Heart of a Dragon

by David Niall Wilson

Finally the mixtures met Martinez' approval. He checked the sheet of paper a final time, then folded it and slipped it between the pages of one of his books. Next he walked to the window and opened the shade. The late afternoon sunlight streamed in at an angle. The old man returned to the table and examined the small stands. The crystals were just out of the sunbeam's reach. He adjusted them so that the light shimmered through, bent, and sent colored shimmers over the table. Martinez moved the bowls next, so that the line of light breaking through each crystal found the far rim of each bowl. Salvatore saw that as the sun continued to set, the light would slice across the center of each bowl. One yellow, one blue, and one brilliant red.

  Martinez turned to Salvatore and smiled.

  "Now," he said, "we wait. These will be special paints, the kind of paints that can make a difference. When you paint Jake's dragon, they will give you strength. When your vision clouds they will provide clarity. It is important that you make the connection within yourself – that you see both man and dragon as one. Do you understand?"

  Salvatore wanted to tell Martinez that, though he always saw the man and dragon as one, and he was certain that he could paint the dragon– particularly with such wonderful paints, that he did not understand. He did not understand why he was now the center of so much attention. He did not understand how he could see what others could not, or why it was so important that he do this particular painting now. He wanted to thank the old man for the food and the drink, and for not leaving him passed out in the street where he'd fallen.

  Instead he just nodded and sipped the last of the milk. He was very full, and a little sleepy. He wanted to stand and walk around to look into the bowls, but he could see no way to do so without blocking the sunlight, and he understood somehow that the light was important.

  "What are they?" he said at last. He pointed at the crystals.

  "They concentrate the color," Martinez explained. "The light through each contains the purest hue of one of the primary colors, yellow, blue, and Red. All other colors are shades of these, dilutions, or complex mixtures. The power in a painting–the power in any image–is focused on a foundation of the three. I have one more thing to do. Do you want to watch?"

  Salvatore nodded. Martinez stepped to the sink and small counter that served as his kitchen. He grabbed a long, slender knife from the rack on the wall and turned toward the door. Salvatore rose and followed. The old man stepped out into the dying sunlight and walked around the side of his home. There was a bench there, pressed up against the wall. Martinez climbed nimbly up onto this, and Salvatore stood below, watching.

  He balanced on the bench and stared up toward the eaves intently. There was nothing there to see, and Salvatore frowned, screening the last of the day's light with his hand so he would miss nothing. There were deeper shadows just under at the edge where the roof met the wall, and thought he couldn't see into them, he knew that Martinez could.

  Something small and quick darted across the white stucco of the wall. Martinez struck like a snake. A small lizard with brilliant blue and black stripes was pinioned to the wall by the striking blade. Salvatore cried out, but Martinez let out a grunt of satisfaction, spun, and pressed the squirming creature deeper onto the blade.

  He didn't glance at Salvatore as he passed; he hurried inside. Then, as Salvatore's stomach grew queasy, the old man leaned in from the side, careful not to break the beam of light from the crystal, and held the gecko over the red bowl. A single drop of blood dropped into the mixture, and Martinez pulled back. He strode to the door and flipped his wrist, sending the dying lizard flying into the street.

  Salvatore still stood, staring into the bowl where the drop of blood had spread, slowly, and then– as if the paint hungered– was swallowed and disappeared. He stretched out a hand toward the bowl, and then pulled it back as if afraid he'd be burned at the touch.

  Martinez returned, placed the knife in his sink, and stepped up beside Salvatore, watching as the light moved slowly toward the far edge of the bowls.

  "There is no red closer to prime," the old man said. "We have no dragons here, but it is close enough, I think. When you blend these colors, you will find every hue of your dragons in their joining. The more powerful your prime colors, the more complete the spectrum of your work.

  Salvatore thought about this for a moment. He closed his eyes, and saw the subtle blends that created his purple, his green, and his orange. He thought of the dragon he'd drawn with the chalk on the sidewalk and how difficult it had been to get the colors right. He'd had to force them, trying again and again. This would be different. A very small amount of the paint could be blended, and then more added to change the hue. When he opened his eyes, he smiled.

  "You understand," Martinez said. "It is good. You must be very careful with these paints. I will not be able to make more in time. I do not believe Jake's will be the last dragon you are called on to paint, and we must be ready. I will show you how to store and preserve the paint. You must listen carefully and do exactly as I say. A great deal depends on it."

  "I will be careful," Salvatore said softly.

  Martinez nodded, but he was already moving again. He pulled three sheets of white plastic from a drawer. He grabbed the blue paint bowl and very slowly, very carefully poured the paint onto the plastic. It was thick, and it didn't run toward the edges as Salvatore feared it might. Martinez deftly rolled the plastic, tying it off at one end with a bit of cord. He pressed the plastic, worked the paint down toward that tied end, and then rolled the plastic so it came to a cone-shaped tip at the far end, which he also tied off.

  "You'll be able to loosen this," Martinez said. You can squeeze some of the paint out the tip, and then seal it again. We must keep it moist, and cool. I will help you to find the proper place– perhaps we will dig a small pit in one corner of your floor."

  Salvatore nodded. He was already thinking of the perfect place, the twisting, helpless body of the lizard impaled on Martinez' blade fading as the image of Jake's dragon struggled to the surface.

  Martinez repeated the process of sealing the other two colors. Again, Salvatore saw that there was extra care taken on the red. He couldn't understand this, under the circumstances. There was very little of the red in Jake's dragon. It was gold and green, scales gleaming brightly. He felt it reaching out to him and heard its call.

  "We'd better get going," Martinez said, after bundling the paints carefully. He held the door for Salvatore, who stepped out into the dying light of the day. Together they disappeared into the Barrio, heading for Salvatore's small shack. Jake would be there soon, and it would be time to paint.

  Chapter Eleven

  Donovan and Amethyst stepped into Club Chaos from the entrance on Forty-Second Street. They didn't have an appointment, so The Crossroads wasn't the right destination. They needed to get into the more crowded areas of the club and see who they could shake out of the rafters. They were dressed for a night on the town, Amethyst in a long, dark gown, open down her back and slit at the sides. Donovan wore his customary dark trench coat, and he'd grabbed a black fedora to complete the ensemble. They didn't want to stand out, and dressing too conservatively would have done that as quickly, possibly more quickly, than taking their appearance too far. Club Chaos served a particular crowd…those who didn't belong were usually not hard to spot, and each inner den had its regulars.

  "Where to first?" Amethyst asked.

  "I think the pool room," Donovan said. "I know a guy who might be in there, and if not there are a few regulars that hail from the Barrio. Last time I was there I even saw one of Anya Cabrera's goons."

  "The bald ones?"

  "The same," Donovan said. "It was one of the only times I've ever seen one of them out of her site, or out of the Barrio. He must have been on an errand. I didn't bother to try and talk with him."

  Amethyst nodded. "Probably wise. Either he'd have gone for your throat, or just clammed up and reported your curiosity."

  Donovan nodded. They ducked
past the doormen, and entered a long hallway. To either side, shorter passageways led to a variety of inner bars. Music pounded through the speakers in the hallway, and as they passed the entrances to the various clubs, they pulsed with sound – a different variety and volume from each. Rock, Industrial, Swing – even Country. There was something for everyone at Club Chaos, assuming one knew where to look. Donovan knew that the acoustics had been enhanced by other-than-mundane methods. There was no other place like it on Earth…or, at least not in San Valencez.

  They made their way to the back of the main passage and followed the hallway to the left. As they continued, the sound of balls being racked and the snap of cues slamming into balls echoed off the walls.

  "Busy." Amethyst said.

  "Better for us. The more people there are, the better chance we'll find someone who knows what's going on. We probably don't have that much time. If Martinez is desperate enough to hit us both up on the same day and risk our finding out, then something bad is happening, and soon."

  "There's a small Voodoo contingent in the city, as well as in the Barrio," Amethyst said. "There are plenty who go in just for what Anya has for sale. If we're lucky, we'll find one of them here, playing dark priest for the local girls."

  They entered the pool hall slowly and scanned the tables. There was a booth near the first table, and they headed for it. Most of the seats were full, and all of the pool tables were doing a brisk business. Even the stools at the bar were occupied.

  "You get the booth, I'll get the drinks," Donovan said.

  Amethyst wound her way to the empty booth and took a seat, taking in her surroundings as she went. Donovan rounded the four small pool tables toward the bar. There were a lot of faces to process, and it was a rough crowd. He recognized several of them, but no one he thought would be of any help. At the bar, he ordered two draft beers and turned back toward the table.

  A tall young man had stepped up to the end of their booth. Amethyst stared up at him, and Donovan smiled. He hoped she left enough of the boy in one piece to keep the rest of the club's patrons from either turning on them en masse or clearing out. He hurried his steps.

  The young man slid into the booth beside Amethyst, and Donovan cursed under his breath. As he stepped closer he heard the boy give out a short yelp. Donovan slid in and was about to speak, then stopped. Amethyst had her unwanted visitor by the collar. In her other hand she held a jewel encrusted mirror so that he was forced to look into it.

  "Let me go," the boy said. "I didn't mean nothin'…"

  "You didn't mean anything," Donovan cut in helpfully. "Anything. If you didn't mean 'nothin' then it would mean that you did mean something, you see?"

  The boy tried to turn and stare at Donovan, but he couldn't pull free.

  "Just look into the mirror," Amethyst said softly. "Take a look at what you see, and then I'll let you go."

  The boy should've fought. He should have yanked back and tried to drag her out, or hoped that his collar tore and he got free, but instead, he looked straight into the small mirror. He started to scream, but Amethyst slammed her other hand over his mouth and held him. She leaned close then, brushed her lips close to his ear, and whispered something Donovan couldn't quite make out. Then she let the boy go and gave him a little push that sent him staggering back through the tables.

  He bumped into one table, sloshed beer over the top of a full pitcher and brought a string of curses and blows from those he disturbed. Then he turned toward the door. The boy ran out of the club so quickly that the room fell momentarily silent, watching his retreat. After a moment, the sound of someone breaking a rack shattered the silence. The room came back to life like a slow turning movie reel coming back up to speed.

  "What did you say?" Donovan asked.

  "I told him to get a good look at what women see when he smiles at them." She said smugly. She tucked the mirror back into her handbag.

  "What did he see?" Donovan asked.

  She shrugged.

  "That depends," she said. "Whatever frightens him the most. That's what the mirror does. I keep it close to me most of the time. There's a perfect stone chip of every birthstone around the edge. I've been experimenting with mirrors – new hobby. One day, I'm going to look in there and find out what it is that scares me. We always think that we know what it will be, you know? I keep that mirror because one day I'll want to know. I'll face something, and I'll look into the mirror, and I'll know if the thing I'm facing is it. If it's the worst thing ever – the one thing I have to overcome to overcome myself."

  "Pretty deep," Donovan said. "I think I'll pass on taking a look, though. There's always something worse, and there's always something better. All we can do is concentrate on the here, and the now, and right now I need to find someone who knows what's going on out in the Barrio.

  "Chicken," she said. Then she chuckled.

  They both sipped their beer and scanned the room. Finally, Donovan saw what he was after.

  "There," he said, nodding toward the corner. "It's Julio."

  Amethyst followed his gaze. At the corner of the bar closest to the restrooms and the payphone, a skinny man in a dark shirt and jeans leaned on the counter. He held a drink between his hands, turning it nervously. He glanced alternately at the phones and the door.

  "How fortunate, Amethyst said. "Do you want me to go and talk with him, or …?"

  "You wait here," Donovan said, "and try to stay out of trouble. I'll … convince Julio that he wants to join us."

  Donovan rose and slipped around the far side of the pool tables. He came up on the spot where Julio stood from behind and laid a hand suddenly on the smaller man's shoulder. Julio gave a yelp and tried to twist free, but Donovan held him tightly.

  "If you keep on like that," he said, "I'm going to think you aren't happy to see me."

  Julio was just less than six feet tall with a long, slender nose, greasy black hair, and furtive, darting eyes. He wore a pendant with an Egyptian Ankh dangling from it, rings on almost every finger, and the buttons on his shirt were inverted pewter crosses. Donovan suspected that if the man had more money, the crosses would be silver.

  "What you want man?" Julio said. His voice was high and whiny. "I got no problem with you."

  "Never said you did," Donovan said. "Can't two old friends just talk?"

  "You ain't my friend," Julio said.

  "You better hope I am," Donovan said, dropping his voice. "You'd better hope you know what I need to know. It would go better for you if you were my friend."

  Donovan turned Julio toward the pool tables and gave a light shove. He steered the man to the booth where Amethyst waited, and pushed him in.

  "Hello, Julio," Amethyst said with a bright smile. "It's been too long."

  Julio turned then and tried to bolt. He was slippery, and he almost slid past Donovan, but he telegraphed the move, and before he got a foot, Amethyst shot out a long leg and tripped him up. Donovan caught him by the back of his shirt and tossed him into the booth, sliding in beside him.

  "What's got you so riled up," he asked. "We just have a few questions, and you know we'll pay. What's got you spooked?"

  "Nothing," Julio said. "I just don't like being pushed around."

  "Nobody's pushing," Amethyst said. "Yet. What have you heard about Anya Cabrera?"

  "That crazy old hag?" Julio said. He puffed out his chest, but not before Donovan noticed the quick, furtive glance he sent back in the direction of the phone.

  "You waiting on a call, Julio?" he asked.

  "Maybe. What business is that of yours?"

  "You wouldn't be reporting in to someone would you?" Donovan asked. "I mean, I could go over there, maybe catch the call for you. I bet I could tell them just about everything they wanted to know. Of course, not coming from you, it might slant things. You know what I mean? They probably expect you to answer the phone."

  Julio had started to sweat. His hand shook, and he stared down at the table.

  "Okay," he said. "O
kay. What do you want to know?"

  "I already told you that," Donovan said patiently. "We know that Anya Cabrera is up to something. We've heard she's playing with powers better left alone. You know a little about the Loa don't you, Julio? How would you like to be visited by Papa Legba and have him take up residence…stay a while. Maybe forever."

  "That would be crazy," Julio said. He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. He glanced at the phones again.

  "Look," he said. "There is something going on. She's got a big ritual planned, tomorrow night. She's hooked up with one of the gangs – Los Escorpiones. They've been putting out the word that something is going down in the old junkyard on the south-side of the Barrio. Anya has a place there; back in among the junked cars. It's like some weird Aztec temple or something. I don't know what she's planning on doing other than the standard ritual, but I've heard…stories."

  "We heard some of those," Amethyst said. "There was a gang war in Santini Park the other night. Seems it was a little one sided."

  "That's what I heard," Julio agreed. "Los Escorpiones were there. They didn't die right, man. They fell down, got shot, got stabbed, and kept on fighting. They took out Vasquez. You know Vasquez?"

  Donovan nodded. He remembered the gigantic biker, and he'd heard stories of the man's prowess in a fight.

  "Did they shoot him?" he asked.

  "They did, but it didn't matter," Julio said. "They took him down. He was breaking bones, tossing those boys around like they was dolls, and they just came back. And they were way too fast. At least, that's what my sources tell me. I didn't see it for myself. I've done business with Los Escorpiones…their Presidente – Hector? He was solid once. I do business with The Dragons, too – and Martinez. I don't get involved in what the gangs do, and I'm not much in a fight."

  "Really?" Amethyst said sweetly. "A big strong guy like you?"

  "That's all I know, man," Julio said. He glanced at the phone again. "Seriously, I got to go. I have something coming in tonight – from Haiti. If I miss out on it, someone else will get it. It's important."