Boreal and John Grey Season 1

by Chrystalla Thoma

  “Do you want to go back?”

  She waited but Finn didn’t reply. He folded his arms over his chest again, in his favorite “leave me alone now” gesture. Fine.

  Anyway, chat time was up. They’d arrived.

  The mall appeared, a huge rectangular concrete building rising through the curtain of falling snow. A fake waterfall splashed among trees and bushes beside the entrance. Smoke billowed from inside. People milled around the perimeter set by the police.

  She stopped the car and pulled out her badge before stepping closer. Finn kept close to her, raising his own badge, his face grim. The officers nodded at them and lifted the cord to let them pass.

  “Ella.” Detective Sheila Morgan approached them. “Who’s this?”

  “Officer Morgan, this is Finn, my temporary partner.”

  Sheila dipped her head. “I heard about Simon. My condolences.”

  Ella swallowed hard, shook her head and turned toward the mall. “What happened here?”

  “Something crashed into the mall and started burning people.” Sheila sounded disgusted and Ella was sure she wouldn’t like what she saw once she got inside. “Something that appeared out of nowhere, apparently. Right up your alley.”

  The inside of the mall looked like a bomb had gone off. Broken glass, black earth from the potted plants, items from the shops strewn everywhere. Smell of scorched flesh, blood and shit. She spared Finn a glance, but his face was blank.

  She spotted the bodies in the food court. A detective moved from where he was directing two men to cordon off the area and came to talk to her.

  “Agent Benson, I was told you’d be coming. I’m detective Norton. Maybe you have a better idea of what happened than we do.”

  They shook hands. “Got anything?” Ella asked.

  “This.” He produced a plastic bag with a white stone inside. It swirled with colors, like mother-of-pearl.

  Finn grabbed the bag out of Norton’s hand.

  “He’s with me,” Ella said, forestalling Norton’s anger. “He’s the impulsive, quiet type.” Or something like that. “Finn, is it a scale?” Were wolves involved as well?

  “A scale of what?” Norton said.

  Finn stared at the white stone as if it had personally insulted his sister. “Raukdreki,” he whispered, mouth twisting as if the word burned.

  “What did you say?” Ella asked, but got no answer. Naturally.

  “If you don’t mind, this is evidence,” Norton said and reached out for the bag. When Finn made no move to return it, Norton plucked it out of his hand. “We’ll send you the results of the analysis.”

  Right. “Did anyone see this creature, where it went?”

  Agent Norton pointed west.

  “Roosting place,” Finn muttered.

  Norton shot him an arch look.

  “We need pitch,” Finn said. “And buttercake.”

  Oh no, Finn had taken a hit in the head when she wasn’t looking. “Just wait, I’ll get you something to eat later—”

  Finn turned around and started walking toward the exit. Shit, one didn’t let one’s confused partner go off alone. With a curse, Ella set out after him. “Finn, wait. Wait, dammit!”

  “Bait,” Finn snapped, striding fast, barely limping. “We need to draw it out.”

  Well, he was the dragon expert after all. “Bait. All right. Slow down.”

  “Agent Benson?” Norton ran after them. “What’s going on?”

  “Can you find pitch?”

  “Pitch? You mean bitumen?”

  “Yeah! And cakes,” she called. “Buttercake, if possible. Twenty piece or so.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I’m afraid so,” she muttered, hurrying out of the mall.

  ***

  “What do you want the pitch for?” Ella stood next to Finn who was scanning the cloudy sky, waiting for the items he’d requested. The snow had stopped, at least. “Didn’t you say we need to find the lair?”

  “Need to draw the dragon out.” His eyes sparkled like chips of ice, and she really should snap her mind to the matter at hand.

  “How?”

  “Buttercake. Mix it with pitch. Make the dragon eat it. Tried and sure method.”

  “Tried and true,” she corrected absently. “What happened to the crest-controlling method?”

  “This is a rock dragon. Not tamed. And breathing system is different.”

  “There are different kinds of dragons?”

  He gave her a look that told her exactly what he thought of her question. Ouch.

  Agent Norton approached, kinda sideways, a touch warily. “The pitch is here, I sent someone to a crafts shop to get it for you.” He looked unsure if to laugh or scowl. “What now?”

  “Finn.” She waved a hand in front of his face. “Your pitch is here.”

  “And buttercake.”

  Ella nodded firmly. “Coming right up.” If the dragon wanted buttercake, buttercake it would have.

  “What are we dealing with?” Agent Norton asked, taking place next to her. She wasn’t sure that was such a good idea.

  Two officers approached, carrying a stack of boxes, then another. Ella laid them out on the ground and opened them. “A dragon,” she said. The scent of sugar and butter filled the air. “So how do we do this?”

  “Dragon?” Agent Norton laughed.

  She really hoped he’d stick around so the dragon would fry him brown and crispy. “Do you mind? Don’t you have any witnesses to torture?”

  Norton stomped away, muttering.

  Finn knelt and drew out a knife. He began cutting holes into the cakes and Ella followed suit, gutting them. When Finn grabbed a tank of bitumen and poured the viscous liquid inside, Ella jerked back, the fumes stinging her nose and eyes.

  “Why pitch?” She wiped her watering eyes.

  “Chemical reaction. It will destroy it from inside.”

  Ugh. “And why buttercake?”

  Finn shrugged. “They like it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I used something similar to hunt them.”

  “I don’t suppose it will let us pet it while it eat its food?” Ella stood up.

  Finn frowned. “It will be fine.”

  Right. And her mother was a goblin. Oh wait, Finn had said ‘fine’, hadn’t he? Damn. She’d better get everyone to a safe distance.

  Rounding up the gawping crowd proved hard. They resisted her none-too-gentle shoving and admonitions to move away, drawn to the scene of death like flies to spilled blood. Agent Norton and Sheila helped, casting Finn curious looks. He painted a strange and lonely picture, alone in the small square, arms folded across his chest, staring straight ahead. As she shoved another gawker back, she decided to hell with them. Let them suffer if they wanted. It was a free country.

  She headed toward Finn, checking her ammo, patting her knives to make sure they were in place — when the air sizzled.

  Blinding light. She turned her face aside and threw an arm over her eyes. A sound like a huge turbine turning, a roar, and she stepped forward, pointing her gun.

  Shop windows broke in glittering showers of glass, littering the street. The dragon, its body covered in gems like faceted mirrors, landed with a thundering crash. The earth shook. Unlike the feathered dragon who’d attacked the building and fought with Finn, this one had a small lizard head on a short neck and tall, winding horns. Its body was like an enormous dog’s, only covered in white, clanking plates. Feathers grew down its back like a mane, and its claws were long and wicked.

  It sniffed the air. Its tail lashed, smashing a bus parked outside a hotel, then to the other side, throwing a car to tumble into a newspaper kiosk. A bolt of fire shot from the dragon’s mouth, setting a flower stall on fire. Screams rang.

  Ella couldn’t move. God, it was huge! And covered in what looked like rock slabs. Did Finn really think he could kill the creature? Maybe if she hit the eye...

  Finn moved, scooping up a stack of cakes and racing
toward the dragon. A cry caught in Ella’s throat. Was he mad? She broke into a run, reaching out to grab and pull him back — then the dragon dipped its head. Finn threw the cakes into the air, and the dragon snapped at the sweets, rising on its hind legs, its snake-like neck twisting right and left.

  Finn dove under the dragon’s belly just as the creature came down, its forelegs smashing into the street.

  Shit! Ella lost a precious moment gaping in horror, then sprinted toward the dragon, thoughts exploding inside her skull. Shoot it in the eye. Shoot its leg. Shoot it everywhere. Get Finn out. Please, get Finn out.

  A massive leg stomped into the asphalt a few feet from her, cracking the concrete, and she zigzagged, trying to see under the plated belly. She thought she heard someone shout her name from behind, from the ranks of the spectators, but all her focus was on finding Finn. The dragon shifted, moving sideways, and she jumped out of the way, stumbling over the curb, and went sprawling. Shit shit shit! She scrambled on hands and legs, took aim and shot at the dragon’s head.

  The dragon roared. The street trembled under her feet as she approached the creature, shooting round after round into its flanks, its tail, its legs — wherever she was sure Finn wasn’t. Bullets ricocheted off the dragon’s hide. They didn’t seem to be causing any damage. They did catch the being’s attention, though, and its head swiveled toward her.

  “Finn!” The way the dragon was treading heavily about, he could be roadkill by now. Jesus, please, no. “Finn, where are you?”

  Another roar, and the dragon turned about to face her, lowering its head, projecting its horns. Oh great, disembowelment. A new, fascinating way to die.

  She glanced around. No side streets, no escape. A small fountain chirped joyfully a few dozen feet away. Better than nothing. She ran that way, the air heating up behind her, and she knew the dragon was about to breathe fire and burn her to crispy bacon.

  A few more feet to the fountain, and she knew she wouldn’t make it. Story of her life.

  A hiss filled the air, and a keening cry. The heat lessened. She dared look over her shoulder and skidded to a halt. She turned around, panting.

  The dragon threw its head right and left, belching a black cloud, and contorted, a rumble echoing from within its body. Then it reared on its hind legs, spreading dirty white wings so wide they touched the buildings on either side of the street. And there was Finn, hanging from his knives which were embedded in the dragon’s belly. He’d dragged them down, opening twin slashes. As she watched, open-mouthed, he drew one out and stabbed it back in, twisting.

  A boom sounded. The dragon’s head exploded in a fountain of gore. The huge scaly body began to fall.

  Oh, holy god! Spinning around, she raced back toward the dragon. Before she’d come within thirty feet, the immense body crashed down on top of Finn.

  She stumbled and stopped, mouth hanging open. Oh, fuck. The dragon lay dead, and Finn...

  Her heart sledge-hammered against her breast. Her knees gave out and she slid down, bending over. She felt sick. Oh god...

  “Ella!” Dave’s voice took some time to register. He crouched by her side, a concerned frown on his unshaven face. “Are you hurt?”

  Losing two partners in the space of three days had to count as bad luck, right? Or was it carelessness? She couldn’t pull her thoughts straight. “No, I’m fine. It’s Finn, he’s...”

  She’d been worried about him before, had feared for him — but it was nothing compared to this feeling of dying inside, of not wanting to get up ever again—

  “Finn? He looks fine to me,” Dave said, turning and pointing.

  Ella followed the direction and saw Finn stagger alongside the dragon, a knife in his hand.

  Motherfucker. Probably making sure the dragon was dead, because Finn wasn’t... He wasn’t...

  “You’re alive!” She didn’t realize how she found her feet and stumbled to him, only that a moment later her arms were full of Finn.

  “What?” he mumbled, his breath tickling her neck.

  She pulled back. “You’re okay.” She grabbed his shoulders, shook him lightly. “Dammit. Don’t do this again, you hear me?”

  “Do what?” He looked so lost she wanted to kiss him.

  “Put yourself in danger like that. Never. Nothing is worth your life.”

  And when he still didn’t seem to get it, she hugged him tight. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop, not when he didn’t even understand she couldn’t lose him. “No dying, Finn, got it?”

  “No dying,” he whispered against her neck, his arms coming around her, hugging her back.

  Chapter Six

  Forlorn

  Finn had returned to the carcass, saying something about retrieving his knives. All around, technicians and police were trying to canvass the dragon’s body and keep away the gaping crowd. Useless, really. The journalists were already reporting to the TV channels and everyone was snapping photos.

  “The Gates seem to be working fine,” Dave said from behind Ella.

  “Two dragons and a troupe of wolves came through. Of course they work fine. Was there any doubt?”

  Dave shrugged and stood next to her, hands in his pockets. “That winged snake didn’t make it. But this dragon obviously did, so the snake must have been a glitch.”

  Glitch. Her eyes tracked without seeing a man breaking through the police line and running toward the dragon’s body, camera flashing. Maybe the snake predated the wolves and dragons. Maybe it was an earlier attempt to open the Gates. Although... Finn had crossed over long before the animals. What if he’d only been lucky to arrive whole?

  She shivered.

  “Are you cold?” Dave asked. “Shall I ask for a blanket from the paramedics?”

  She shook her head.

  “Have it your way.” He sighed. “I do believe the Gates have stabilized. We should expect an attack any moment now.”

  Stabilized. A ‘stabilizer’, the word from Simon’s notes, danced in her head like a moth. “And are we ready?”

  Dave chuckled and dug his knuckles into his eyes. He hung his head as if in thought. “No. The army is here, but we have no clue who John Grey is or how the elves will use him. We don’t know what technology they have, and Finn here,” he nodded at the elf who was directing the technicians to move the dragon, “who knows more than anyone should, is saying they have dragon steeds and who knows what else. That snake...”

  Ella chewed on her lower lip. “Yeah. I know.”

  “Was there something you wanted to tell me?” Dave gave her a sidelong look.

  “About what?”

  “About Finn.”

  “Not really.” She pushed off the van she’d been leaning against. “I got to go.”

  She didn’t need to look at Dave to see him scowl; she felt his hot glare on the back of her neck. Of course he wanted to know. Dave suspected Finn wasn’t who he pretended to be, but did he have any idea what he was? That he was letting her run with it only meant he wasn’t sure. He hoped she’d tell him. About Finn, about Simon, about whatever it was he thought she knew.

  She knew now why she hesitated. She remembered Dave’s face when he’d spoken about the elves after the wolf attack. How he’d cursed and sworn to kill them all.

  Would he kill Finn, too?

  ***

  “Say that again?” Ella shouted over the noise in the bar. “Did we what?”

  “I said, did you share a celebratory kiss?” Mike grinned, raising his beer glass.

  “Damn you, Mike. No, actually we didn’t.” Ella threw Finn who sat next to her a quick look but he didn’t seem to have heard. He was staring into his pint with an air of intense concentration, brows knitted.

  Or maybe he was going deaf from the noise.

  “More beer anyone?” Scott rose from the table, pushing his blond bangs back. He gave Mike a wink and a bright smile. They seemed so happy together.

  An odd pang of bittersweet pain made her turn again to Finn. She wanted... Wasn’t sur
e what exactly, but she wanted it from Finn.

  Who seemed miles away, clutching his glass like a lifeline. “Hey, how about another beer?”

  He didn’t twitch. She peered at him more closely. He was obviously lost in thought, turning his empty glass round and round in his hands. His head was bent and his ash-blond hair half-hid his face.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, leaning closer, inhaling his scent of sweet spice. No soap could ever cover it completely.

  He stilled, looked at her sideways. “About the future.”

  “Not tonight.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Tonight we celebrate the fact that you made it out alive.” She turned to Scott. “Another one for Finn. And for me.”

  Scott gave her a thumbs-up and left in search of alcoholic bounty. Mike drank the last dregs from his glass and slammed it down. Behind them people danced to a rock song she couldn’t recognize. A haze hung in the air from cigarette smoke and laughter rang. It made her smile.

  Finn was alive. She kept seeing the dragon falling, feeling the tearing pain of loss in her chest — then seeing him walking by the enormous body with his familiar limp. She sought his hand, found it and held it.

  He lifted his gaze. There was a light in his eyes that wasn’t any sort of snow camouflage. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but Scott arrived and banged the beer glasses on the table.

  Finn recoiled, drawing back his hand.

  “Relax,” Ella said, pushing his glass toward him. “Cheers.”

  Finn looked doubtful but dutifully gulped down half his beer in one swig, going a little cross-eyed. Ella snickered and patted his arm.

  Finn smiled and it was blinding and brilliant and Ella ran out of adjectives to describe it. God, baby, you oughta smile more often. Making sure she wasn’t drooling, she sipped her beer and laughed at a joke Scott made.

  “I worked as a bartender once,” Mike declared. “I make the best Tequila shots on this side of the universe.”

  “And why am I only hearing this now?” Ella raised her glass. “When were you going to demonstrate your skills?”