by Tricia Owens
It would come, though. I had every confidence. Because if you didn't possess experience, confidence was what you had to rely on.
With the sun just beginning to peek over the mountains to the east, I zoomed my way to Rachel. Before I drew close enough to make out any vehicles or people, I landed in the desert and carefully set my human body down.
Then I said goodbye to the dragon. That would be the short version that I planned to tell people: "Oh, yeah, and at that point I just stopped being the dragon."
Nuh uh. It didn't work that way. Struggling to get out of the dragon and back into my human form was like trying to squirm out of the grip of a WWE wrestler. It felt like my internal organs were being rearranged and my brain, most of all, was caught in a freaky limbo between dragon and human thought. I ended up having to fling my dragon to the ground and thrash around for a while before I finally escaped back into my human form and sucked Lucky into me. Not the most dignified transfers, that was for sure.
Dusting myself off, feeling sore like I'd just suffered the consequences of eating bad clams, I stood up. Slowly, I began walking to Rachel, my thumb extended for a ride.
~~~~~
I got picked up by a trucker who, miracle of miracles, had no interest in having a conversation with me. She just hunkered down over her big wheel and drove, eyes squinting against the bright, rising sun.
As the cluster of Vegas buildings neared, I thought about the wolf shifters and the note I'd found, and I decided that the whole thing not only was a setup, it was a big middle finger from Vagasso. He didn't have to involve me in that wolfish takeover. But using me to achieve the end result had not only been a way to dig my hole deeper with the Rebellion and make them hate me even more, it had been Vagasso calling me out to play.
I could just picture him with his cornrows of curse tattoos on his head, rubbing his palms together in villain-like glee, believing that I had no idea he was in league with the Oddsmakers and eager to watch me crash and burn when I turned to the Oddsmakers for help in beating him. He thought I was caught between a rock and a hard place, with enemies all around.
Well, screw you, buddy. This dragon sorceress isn't stupid.
The truck driver, though tight-lipped, was kind enough to drop me off downtown, so it was only a short walk back to Moonlight. With the sun fully up, I didn't expect to see Vale nor was I surprised to see the piece of paper jutting out from the mailbox on the fence surrounding my yard. It was a note from him.
Moody,
We held off on looking for the capstone until you're with us. We'll need your dragon and your smarts if we're going to achieve anything. We'll try again tonight after sunset.
p.s. Christian says he's sorry he didn't realize he was talking to your doppelganger for nearly ten minutes.
I barked out a laugh as I imagined Christian chatting with the weird body double that the Oddsmakers always left in place when they snatched me up. I pocketed the letter and let myself into Moonlight.
The place felt more like mine now that I'd weathered the storm of curses that Xaran had inflicted on the shop when he'd thought to "test" me. That didn't mean I felt like opening up for business more often than I had to, however. Bushed from my excursion out in the desert, I took a quick shower in my bathroom which kindly chose not to be bloody today, and then collapsed into bed. The footsteps of the spirit entity on the roof lulled me into a heavy sleep.
The wards twanged just after five-thirty in the evening.
Still groggy, I rolled out of bed and rubbed at my eyes while I stood in my studio, waiting to feel the wards again.
Another twang, like I was fishing and something had taken a nibble on my bait. Except I wasn't trying to hook anything. I just wanted to sleep.
I pulled on some clothes just in case this required going outside and then peeked through the bead curtain separating my studio from the shop floor. I could see through one of the front windows just fine this way. I could see all the way out to the sidewalk, in fact, where Vagasso stood just outside my yard.
Ice cubes pressed to my eyeballs wouldn't have woken me faster.
"Holy..." I crept out into the shop, my heart pounding so hard I was sure Vagasso could hear it all the way out where he stood. I flatted my back against the front wall and edged one eye over the window frame to look out at him. He waved.
Jesus. Now what?
Was I supposed to run outside, dragon blazing, and engage in a magickal battle in full daylight? Did he expect me to lower the wards and let him inside the shop? Ha! No way in hell was that happening.
What did this guy want?
"Anne," he called out.
I tensed. I'd never heard him speak. My only interaction with him had been him magickally punching me into Christian's backyard pool. It frustrated me that his voice sounded normal, not growly like it had been ravaged by razor blades and not slimy or sleazy. He sounded quite pleasant, actually. Through the phone he could have talked me into a yearly subscription to Field & Stream.
"Anne, I regret that we never formally met," he continued, his voice carrying clearly across the yard and through the glass of the window. Magick, probably. I doubted anyone else in the neighborhood could hear him.
"I can't say I share the regret," I replied, not bothering to raise my voice. I knew he would hear me. "I don't get a kick out of meeting assholes."
"That's not a very nice thing to say. You don't even know me."
I rolled to put my back to the wall again because watching him standing out there was making my skin itch as though someone had dumped a tub of maggots on me. He wasn't dressed in super villain gear—just jeans and a black shirt—but the shirt was long-sleeved and had a funky stand-up collar on it reminiscent of a sorcerer's cape, neither of which you could wear comfortably during a summer day in Vegas. Some kind of magick air conditioned shirt. What a tool.
"I've heard through the grapevine that you believe I was responsible for the unfortunate fate of your parents, Anne. That's simply not true."
I fisted my hands, knowing he was goading me, but still unable to prevent myself from reacting.
"Professor Dearborn was the man you wanted. You should rest easy now that he's met his fate. Your mission of revenge has been completed."
"I'm not going to talk about my parents with you because I might end up accidentally burning your tongue out of your head," I told him as calmly as I could. "But I will tell you that I'm not fooled by you and I'm not scared of you."
"Oh, Anne. We both know that's not true."
I shuddered, and I hated myself for it. My hand crept up to my chest and rubbed as though I could feel again the force of his magick punching into me.
"What I gave you then was only a love tap," Vagasso said, as though he could see through the walls. He probably could. "If you cross me again, I'll treat you as a true opponent. You call me a dark spirit...you have no idea just how dark I am."
Go away, I willed him. Just leave me alone.
I couldn't say that aloud, though. That was what victims said to a bully and it only encouraged them to ramp up their efforts. Instead, I said, "Vegas doesn't seem to be a fit for you, then. Maybe someplace like Antarctica is more to your liking. Preferably about a hundred feet beneath the ice. It's pretty dark there."
"I agree that I'm not a fan of this city," he went on, ignoring the prod about his journey to the southernmost continent, where he'd murdered Christian's father. "I find it shiny and inconsequential, like a piece of cheap plastic meant to be thrown away and recycled into something more meaningful. I have the power to provide that meaning, Anne, which is why you need to step aside and let me work."
"Work? Yeah, right. You mean to destroy. I don't get it. Why wreck everything? Is it because you're a demon? You miss your buddies? Need a demonic entourage while you party it up in Sin City?"
"No, no parties. I'm interested in unleashing the potential of this world. Right now it's stunted, its magick harnessed and wasted. I'll do my best to change that."
; "Your friends the Oddsmakers have helped harnessed it, you know. They prohibit everything that you consider fun."
"Do they?" Vagasso sounded amused, obviously aware that I was trying to get him to admit that they'd made a Devil's bargain.
"You should get rid of them first," I suggested. "They're the biggest obstacle to your demon tea party."
"I appreciate your concern, Anne. I knew you could become an ally."
My lips curled off my teeth. "I'd rather skydive into an active volcano."
"If you put away your childish resistance you'd recognize the possibilities I'm presenting to you and your kind. Especially to you. Your dragon is impressive, but it could be so much more. Imagine your dragon burning down every city between here and New York City. Imagine sinking your teeth into skyscrapers and smashing homes with your magnificent tail. The roar you'd make, Anne—can't you feel it building in your chest?"
Damn him, I could, like a cough that needed expelling from my lungs. His words called to the dragon in me and its desire to dominate and inflict fear. Vagasso wanted me to become the monster that had doomed my ancestors and led to discrimination against all of us who came after.
Screw. That.
Even though it would feel incredible.
"My dragon's gone through a twelve step program, Vagasso. We only play nice, now. Well, with everyone except dark spirits with questionable fashion sense."
He chuckled, like we were friends drinking Frappuccinos at Starbucks.
"You want me to stop?" I asked him. "Well, I'm telling you to stop. Stop before I make a big mess of you."
"I was afraid you'd say that. I'd truly hoped that I could talk you into behaving. But you're only a dragon. Just like your mother before you, certain concepts are simply too difficult for you to grasp."
I stuck my arm out and flipped him the bird. That was all that comment was worth.
"Before I leave you—" Thank god! "—I wanted to assist a friend in sending a message. Consider this the exclamation point to my warning not to interfere with me."
A friend? Cringing in dread, I leaned around the window frame again. Vagasso had indeed been joined on the sidewalk by someone else. Dr. Morrow, looking the worse for wear, but most definitely alive and clearly peeved. If I'd thought her owl-like staring was bad, it was nothing compared to the madness that made her twitch now like a chicken. Whatever Vale had done or said to her had pushed her into the deep end, but like a cockroach, the mad doctor had resurfaced. She still wore the goggles with one of the lenses broken out of the frame.
"You've got to be kidding me," I gasped as I ducked back inside. Though it went against everything I stood for, in that moment I wished that Vale had finished her off.
But that was a coward's thought and I chucked it far out of my head.
"We only stopped Dr. Morrow's work," I said. "We didn't hurt her. It'd be nice if she extended me the same courtesy."
"I don't think Dr. Morrow is feeling any degree of courtesy, Anne. You destroyed her livelihood. Her home. But fortunately, I have a need for such a talented mind, so she'll be working for me from now on."
"Dream Team for sure," I said.
"Dr. Morrow wanted to give you a gift before we left you. Keep in mind that this might be the last gift you ever receive from anyone if you don't back off, Anne. Stay away. This world is on a collision course with fate. Standing in its way will only bring you misery. Have a nice day."
I glanced out the window again. Both Vagasso and Dr. Morrow, whose hair had mostly come out of her long braid and now stuck up wildly all over her head like she'd fall into a combine harvester and survived, walked down the sidewalk and out of sight. I was dying to know what kind of vehicle Vagasso was rocking. I couldn't picture him in anything but a hearse.
However, I had a greater concern than Vagasso's ride, such as whatever had tunneled beneath Moonlight and was trying to break through the flooring. I'd just assumed that the wards around Moonlight extended in a sphere around the shop. Clearly that was not the case, because something was pushing up the tiles and odds were good it wasn't someone from China.
I hurried over to the wall where the weapons were kept and selected something that didn't demand any sort of demented blood binding from me. A simple hatchet worked. Then I called up Lucky, so I had a twofer ready to face whatever abomination popped up in my shop.
I didn't have to wait long.
The tiles and wood burst upwards, bits of it flying across the floor and sliding beneath the merchandise shelves. I tightened my hold on the hatchet and infused Lucky with enough energy that when he bit down with his fangs he'd leave a mark you couldn't ignore.
More wood exploded through the hole in my floor and then a head pushed up.
Oh, no.
I could have handled anything—a thousand bleeding eyes, weeping sores, wriggling antennae and tentacles—anything but this. This hairless head, though covered in skin that blazed a bright pink as though it had been freshly, deeply burned, was recognizably human.
I felt my knees buckle. I heard the blade of the hatchet hit the floor with a heavy thunk when it fell from my hand. The head coming through the floor had a mouth that was slit vertically. It opened sideways to reveal a zipper row of tiny, triangular-shaped shark's teeth. It didn't possess a nose or nostrils, nor did it possess ears. Wrinkled, fluttering holes sufficed for all of the orifices. But it was the creature's eyes that did me in. They were a beautiful blue-green, and they were entirely human.
I started to cry. As the creature began climbing out of the hole using four arms that each ended in three- clawed fingers, I cursed Dr. Morrow and magick itself for allowing such cruelty to exist. I had been raised to view magick as a gift, something which you hoarded carefully and with reverence, because possessing it made you special. Magick bent the laws of science to make the incredible possible, and so we needed to wield it judiciously and wisely. We needed to make sure that we used magick only for the positive.
But the curses on Moonlight proved that people were all too happy to use magick to punish and inflict harm. The fact that Dr. Morrow had clients showed that there were magical beings who saw being special as a curse, or something to manipulate until they reached the "right" sort of special.
Whoever this man could be—for now that the creature had pulled himself completely into the shop I could see the vestigial, mutilated remains of his sex—he couldn't have chosen this end result. This wasn't improvement, as Dr. Morrow had claimed was her goal. This was a mistake. This was a prison sentence. And sadly, this was probably just the tip of the iceberg when it came to all that Dr. Morrow and Vagasso were capable of inflicting on the world.
The creature stepped toward me in a strange gait because its knees faced backwards, like on a dog or a horse. Maybe it made him run faster. But where did he need to run to, and why? Or were the joints just an experiment, something to try because why not?
Lucky hovered beside me. I felt him itching to surge forward, but I held him back.
"Are you in there?" I choked out to this creature with skin that wept and eyes fringed with thick, blond lashes. "Is this what you wanted? Did you choose this?"
It paused a few feet from me. I could smell it: whatever leaked from its skin was sharp like ammonia. It wasn't the reason for my watering eyes, though.
"Did you want this?" I repeated, my voice breaking.
The creature's slit mouth widened and it bared its dozens of teeth at me. Above them, a single bead of moisture welled in the creature's right eye and slid down his mottled cheek.
I whispered, "Lucky."
That was all I said, passing the blame onto a magickal familiar that only existed because I willed it to. But it was the only way I could do it, the only way I could burn this creature to cinders.
It didn't make a sound as it burned, nor did it try to get away, which was the most awful part because it proved what I'd feared. It stood there, engulfed in a terrible but contained conflagration, until it could stand no more. Then, it collaps
ed into a heap and it burned there on the floor of Moonlight until there was nothing left of it to burn.
The room stank. Smoke choked the air. I called Lucky back into myself, and then I cried like I'd never cried before.
Chapter 8
The wards twanged again, nearly an hour later. By then I'd collected the ashes and dumped them in the trash can in my backyard. By then I'd cleared out the smell of smoke, removed the burned tiles, and patched over the hole in the floor with a tin sign for Marlboro cigarettes.
I waved acknowledgment to Vale when I stepped outside and kneeled to move the rocks into a pattern that would drop the wards. But my thoughts were in turmoil and it was difficult to concentrate. Since the pattern arose daily from my subconscious—a neat trick devised by Orlaton—I needed to have a clear head while I worked. Vale watched silently from the sidewalk as twice I failed to set the correct pattern.
"Third time's the charm," I said with a smile as I rose to my feet.
Vale opened the gate, closed it behind him, and walked up to me and wordlessly enfolded me in his arms. I thought I'd been done with crying, but I was wrong. The tears burst out of me all over again. He held me tightly as I dampened the front of his shirt.
"Thank you for knowing," I whispered against his chest once I was finally drained.
"I try to know everything I can about you. I love you."
"Now you're just trying to make me cry," I said with a sniff as I pulled away.
He grazed my cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I would never knowingly make you cry, Moody. The world already does that."
"And I'm going to change that," I said with sudden fierceness. The ache in my chest now felt like a fire that could scourge the world clean of evil. I clutched his hand. "Vagasso came here."
His eyes widened. "Did he hurt you?"
My smile was sickly. "In a way." I took a shuddery breath. "Vale, only a couple of hours ago, I...I did what I'd promised myself I would never do."
His fingers dug into my shoulders. "Vagasso?"
I shook my head. "I wish, but, no. Someone who didn't deserve it." I had to bite my lip as fresh tears threatened to spill. "Someone who was innocent."