Sleeping Dragons

by Phoebe Ravencraft

  “Felicia, please. I need time to myself.”

  She put up her hands to signal assent.

  “Fine,” she said. “If you need time to think or whatever, that’s cool.

  “But promise me that if you get into trouble or you need help, you’ll call.”

  “I promise,” I said with a sigh.

  Felicia smiled at me again. Every instinct I had was telling me to kiss her. I told them all to fuck off. Felicia was my best friend, and I needed her support. But more complications between us was absolutely not what I wanted.

  And that savage, demonic bastard had gutted one person and tried to do the same to me. I didn’t want Felicia anywhere near that kind of crap. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to her.

  Silently, I prayed a trip to the library would be a big waste of time, that I’d defeated the bastard last night and he’d leave me alone. But even if I’d believed in God, there was no hope of that prayer being answered. Mr. Big-ass Demon wasn’t through with me.

  And he would be back sooner than I thought.

  Five

  I ’d just made it to the library, when my phone rang. It was my brother, Ben. What the hell was he doing calling me during the day?

  “Whassup, Obi-Wan?” I said.

  I could practically hear him scowl through the phone line. A wicked smile slid up my face. He never did know when not to take the bait.

  “Sassy, you know I hate that nickname,” he said in his rich, rumbling baritone.

  “Why? Obi-Wan trains Luke to be a Jedi. He rescues him from an ordinary life on Tatooine and takes him out to meet his destiny in the stars.”

  “He also turns Darth Vader evil and lies to Luke about who his father is,” Ben said. “Not exactly heroic. Plus, a good-looking Black man such as myself does not want to be compared to a crusty, old White guy.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was grinning or not. His tone wasn’t as humorous as I’d expect when calling himself handsome.

  “See, you gotta think of yourself as the young, good-looking, Ewan MacGregor Obi-Wan, not the old, Alec Guiness one.”

  “Still White,” Ben said.

  I laughed.

  “Listen, Sassy, I didn’t call to talk about Star Wars.”

  “Do you ever?”

  “Sassy—”

  “Fine, fine. Chill, Brother Ben. What’s on your mind?”

  “A friend of mine told me the police came to see you this morning.”

  The grin vanished from my face immediately. He was calling me about the cops showing up at my apartment? He didn’t sound worried about me. If he was, he’d have opened with that.

  “A friend told you the cops came by my apartment? How did your ‘friend’ hear about that?”

  “She has a friend in the department.”

  “‘She.’ So this friend is one Rachel Givens, Esquire.”

  Ben had the hots for this woman at his firm. She was a couple years older than him. As far as I could tell, Rachel was nice. But she was obsessed with making partner and felt like she was constantly getting screwed out of opportunities because she was a woman. She was probably right, but he tended to suck up to her, which made me a little sick.

  “It doesn’t matter who it is, Sassy. It only matters that they told me.”

  “Heh. She must really like you if she’s snitching about me.”

  “Sassy—”

  “No, step back, Obi-Wan,” I said, ire rising in my heart. “We’ve been on the phone for, like, a minute, and you still haven’t asked me if I’m okay or what happened.”

  “You haven’t given me the chance!” he said, raising his voice.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’m giving you the chance now.”

  “What happened?”

  I sighed. I really didn’t want to go through all this again. I’d already done it once with Felicia, and she was much more likely to be sympathetic. I love Ben, but he’s got a stick up his ass. That’s what happens when you become a lawyer and are obsessed with being taken seriously by all the old powerbrokers in a large, prestigious firm, I guess.

  “Some dude got murdered last night,” I said. “The cops came to see me, because he had my name and address on a notebook in his pocket.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “No, I didn’t fucking know him.”

  I tried to keep my voice even, but Ben was making it hard. There was zero sympathy in his tone.

  “Then why did he have your name and address?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t know. I’d never seen this guy before the cops showed me a picture of him lying in a pool of his own blood with a massive wound where his heart should have been.”

  “So a man you’d never seen before turns up dead with your name and address in his pocket.”

  “God damn it, Ben, stop cross-examining me! I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I don’t know what was up his ass. He was a business lawyer, not a criminal one. Why the hell was he giving me the courtroom treatment? Had the tip from Rachel included, “See if you can get her to talk, because the police got nothing from her?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just a little far-fetched.”

  Far-fetched. He had no freaking idea how far-fetched it was. I sure as hell wasn’t telling him about the demon that jumped me last night or that I was pretty sure it was the same perp who murdered this guy.

  “Why would someone have your name and address in a notebook?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Maybe he was a stalker.”

  Maybe he was my father, trying to find me after all this time. Stop it, Sassy. You don’t need that bullshit in your head right now.

  “Doesn’t seem likely,” Ben said. “If he were stalking you, he’d have been following you. And he’d likely have your information from your online activity.

  “This sounds pretty serious, Sass.”

  “No shit, it sounds serious!” I shouted. “I don’t want anyone tracking me. I sure as shit don’t want him getting murdered while he’s doing it.”

  “Did he look familiar at all?”

  “No, but it was tough to make out his features with all that blood.”

  The more Ben pissed me off, the more of my natural sarcasm came to the surface. I was really running out of patience for his shit.

  “Listen, Obi-Wan,” I said, deliberately using the nickname to get back at him, “maybe ‘your friend’ can ask the cops what they think this dude was doing with my contact info. A White guy in his fifties is hunting down a twenty-five-year-old woman? Sounds to me like I’m the victim here.”

  He didn’t say anything right away. For a moment, I thought he’d hung up.

  “This guy was in his fifties?” he asked at last.

  “Yes. Old creeper. And no, I do not have a Tinder profile that he was responding to. I’d never seen him before the cops showed me a picture this morning. I don’t know who he is.

  “And by the way, I’m fine! Thanks for asking.”

  “Look, Sassy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you or anything. I just worry about you. Your life is going nowhere.”

  “Oh, here we go,” I interrupted.

  “You work at a game store, you spend half your free time fighting at that karate donjon and the other half playing games. You live in a crappy apartment in a bad part of town.”

  “Don’t forget I dropped out of college,” I offered trying to make sure he didn’t miss any beats in his usual rant.

  “Now, the police are asking you questions about a murder, and the victim had your name and address in a notebook in his pocket. Whoever killed him wasn’t smart enough to take it or didn’t care.

  “It doesn’t look good, Sass.”

  “For me or for you?”

  I couldn’t resist the dig. Ever since Mama died, he’d gone from pain-in-the-ass big brother to holier-than-thou guardian-wannabe. I was tired of it.

  “For both of us,” he said. “Sassy, if the police are asking you questi
ons, there’s a good chance they think you’re a suspect. It’s a natural conclusion. And if you’re not, then there’s an even better chance that whoever killed this guy may come after you next. You need to start taking more care.”

  “I can take care of myself just fine, Ben,” I said. “I’m a black belt and a Kendo master. Whoever murdered this guy had best believe he will get fucked up if he comes for me.”

  “Jesus, Sassy, do you hear yourself? Real life cannot be solved with a karate chop. This isn’t one of your RPG adventures. Real people could get hurt, including you.”

  “Bullshit, Ben. This is about you. It won’t look good at the firm if your sister is hauled in as a murder suspect.”

  He sighed. It was a dead giveaway. He always sighed when he knew I was right, and he was trying to come up with a response.

  “Sassy, I’m a Black man trying to make partner at an old, prestigious law firm. I have to work twice as hard and produce results three times better than any of my White colleagues. So, yeah, it would be better for me if the cops weren’t investigating you.

  “But I am actually concerned for your well being too. I know you’re a great fighter. But even the greatest lose. I don’t want you to get hurt. We lost Mama too soon. I can’t handle losing you too.”

  Damn it. How was I supposed to be angry at him when he said things like that?

  “Listen, Obi-Wan,” I said, “I don’t want us hurt either. I’ve got this. I don’t know the guy. I don’t know why he was looking for me. But he’s dead, so I’m solid. And I’m careful. Whoever killed him isn’t going to get me.

  “Now you better get back to work before your boss catches you talking to me on the company phone. That won’t help your chances for promotion.”

  He sighed again. It was a good thing he was on the phone instead of present. I would have struggled to suppress the urge to punch him.

  “Don’t forget we’ve got Mama’s birthday coming up,” he said, changing subjects.

  Great. Mama’s birthday. Where Ben made me go out to the cemetery and talk to her gravestone. Always a good time. Party, party.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said.

  “You want me to pick you up at the coffee shop again?”

  “Yeah, that’ll be fine.”

  “Okay, me there at three.”

  “Sure, Ben.”

  “And promise me you’ll call me if you get into trouble. I can help, Sass. And I want to.”

  “Thanks, Ben. Later.”

  I hung up before he could get any mushier. It didn’t suit him.

  Geez, that was two people in the space of a couple hours that made me promise to call them for help. Even though neither of them could do anything about my problem. And I didn’t want them to. I couldn’t bear anything happening to either Ben or Felicia.

  With a sigh, I turned and walked up the steps to the library. Hopefully, researching demons would be better than trying to deflect the concern of my loved ones.

  Yeah, right.

  I spent the whole freaking day in the library. I don’t think I did that ever – even when I was a kid and Mama would drop me off for the summer program while she had to go to work.

  Let me just say that Googling “demon” can take you down a lot of rabbit holes. Some of them were just fan sites of TV shows, games, movies, etc. You’d be amazed how much stuff there is on Hellboy, for example.

  Some of it is whackos, who think demon worship is an actual good idea. I read a few of those, because I thought, “Hey, maybe they know something.”

  Not so much.

  Mostly, they’re bored teenagers who think drawing a pentagram on their chest and pretending to drink blood makes them cool and edgy. And the few people who seemed to really be into it were just sick. The library’s computer blocked a lot of it, which is just as well. I didn’t need to see these Aleister Crowley-wannabes doing fucked up shit.

  And then there is the whole hentai fandom. You know, tentacle-sex anime. Gross. Don’t get me wrong – I like sex, and I’m a major fangirl. But no woman wants a bunch slimy, gross demon parts sliding up her va-jay-jay. That shit is made for boys who can’t get a woman on their own.

  There was some interesting stuff on the origin of demons. When I got smart and Googled “ram horn demons” I found a bunch of pages on horned gods and their worship in the Levant way back before Jesus. My readings indicated that later Christians mixed around Beelzebub, Ba’al, and Ammon, saw them as false gods ala the First Commandment, and eventually morphed them into demons. I was reminded how bad the average Christian is at religion.

  But none of this really helped. I did find a drawing of Ba’al that looked a little like the asshole who tried to kill me the night before. But Ba’al means “lord” in ancient Sumerian, or some long-dead language, so it could be this guy was a god, or it could be that there were a bunch of them and they were all called Ba’al.

  After hours of this, my brain was leaking out my ears. Seriously, I spent exactly one semester at college before I decided it was bullshit and split. Good on those people who can study and become all scholarly, but that is just not me. The fact that I was able to sit through an entire day of doing that much research was a miracle on order with the birth of Christ.

  When I couldn’t stand to stare at a computer screen anymore, I went to look at some of the books, hoping there would be better information there. After all, if Russian hackers can make us believe Obama was gonna take our guns, who knew how much misinformation there was on demons and other spooky shit on the Internet? It’s not like there’s an editor who makes sure people aren’t posting whackadoo content and passing it off as fact.

  But I wasn’t at the New York Public Library either. And I certainly wasn’t at a research library like on a university campus. The Public Library of Cincinnati and Hamilton County is not renowned for its vast collection on demonology. What they had wasn’t any more helpful than the online sources. Maybe I should have gone to UC or Xavier.

  What I really needed was the Sunnydale High School library when Giles was in charge. But I hadn’t seen any stuffy guys with British accents in tweed coats.

  By the time six o’clock rolled around, I was wiped out. I would have been hard pressed to remember my name if someone had asked for it, and as far as I was concerned, I hadn’t learned anything.

  I’d skipped lunch, and I was famished. I grabbed a chili dog from Skyline, shoved it in my mouth while hardly tasting it. Then I hopped on the bus and went home.

  Felicia had texted several times during the day with the same message: Are you okay?

  I replied, Yes, every time and left it at that. It wasn’t that I wasn’t grateful for her concern. It was just that I didn’t know what to do with it.

  Just checking in to make sure you’re okay, she texted as the bus was pulling up to my stop.

  I shook my head and sent a reply as I was getting off: I’m okay.

  Maybe it was because I was so damned tired from all the research I’d done. Maybe it was because I appreciated hearing from Felicia, even though there was nothing she could do for me. But I was busy texting with her instead of paying attention to my surroundings.

  I teach all my students, especially my female ones, observe what’s happening around you. Don’t text and walk. Look at details. Notice who is there and what they’re doing. See threats before they become dangerous.

  But I forgot my own advice. I was nearly to my door, when an all-too familiar voice rang out.

  “I’m back, Cecily Kincaide. Are you ready for Round Two?”

  I whirled and saw Mr. Big-ass Demon leaning against the building across the street. And this time, he’d brought friends.

  Six

  T he demon had a sadistic grin on his face. He had two people with him, both of whom looked human. At this point, I didn’t know what to believe.

  One was a woman with blood-red hair and the palest skin I’d ever seen. She wore black leather pants and boots and what looked to be a black leather sports bra. It was an inc
redibly hot outfit, and I wanted it. She had tattoos of knives on each arm, and a tattoo of an elaborate sword that wrapped around her waist. She smirked at me with lips painted black and eye shadow that matched her hair.

  The other human was Mr. Punk Rock. Great.

  “My compatriots didn’t believe you would be stupid enough to come back home,” the demon said. “But I had faith. Humans always underestimate the danger they’re in until it’s too late.”

  “Well, you’re not as stupid as you look,” I replied. “You knew you’d get an ass-kicking if you came back, so you brought some backup.”

  The woman laughed. The demon scowled.

  I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t run. I’d never get away from them all. But fighting wasn’t smart either. Three against one is a bad deal for the one.

  “You’re a dead woman, Cecily Kincaide,” the demon said. “I am going to enjoy crunching on your bones.”

  “Come get some, dickless,” I taunted, hoping to bait him into fighting me alone.

  I reached for my katana. Before I could get my hand on it, though, Mr. Punk Rock waved his hand. It glowed with green light. Then my sword flew out of its sheath, tumbled through the air, and landed neatly in his grip. He leered at me.

  While I was gaping at his magic trick, the demon dematerialized in a puff of smoke. A second later, he teleported in behind me and locked me in a bearhug, pinning my arms to my side.

  “Here I am, human,” he growled in my ear. “Thanks for the invitation.”

  He lifted me off my feet and squeezed. My shoulders popped painfully. My heart thudded in my chest. I tried not to panic.

  The woman sauntered forward, the smug smile never leaving her face. She put her hands to her arms, and, just as the demon’s knife had the night before, the tattoo daggers glowed with red light and became real.

  She raised one behind her ear. I didn’t have much time to act, and I only had one idea.

  Falling back on an orange-belt technique, I flip-kicked the demon as hard as I could in the groin, praying demons actually had balls. A high-pitched squeal from behind told me they did.