by Debra Kristi
She shoved him away. “Try impossible. It’s never going to happen, Drakhögg, so give it up.” She started walking away. Talia didn’t follow. Kyra wanted to say something to her, but not here, not in front of these morons. With her memories back in place, her disgust for Drakhögg had soared out of sight. The scum-sucker would do anything to get into her father’s good graces and a place of power—including her half-sister Keahi, the sneering redhead who’d walked into the carnival at Drakhögg’s side earlier.
Ryhuu snagged her hand, stopping her attempt to escape. “You made the right choice. Your mother will be proud.”
“Think again, Ryhuu,” she said. “I haven’t chosen you.” She peeled his hand away. “I’m choosing me. You both lose.” She pointed to both guys, then turned her back on them and walked away.
For the way she felt, her heart had to be withered and dead, sucked of life by her exquisite Reaper. He left me. How could she go through life feeling this way? The answer was, she couldn’t. She would never be happy with Drakhögg or Ryhuu. Never be happy making a choice between the Water Clan and the Fire Clan. The only right choice for her was Sebastian. She would find out what was going on between them. And if he wouldn’t have her, then maybe remaining a Moorigad would destroy her and put an end to her misery.
She thought about what Drakhögg had said about the carnival morphing and sending them on different paths when they were trying to find her. Maybe Mystic’s agreed with her. Maybe the carnival didn’t think she belonged with either dragon clan. Her walk turned into a march, a purpose and destination finally pulling at her.
“Where are you going?” Ryhuu called from behind.
“To set the record straight.”
She heard the shuffle of feet and knew the morons had fallen in behind her. That was fine. They needed to hear what she had to say, too. All the dragons did, so they would leave her the damn dragolion alone.
“The people seem to truly enjoy the fireworks show,” Drakhögg said. Kyra tossed him a sideways shut-up glance. “How do you think they would react if a bunch of dragons took to the sky, adding their fire and ice?”
Ryhuu made an odd sound, making it clear he did not approve of the idea.
Kyra’s stride faltered, her jaw clenched and fingers twitched. She turned on Drakhögg, feeling a sense of rage and fury burning around her like Hell’s fire. “Are you a complete moron?” His brows raised, and he glowered at her. Kyra marched up to him and swung her arm in an arc, pointing to all the people in the crowd, and spoke softly. “Most of these people believe dragons are a myth. You’ve done such a fine job at keeping to your own and staying out of sight that people have forgotten history and rewritten it as folklore. Would you mess that up now over something so foolhardy?”
Drakhögg stood tall and shook his head. “Of course not.”
“You sure?” She prodded him in the chest. “Because your very presence here threatens the lie you’ve all created.”
He twisted his lips tightly together and said nothing.
Her heart warmed at seeing him put in his place. Now that her memories had returned she couldn’t help but see Drakhögg as a young Marcus in the making. It took considerable willpower not to go all dragon-attack on him. “Now shut it. I prefer to walk in silence.” She eyed Ryhuu to make sure he understood that also meant him. Satisfied and with a triumphant smile firmly in place, she began her advance on the enemy—her parents.
A five-minute walk along the midway meant five minutes to think about the many things Marcus had done to her. Five minutes to count the number of pieces she would tear from his body for each and every wrong. At the end of those five minutes Kyra stood before her parents, Ryhuu and Drakhögg flanking her sides. Mystic’s had provided her with a clear path to her desired destination. No side ventures or detours this time. She must be doing the right thing. The celebration had ended in a big bang, a cannonball to the heart, leaving the sounds of celebration to be swallowed by the murmurs of dragons.
Each of her parents had managed to amass a miniature army in her absence, their numbers having grown from four or five each to something around forty or fifty total. Kyra couldn’t be sure, but it was enough dragons to chill her body temperature even more. Rubbing her arms, she wished for a coat made of hot coals. Then remembered her extremely human body probably couldn’t handle such abuse.
Mystic’s Magical Market, usually rife with laughter and whimsical fun, was now oppressed with clan tensions. Sebastian’s concerns flew to the front of her mind. He’d been right; this was no place for dragons. Not with Mystic’s Jubilee in full swing and the strain of Kyra and her Moorigad status pulling and pushing the two sides. She had to make them leave.
Kyra stared at her mother, a silent game of superiority playing between them. Bolsvck pushed through the crowd, making his way to the front, to his daughter. At a quick glance, Kyra guessed his clan had grown to include far more than just Fire Dragons. She saw representatives of all types gathered around him. Much must have happened since she’d left her father’s clan. Last she knew, only the Bronze and the Black consorted with the Fire. Curious.
Bolsvck broke through the mass of supporters around him, his face beaming. He clasped his hands together. “You have your confidence back. Magnificent. You remember, then?”
Kyra’s stare shifted from Queen Shui to her father. “I do. And you can all go now. I know why I left and why I’m here. I haven’t changed my mind.”
“You can’t dismiss us that easily, dear,” Queen Shui said.
“Quite right,” Bolsvck said. “You’ve risked yourself for far too long, little dragon.”
“There is nothing little about me!” Kyra leaned in, raising her voice.
“The point is,” Queen Shui continued for Bolsvck, “you are in danger of losing yourself to the Moorigad curse.”
“Moorigad curse,” Kyra mumbled and rolled her eyes. “When’s the last time you heard of a dragon falling to the curse?”
“None are so careless as to let it happen,” her mother said. “They choose. They protect themselves.”
“You must let us help you, Kyra.” Bolsvck stepped forward with his hand outstretched.
Kyra shook her head. “The idea of a dragon going mad and then dying to an internal battle of traits is ridiculous. I don’t believe it. Anguis the Angry was probably an isolated incident, not a curse. You’ve just never given any other dragons a chance to prove otherwise. And if the curse is true,” she shrugged, “it doesn’t matter. I’ve made my decision.” Kyra turned and shoved Ryhuu and Drakhögg away. “Take these ridiculous suitors out of my sight, and all of you, leave the carnival before someone gets hurt.”
“Kyra! You come back here right this instant!” her mother called.
“Kalrapura.”
Kyra paused at the sound of her dragon’s name called out by her father. She turned and focused on him. “What about her?”
“You are incomplete.” Bolsvck pierced her with his cold, hard stare. “You are missing your dragon soul.”
Kyra’s heart started uncontrollably flipping and flopping. “She’s fine. I have her.”
“Don’t lie to me, child.” Bolsvck advanced another step.
Beads of sweat trickled along Kyra’s hairline. She had the sudden urge to wipe her palms on her thighs. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to give away the lie she was hiding. As if not wiping her palms would keep her father from knowing the truth. He’d probably smelled the truth the moment he’d said Kalrapura’s name.
“We’re not leaving until you are fully restored.” Bolsvck’s face softened. “At least give us that.”
“You don’t need to do that. Sebastian has her safe, and we’ll get it all fixed soon enough. You don’t need to worry.” Kyra’s heart was racing and her head spinning, searching for a good excuse to make them leave.
“Do you have a place you stay? Someplace we can rest?” Queen Shui asked.
Kyra’s eyes widened, and her chin dropped. “For all of you? No. Th
ere are way too many. You need to leave.” Kyra started to pace, agitation getting the better of her. “Besides, my trailer burned down.”
“Trailer?” her mother repeated. “You were living in a trailer?”
“Now where are you staying?” Bolsvck asked.
Kyra stopped moving, turned introspective. She’d thought she would be staying with Sebastian, but now…now, she had no idea. Her trailer, her perfectly comfortable trailer was burnt and broken, and her best friend...She looked to the Ferris wheel spinning high above the carnival’s horizon, remembered the many times she and Sebastian hung out beneath its platform.
Beneath the Ferris wheel, they’d sit with his tarot cards and her bottle of whiskey, make up stories of the people in the swinging passenger cars passing above their heads. On the rare occasion, they’d bear witness to a carnie marriage, fellow carnies riding once around the wheel together. Once, she even allowed herself to imagine she and Sebastian tied that knot.
How she wished for those days again. Life had been good, before she’d let Marcus in. One dumb, simple act brought her life tumbling down like a juggler’s dropped balls.
Itty-bitty flashes of light burst here and there, then everywhere. The air smelled metallic.
Queen Shui swatted at the light. “What is that?”
“The carnival is about to move people and things around. Maybe she’ll boot your dragon tails out the door,” Kyra said, then mentally added, One can only hope.
New to the carnival, some of the dragons had yet to experience a shift. This move by Mystic’s was accompanied by many a dragon moan or cry or roar. Kyra could hear their sounds through the shifting swirl, and then she could not, as they were all swooped to new, different locations. Ones that were not hers.
A sigh of relief escaped her lungs when the carnival world came to a stop, and Kyra found herself standing in front of her restored trailer home. “Thank you, Mystic’s,” she whispered. Replacing her destroyed den was the second best welcome home gift Kyra could imagine. The magic of the carnival never ceased to amaze her. She wanted to hug the dingy little trailer. Kiss the cold, hard metal siding.
“This is where you live?”
Kyra jumped, turned around to see her parents. Her heart dropped into her gut, and her pilot light blew out. Cold, so excruciatingly cold.
“Our presence disappoints. So sorry, little dragon.” Bolsvck stepped onto her front patio, if you could call it a patio. It was an imaginary line in the grass where she had set up two chairs and a rusty table. Sometimes she and Sebastian would hang out there to watch the midnight fireworks show.
“It’s just…” Kyra hugged herself. “I can’t…” Rubbed her arms, up and down, and up again. “Can’t do this…” The grass came up to meet her far too fast. It too was cold and damp. Her parents rushed to her, had their hands all over her, their voices flickering in and out.
Queen Shui placed her hand on Kyra’s forehead. “She’s so cold.”
“She’s a Fire Dragon without her fire.” Bolsvck turned Kyra to face him. “She’s slowly freezing to death.”
Kyra eyes drifted close, and she whispered, “Sebastian.”
9
MIRACLE
Sebastian
What are you doing here?” Sebastian shoved past his father. “Shouldn’t you be out reaping or something?”
“Is that any way to speak to your father?” Mortifier fell in step beside Sebastian, straightened his lapels.
Sebastian rolled his shoulders, wiggled his upper body, and managed to collapse the wings into nothingness. He was once again just himself—sorta. “It is, when the father is you.”
The crowd was thick, people swinging party favors of every possible design, cheering with delight, and throwing confetti into the sky. A few people pointed and gawked at him, but the majority moved about their business as if Sebastian’s transformation was an everyday occurrence at the carnival. Maybe it was. Maybe he didn’t look like a real dragon, not in his current state anyway. Or maybe, like so many things at the carnival, he was accepted as another act, another form of entertaining magic. A stray firework exploded overhead, pulling any remaining attention away from Sebastian. The fireworks were over, but the party was still going strong. Sebastian pushed through the fray, hopeful his father would get lost and be unable to follow.
“Will you stop for a minute and talk to me?” Mortifier grabbed his arm. Sebastian paused, glanced down at his father’s hold, then took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Thought I taught you to dress better.” Mortifier lifted his finger, indicating Sebastian’s thrashed shirt.
“I have somewhere to be. It’s really not a good time, Dad.” Sebastian stressed the word, making clear how little the man meant in his life. They were not friends. They weren’t even happy co-workers. There was almost zero respect between them, and in Sebastian’s book, that was grounds for zero relationship.
Although already standing straight and tall, Mortifier stood taller after his son’s comment. As if his entire body stretched toward the moon, so that he could peer down on his son even further. “Very well, I shall walk with you,” he said with a tip of his head. “And you can tell me what has happened here. What is going on with you?” He fanned his hand in a flamboyant gesture toward Sebastian.
Sebastian yanked his arm free. He was getting tired of people jerking and tugging him around. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.” He brushed at his arm where his father had held him. “Could you just go away please?” Sebastian said, throwing his hand up in a stop-don’t-follow-me signal, and started walking again.
Mortifier stayed in step. “I told you to stay away from the dragon girl. Why,” Mortifier’s hand clenched into a fist, and he shook it at his temple, “do you refuse to listen? Look at you. You have her dragon curled up inside you, squeezed in around your heart.” He talked with sharp, decisive moves, slicing and beating the air with his hand.
Sebastian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, searching for the calm Kyra had helped him find when the dragon first emerged from inside him. “Haven’t you ever felt for anyone besides yourself?” he asked. “Felt so strongly for someone that they became entrenched in your core being? In your soul? Became a part of who and what you are? Or have you always been this soulless creature?” With all the theatrics of a carnie, Sebastian gestured to his father.
The elegant and superior Grim Reaper stood in silence for a breath, his dark eyes revealing nothing, but Sebastian thought he detected something in the movement of a brow, the bat of a lash. “You may love her, I’ll give you that, but such love will be the end of you.” Mortifier moved ahead of Sebastian, forcing him to a stop, and seized both of his shoulders firmly in his grasp. “You must snuff that dragon out before it destroys you, burning you from the inside out.”
“I’m not going to do that.” Sebastian locked stares with his father. “If that’s the only reason you’re here, you may go now. Your message has been delivered and rejected.”
Mortifier released Sebastian, let his arms drop at his side, and began to laugh. “You are a stubborn one. I have to admit, I’m rather proud.” The laughing stopped, and his face fell deadly serious. “But the dragon does have to go.”
“I said no!” Sebastian’s response ran long like the tail of a circus tent flag, his gaze locked on someone else in the crowd. “What is he doing here?” Sebastian asked, pointing at Mr. Johnson.
“That’s a pretty interesting story, actually.” Mortifier placed a hand in his pants pocket and cocked his head to the side.
Sebastian stared at the Reaper with the ridiculous Mr. Johnson name tag. He imagined walking up to the man and punching him in the face. He had left Sebastian in that alley to be beaten by behemoths, and nothing good had come from that situation. Everything that followed ran through his mind in fast forward. Alice’s death, Alice being the sister of Sophie, the girl he’d reaped only days earlier. Both girls being daughters of some big military leader named Davies who didn’t like him much. Seb
astian’s hand slipped into his pocket and found Alice’s pendant still there. What did that mean? Why was he holding on to the jewelry?
The exuberant mass around them began to somber. Sebastian glanced between his father and Mr. Johnson, wondering if what he was seeing was a physiological reaction to multiple Reapers being in one place. He never noticed it around himself, but now there were three—no, wait. His gaze was pulled a few feet to the left and right of Mr. Johnson. Five Reapers. A glance wasn’t enough, Sebastian was suddenly turning in a circle to check the entire scene. To the left of Mr. Johnson stood Mr. Brown, then Mr. Elder, and Mr. Cane. On the right, Mr. Lee and Mr. Vargas. That made eight Reapers, if he counted himself, and he had to count himself. He was a Reaper by nature. He had no idea if he was putting out vibes the Mystic’s party was picking up subconsciously.
Sebastian’s insides churned, acid and dragon tail. His fingers dug into the back of his neck and pulled at his hair. “Why so many Reapers, Mortifier? What’s going on?” His eyes widened, and he pinned his father with his stare.
“Told you it was an interesting story,” Mortifier said, a lazy and untrustworthy smile widening across his chieftain face. The six Reapers standing in a circle around them took a step forward.
Flashes reminiscent of mini firecrackers burst to life, the air within the circle and beyond crackling and sizzling with dots of fire. The waft of metallic air weighed heavily upon Sebastian, as did something else…the carnival herself, pressing into him? It was as if he were being pushed to the ground and spun around, the desire to hurl overwhelming. And then it was still. The carnival had moved them, and fast. To where, yet unclear. In a dizzy haze, Sebastian toppled onto his side and knocked into something ungiving, painful, and cold.
Next to him sat the red, weather-worn, wooden bench by the lake. The one in which Zeke could usually be found. The soft lapping of the water eased Sebastian’s quickened heart, and the smell of Zeke’s cherry tobacco gave him a sense of hope. He hoped Zeke would have a better answer than what the carousel had presented.