“Ravenna Tanglewood?” he asked, his voice lined with charcoal and grit. A Clint Eastwood voice. A burning voice. Was he taking her to hell? A whiff of campfire drifted past her nose as he neared. That was one thing cancer hadn’t taken from her, her sense of smell. And he smelled like the fall, like oak leaves and pumpkin pie, like smoke and old print.
“Yes.” Her voice was nonexistent, mostly lips and breath doing the work.
“You are this Ravenna Tanglewood.” He removed a folded newspaper from his breast pocket. The pages crinkled in his grip. He thrust it toward her.
A large emerald ring on his right pointer finger glinted in the light, and she had trouble looking away from it to focus on what he was asking her. Eventually though, she zeroed in on the story he was showing her. It was an article by a reporter from the Tulane Hullabaloo. Psychic Student Saves Family. She blinked slowly, confused. Why would Death care about a piece of gossipy journalism?
Before the doctors had discovered her brain tumor, she had experienced a premonition. She’d been doing laundry when a vision of her parents’ pub completely engulfed in flames brought her to her knees. Neither her father nor mother took her vision seriously, but for some reason, her sister Avery did. Avery’s resulting tantrum led to the purchase of a brand-new fire extinguisher. A few nights later, an inexperienced cook set his apron down too close to the grill and the strings caught fire. Her father reached for the old extinguisher first. It didn’t work. Thankfully the new one did, and consequently her father was able to save the diner and the people in it.
It didn’t mean Raven was psychic. Dr. Freemont had explained that the tumor in her brain, with its octopus-like tentacles infiltrating her gray matter, was connecting different areas of her mind, making her exceptionally intuitive. She’d subconsciously noticed the expiration date on the extinguisher, and her brain had produced the vision accordingly. It was the cancer, not anything weird or unusual. The newspaper story was a bit of flamboyant reporting by a friend who hoped to use the piece to attract readers to a fund-raiser meant to help with her medical expenses, nothing more.
Death tapped his finger against the newspaper impatiently, the massive green emerald glowing like a star. “Well, is this you?”
She licked her lower lip and nodded. He slid the paper back inside his jacket. Exhausted from the effort of responding, she closed her eyes and prayed silently, Take me. Please take me.
Gabriel stood at the end of the hospital bed, using every ounce of willpower he had to restrain himself. When Richard had suggested the girl was a long shot, he wasn’t kidding. She was more dead than alive, a porcelain doll he was afraid to startle for fear of breaking her. Still, there was something… alluring about her, the same as when he’d seen her picture. Deep within his chest, a primal urge to heal and protect demanded his attention.
He hadn’t felt anything like it in his five hundred years. Not for a human anyway. Perhaps the feeling bore a close resemblance to when he found a rare and priceless item for his collection. Yes, that was it.
She appeared nothing like the picture he’d seen. The only way to describe her now was haunting. The bones of her cheeks protruded as if her skeleton was battling her skin for rights to the surface. Ravenna Tanglewood was death, propped in a bed like a body on display. Above thin lips and a gently curved nose, her blue eyes bulged from her skull, dull and rheumy. Those damned eyes were nothing short of pleading. His chest ached. If she refused his offer, it would haunt him the rest of his days.
He stepped closer to her. Was that night-blooming jasmine? The scent was faint, but he could smell it on her skin. “Is it true you were an anthropology major with a minor in history? Honors student?”
A grunt came from deep within her throat, a warm wet trail of saliva coursing down her lower cheek. Her throat contracted and relaxed, but she seemed unable to form words. He hissed. Damn human hospitals. This was torture. What type of creatures left their females to die like this?
He could wait no more. Already the curse on his ring was weakening his magic. His skin felt thick, like he might turn to stone from the inside out at any moment. He tapped his fingers, exactly three times each against his thumb. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. It was the only thing that helped, the only thing that reminded him he could still move. His magic wasn’t completely gone. Not yet.
Still, if he was to save her, he must do so soon.
“I see,” he said. “I would like to offer you a job, Ms. Tanglewood. It is hard work. You’ll have to learn quickly and take the initiative.”
She stared at him blankly. He wondered what she must be thinking, if she could think at all. It was possible her brain was as wasted as her body. From what he’d read, she had brain cancer. Even with magical intervention, there might not be enough left in her head for her to consent. And she must consent. He would not bind her if she didn’t. To do so would be to divest himself of any remaining honor he still bore in his wasting body.
He approached her bedside and gently laid his hand on her chest. Those too-big eyes locked onto him. Her heart pounded against his palm. Her expression pleaded for death, but her heart begged for life.
“Ravenna, do you consent? Do you agree to work for me?”
Her eyebrows dipped and her chin twitched as if she didn’t quite understand what he was proposing. A tear escaped the corner of her eye. He wiped it away.
“Say yes, little one,” he said. “I cannot bear to see you like this a moment more.”
Her eyes widened. “Yes,” she mouthed.
He smiled weakly. “Praise the Mountain.”
As he held her stare, he removed his hand from her chest, the storm of magic brewing within him. His ring glowed brighter as he drew his power to the surface, the dragon within barely contained inside his human form. Opening his jaw wide, he reached deep into his mouth, his large hand wedging itself between his teeth. He heard her gasp as the sound of tearing flesh filled the room. Gabriel grunted. He was likely scaring her, but it could not be avoided. This was part of the transition. The faster she came to terms with what was happening here, the better.
A spurt of crimson blood beaded on his bottom lip as the tooth materialized, clutched between his fingers. He tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the blood, then held the tooth up to the light. It was thin. Pointed. With a long root still bloody from the extraction. Clearly not a human tooth.
“Never gets easier,” he murmured.
Beside him, Ravenna trembled. Her arms were covered in gooseflesh. He had to soothe her, to do something to comfort her before she had a heart attack. He closed his hand and drew on the magic of the ring. When he opened it again in front of her mouth, there was no tooth, only a slim white pill.
“Swallow,” he commanded.
She must do this now. They were running out of time, her life fading in front of him, his magic sputtering under the weight of the curse. He scooped an arm behind her shoulders and lifted. Her lips parted like a baby bird’s, and he dropped the pill to the back of her throat. She gurgled, coughed. He raised her head higher. Her throat bobbed and the choking stopped.
Oh, how beautiful it was shining through her stomach. The red light spread through her torso and to the ends of her limbs, warming her flesh from within. And all the time, she lay helpless against his arm, staring at him with unrestrained wonder, that jasmine scent of hers growing stronger. It made him feel like a god to hold her like this, to know that he’d given her what she needed to heal, to survive.
He watched her chest rise and fall with the first deep breath she’d taken since he’d arrived.
“What did you give me?” she asked, and this time the words were strong and true, more than the breathy whispers he’d gotten before. Good.
His shoulders slumped. The magic had taken its toll. He must get home to rest.
He brought his face close to hers. “Rest. Recover. You’re no use to me like this. We are bound now. I will know when you are ready.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and
lowered her to the bed.
Her mouth worked soundlessly, as if she couldn’t find the words for all the questions she longed to ask.
The rhythmic beep of her heart monitor started again, and a drop of morphine fell within the chamber of her IV. As he left her side and the room, he prayed to the Mountain that he’d chosen wisely. Ravenna Tanglewood was his last chance.
Chapter Three
“Raven? Raven?”
Raven opened her eyes to find her mother and Avery looming over her. Her sister’s fingers trembled on the bedrail, and her expression was somewhere on the road between concerned and amazed.
“She’s awake,” Avery said. “Mom? What’s going on?”
Light washed through the windows behind Avery, framing her long, curly black hair. Raven thought it gave her a halo. Flattering. She was glowing. Filled with light. Brimming with it. An angel at her bedside. Raven’s mom didn’t look quite as heavenly. Nauseous maybe, but not heavenly.
“Can you hear me?” Mom asked, stressing each syllable in a loud, clear tone.
Raven smacked her lips, her mouth as dry as a stone. “Of course I can hear you. You’re screaming at me.”
The women gasped, staring at each other and then at her in marked confusion.
“I’ll get the doctor.” Avery bustled from the room.
“I need water,” Raven said. Her lips were thick and chapped, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her eyes roved to where her bedside table used to be, but it was pushed against the wall, wiped down and out of the way. Mr. Drippy was still there, but when she glanced at the port in her chest, her tubes were no longer attached.
“We think you disconnected it,” Mom said with a wince. “In your sleep. I was about to call a nurse when you rolled over and opened your eyes.”
Raven tried to lick her lips again.
“I’ll get you some water.” Mom looked frantically for the hospice-issued cup, then reached behind her and pulled a water bottle from her purse. “Here, have mine.” Hands shaking, she twisted off the cap and chucked it behind her where it bounced and rolled across the linoleum floor. She slipped her arm under Raven’s shoulders to tip her head up and brought the water to her lips.
The first swallow caught in her throat, sending her into a fit of coughing. Her mother frowned but gave her another sip. This one she managed to get down. If sunlight had a flavor, this would be it. She almost moaned. Her mom pulled the bottle away to give her air.
Raven’s breath stank. Her limbs felt like dead weight. But in shaky increments she raised both hands to her mother’s wrist and pulled the bottle back toward her mouth. She drained it dry in a matter of seconds.
“More,” Raven rasped.
“Yes. I’ll get you more. Something more. Juice.” Her mother pounded the call button with her finger and screamed. “We need juice in here now!” By the urgency in her voice, Raven thought the perpetuation of modern society balanced on her mother’s ability to provide her with juice.
“Mom, it’s okay. I’m sure they’re co-ming.” Her voice cracked.
Mom’s face fell. She swallowed. “How are you feeling?”
Raven stared and stared at her mother, memorizing every contour of her beautiful, sleep-deprived face, a face that looked far older than it should have at her age. The dark cloud that had plagued her vision was completely gone. Nothing obstructed her view. “I can see you.”
“Oh, Raven.” In a rush of hands, elbows, and shoulders, her mom hugged her, and with what little strength Raven had, she hugged back.
Dr. Freemont charged into the room, Avery at his side, and came up short. His eyes were wide as saucers, his face paling. “When did this happen?”
“She disconnected her IV and rolled onto her side,” her mother said, rubbing Raven’s shoulder supportively.
“Raven?” He approached the bed, his eyes raking the length of her body, assessing her as only a doctor could. Did he notice her left pupil constricting in time with her right? The way she clutched the blanket with both hands?
“It must have been your singing,” Raven said, a slow, lazy smile stretching across her face.
He laughed, pulling his penlight from his pocket. The further he got with his assessment, the harder he shook his head. “I’m going to order a PET scan.”
Raven understood what that was for. He wanted to check how much of the tumor was left in her head. Her recovery might be temporary, the eye of a hurricane. Her concern must have shown on her face, because Dr. Freemont squeezed her hand.
“The rules of the game have changed, Raven. Don’t plan your next move until we know where all the pieces are, okay?” He winked.
Raven didn’t have to wait long for radiology to come and get her. According to the nurses, she was a star, a hospital celebrity with an all-access pass to have any tests her doctor ordered. Before long, she found herself propped in a wheelchair in the PET scan room, staring at cottony blue images of her internal organs.
“Totally normal,” Dr. Freemont said. “Not a single tumor.” His mouth gaped like a fish.
“What about my stomach?” she asked slowly. “Is there anything in my stomach?”
He dug his hands in his pockets. “No…” He narrowed his eyes. “You had brain cancer. Why would you ask about something in your stomach?”
“I saw a man,” Raven said. “In my room last night. I think he healed me.”
“A man… In your room?” Dr. Freemont turned from the PET scan to look at her directly.
“He was dark. With… fire in his eyes. I thought he was Death. He fed me his tooth.”
Dr. Freemont blinked rapidly. “Spontaneous recovery is a reality, Raven. It’s rare, extremely rare, but it happens. The body finds a way. It cures itself.” He sighed. “Our brains have a funny way of making sense of the things that happen to us. I had one patient who was sure there were fairies in her room. She smelled lilies constantly.” His pale eyes studied her face. “You saw a man. You saw him. He was real to you. But he also may have been created by you. Your mind made sense of this monumental healing that occurred.”
“That makes sense.” She nodded slowly. “It just seemed so real.”
Raven stared at the equipment behind Dr. Freemont and convinced herself that the man, the tooth, and the bargain she’d struck were hallucinations cooked up by her healing brain. It was a reasonable explanation, although a small part of her wished it wasn’t true. The man had been without a doubt the most intriguing man she’d ever met. Intense and powerful. When he’d been in the room with her, she’d felt safe, even in the face of her impending death. It had been years since she’d felt safe like that, even longer since someone had found her interesting. He’d looked at her like she was something precious, something worth saving. It made sense that he wasn’t real. He was too perfect to be real.
Dr. Freemont squatted beside her chair. “You are healthy, Raven. It’s going to take time and rehabilitation to strengthen your body. You’ve been in bed for a long time. I can’t guarantee how long this will last or explain exactly how we got here. But here we are.”
A smile spread across her exhausted lips. “Will you do me a favor? Before you take me back to my room and tell my family all this?”
“What?”
“Take me outside. Just for a few minutes.”
He grabbed the handles of her wheelchair and rolled her to the elevators. A floor up, they surged past the front desk and out the front entrance. Raven’s body ached, not from illness but from her lengthy immobility, but every painful bump was worth it when they finally broke from the shadow of the hospital.
Warmth spread across her exposed skin. It was early September in New Orleans, sunny and bright. The heat wrapped around her, a heavy blanket of moist air. Raven turned her face toward the sun and stared into a clear blue sky.
Beautiful. So damn beautiful. With one puffy baby cloud floating by to say hello. She pulled a deep breath of fresh air into her lungs. Tears burst through the dam of her eyelids and she
sobbed. She didn’t even try to hold back. Dr. Freemont, to his credit, said nothing. He just handed her a tissue. Raven wasn’t sure, but she thought maybe he was crying too.
She was free, and she swore by all that was holy that she would never allow herself to be a prisoner, to illness or anything else, ever again.
Chapter Four
“Raven, hurry, we’re going to miss Joan of Arc!” Avery tugged at her hand, weaving through the crowd on the sidewalk of Chartres Street.
Twelfth Night, the kickoff of Mardi Gras season, was upon them, and Raven was more than happy to celebrate with her sister at the parade, one of the few that took place in the French Quarter. Only, speed was not her strong point. It had been a little over four months since she’d miraculously recovered from brain cancer. Four months of physical therapy, slowly building up her strength from barely making it to the bathroom when she had to go, to walking up the steps to her second-floor apartment, to five minutes on the treadmill, then ten. She’d graduated this week. That meant she was free to do any sort of activity she liked. It didn’t mean it was easy.
She told her legs to walk faster. Still she fell behind.
Avery circled back. “It’s okay. You’re doing great.”
“I’m trying,” she said.
The street smelled of beer and bodies and the crisp scent of New Orleans winter underneath it all. Approaching drums and trumpets brought a cheer from the crowd. Avery squeezed close enough to the curb so they could peek through shoulders to see. Two tall men noticed they were height challenged and allowed them to move to the front. Not that it was any inconvenience to the pair. Both men had at least six inches on her and Avery and could easily see over their heads.
The Dragon of New Orleans Page 2