by Graeme Smith
“You know they made movies here, Jack?”
Thing was, small talk wasn’t what I wanted to listen to. I said nothing.
“Manhattan. The Way We Were … you ever see The Way We Were, Jack?” I said nothing. “I guess not. You don’t even know the way you were. Right, Jack?”
“This the part where you make me a deal, Blondie?” I was starting to get some ideas about Blondie. I didn’t like them much. “Like, I do something real dangerous for you, and you tell me about me? Guess what. I pass. Go to hell, Blondie.” I figured it was worth a shot.
“Hell? Nice try, Jack.” Blondie looked out over the lake. “No, I’m not Mr L. Though I won’t say we haven’t met….” She looked at me and winked. “No, I thought of offering you a deal. But I knew you wouldn’t take it. So I went for Plan B.”
“Plan B?”
“Yup. You see, somehow The….” I could hear the capital letter “…The Master heard you were after him, Jack.”
The Master. That was what Twinkle had said. And since Blondie liked the comics, I guessed I’d better stick to the script. “The Master?”
Blondie just carried on. “And he really, really wasn’t happy about it, Jack. You’ve got—well, a reputation.”
“So when someone told him I was after him, he…?” Comics. Bleh. But sometimes you have to stick with the script to get people to say what you want to hear. I figured this was the part where one of the Bad Guys told me everything I didn’t know. Then tried to kill me. There’d probably be sharks. And frikkin’ lasers.
“Oh, he sent just about everybody he had after you, Jack.”
So far it seemed to be working, so I stuck with the script. “And why would you want that, Blondie?”
At least she didn’t waste any time on the ‘who, me?’ thing. “Mostly so you’d have to kill the bastard, Jack. A—let’s say, a friend—told me you’re just about the only one who can. Kill him, I mean. Before he kills you. Or has someone else do it. He’s not big on the personal touch.” Blondie grinned. “Well, not these days, anyway.” Blondie paused. “Oh, Jack?”
“Yes?”
“Can you swim?”
This time it didn’t look like there’d be any sharks. This time the crews either end of the bridge just dropped their invisibility spells and opened up with their AKs. And totally against the script, Blondie pushed me over the side of the bridge.
Some days, whatever answer you’ve got is the wrong one. A bit like yours is going to be, I guess. But don’t worry. We’re not there yet.
OK. So I lied. You should probably worry.
Chapter Six
Goleta A-Go-Go
There’s good fishing in the lake. Good fishing, and in summer you can get a rowboat and row under Bow Bridge. Not that I fish. Or row. But, fish or rowboats, the damn thing’s still only about six feet deep. And no sharks, with or without lasers. So the guys with AK-47s running on to the bridge shouldn’t have had any trouble at all. And I shouldn’t have still been swimming down with Blondie ten minutes after she pushed me over the edge. And if I had been—I should have been drowned. I wasn’t. Which was good. What wasn’t so good, not if I wanted to have one single idea about what was going on that is, was what I was. Stood on a beach in—I checked a nearby sign—Santa Barbara. Dripping wet. With a blonde in a two-piece that would have been an arrestable offence if it had about twice as much cloth. Which it didn’t.
“Hey, Jack! Gonna get me a popsicle?”
I pulled out my wallet and peeled a fifty. I squished it in my fist, the water dripping from my fingers, then flicked the ball of useless paper at Blondie. “Keep the change.”
“Spoilsport.” Blondie narrowed her eyes. My leather vanished, along with most everything else I had on. The Speedos were—or more accurately very much weren’t—all that replaced them. I was on a beach, my ass saying hi to the wind with a near naked blonde. Who probably wasn’t a blonde—not a human one anyway. The Dragon wanted me dead, and I didn’t have a gun. Or anything else my leather kept close to hand. Some days, you just shouldn’t get up. And that’s supposed to happen to other people, not me. It was time to get pissed at someone, but the whole no-gun, no emergency kit thing made that a little difficult. So I did the most dangerous thing anybody can do. I shut up. And thought. Blondie waited, one eyebrow raised. I looked round some more. The sun hung low, creeping close to the wet horizon. It was probably going to be a fantastic sunset. Which was kind of interesting. See, one thing a lot of people don’t know about Santa Barbara: the beaches pretty much all face south. The fishing pier made it Goleta—which meant the setting sun was kind of lost.
“Smartass.” Blondie didn’t sound happy. Nor was I. Because that made it twice she’d read my unreadable mind. And I was fresh out of hats. “Look, Jack. Just roll with it, huh? You really don’t want to see where you are right now.”
“Didn’t have to be here at all, Blondie. What you do? Take out an ad? Centre page of the Times?”
“You know, Jack, sometimes you’re just no fun at all.” The beach disappeared. The rocky cave walls weren’t any real improvement. My leather was. Blondie seemed to think her two-piece was fine, assuming she was responsible for the absence of beach. If she was what I thought she was, the beach would have been cake. “Thing is, Jack—what if it was the beach that was real, and this is the illusion? Or maybe this is an illusion too, and what’s real is—” the rock walls disappeared. The inferno of flame crisped my leather in an instant. The other instant—the one where my flesh burned from my bones in searing agony—seemed to last a lot longer. “—this?” The flames vanished. The waves rolled onto the beach. “So Jack. Be a good boy. Get me the damn popsicle, huh?”
At least she let me keep my leather.
The Beachside Restaurant on Goleta Beach is a little unusual. For one thing, unlike a lot of things ‘Beachside’, it’s on the beach. The sun was setting where it should be, beyond the university. And if my Mango Absolute Martini had an olive in it, I could live with that. Mostly because the olive wasn’t shooting at me. Oh, it happened once. But that’s a different story. On the other hand, I figured it wasn’t a good time to be taking risks. So I ordered a beer, and threw the olive out onto the sand.
It didn’t go bang.
“You got a problem, Jack.” Blondie didn’t sound too unhappy at the idea.
I waved a waiter over. “You got any more olives?”
“Jack. Are you listening?”
The waiter came back with my beer. It had an olive in. I gave him a ten. When he’d gone, I took the olive out and held it up in front of Blondie. Then I flicked it out onto the sand. This time it went bang. Mostly because of the slug I’d put in it. The crowd in the restaurant just carried on like nothing had happened. Which was also interesting. So I shot the waiter.
Blondie sighed. “You’re just going to be a pain in the ass, huh Jack?”
I shot a woman playing ‘maybe, baby’ with a guy in a suit. I shot the suit. I raised an eyebrow at Blondie. A kid in ruby slippers came through the door, so I plugged her. And her little dog, too.
“Jack!”
I dropped the eyebrow I had up, then raised the other one. Hell, if she was going to mess with me, she could at least have let the place have decent beer.
“I don’t know, Jack. I try to be nice….”
The restaurant walls faded away again. The rocky walls were as little improvement as last time. I put a bullet into the rock and wasn’t really surprised when it didn’t ricochet. When the flames roared round us again, things started to make sense. When they didn’t burn me to a crisp, they started to make sense-er. I didn’t turn round to look at Blondie. Mostly because I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be there.
The blast of fire that rolled over me told me I was right.
Some days—well, some days, being right is just about the worst damn thing you can be. Like, right now. Because pretty soon you’re going to have to give me an answer. When I ask you the Question. And whatever you say, you’ll be rig
ht.
You’ll just wish you weren’t.
Chapter 7
Blonde Bombshell
“Bloothy hell, Jack. You really pisth … pith….” When you’ve got as many teeth as a dragon, talking can be tricky. Dragon mouths are designed with different priorities. The huge golden dragon, who’d been behind me until I turned round, spat. “Damn it.”
If she’d wanted me dead, I’d be dead. And there wouldn’t have been any talking first. Dragons are like that. It looked like Prowess had been right—Blondie was definitely dragon. Just not Dragon. So now I had a Dragon who wanted me dead, and one who didn’t. At least not yet anyway. I shrugged. It let me check a particular little lump on my left shoulder was still there under the leather. “Everybody’s got to be good at something, Blondie.”
The dragon shimmered until it wasn’t a dragon any more, and went back to being a near-naked blonde. The flames crisped the swimsuit Blondie was almost wearing until she wasn’t wearing it at all. It was clear none of her blonde came out of a bottle. She looked down, then grinned. “Oh, Jack. Whatever there is, I’m just the best damn thing there is at it. Wanna find out, huh?” She did a bump and grind in mid-air that would have done Vegas proud, floating with not a damn thing supporting her. Not that she needed any support. I remembered the huge golden dragon. Then I told my head to stop thinking. And to stop drawing pictures. To really, really stop drawing pictures. I didn’t say anything. Blondie seemed to like the sound of her own voice, and people who talk can say things they don’t really want you to hear. “Like I was saying, Jack. You really piss me off.” Blondie waited. I waited. Blondie waited some more. “Actually, Jack, you piss just about everybody off. You know that?”
I shrugged. Hell, everybody’s got to be good at something.
Blondie winked. “Shall we slip into something more comfortable?” She waved her hand. Well, it looked like she waved her hand. I tried to avoid thinking what she might really be waving. The flames shivered. The bedroom walls they shivered into were probably more dangerous. The bed Blondie was sitting on, patting a space beside her? I’d be safer back with Jack, and a hundred Claws. I raised an eyebrow. Blondie sighed. “Spoilsport.” The bedroom walls shivered. The candlelit table in the corner of the quiet little restaurant was probably just as dangerous. As far as the silk in the dress Blondie had on was concerned, the candlelight was just passing through. So it did. Me? I checked the lump on my shoulder. And my gun. I raised my other eyebrow. “Do you like my dress, Jack? I made it just for you.” Blondie did her version of a shrug. I had an idea it wasn’t a gun she was checking—or ‘a’ anything. Blondie winked, and shrugged again. If I was supposed to get some point Blondie was making, I was on overtime. And from the look of the points she was making under the silk, double time. So I did what I always do when it’s time to move things along. I wasn’t surprised when the bullet went right through the head waiter. And the two at the table behind him. And the wall.
Blondie sighed. “Now really. How can anybody bring us dinner if you keep shooting them? Aren’t you hungry, Jack?” She shrugged again. Slowly. She raised an eyebrow. I shrugged as well, and looked for someone else to waste my time not shooting. Or at least, not killing. Blondie sighed again. “I don’t know. Men. Well, boys. But dinner’s not ready yet.” Which was interesting, since we hadn’t ordered any. “So maybe I should tell you a story. Just to, you know, pass the time, Jack. Not because it’s true or anything. Are we clear on that, Jack? About it not being a true story?”
It was my turn to shrug. “So long as there’s no dwarves. And nobody sings. One hi-ho, and I’m out of here.”
Blondie smiled. “No. No dwarves, Jack. Not dwarves. But—what do you know about dragons?”
Now we were getting somewhere. Time to see where it was, and who would be damned for getting there. “Dragons? Big-ass, mean….”
Blondie flushed. “What? My ass isn’t….”
I grinned. “Like you said, Blondie. This ain’t no true story, right?” I grinned again. “So. Dragons. Big-ass trouble. Meaner ‘n snakes, and nasty with it.” Blondie’s flush was running down her throat, running down to make points of its own. Or at least to say hi to the ones that were already there. Which was fine by me. If you want to get even, get the other guy mad first. It clouds their thinking. “Pure bad-ass magic. Impossible to kill. Though….” I let myself look pensive. Whatever pensive is. “…though I’ve got some ideas on that.”
For a moment, Blondie looked worried. “Ideas? What….” she shook her head. “Damn you, Jack. Not that you can be. Damned, I mean.” I filed the ‘not that you can be’. I had a feeling it was important, though not right then. “Let’s just stick with ‘impossible to kill’, huh Jack? And there’s another thing about dragons. You know want that is, Jack?” I waited. She was going to tell me anyway. “YOU DON’T STEAL FROM THEIR BLOODY HOARD!” The thing with dragons, they got real fiery tempers. Even when they’re busy being blondes with 36 inch—for want of a better word—guns. So the first thing a dragon does when it gets mad is burn anything in sight. I smashed my chin down on the lump on my shoulder.
See, it’s always a good idea to have a back door. And if you can’t guarantee one will be around, to carry your own with you. The lump crushed, and I made like a flower. I faded.
Oh. Right. You could use a back door right now, huh? But it’s damn good stuff, that Dragon juice. You couldn’t use a door right now if you had ten of them and an hour to get running, right? But it’s OK. In the end, there’s always a way out.
In the end.
Chapter Eight
Kiss-story
I looked round. The head waiter was still pretending I hadn’t shot him. The couple behind him were pretending all they were thinking of was dinner. Oh—and my hair was on fire.
The thing with back doors is it’s a good idea to know where they go. This back door wasn’t like that. It just took me where I needed to be. That’s what the mage who makes them for me said. Yes, makes. No—I didn’t kill him. I don’t kill everybody. Especially not people I might need around again. I made a mental note to give him a call. I like my jacket lumpy. This time? This time it seemed I needed to be sat in an intimate little restaurant. With my hair on fire.
“Oh, I’m sorry Jack.” Blondie waved something that probably wasn’t a hand. The fire went out. “But….”
I figured either I had to change my policy on not shooting some people, or the mage who made my lumps was still on his game. I shrugged. “So. Where were we? In this totally not true story you’re not telling me?”
Blondie spat. Then she waved her hands over the ball of fire that came out of her mouth, before anything else started burning. "But Jack! It wasn’t my—er, I mean, in the story. It wasn’t her fault, right? He was so cute! And a girl’s allowed to have fun, right?”
Right. I put my boots up on the table. I leaned back. I figured it was going to be a long night.
* * * * *
1446, Sighişoara, Transylvania
She could tell everybody in the room hated her. Well, the women at least. It was, she thought, quite wonderful. The shape she was wearing felt a little strange, but the men around the room didn’t seem to mind. Especially….
He walked over. “Good evening, my lady. Or is that Grófka? Or…?”
She felt every woman hate her just a little more. She shrugged her shoulders, slowly. Various other parts of her moved. The gorgeous young man in front of her smiled. She smiled back. “Oh, whatever you choose, my lord. Titles are so tiresome, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “They impress my father.” The man looked towards an older one across the room. “But then, he is Voivode.”
She stroked her necklace. It had taken a lot of power to make. Her heart and soul. Not, she thought, that her kind had hearts. But it had been worth it. What she’d used had grown back, and it helped her keep in shape. She grinned. The huge emerald hanging from it drew his eyes back where she wanted them. “Well, sir. Perhaps we can discuss
things to—to call each other—some place more….” she looked round, smiling. “More discreet?”
* * * * *
“And when I, er, I mean, when she woke up, he’d stolen it!”
I grinned. “Her virtue, you mean?”
Blondie spat. Again. “Screw virtue.” For a moment her eyes went distant, and she smiled. “And he most definitely did.” The smile made like a flower, and faded. “No. I mean the bloody necklace, Shadow!”
“In the story, you mean.” It was my turn to grin. The look on Blondie’s face made me almost mean it. “So somebody really did it. Stole from a drag—”
“Hush your mouth, Shadow! If that sort of thing got out, I’d, er, I mean the dragon in the story would have every dragon that ever was on her ass for screwing up. We’ve got a reputation to keep up. NOBODY steals from a dragon. And lives, at least.”
“So why did he? Live?”
“Why did who what?” Blondie wasn’t grinning anymore.
“The guy. In the story. Why did he live?”
“Story, Jack? Did I tell you a story? It must have slipped my mind.” Blondie still wasn’t grinning. Very definitely not grinning. I made a mental note of how not-grinning she was. “So how come the Dragon’s after you, Jack? I hear they want you real dead.”