Plight of the Dragon

by Debra Kristi

  Chelsea? The papers slipped from his fingers, fluttered to the floor, and he spun around to study the girl once more. He’d known something felt off about her. Clearly, it had been a mistake to ignore it, put it off to be dealt with later. He took a deep breath, and with it, a step toward her. Allowing her to accompany him here, to this place, exposed the truth of his suspicion.

  Curled on the floor, wrapped tight in her fluffy white robe, was the dying human girl he knew as Chelsea. The same girl he’d given a reprieve from Death at her reaping several months back. Only, now…now, faintly visible was another soul hitching a ride, possibly even hijacking her body, thoughts, and actions.

  Sebastian approached and kneeled before her, wiping her sweat-soaked hair from her face. “Who are you?”

  Her eyes widened, and a startled expression flashed across her features. “What did that box do to you? You know who I am, Sebastian.”

  “I do, Chelsea.” He took her hand in his, held it gently. “I’m talking to the other, squatting inside you where they don’t belong.” He studied her face, watched it change, and believed she had a vague awareness of what was happening. If not completely, at least on some level. “Have you experienced any loss of time?” he asked.

  Chelsea glanced away and bit her lip in silence, before answering a few moments later. “Sometimes. But mostly, I listen to the voice inside my head and do as she says.”

  Nudging the crook of his finger beneath her chin, he turned her head to face him once again. “This voice, is it yours?”

  “No.” She shook with tears. “But I wanted to do everything she told me to do. All of it. It brought me closer to you, and there’s no place I’d rather be.” Chelsea took a deep breath.

  He smiled gently. “How long has she been with you?”

  “Since that first day I saw you.” Chelsea sniffled. “Sometimes I’m aware when she’s with me, other times, my mind is blank. When she leaves me alone, I haven’t a clue how to find the carnival or you. I’m back home in a hospital bed.”

  Sebastian’s brows pinched together. “And what kind of things has she told you to do?”

  Chelsea cleared her throat. “Easy stuff, mostly. Get to know you. Get close to you. She said she needed my help to fix things, to fix her, and somehow, knowing you was going to make everything all better. But then her plan got so messy, and I didn’t know what to do. Coming between you and Kyra proved to be an impossible task. At least, I thought so until I saw you today.” She lowered her gaze to her lap, and tears streamed down her checks. “I messed up and I’m so weak. Too weak to make a difference.”

  He clutched both her hands and lowered his head to see her better. “She’s hurting you, Chelsea, can’t you see that? She sped up your cancer, killing you all the more quickly.” He held her face in the palm of his hands and wished…oh, by all Hell’s might, he wished his sincerity would be enough to cure her. “If she’s broken, in need of fixing, she can never achieve any kind of mend by breaking another. Especially someone like yourself.” Using his thumb, he wiped a dribble of blood from her nose.

  Chelsea lowered her eyes. “You honor me, and I don’t deserve it.” She raised her hand and coughed, sprinkling blood into her palm. She stared, fixated on the splotches of red.

  “She’s murdering you, Chelsea.”

  “No.” She met his gaze. “I did this. I am the creator of my own calamity.”

  The fortuneteller against the wall clinked and burped, spit out another card, then Chelsea disappeared in a swirl of turquois smoke. In the last second before she was gone, after substance vanished from his hold but hints remained within the fog, he could have sworn it was the face of another he saw. A hungry, eager, and angry face, clawing to stay. Worse yet, he thought he recognized her. If only he could remember from where.

  Sebastian was on his feet and spinning in a circle, searching the room, before the smoke dissipated. He was alone. His thoughts exploded like a coaster on the downhill fall, picking up speed by the second, tossing into a spin and sharp turn. Who was manipulating Chelsea? What was the big mess she’d referred to? Was the mess the reason his dad, Mr. Johnson, and all the other Grims were here?

  So many Grims in the carnival. What did that mean for Mystic’s? The cards could probably tell him. Like the carnival dog seeks his bone for comfort, Sebastian started thumbing through the tarot card deck in his pocket. He dealt a card—Death. His chest grew heavy. He dealt another, and Death again. The weight swelled throughout his body, the dormant dragon inside him coiled. Another card dealt, another Death. An unfortunate Grim situation. Flipping the deck over, he found the entire deck was nothing but more of the same. With that many Death cards, it was unlikely the deck foretold his or Chelsea’s fate. The fortune was for something weightier than one or two of Mystic’s members. He had to get out of the bibelot tent, had to change the predictions. Sebastian didn’t subscribe to the idea of a tarot future set in stone. The one the cards predicted, he was going to reap that one to Hell.

  Clinkity-clankity-clunk. The patterns on the floor began to turn. Sebastian sidestepped away from the crimson circles, finding safety along the outer edge by the animated fortuneteller. The latest note lay on the floor, mocking him. He picked it up.

  The Great Valko finds L. M. unworthy. Adieu.

  It was a clue to Chelsea’s hitchhiker. But who the Grim was L.M.?

  The floor’s intricate design twisted and turned like the inner workings of a clock, then, with a thundering pop, exploded into a tent filled with museum case after museum case brimming with rare and unique finds—the bibelots. Likewise, all around the walls, curtains pulled back to reveal displays. Everything had been here all along, only now they were finally showing themselves.

  Sebastian’s concerns temporarily forgotten, or at least put on hold, he jogged the perimeter of the tent in search of the necessary item. When it wasn’t found framed in a curtained display, he took to a systematic search of the cases gridding the floor. His search ended at the fifth box of glass. Housed within was an ancient item of gold easily mistaken for a weapon. When studied closely, Sebastian could see it was a funnel, only built with a firm handle resembling that of a dagger. He took a deep breath and considered its use. Dragons decorated the handle engravings and danced around the surface of the funnel. And it was a dragon this piece was going to help. The dragon soul-shifter would do what it was meant to do: shift a soul. In this case, it would return Kalrapura to her rightful owner.

  “Okay, Great Valko. Help me out here.” Sebastian circled the museum case, unsure how to extract what he needed.

  The Great Valko chugged and burped, spit out another card, and the glass protecting the dragon soul-shifter evaporated. Sebastian felt instantly lighter, and without first checking the Great Valko’s latest card he grabbed the artifact, tucking it safely into his coat’s inner pocket.

  The tent shuddered and lights flickered. All the curtains around the perimeter dropped to a close. Museum cases slid back into the floor. Everything went pitch-black. All sound ceased. And the tent fell.

  14

  FINDINGS

  Marcus

  What shall we do, sir?” Darren asked Marcus.

  Marcus studied the unconscious old man at his feet. “About?”

  “About our men. About the closed portal,” Darren responded.

  “We make do.” Marcus turned to face him and assess the situation. He guesstimated fifty or so of his men had made it through before the door closed, possibly ten or fifteen of Davies’s men. Some fought, but most scrambled into the cover of the carnival. Likely in search of their vexatious leader. Marcus’s steely eyes watched the scum disappear from view. The carnival lacked the luster of lights, making it dark, but not unmanageable. The early hour allowed for plenty of light for him and his men. The moon was full and the stars bright. The fact that it was always night at the carnival lost some of its appeal without the illumination of a million or more lights, but where lesser beings were concerned, Marcus and his men would u
se the new turn of events to their advantage.

  Over the discord, a scream surged. Carnival patrons stood where the portal had been minutes ago. A woman held her hands over her mouth and turned away from the severed arm on the ground, burying her face in the chest of her companion. Panic erupted in carnies and patrons alike, triggering hollering and pushing in the vicinity.

  Marcus’s jaw firmed. “Collateral damage is unavoidable.” He returned his attention to Darren. “We don’t need to defeat everyone here today. Cut off the head, and the rest will fall in line. Eventually falling to my will or falling to dust. Find me Bolsvck and Davies.”

  “Consider it done.” Darren ran off to relay the orders. After connecting with the men, Rick and Chet and Toby glanced in Marcus’s direction with an affirming nod.

  A howl cut through the night air, like dragon nails on steel. Sharp, startling, and stinging. “Damn supernatural freaks,” Marcus mumbled and marched into the mayhem of the carnival crowd. He’d only been here the one time and hadn’t gotten a proper look around, but figured if you’d seen one carnival, you’d seen them all. How big could this place be? He was the fish swimming upstream against the current. As he headed toward the attractions, everyone else moved toward the exit. After all, what fun is a carnival without any electricity to power the games and rides? Little did all these people know, there was no getting out. No portal. At least, not right now. Someone knocked into his shoulder. Marcus growled, heavy and loud. The crowd parted, offering him a large berth.

  In the distance, he spied the Ferris wheel, remembered the first time he’d seen it. The day of the fire in the back lot by Kyra’s trailer. His chest warmed with the memory. Then he hesitated in his quest. He thought he was following a logical path, one Davies would have taken, and he probably was. Except, when he peered to his right, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity baiting him.

  A few yards away, no longer lit yet still readable, was a sign promoting Mystic’s Magical Market. He couldn’t think of a better place to find that damn tarot-card-reading carnie fuck. A second later, Marcus was marching down the lane between tents and trailers promising reading via palm, stone casting, crystal ball gazing, and other such nonsense.

  There were fewer patrons here, probably filed out already. Marcus took a deep breath and smelled the midway sawdust, animal dung, cotton candy, funnel cakes, overcooked hot dogs turning cold, kernel corn, Polish sandwiches, candy apples, and on and on. It was a never-ending pit of flavors and scents. But of the carnie he sought, not a whiff.

  A torrid of scampering footfalls raced up behind him. “I think I caught Kyra’s scent back there,” Chet said and dropped in beside Marcus.

  “We’ll get to her later.” Marcus paused, noticing the sign ahead. Tarot Card Readings, it said in large, colorful letters. Cards slipped and flipped under the name. An assortment of beaded crystal drops and brass bells hung along the entrance. Pansy, Marcus thought, and walked in with Chet at his back.

  The room was dressed in dark colors with a forest of candles marking the walls, flickering haunting shadows all the way to the ceiling. A table sat center with chairs on either side, one large, worn, and overstuffed armchair on one side, and two smaller versions on the other side. The table was relatively clean of knickknacks. On the side of the table where Sebastian would sit, Marcus found a cubby hole attached to the underside. Within the hole, a deck of cards. Not knowing what possessed him to do so, Marcus pocketed the deck of cards.

  “What are we doing here, boss?” Chet scanned the room with a curious ogle.

  “Looking for that carnie kid; you know the one.” Marcus swept across the back of the room. There were no other rooms, only an exit out the back.

  “Right, that kid.” Chet pushed out his chin, gangster style.

  Returning a grin, Marcus slipped out the back. Behind the entertainment tent, placed somewhat out of sight, was a gypsy-like trailer. It was small and cramped, compared to the one he’d stayed in with Kyra. Guess the kid didn’t need much space. He marched up the steps and threw open the door. Moonlight spilled through open windows on all sides, allowing a dim view of cramped quarters. There was a place to sit, place to sleep, even a place to store his belongings. Marcus moved into the tight aisle, though his hair brushed the ceiling.

  “Find anything?” Chet clutched the door frame on both sides and leaned in.

  Doesn’t look like there’s much to find. Marcus slowly scanned the area, then made a double-take. Beside the bed, almost hidden behind a small stack of books, was a picture of Kyra and Sebastian taken in the fun house. Heat exploded through Marcus’s blood like lava from a volcano. “Nothing,” he said and crushed the picture in the palm of his hand.

  He was about to toss it and leave when something else drew his attention. Something shiny. And something someone had tried to hide, although not well. Not well at all. His hand slipped between two folded shirts on the shelf in front of him and wrapped around a hilt. What he pulled free was a dagger. Not just any dagger. It was the dagger the damn carnie had used against him in the Great Hall.

  A deliciously wicked smile embraced his face and tingles of warmth washed over his body. “It’s going to be a good day, Chet.”

  “Hey! What are you guys doing in Sebastian’s private trailer?”

  Marcus slid the dagger inside his jacket and turned to see the wild carnie girl he’d helped save the day of the fire standing behind Chet. He and Sebastian had worked tirelessly to get her free that day. Traumatized by the event, she kept causing issues with the extraction using her ability. What was it Kyra called her? Ah, Vortex Girl, that’s right.

  Chet spun around and smacked his arm down on her shoulder. “Listen, girly—”

  “Careful, Chet,” Marcus broke in. “That girl, she can—”

  But it was already too late. Marcus’s warning went unheard. Chet was swirling in a vortex into Rajũn knew where. And then he was gone.

  “Oops,” the girl said, not appearing the weeest bit sad, and took Chet’s place in the doorway. “Hey, I know you.”

  Marcus narrowed his gaze and grinned.

  15

  FAMILY

  Kyra

  Does this happen often?” Drakhögg motioned to the lack of light while his gaze meandered up and down the ladies’ curves.

  “Are you for real?’ Talia snapped. “The carnival never shuts down. Never sleeps.”

  Kyra rolled her eyes and looked away. Get away, was what she wanted to do. Standing in Drakhögg’s company was one of her least favorite things. Her gaze wandered over the dark stacks of props, magic books, and costumes. Jumping near the front of her to-do list now was finding out what had happened to the carnival. She had no memory of darkness ever befalling the magical realm, not once since she’d come to live there.

  Kyra rubbed her arms. She wasn’t cold, per se, Talia’s potion was still working, but the air had grown a tad bit nippy. Talia noticed, grabbed a wrap from the bureau, and dropped it around Kyra’s shoulders. With a snap of her fingers, candles around the Magician’s space sparked to life. “Magic. Don’t leave home without it.” She winked and delivered a hubristic smile.

  “Thanks, Talia,” Kyra said and contemplated what to do next.

  “Don’t worry, blondie,” Drakhögg said, addressing Kyra. “You need not worry about a thing. I’m here, and I will protect you.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Kyra shot Talia a worried glance.

  “Isn’t there somewhere you need to be? Looking for someone, weren’t you?” Talia asked with a snide smile.

  “Yes.” He scratched his head. “But her trail has grown oddly cold.”

  A massive crash resounded through the sea of tents beyond their canvas wall.

  “What was that?” Kyra ran for the exit and popped into the midway, fumbling once on the skirt of her dress. Without the lights of the carnival, outside was dimmer than usual, but not disagreeable or difficult. The moon was bright and the sky, more an azure than an indigo. Stars make the
most romantic nightlights. Kyra’s heart plummeted. Too bad she didn’t have any romantic interest with whom to share the moment. She bit the inside of her lip, stared at the movement of people.

  A mixture of discord flowed outside the tent walls, people from all manners of life affected differently by the carnival’s power outage. Among the patrons, she saw bewilderment, annoyance, alarm. Emotions that moved them at a fast walk or run toward the main exit, clearing the aisles at the not-so-moderate rate of speed similar to the kiddie zone’s Express Train Ride.

  Several lengths down, in the middle of the midway, as the crowd cleared, she could see the shambles of a smashed tent. Here, carnies lingered in a mumbling madness of words. Kyra’s hand flew to her lips, and she sucked back a breath. It was like no tent she’d seen here before. Where had it come from?

  Mere feet away, at the outskirts of the growing mass, Chelsea sat in a curled ball. “Chelsea!” Kyra called out and took a step in her direction. Talia grabbed her by the arm, yanked her to a halt.

  “She won’t know who you are,” Talia whispered at Kyra’s ear.

  Kyra regarded Talia with irritation. “She might know something about that tent in the middle of the midway.”

  “Aren’t you worried about being found out?” Talia pressed tight against Kyra, keeping their conversation private. “She’ll wonder how you know her name, when she’s never seen you before.”

  Kyra’s fight lost steam and her muscles relaxed, but her anxiety did not. She stared at the small crowd collecting around the fallen tent-from-nowhere.

  “What’s going on? Hell of a ruckus. Anything good happening?” Drakhögg stood behind them, observing the sight over their shoulders. Kyra tensed again.

  “Drakhögg! Any sign of her?” Kyra’s parents and a few of their minions strolled their way, Ryhuu among them.