing the future. As Vale had cautioned, knowing that you were capable of changing tomorrow didn't necessarily mean that you should. For as many times as you guessed right and fended off a bad outcome, you risked the chance of making things worse, or were simply delaying the inevitable. But it wasn't Celestina's vision of the future that mattered to me right then.

  I heard the sounds of movement and then my friend swept the curtain aside, revealing her and an older woman who was obsessively kissing a rosary. I rose to my feet. Celestina gave a bleat of surprise, her face lighting up first with shock and then relief. She wasn't exactly subtle as she urged the woman to pay and leave the shop, but the woman didn't seem to notice, too wrapped up in whatever destiny Celestina had foretold for her.

  "Where have you been?" Celestina demanded as soon as the front door closed behind the woman. She stalked up to me. "I saw the front of Moonlight—what's going on?!"

  I smiled grimly. "You'll never believe it. Or maybe you will. Vale and I were grabbed by government agents."

  Celestina grew very still. "Then how did you get free?"

  I was taken aback for a moment by her suspicious look, but then I got it: she was worried about what I might have done and said to gain my freedom.

  "I didn't sell anyone out," I said, beginning to grow irritated.

  She held up her hand, palm out. "That wasn't what I was getting at. I know you, Anne. You'd rather be tortured to death than rat out your friends. I'm only asking what they offered you, because that's the only way I can see them letting you go: if they struck a deal with you to gain some kind of influence over your sorcery."

  "Ha! Fat chance of that, Celestina. I'm not a gun for hire. Not for anyone and definitely not for them." I shook my head, letting my wonder show. "I found Uncle James. We pulled him out of there and now he's helping us to find out what happened to the Oddsmakers."

  Celestina nodded, but cautiously. "That's wonderful that he's alive and unharmed, Anne, but my question stands: how did you get free?"

  "I may have sort of blasted my way out of there with Lucky."

  Celestina gasped, so I hurried on.

  "But Lucky doesn't show up on video! They have no proof of his existence or what I can do. So it was sort of easy to bust out of there. Plus, we have a guy on the inside named Kusahara. He's a banshee. He's been keeping them from doing any invasive experimenting on Uncle James. But he's sort of a shady ally. We can't completely trust him. He did say he'll keep the government off our backs while we go after the Oddsmakers."

  It was a lot to take in, but Celestina rolled with it. She generally wasn't ruffled by much. "Do you intend to go after them wherever they may be?" she asked.

  "That's the thing. I think they're gone. They allowed the government to pick up Vagasso's body. It's still in his scorpion-man form." I bulged my eyes to show how I felt about that. "That tells me they're not holding down the fort anymore. After Vagasso failed to fully open the Rift they might have worried that we'd all turn on them. Or maybe they're just hunkering down, waiting for the right time to strike. We need to hit them now, while they're feeling vulnerable. That's part of the reason I'm here. We need you to help Orlaton."

  I explained as best I could—with what limited knowledge I possessed—about the Devilment Box and Orlaton's father being a former Oddsmaker. Celestina grew pale but listened without further reaction. When I finished, I expected her to ask questions; I still had questions and I'd been present for every conversation.

  Instead, she closed her eyes and said, "This will be unpleasant and I won't want to remember any part of it."

  I was slightly unnerved by that. "We can't leave his parents in that state."

  "No, I agree with you. But forewarned, Anne: to free their spirits, Orlaton and I will need to destroy the vile creatures that they've become. What's left may be only scraps. Tendrils. Whispers of the people they once were."

  "Even that would be an improvement," I assured her. "Anything is better than the nightmare that is happening now."

  She opened her eyes. "I agree. Let us do this."

  Chapter 6

  We all gathered in the rotunda of Tomes, where Orlaton, dressed in his fancy Lord of the Rings robes, had been busy d
rawing occult sigils around the Devilment Box with salt, ashes, herbs and who knew what else. The air smelled strongly of burnt sage. Celestina excused herself to meet a friend outside. I wanted to ask her who she was meeting and why, but I was distracted by the object that Uncle James had retrieved from Moonlight and placed on the floor in front of the Devilment Box.

  "Where did you get that?" Orlaton demanded as soon as he noticed what my uncle had done. He straightened up, hands full of charcoal. "That belonged to my father."

  "Yes, it did. Charles gave it to me on the day that he revealed to me that he was a member of the Oddsmakers." Uncle James gave Orlaton a look full of sympathy. "He said he was aware that the Oddsmakers were unpopular in the city and that I might not look kindly on him, but he needed someone he trusted to look after you and your mother should anything happen to him."

  "So he knew they were up to no good," I murmured darkly.

  He nodded, albeit reluctantly. "I want to believe that he was a decent man who hoped to influence them."

  "He did," Orlaton said sharply. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, edgy like he was unused to being defensive. "He understood that they possessed too much power. He also understood that the only way to put a check on that power was to join them."

  "Makes sense," I said, and I meant it. "What kind of being was—er, is he?"

  "He was a satyr with powerful ties." He indicated the statue that Uncle James had placed on the floor. It was an image of goat-human, with breasts and human arms, but the rest distinctly goat. Oversized horns curled backwards from its goat head and a pair of feathered wings sprouted from its human back. "He was an acolyte of Baphomet."

  "That's kinda scary," I ventured.

  Orlaton sneered at me. "Because you know nothing. Your knowledge of Baphomet no doubt comes from the lies born from the torture of the Knight Templars. Men who are in the process of being burned alive or who are being sliced into pieces will confess anything to relieve their suffering, including allegiance to a demon. But Baphomet has nothing to do with the Templars, nor is it representative of the Devil. On the contrary. Baphomet is greatly concerned with the sins of Man, enough that Baphomet is willing to bear the suffering of those sins in order to free men's souls."