The Temptation of Dragons (Penny White Book 1)

by Chrys Cymri

  I found myself laughing. ‘Sorry. Jargon. The building is inspected every five years.’

  Gravel scrunched under our feet as we walked up to the church gate. The crisp days of October giving way to the damper days of November. I took a deep, appreciative breath of the smell of mouldering leaves - and Peter’s cologne, which was slightly spicy and suited him.

  ‘I was wondering if you’d like to come over for lunch?’ he asked as we paused beside my car. ‘I’ve got a joint in the slow cooker. It should be ready by the time we get to my house. And Morey might like to join Taryn for a hunt. I saw some quail the other day.’

  Morey swirled down my arm. ‘It would make a nice change from blue tits.’

  And a roast would make a nice change from a cheese sandwich. ‘I’ll need to take my own car.’

  ‘Fine. Meet me there.’

  The idea of larger prey had obviously lifted Morey’s spirits. In the six days since our visit to the monastery, he had been rather quiet. He sang all eleven verses of ‘For All The Saints’ as I drove us to Rugby. Over and over again. My initial relief at the lift in his mood changed to irritation and then near murderous impulses by the time I was parking outside Peter’s house.

  Taryn was sitting on the low brick wall, spotted tail curling over her sharp falcon claws. I opened the door, and Morey flew out of my side to join her. ‘Quail,’ I reminded them both. ‘Not any farm animals.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Taryn said solemnly. ‘We’ll leave the livestock in peace.’ And they flew off in a flash of feathers and fur.

  ‘“Ma’am”?’ I repeated to Peter as he joined me. ‘She called me “ma’am.” Makes me feel ancient.’

  ‘Oh, that’s just automatic.’ Peter opened the gate for me. ‘Taryn was a lieutenant in the gryphon army. There are times when she just can’t help herself.’

  ‘What was she?’

  ‘Military police, of course. Says she mostly dealt with soldiers who got drunk off duty.’ Peter gave me a wink as he opened the front door. ‘Always gives me a stern look when I have a drink. So, sometimes I find myself sneaking a bottle over to Lloegyr so she won’t see me.’

  The hallway led through to a small kitchen with larger dining area. I laid the table while Peter boiled some potatoes and carrots to accompany the joint. He poured me a small glass of red wine, and when I took a sip I regretted that I’d driven myself over.

  ‘You seemed to know what to do in church,’ I said as we finally sat down with our full plates.

  ‘Like I said, I go when I visit my mum and dad. But you’ve seen me at work, and I thought I’d return the compliment. Let me know if you ever want to visit a police station.’

  ‘Been there, done that. Went to one in Llanbedr to get James out of the hands of elves.’ A look on his face made my smile slip. ‘Peter, is there something I should know?’

  He deliberately forked a chunk of beef into his mouth. So I waited while he chewed and swallowed. ‘As you know, I’ve been arranging for him to be able to change Lloegyr currency over here.’

  ‘He’s very grateful.’

  ‘The goldsmiths always lets me know the source of the coins.’ At my look, he explained, ‘Lloegyr doesn’t have a central bank to issue currency. Lots of outfits have the necessary licence, and it’s well regulated, but it does mean that there are marks to let you know where a coin was minted. I don’t like some of the sources. I need to warn him to be careful.’

  ‘Or I could.’

  ‘Really?’ Peter grinned at me. ‘Do you think he’d take it from you?’

  ‘No,’ I had to admit. ‘He’d say I was interfering. Or worrying too much. Or something.’

  ‘And he’d work out that you’d found out through me.’ Peter refilled his wine glass, but left mine untouched. ‘Remind me, how many years are there between you?’

  ‘Fourteen,’ I said. The wine and good food were making me relax. I could even look out at the wooden hutches in his back garden and not worry about the fate of the rabbits. ‘Our parents hadn’t expected him. He was only four when they died - car accident - so I ended up looking after him.’

  ‘Which is why he’s so protective of you. Around other men.’

  ‘It’s probably about Alan,’ I countered. ‘Alan was fifteen years older than me. James looked up to him, like a big brother.’

  ‘Or like a father?’

  I poured water into my glass. ‘We know that whoever ate Dominic knew he’d been poisoned, which is why they avoided the eyes. Have you heard about Cadw ar Wahân?’

  ‘A group against relationships between different races. Lloegyr police say they’re more talk than action.’

  ‘That’s not what Miranda thought,’ I pointed out. ‘And we know at least two people in mixed relationships were poisoned.’

  ‘Four,’ Peter corrected. ‘And you’re a great lunch date, aren’t you?’

  ‘I can always shift to funeral stories, if you’d rather,’ I said. ‘I had a very interesting family the other week--’

  ‘The other two were about a year ago.’ He stabbed at his beef. ‘Look, Penny, you’re not really part of the investigation. You don’t need all the details.’

  ‘Because they’re classified?’

  ‘Because they’re rather gory.’

  ‘In my first month as a curate,’ I told him, ‘I held the hand of a young woman as she died. I’ve taken funerals for children and suicides. I’ve sat with a family who insisted that a coroner tell them exactly how their son died of his stab wounds. And now I’ve stood beside a gryphon while the grave of his wife was exhumed. I think I can take it.’

  ‘Have you ever let anyone take care of you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said tightly. ‘And then I wasn’t there to take care of him, the one time when he needed me. That’s why he drowned.’

  Peter took a deep breath. ‘Arieal Pathjouns, male, police elf, married to a female unicorn. Killed when he fell off his dragon partner while doing a sweep for snail sharks over Kettering. Thought to have been a heart attack, until we dug up what was left of him a week ago. Rito Krummwine, female, harpy, married to female were-wolf. Killed a week ago when she flew into power lines outside of Brackley.’

  ‘There,’ I said, ‘that wasn’t so bad, was it?’

  ‘Harpies place their dead on scaffolds and leave them to be eaten by vultures. The forensic team had to pick pieces of flesh out of a tangle of leaves and twigs.’

  For a moment the last bite of beef caught in my throat. Then I washed it down with water. ‘Glad I wasn’t on that detail.’

  ‘So am I,’ he agreed.

  ‘So, what they all have in common is that they were in a mixed relationship, poison was used to cause their accidents, and they all died in England. Should people in mixed race marriages be warned?’

  ‘The rat kings have been doing a good enough job of that already,’ Peter said glumly. ‘They’re worse than Twitter. They’re like a telepathic Twitter spread by wings. But it might stop some of the illegal visits people make over here.’

  ‘Tourists usually avoid places they think are dangerous.’ I suddenly had my fill of talking about death. ‘So, what are your holiday plans for next year?’

  The gryphons reappeared while we were sipping coffee in the lounge. I was sitting near the thin place, and I found it interesting how the sense of dread grew and retreated as I moved my hand closer and then further away from the boundary. Morey rapped his beak on the window to gain my attention. Several feathers which were not his own clung to his talons. Taryn, perched next to him on the window sill, looked far cleaner.

  Peter came to his feet as I stood. ‘Better go,’ I told him. ‘Thanks for lunch.’

  ‘My pleasure. Are you free any night this week? There’s a new Italian place in Bilton I thought of trying out.’

  The obsidian cross suddenly felt warm where it rested, hidden from sight under my shirt, just below the St George medal. But Raven had himself stated that it was only a gift. ‘Thursday. It’s my day off this wee
k. Do you want to text me the address? Say eight?’

  ‘That’s great.’ And his grin warmed me all the way to the car.

  To my great relief, Morey curled up and settled into a nap for the drive home. I parked the car on the drive, held out an arm for a sleepy gryphon to climb up on my shoulder, and strode to the house. Then unlocked the front door and opened the door to the lounge.

  James and Miranda were engaged in a vigorous, although mercifully fully clothed, session on the couch. At the sound of my entry they disentangled limbs and lips and sat upright on the cushions.

  ‘Well,’ I said aloud to no one in particular, ‘I didn’t see that one coming.’

  Chapter Twenty One

  I went into the kitchen and poured myself the glass of wine I hadn’t had at Peter’s house. At Morey’s nudge, I filled a second glass, which I placed on the table for him. James and Miranda were having a quick discussion, their voices muffled by distance, and I tuned them out. Morey, very wisely, merely slurped at his wine.

  The front door opened and shut again. Then came the sound of heavy footsteps as James made his way down the hallway. He strode into the kitchen, pulled out a chair, and flopped down next to me.

  ‘Miranda,’ I said flatly. ‘How long?’

  ‘About a month.’ He was eyeing the wine bottle, but I made no move to offer him any. ‘We met at Saint George’s.’

  ‘Since when do you go to church?’

  ‘Since I found a church that has dragons and were-wolves.’

  ‘So,’ I commented, ‘that’s what my “Fresh Expression of Church” needed. Bring in a unicorn, and the pews would be full. No wonder the family services failed.’

  ‘I met Miranda there,’ James continued. ‘And we hit it off.’

  ‘So I noticed. When were you going to tell me?’

  ‘That’s why I brought her over,’ he said defensively. ‘So we could tell you together.’

  ‘While lip wrestling on the couch?’

  ‘You were later than we’d expected. We got bored.’ James cleared his throat. ‘She’s really nice.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought you were her type.’

  ‘Oh, she’s so over dragons. Gone right off them.’

  ‘Then you must know,’ I said, putting down my glass to glare at him, ‘that you’re dealing with a grieving woman?’

  ‘You’re moving on,’ he shot back. ‘Why can’t she?’

  ‘You mean Peter?’

  Morey hiccuped, then commented, ‘I like him.’

  ‘It helps, doesn’t it?’ James continued. ‘To have someone else around when you’ve lost someone. That’s what Miranda says.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’ The words slipped out before I could stop them. Then I threw all caution away. ‘The only person I wanted was half a world away.’

  ‘I couldn’t come back.’

  ‘Why not? Last I heard, you can still get flights from New Zealand.’

  James rose. ‘I told you, I couldn’t.’

  My chair rattled as I came to my own feet. ‘The church was packed for Alan’s funeral. My own bishop gave the address. Everyone was so nice to me. But the one person I wanted, the one person I needed, couldn’t be bothered to catch a plane back to England.’

  ‘This,’ Morey said calmly, ‘is my cue to leave.’ And I heard Clyde’s excited trill as the gryphon flew from kitchen to office.

  ‘It wasn’t--I couldn’t--you don’t understand.’ James grabbed Morey’s glass and drained the wine in one gulp. ‘He’s dead, I can’t change anything about that. I didn’t come to the funeral, and I can’t change that either. What do you want me to do about it now?’

  ‘Apologise. Say you’re sorry that you didn’t come.’ I hardly knew what I was saying. The words seemed to be coming from a deep part of me and rushing past any inner censor. ‘Say that you’re sorry!’

  He lifted his head and looked into my eyes. ‘No.’

  I broke one of our mother’s oldest rules and used her banned word. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not sorry! I couldn’t come! You don’t understand!’

  His waving hands knocked against the wine glass and sent it flying. The sound of it shattering against the wall raised noises of protest from both snail and gryphon. But we two humans simply stared at each other, both breathing heavily, my fingers curled into fists, his hands clenched together. ‘I needed you. And you weren’t here.’

  ‘And I don’t want to be here now.’ James pushed past me and stormed out to the hallway. The front door opened and then slammed behind him.

  My legs were suddenly weak. I lowered myself to my chair, and poured a large portion of wine into the remaining glass.

  A moment later, Morey landed on the table. He sat, curling his tail over his forefeet, and his red eyes studied me for a moment. ‘That could have gone better.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ I muttered. ‘Families. I suppose you have some words of wisdom to offer me?’

  ‘None whatsoever. I’ve made a bloody mess with my own family. But there’s one thing you might want to ask him sometime.’

  I stared blearily over my wineglass. ‘Which is?’

  ‘Why couldn’t James come to the funeral? What prevented him?’

  ‘His stubbornness.’

  ‘And who now is being stubborn?’

  ‘I can guess what prevented him,’ I said. ‘Let’s see, what could have been her name? Lucy? Abigail? Or maybe he has a thing for women called Miranda.’

  ‘Or none of the above.’ Even though I was well on my way to getting drunk, part of me still admired Morey’s patience. ‘My advice is to ask him. Don’t shout at him. Ask him why he felt he couldn’t come. Just find the right time.’

  ‘Sure,’ I muttered, helping myself to more wine. ‘I’m sure the right time will just drop out of the sky and into my lap.’

  ‘And that sentence doesn’t even make sense.’ With that, Morey left me to my drinking.

  I stared at the bottle. Alan would have known what to say to James. Alan had always known what to say to James. My husband’s absence was like a shard of glass pressing into my chest. So I decided to dull the pain in the only way I knew how.

  <><><><><><>

  Never, in all my twelve years as a priest, had I been asked to attend a meeting of the Bishop’s senior staff. I had told Morey that we’d need to leave by 9:00 am for the drive to Nenehampton. So at ten minutes past, when I had not appeared in the downstairs hall, he flew upstairs to find me still in my bedroom.

  ‘This,’ he told me, ‘is not nine o’clock sharp.’

  ‘And this is my problem.’ I swept a hand over the garments spread across the off-white duvet cover. ‘Do I go for casual with grey fleece? Sharp casual with tasteful jumper? Or business like with dark jacket?’

  ‘Take them all and decide when we get there.’

  ‘I’m not getting changed in the Bishop’s car park.’ I once again fingered the jumper, which had the great advantage of being woollen and very warm. The Bishop’s palace was very grand and very cold.

  ‘You’re wearing a black shirt,’ Morey continued. ‘I didn’t realise you even had a black shirt.’

  ‘I wear black only when I’m trying extra hard to feel like a priest.’ I grabbed the sweater. The desire for warmth won out.

  ‘You are a priest.’

  I pulled on the grey-brown jumper, smoothed down my hair, and held out my arm for Morey to fly up. ‘Let’s see. The meeting will have two bishops, two archdeacons, a dean, the Bishop’s chaplain, and me. Which one is the odd one out?’

  ‘Me,’ Morey declared, his claws catching in the knit as he made his way to my shoulder. ‘I’ll be the only person in the room who’s not ordained.’

  ‘Touché.’

  That November morning, every farmer between Towcester and Nenehampton had emerged from bed and decided to take his tractor on the road. Or so it seemed. I arrived at the Bishop’s palace only minutes before the meeting was due to start. The rest were already in
the large board room, setting out tablets and papers. Bishop Nigel was filling hot drink orders, and I nodded when he lifted the coffee pot in my direction.

  ‘Father Penny,’ Ian greeted me with a grin.

  I sighed. ‘Please. I get enough of that in Lloegyr.’

  ‘And I take it that Elder Trahaearneifion is with you?’ His pronounciation was slightly muffled, but to me it sounded like a good attempt. ‘Elder, would you oblige? Most of us can’t see you.’

  Morey strode down my arm to the table. ‘Very well, Archdeacon.’ To his obvious pleasure, he had been given his own place. His name plate showed both his Welsh name and his chosen English one. He walked past the outstretched hands, stroking each with his tail, then took a seat at my left elbow.

  ‘Tea, Morey?’ Bishop Nigel asked. I noted with interest that the Bishop hadn’t needed a touch of gryphon.

  ‘Yes, many thanks. White, no sugar.’

  To my relief, only the chaplain was wearing a suit jacket. The rest were all wearing either jumpers or, in Ian’s case, a bright blue sweatshirt. ‘TARDIS blue,’ Ian said, catching my gaze. ‘In your honour, of course.’

  ‘Could we please open the meeting in prayer,’ Bishop Nigel asked, ‘rather than with Doctor Who references?’

  We all obediently bent our heads and he asked for God’s blessing and guidance on our meeting. When he had finished, I wrapped my hands around my mug. Only a few minutes in, and I was already cold. Central heating might have been installed into the ancient building, but the palace was refusing to respond.

  ‘I thought we’d let Penny make her report first,’ the Bishop said. ‘Then we can let her go while we move on to other business. So, Penny, three months in as Vicar General of Incursions. How has it been for you?’

  Yesterday had featured one of my worst hangovers of the year. Only in the afternoon, after much liberal application of ibuprofen, had I felt able to sit down at my computer and try to put together something coherent to bring to the meeting. Not easy when I’d been feeling rather incoherent. And worried about James, whom I had not heard from since our argument.

  ‘It’s been eventful,’ I began. ‘The fallout from Dominic’s murder, the discovery that others have also been poisoned, and there was the small matter of a snail shark invasion in Earls Barton.’