Heart of a Dragon dc-1

by David Niall Wilson

  Donovan stood very still. Amethyst stepped up beside him. The musician had not acknowledged their presence. Still, they waited. Donovan took a step forward, and then another. A path led between a group of heavy machinery carcasses, and he stepped toward it gingerly. Amethyst mimicked his movements. They slipped wraith-silent through the clearing, and up to the entrance to that new passage, all the while keeping their eyes locked on the guitarist.

  Just as they thought they had made it through unseen, the man turned. He winked at them, and there was a very subtle change in the sound from his instrument. It didn't disrupt the rhythm, or the song, but Donovan knew in that instant that some message had been sent.

  "He sees us," Amethyst said. She didn't sound frightened, but she did sound confused.

  "It's the music," Donovan said. "I don't think he knows who, or even what we are for certain. He's so in tune with the sound, so connected to the notes and the rhythm that he felt us pass. He's informed the others of it, too. Whatever comes next, I think we have to assume that Anya Cabrera is now aware that someone is here."

  They ducked onto the path and hurried off toward the center of the yard. They were very close. Donovan spotted an old front loader. It had been parked with its shovel up in the air, high enough that it peeked over the top of most of the stacked vehicles.

  "There," he said. "We should be able to see what's going on from there and still remain out of site. She won't be any more able to see us than before. Knowing someone is here and finding them are two different things entirely, and Anya Cabrera has other things on her mind."

  They scrambled up the old, yellow hulk and climbed into the deep, rusted shovel. Once inside they peered out over the toothed lip. Smoke billowed and wisped from the central square of the junkyard. They could make out whirling, dancing shapes. They saw Anya Cabrera, wearing nothing but a thin scarf around her neck, sliding sinuously in and out among the other dancers.

  "Showtime," Donovan whispered.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jake and Enrique came down from Santini Park toward the junkyard at a slow trot. They paid no attention to those they passed, and any who happened to be between the two and their goal stepped aside. There was something different about them, something it wasn't easy to put a finger on. They moved quickly and silently. Both men were dressed in jeans, leather jackets, and heavy boots, but it was the jackets that caught at the attention of passersby and stuck with them for years after.

  As they had passed, the dragons on the backs of those jackets came clearly into view. The colors were vivid, so bright they gave off an illumination all their own. Even those watching from a distance saw the details clearly. As they left the safe bounds of their own territory and entered the darker parts of the Barrio, they dropped out of sight, shifting into the shadows. The dragons left colored trails that lingered in the dusky air.

  Whispered questions followed them. Everyone knew who they were, but none could answer why two of the dragons would enter the territory of their enemies alone. The news of the battle in the park, and Vasquez's fall was fresh, and the junkyard was viewed with a mixture of fear and loathing. Now the jackets started rumors of their own.

  On a street corner with a clear view of the entrance to the junkyard, Martinez stood and watched them pass. He saw the dragons on their backs more clearly than any of the others watching. He had examined each at close range. He had mixed the sealant into the paint, a special oil that bound the designs to the leather. His was the charm of binding. He alone knew that there was a great deal more to Jake and Enrique now than there had been. They possessed the potential for greatness — what remained was to see how they fulfilled that potential.

  The two slowed as they reached the street that opened onto the junkyard. Martinez watched a moment longer, and then slipped back into the shadows. He had a great deal to accomplish and not all that much time in which to accomplish it. From this point on, the two were on their own

  ~* ~

  Jake stopped and held out an arm to slow Enrique. The streets were clearing quickly as those still lingering noticed the two intruders. No one wanted to get caught between The Dragons and Los Escorpiones. They didn't mind gossiping about it, but they didn't want to be part. Besides, with the lights, the music, and the smoke rising from the junkyard, it was a good night to be somewhere else.

  "You see 'em?" Jake asked. He nodded toward the entrance to the junkyard, where two of Anya's guardians stood, glaring at them. The big men were bald, dark, and seriously muscled. Jake had seen them from a distance, but he'd never interacted with them.

  "I was kind of hoping for Escorpiones," Enrique muttered. "Those guys creep me out."

  They continued slowly, walking up the gate as if they'd been invited. Jake kept a big grin on his face and made no sudden moves. He figured that the closer they got before trouble started, the better chance they had of making their crazy-assed plan work. He wasn't big on their chances for survival, but they had a few tricks up their sleeves, and there was more. He felt the dragon through the leather of his jacket. He felt stronger than he'd ever felt in his long, rough life. He thought if he got a good run he could leap right over the two guards, though he knew the thought was crazy. He imagined what the yard would look like from the air.

  "You ready?" Enrique asked.

  The sound broke Jake's reverie, and he nodded again. "Let's do this."

  They stepped up to the gate, brought their hands out of their pockets simultaneously, and tossed handfuls of white powder into the face of the two startled guards. The action caught the big men completely off guard, and the powder struck them full in the face. With twin gurgling cries of pain and dismay they dropped to their knees. Jake didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and planted the steel toe of his boot in the first guard's forehead, driving him back. Enrique grabbed the second by the throat, lifted him like a child and drove him back so his head struck a wooden post on the fence.

  "We're in," Jake said. "Move!"

  They plunged through the gate and rushed down the path toward the first set of torches.

  "I don't see anyone," Enrique said.

  "They're here," Jake grated. "Count on it. They aren't leaving just those two on guard."

  Almost before the words cleared his lips, a figure slid out of the shadows. This time it was one of Los Escorpiones, a thin, dark eyed young man with a chain wrapped around one forearm and a knife in his other hand. Behind him, a second peeled loose from the deeper darkness. This one was big. He had what looked like a snapped off car antenna in his hand, probably improvised from their surroundings.

  About ten yards farther in, Jake saw the flicker of lanterns. These two were meant to ambush anyone getting close to that next checkpoint, catching them unaware in the darkness. It should have worked, too, except, the darkness suddenly didn't bother him. He had no idea how, but he saw clearly, even into the deeper shadows, and when the first of their attackers sprang, he dodged the man's blade easily. The boy grunted with exertion and swung the heavy chain in an arc toward Jake's head, but it might as well have been in slow motion.

  Jake reached up and grabbed the chain, dragged it in the same direction his attacker had swung it, and sent the man into a spin that landed him on his back in the dirt. He moved as soon as he hit, rolling to his feet, but Jake was there, one hand on the wrist beneath the gripped knife and the other on his throat. Jake threw back his head, let loose a howl of rage, and slammed the smaller man into the wall of broken automobiles so hard that it shivered. For an instant it looked as if the wall might topple in on them, and then it steadied. Jake dropped the Escorpione and spun.

  Enrique had closed with the second, bigger man, who was also older and wiser. He stepped back, urging Enrique forward, and then swung the antenna so hard it made a sizzling sound in the air. Enrique turned just enough that the blow glanced off his shoulder and drove forward. His opponent hadn't expected such a direct attack. Enrique lowered his head, bent his knees and drove up beneath the man's chin. With a bello
w the Escorpione went down. Enrique tried to roll right on over him, but the big man was hurt — not beaten. He lashed out with the antenna again and caught Enrique in the back of the wrist.

  That blow should have shattered bone. Jake saw it clearly. He lurched forward, reaching to block it, but he was too late. He heard the smack of metal on flesh, saw Enrique stumble, but only for an instant. There was a ripple of blue light across the afflicted wrist. Sparks flew. Enrique growled and spun back. He swiped his boot across his downed opponent's jaw so fast and hard the man's head spun, and the neck snapped wickedly to the side. Enrique dropped, ready to do more, and Jake saw he gripped the Escorpione with both hands. There was no apparent damage to his wrist.

  Jake grabbed Enrique by the shoulder.

  "Not now," he said. "Let's go!"

  Enrique spun on him, and for just a second, Jake thought the younger man might swing. There was a brilliant blue light in his eyes, and his lips had curled back in a snarl. Then it faded and Enrique nodded. As they hurried on deeper into the junkyard, Jake glanced back over his shoulder. Neither of the two they'd fought had moved. He shivered.

  The air thickened. Incense smoke wafted out toward them, and the sound of strange music filled the air. He'd never heard anything quite like it, but at the same time it felt familiar, like a memory he couldn't wrap his mind around. They heard laughter and screams. They didn't sound like screams of pain, but Jake couldn't be sure. They were barely human. The cloying smoke stole his concentration, and the rhythm of the odd music sifted through his senses. He fought it. He thought of clear air.

  The sensation was like something he remember from dreams he'd had as a child. In those dreams he'd been able to take a run into a strong breeze, leap from the ground, and fly on thick, heavy air. He'd seen the city from the sky, swooped down through forests and parks, and come close enough to feel the salt spray of the ocean, but each time he'd awakened to find it was only a fantasy.

  He felt that way now. He felt as light as a feather, as if he could take one step to kick off the crumbling Detroit steel walls of this place into the sky and be gone. He held that thought. It blocked the music, and helped him keep his breathing steady. He knew there would be more guards between them and their goal, and he also knew it was likely that by now they knew he was coming.

  He smiled. Let them be ready. Let them all be ready.

  "Here we come, you motherfuckers," he growled. "Ready or not."

  Enrique heard him, even over the pounding drums and the screams. He turned, and he grinned. The two threw back their heads in unison and let loose a scream of their own. It wasn't a human sound, and it cut through the night like a razor. In that heartbeat-long moment, all other sound ceased. Nothing existed but the two of them, racing through the shadows past flickering lanterns. Then it all crashed back in around them, as they charged.

  Chapter Twenty

  Donovan and Amethyst settled in as well as they could. The old top loader was stable, but not designed for comfort. The rusty teeth rimming the front of the shovel were difficult to balance on and treacherous. Donovan pulled out a very small pair of brass binoculars and trained them on the clearing. He began at the entrance to the circular court and worked his way slowly to the right.

  Amethyst only glanced down for a moment to fix the scene in her mind, then turned and slid down to sit in the old shovel, her back to the clearing. She pulled a pouch from an inner pocket and untied the straps. Donovan glanced down at her, and then returned to his study of the clearing.

  "I take it you have something in mind other than watching the show?" he said.

  "I want to be certain that we know what we're up against," she replied. "I'm going to take a reading. If they are aware of us, I'll know. If something out of the ordinary happens, I'll be able to warn you — probably. We're outside the circle, so there are limits."

  Donovan nodded. He'd caught sight of the woman he knew only as Kim, working her way around the outside of the ring. She was doing something with the circle, bending down every few feet. He couldn't quite tell what she was up to, whether she was picking something up, repairing the circle, or placing something new.

  Those inside circled the fire pit, leaping and whirling, some of them jumping impossibly high in the air, others, drinking from one of a seemingly endless supply of bottles. Anya Cabrera moved in and out of the group. More than once Donovan saw her caught in the grip of one or another of the mostly naked men surrounding her. Each time she danced, moved with them, and wound her way free before the moment could become more than what it was — part of the dance.

  He thought, once or twice, that he saw something move in the smoke rising from the braziers, or in the hot coals of the fire pit. Each time, when he turned to focus on the motion, it was gone. Even so, there was nothing odd about the ritual. He'd witnessed several voodoo ceremonies over the years, once in Jamaica, twice in Haiti, and he'd even attended one here in the city, though not with Anya Cabrera running the show. He could detect nothing strange or different.

  Anya's ways were westernized. The magic circle was a precaution that spoke of ritual magic, or the Kabala, not Voodoo, or Santeria. It was impossible for different disciplines to remain separate in the city. Things leaked. Those with power interacted, and they learned. If they didn't, they lost that power and someone else stepped up.

  Amethyst had pulled a small ball of pure quartz from her pocket. It was flawless, and rare, and she held it cupped in the warmth of her palms. Softly, she blew on the smooth surface. While it was fogged, and while that fog slowly evaporated and cleared, she spoke a single word.

  "Anya."

  When the fog cleared, the crystal was no longer clear. Tiny flames flickered in its depths. Figures whirled and leaped. Amethyst leaned close and repeated the name.

  "Anya."

  Like a microscope zooming in on a drop of water, the image in the crystal focused on a single, smoothly gliding figure. Anya Cabrera was not young, but in the firelight, her hair dancing around her and her skin glowing and bare, she had a dark beauty that was undeniable. Those around her felt it and tried to catch her, to hold her. She evaded them easily, never missing a step. As she whirled, she faced in the direction of the old top-loader. In that instant, the image zoomed in again, and only the woman's face was clear. She winked once, and then, laughing, whirled away. There was no sound accompanying the image, but for just a second, Amethyst was certain she heard the woman's laughter through the music.

  "She knows," Amethyst said. "She knows we're here, and she doesn't care."

  "There has to be something we're missing," Donovan said. " Los Escorpiones are a lot of things, but I have never heard that they were particularly devout. All of those in the circle, with the exception of Anya, are Escorpiones. And…"

  He hesitated, focused the glasses, and frowned.

  "What?" Amethyst asked.

  "I'm not sure. There's something — or someone — near one side of the circle. Whoever it is, they are standing very still, and I can't bring them into focus."

  "I think you just found the other figurines," Amethyst said. "Someone else is in that circle. You can't quite see them, and the spirits? The Loa that Anya has summoned?"

  "They act as if that portion of the circle doesn't exist," Donovan said. "They are paying no attention to them at all."

  "That's not normal," Amethyst said. "They have no respect for anything when they come through to this world. They are seeking release, abandon, passion — they would not let anyone stand idly by and not participate in the moment."

  "There's more," Donovan said. "The girl — Kim — Anya's apprentice. She's outside the circle. I can't quite make out what she's doing, but she hasn't been still since I started watching. She's been following the outer edge of the circle, bending down, rising up and moving on. Do you think she could possibly be sabotaging the circle?"

  "There would be no point," Amethyst said. "You know they don't really need a circle for such a ritual. I'm not clear why Anya used it, unle
ss she thought that drawing the symbols and setting up braziers, would impress Los Escorpiones. It could all be just smoke and mirrors, or a way of making what she does seem more dangerous than it really is."

  "I need to get a closer look," Donovan said.

  Amethyst tucked her crystal away and stood, peering over the edge of the shovel's blade.

  "I don't think I'd go wandering down there," she said. "Particularly now that she knows we're watching. They're bound to be waiting for us."

  "I don't have any intention of going down there," Donovan said. "I only meant that I need something better than these to see what I need to see."

  "I may be able to help with that," she said. "Can I see those for a minute?"

  Donovan handed over the binoculars and watched as Anna examined them. She checked the lenses carefully. After a moment, she smiled.

  "It's a good thing you like old things," she said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "The lenses — they're leaded glass."

  She held the glasses out in front of her and glanced up at him.

  "You get one chance, I think. I'm feeling a little drained. Pick one thing, or one person, that you want to see. Tell me what you need."

  Donovan thought about it for a moment, and then nodded.

  "The girl," he said. "I need to know what the girl is doing. What is happening inside that circle is not out of the ordinary. Nothing there is worth Martinez getting up in arms, and it couldn't cause what we've been told has happened to Los Escorpiones. The only thing that is out of sync down there is that girl, and whatever it is she's doing. Either we learn that now, or we get the hell out of here, and take our chances with whatever comes next."

  Amethyst turned to the binoculars. She closed her eyes and concentrated, and then, very quickly, she breathed on each of the two lenses. Before that fog could clear, just as she'd done with the quartz, she whispered a single word.