Legend of the Jade Dragon

by Yasmine Galenorn

  She continued her rant. “I can’t believe he turned out to be such a louse. Why the hell are you protecting him?”

  “I’m not protecting him, Harl.… I just don’t think it matters that much. Not considering what I’m facing with that damned dragon.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said after a minute. “But I can still make him regret treating you this way, and I will. And don’t worry, you’ll always take precedence over his sleaziness when it comes to invitations to parties and soirees.”

  Feeling vindicated and just a little bit guilty, I thanked her and hung up, feeling better than I had all morning. Time to get busy. I opened my tote bag and withdrew Nanna’s journal. Flipping through the aged pages, I looked for any mention of removing curses. Of course, Nanna would never have heard of the jade dragon or the curse attached to it, but maybe there would be something that might help. I hovered over the vengeance-for-straying-mates spells, then forced myself to pass them up. Nope! Not a good idea. By noon, I’d scoured every page and come up empty-handed, except for a single charm that might, or might not, do the trick.

  If only I knew something about Chinese magic and folklore. I put in another call to Harlow. “What are the rules for a community member who wants to use the library at the university?” I asked.

  “You have to purchase a community access card in order to check out material. I suppose you’re hunting for ways to break that curse?”

  I sighed. “Keeps my mind off the other stuff.” I broke down and told her about my fight with Murray. “Last night sucked rocks all the way around, tell you that.”

  “Jeez, what the hell is going on with your biorhythms? Maybe your stars are out of alignment?” She paused, and I thought I heard the sound of a match striking up.

  “You aren’t smoking, are you?”

  There was a hasty noise as she jostled the phone. “No, no… just… lighting a candle.” I waited until she added, “I put it out, okay?”

  “Okay, then. You know it’s better for the baby—”

  “Hey, I sympathized with you.” Another pause, then, “Yeah, I know. Anyway, regarding this curse. I suppose you’ve already looked in Nanna’s journal?”

  “Ahead of you there. I found a few hex-breakers, but I have an uneasy feeling that they’re gonna do squat. We’re talking Chinese demon magic here.” I took a swig of diet cherry Coke and leaned back.

  Cinnamon poked her head around the corner. “Excuse me, but there’s someone here to see you.”

  I told Harl I’d call her back and headed out to the front counter. White Deer was standing there, a stern look on her face. Not sure whether to be grateful or worried, I invited her into the tearoom. I’d managed to pick up new chairs and tables, and Lana was in the process of refinishing the sideboard from which we served the tea and pastries. It had been damaged during the orgy of violence that had played out in my little shop.

  White Deer looked around at the sparsely furnished shelves and the half-finished renovations. “Someone left a shadow here, Emerald. If you don’t clear it, you won’t draw customers back in. We can help you do that.” When I didn’t immediately answer, she added, “I know all about your argument with Anna.”

  I poured tea for us and fetched a couple of sandwiches. “That’s okay, I’ll do it myself. I’ve got to stop asking Murray to help me so much. I hurt her feelings, and I didn’t mean to.”

  White Deer’s face was placid, almost stoic, as she commanded my gaze. “You aren’t good at playing the martyr. Neither is Anna. I told her the same thing I’m telling you. This anger that has come between you wasn’t spawned by your friendship. You need each other; you nourish each other’s soul, and if you two insist on being stubborn jack-asses, that old trickster spirit Coyote’s going to be on your ass like white on rice and make things worse until both of you learn to laugh at yourselves and let go of your self-righteousness.”

  I stared at my hands. Stubborn? Murray and I were as stubborn as they come. “You’re right,” I said. “I’m not sure what to do about it, but you’re right.”

  She snorted. “Exactly what Anna said. I’ve always believed the two of you are twin souls. You walk different paths and practice different traditions, but you share the same vision. Now, should you call her, or should she call you?”

  White Deer’s questions were never as simple as they sounded, and long ago I’d learned not to blurt out a frivolous or snappy comeback. As much as I wanted to snatch up the phone, if I called Murray right now, I wouldn’t know what to say. She needed to sort out all the crap going on at her job, while I needed to focus on my own life, on the breakup with Andrew, and on the dragon.

  “This problem with her job is one she’ll have to work out on her own,” I finally said. “She doesn’t have any energy to spare, and neither do I.” I looked at White Deer as she waited patiently. “She’ll call me when she’s ready. Until then, I have to be patient.”

  With a satisfied nod, White Deer motioned to Cinnamon. “Bring us some more tea, please. Emerald and I need to have a little talk.” Then she asked me to tell her about the dragon, and I understood that I’d earned a new confidante, at least for today.

  THE TALK WITH White Deer did me a world of good. She sympathized with me over the situation with Andrew, encouraged me to get the security system for my house, and reassured me that I wasn’t being overly paranoid. She also set my mind at ease about my friendship with Murray.

  “You haven’t lost your best friend,” she said. “Just give her some time. Meanwhile, you need to use your intuition more. I think you tried to wall yourself off after Daniel died. Tune back in to the otherworld; if you don’t, you’ll risk short-circuiting your psychic powers. You know that just as well as I do.” She stood up and placed her hands on her hips, arching her back as she stretched. About to leave, she stopped and flashed me a curious look.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She tilted her head. “Just a hunch. Emerald, when the chips are down, don’t be afraid to ask for help, even if you have to swallow your pride. Even if you have to ask for help from somebody you don’t want to ask.” With a hug, she was gone.

  After she left, Cinnamon, Lana, and I spent the rest of the afternoon organizing the stack of crates that had been delivered at noon. I grabbed the crowbar and got to work opening cases. “Oh, how lovely,” I said, holding up a beautiful black lacquered teapot. A matching set of teacups and saucers followed. We sifted through the packing material and began the job of inventorying the new stock.

  By closing time, the shop looked rejuvenated. It felt good to wander around and poke through the shelves and not be able to see every item with just one sweep of the eyes. I was dusting off a porcelain ballerina when the phone rang, and Cinnamon held it out to me.

  It was Harl. “Can you get the Internet at your store?”

  “Um-hmm,” I said. “I brought an old computer from home to use here until I get the replacement for the one that was stolen.” That was one good thing my marriage to Roy had provided: a steady stream of computers coming through the house. I had several spares in the shed. I knew they were outdated by now, but they’d work in a pinch, and this was a pinch.

  “What’s your E-mail at the shop?”

  I gave it to her, and she told me to check my in box right away. “I think I found a solution to your curse, but I don’t think it’s going to make it any easier on you.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Take a look. I just sent you the info.” With a rushed “Bye,” she hung up. I settled myself behind my desk and logged on. Sure enough, an E-mail slowly downloaded into my in box. I clicked on the attachment and found myself staring at a page copied from some site, referring to various forms of Chinese curses. I quickly skimmed the information, and sure enough, there was a mention of a jade dragon carved during the Ming dynasty.

  Holding my breath, I began to read through the information. Most of the story I already knew
, thanks to Mary Sanders, but what caught my eye was a brief sentence at the end of the article. According to legend, the only way to break the curse was to bathe the dragon in the blood of a thief.

  Oh goody! Blood rites! And not just any blood, but the blood of a thief. It made sense, in a twisted sort of way, but just where was I going to find a thief willing to fork over a pint? Maybe Murray would let me go over to the jail and bleed one of their convicted thieves. I could go all the way and use leeches! Or I could tell him I was a research doctor, and we needed his blood for an experimental treatment. Yep, this was going to be a piece of cake—break your foot, heavy as brick, fruitcake.

  “Great! Just great, now what am I going to do?”

  Cinnamon peeked around the door. “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head. “I dunno. I just want to go home and crawl into bed and stay there until everything’s okay again.” I waved her off again and took the dragon out of my purse, where it lay snuggled in a handkerchief, looking for the world like the cat that ate the canary. I set it on my desk. “So, you need a bath? Wonderful. I’m really looking forward to that.”

  The dragon didn’t say a word. It just stared at me, eyes unblinking.

  “Why did you come into my life? I didn’t need you. I didn’t ask you to show up. And now, I’m supposed to go break into the jail and play vampire?”

  Again, not a word. This conversation was a little one-sided. I wanted to call Murray, to tell her what I’d found out, but then I remembered that we weren’t speaking. Shit; I tucked the dragon away.

  Cinnamon and Lana were finishing up the unpacking. Six o’clock. Time to close. “You girls go ahead and take off. I’ll stay for another hour or so. I need to get these new ledgers finished.” I called the kids and told them to nuke frozen dinners for themselves or to eat sandwiches and that I’d be home before eight.

  The Chintz ’n China’s accounting system ran off both hard-copy ledgers and a computer inventory tracking system. It was a damned good thing that I was as compulsive as I was. I’d kept a zip disk of every scrap of digital information on the shop, and on Tuesday nights, I took the info home with me until the next week, when I updated it again. Because of my diligence, the chipheads down at Compu-ER would be able to load all the old info off those backups onto my new laptop, which I would take home every evening for safekeeping.

  After a solid hour and a half of work, I held my breath and armed the security system. I was still jumpy; it would be just like me to punch in the wrong numbers and have the cops breathing down my neck, but it proved easier to handle than I thought. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard to get used to.

  I climbed into the Cherokee, fastened my seat belt, hit the ignition, and took off for home. The engine knocked loudly. Maybe I’d better call the auto shop tomorrow. I’d been putting off getting the bear scratches looked at, but with the engine clanking, I didn’t want to take any chances.

  Home wasn’t far away, fifteen minutes by car, but as I turned onto Elmhurst Street, the Cherokee shuddered and died. I rolled to a stop near the curb.

  Hell and high water! What now? I tried the ignition again but got only a bare rumble. When I dug out a flashlight and shone it on the dashboard, I knew exactly what my problem was. Dry as dust. Not a drop of gas left. Dandy! I’d forgotten to fill the tank after our trip to Mount Baker. Maybe I was self-destructing, I thought, as I hunted for my cell phone. Or maybe I should just write it off to stress and not worry about why it happened. That sounded good. Now, all I had to do was call Triple A, and they’d bring me some gas.

  That is, they’d bring me some gas if I could find the damn phone. I emptied my purse on the passenger seat and sifted through the contents. Nope, nothing resembling a cell phone amid the gum and lipstick and receipts and M&M’s littering the bottom of my handbag. Had I left it at work? No, I was pretty sure about that. Home? Maybe. I got out and dug my way through the car, but either I was getting old and my memory was fading, or I’d be receiving the Space Cadet of the Year award.

  I must have left the cell at home. Okay, that meant a nice, brisk walk. Not a bad thing, I reassured myself. My house was only about ten blocks away. I could call Triple A from there and have them pick me up and drive me back to the Cherokee with some gas. Though this wasn’t a part of town that I frequented, comprised of old buildings and even older houses, I knew where I was.

  I tucked my bag over my shoulder and slipped my keys between my fingers the way they’d shown us in self-defense class. If some jerk came at me, he’d get a face full of metal tips fueled by my frustration. After making certain the car was locked, I set off on foot, teetering on my high heels. From now on, I’d carry emergency sneakers in the car along with the first aid kit and a spare bottle of water.

  Chapter 12

  EVEN THOUGH WE were into April, the days were still getting dark early. The temperature had managed to hit fifty-five today, but now it was dropping, and I pulled my blazer tightly around my shoulders. My feet hurt, and I wished again that I’d chosen flats this morning. Harlow could waltz around in spikes without a problem, but me? Nope, as pretty as they were, I looked like a cat trying to walk on its hind legs when I wore any heel higher than two inches.

  I passed an abandoned corner grocery store and then one of Chiqetaw’s many moldering houses, shivering as I glanced up at the old Victorian. I’d nearly lost my life in Eunice Addison’s white elephant last December; it had looked remarkably similar to this one. Give me a new house any day, tidy and neat and compact.

  A low hooting startled me; an owl in the tree I’d just passed was waking for the night. I stopped, gazing up at it as it eyed me silently. While some cultures considered the owl a bad omen, others thought it wise and magical. I preferred the latter version. “Are you telling me something?” I whispered. The bird slowly closed its eyes, then opened them again. Observant. The owl watched everything, looking for the smallest signs of scurrying rats and mice. Maybe that’s what it was trying to tell me—to keep my eyes open, to pay attention.

  Which brought to mind White Deer’s advice. If I was honest with myself, I knew she was right; I’d shut off my inner senses, blocking my intuition, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe Daniel’s death frightened me from looking too closely at the future. Maybe I felt some misplaced guilt that I had contributed to his death. One way or another, I’d flipped the switch to dim, except for when the dragon had hurtled me into the midst of its visions. I had enough experience to know that psychic power could be dangerous when repressed. Time to open the floodgates.

  Eight blocks from home, I tentatively reached out, listening with what I dubbed my “astral radio.” After a moment, during which the night felt so ethereally silent that the very brush of air on my skin spooked me, I began to sense turmoil; there was an argument going on somewhere on the other side of the street, behind the closed curtains and locked doors of a house. A few houses later, a wave of intense grief washed over me, and tears sprang to my eyes, threatening to crystallize and spill over. Someone was mourning the loss of a loved one.

  Six blocks from home, as I passed what was obviously a teenage hangout; waves of party-hearty energy assailed me. Music was blaring from inside. Somebody was stuck in the eighties, I thought, watching as the spinning lights from a disco ball flashed through the window. A vortex of laughter and sexual energy flooded my mind, and I was suddenly aroused, flushing as I quickly broke contact. The party had enough booze and funny cigarettes making the rounds to light up Chiqetaw. Enough for one night. I was ready for TV and a bowl of soup.

  I crossed the street and paused at the next corner. If I took the shortcut through the vacant lot in front of me, I’d end up in the alley that ran behind Ida’s house. I could then slip through her yard and shave two blocks off my route. My feet decided for me. They were tired and sore; I decided to go for it. I scurried down the alley, trying to keep from stepping in a hole. I kept center of the dirt track until I recognized the back of Ida’s lot, but as I headed t
oward her fence, I tripped on a downed branch and stumbled, falling against her garbage can and knocking it over.

  Stunned, I caught myself, using the fence for leverage. It was a wonder that Oliver didn’t hear the crash and come out to see who was bumbling around his back gate. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and began to gather up the trash; I wasn’t the kind of klutz who hit and ran without cleaning up my mess. I’d almost finished when I picked up one last bag and the plastic ripped. Oh yeah, just what I needed. Praying that I wouldn’t be reaching into a handful of old spaghetti, I closed my fingers around the batch of garbage and stopped, stock-still. I was holding a necklace. A crystal one, by the feel of it, and a familiar feel, at that.

  I hesitated. It was probably nothing, really. Maybe I should just ignore it and get moving. I mean, a lot of people wore polished quartz necklaces, didn’t they? I knew, though, that I was going to fish out my flashlight and take a closer look at it. I couldn’t go home and sit and wonder.

  Even with splatters of unidentifiable trash on it, the polished spikes were familiar down to the cracked one on the end. This was one of my necklaces. I searched through the rest of the bag: matching earrings, gold hoops that weren’t real gold; another necklace, this one low-grade carnelian. None of the pieces here were worth much, but they’d been in my jewelry box along with the valuable pieces when the house was robbed.

  I glanced up at Ida’s house. No lights; Oliver must be out. His rental car wasn’t in the driveway, so I was probably safe. I played the light around the inside of the trash can, contemplating whether I was going to dig through the other bags to look for anything else that might be important. The roar of a car engine from the far end of the alleyway answered my question. I switched off my flashlight, glancing up as headlights flickered; the car was making its way onto the narrow dirt track. Even from this distance, I knew—absolutely, without question—that it was Oliver.