Black City Dragon

by Richard A. Knaak

  I dozed off again, only to wake up with the feeling that I wasn’t alone. I kept as still as I could, observing the dark room through slitted eyes.

  Her own eyes closed, a beautiful, petite woman with long, long black hair and lashes sat next to me. The photograph I’d once seen of her hadn’t done her justice. She clearly didn’t do much to accent her features and didn’t have to.

  Her eyes slowly opened. Her steady gaze met mine.

  “Cortez is one lucky guy,” I muttered.

  That earned me a slight, amused smile from Maria. “You are very kind, San Jorge.”

  She was a blunt one. Naturally, I had to deny it. “‘Saint George’? Like in the legends? Hardly!”

  Her smile widened a bit. “It is all right. Our Lady says it is good I know. She has foretold this.”

  I stiffened at her mention of “Our Lady,” then realized that she was talking about Our Lady of Guadalupe, to whom the church she and Cortez took their family was dedicated.

  “I pray to her every day for her blessed guidance, just as I pray to you to protect my Alejandro.”

  “Pray . . . to me. In case you haven’t noticed, if I’m St. George, I’m not the most successful of patrons here.”

  Her smile didn’t fade. “You are the most true of saints, San Jorge.”

  “Nick. I prefer Nick.”

  “Yes, he said that.”

  “Cortez? Sorry. Your husband? He knows—”

  “Alejandro does not know. He understands that you are caught up in something. My Alejandro, he is always trusting of my word in these matters. He knows there is some magic in the world, but not as you and I know.” The smile faded. “And I know that my understanding is far less than yours, San Jorge.”

  I didn’t bother to correct her. “You knew to send him to where I ended up? How? Oh, wait. Our Lady . . .”

  “Do not . . . no. No. I pray to Our Lady for guidance. I pray to you for my husband . . . and I pray to San Miguel for you.” She stared intently. “And sometimes, the prayers are heard.”

  San Miguel. St. Michael. Of course. “And so St. Michael told you to go find me there?”

  Maria chuckled. “No. I just knew. I knew that Alejandro had to go there. But I also knew that he might not find anything.”

  “‘Not find’?”

  “One prays. One hopes. One does not expect, San Jorge.”

  Meaning to me that, with what Michael had said, it hadn’t been a certainty I’d survive. I got the idea Michael had stretched some rule or something in guiding me away from Lake Michigan. I wondered what repercussions that might have.

  I realized that I’d been brooding over what she’d told me. Meanwhile, Maria sat patiently waiting. The patience of a saint, one could say. She certainly seemed closer to one than I was.

  There was a clatter from beyond the room. Maria calmly rose. She gave me another smile, then, still smiling, looked past me for a moment before turning and leaving.

  A moment later, I heard the familiar voice of Detective Cortez. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he was clearly not pleased. Maria said something to him, which apparently mollified him a bit because his tone changed for the better.

  I tried to push myself up, only to be struck by sharp pain near my stomach. Only then did I remember just how badly I’d been stabbed by . . . his tooth?

  The dragon hissed as he came to the same conclusion I had. It hadn’t been a just a term. It had been literal.

  The odd-looking dagger had been forged with an actual tooth of the dragon.

  Small wonder it had had such a drastic and swift effect on us. Galerius had no doubt added other magic to it, magnifying its damned abilities.

  I touched the bandages that no doubt Maria had expertly set. I wondered how many times she’d done the same for Cortez.

  Speaking of the devil, he strode in right at that moment. One hand kept touching the corner of his mouth where, whenever he wasn’t with his family, Cortez tended to let an unlit Lucky dangle. Having now met Maria, I suspected she knew all about that and tolerated it so long as the cigarettes remained unlit.

  “Nick Medea! You don’t look like death warmed over anymore, you know?” Still dressed in his gray suit and with his hat in his other hand, Cortez leaned on the wooden chair his wife had just vacated. He was pretty tall for a Mexican, close to my height. With his brooding features, Cortez was nearly as handsome a man as his Maria was beautiful, but I’d never seen him show any conceit. “No, not so bad, huh?”

  He ran a hand through black, oiled hair cut short, then finally sat, continuing to peer at me with intense interest.

  “Thanks for picking me up,” I finally said.

  “Picked you up? I practically scraped you up. Nick Medea, you are in some deep stuff, you know?” Cortez started to reach for the inside pocket where he generally kept his Luckies, then caught himself. “My Maria, she sees these things sometimes and she tells me. Once in a while, she mentions you. She likes you, Bo. A lot.”

  “You must talk highly of me considering this is the first time I’ve ever met her.”

  He chuckled. “You know what happened the morning before we met? I still remember. She said to me, ‘Alejandro, today you will meet a man whose life is marked. He’ll mark yours as well.’ When we ran into each other, I knew she meant you.”

  “Sorry for complicating your life,” I replied honestly.

  Cortez chuckled some more. “Maria always used to tell me I bored easily. Oh, not with her and the children, but with other things.” He shook his head. “Certainly not bored much since I met you, Nick Medea.”

  I’d been running stories through my head to explain my lying next to the lake. I had several to choose from, but none satisfied me enough. Cortez was a clever man and he’d poke holes in any story that didn’t sound legitimate to him.

  “Never much cottoned to that spook stuff of yours, you know? Sure, there’s a lot of rich folk who like to get their kicks thinking they can talk to the dead, but most of that’s bull. You don’t look like someone who likes to live off of bull.”

  I didn’t respond. I had an idea where he was heading and didn’t want to break his chain of thought.

  “I think I got you, Bo,” he said, wagging his index finger at me. “You’re a private dick, an investigator. That’s why you keep ending up in the middle of bad things. I figure maybe you got a client or clients who themselves got some shady pastimes, you know?”

  “Got no idea what you’re talking about.” It was a pretty good story for me, though. Close to what I’d settled on.

  “Yeah?” Cortez leaned back. “Maybe you also never heard of Lady-killer Leighton?”

  I managed not to react. That was a part of the story I hadn’t planned on being included. “Don’t know the name. He with the Gennas or Weiss and Moran?”

  “Cute. He’s with no one and everyone, from what I’ve seen. Never heard of him?”

  “Never.”

  Cortez’s hand went in search of the Luckies again. With a glare at the guilty appendage, he pulled it back. I could see that there was a lot of turmoil going on in him.

  “It’s funny. There was a shootout today. Supposedly a snatch gone bad, though we’re still not sure. Plenty of calls to us, but damned if the response still wasn’t pretty slow. It was all over and everyone gone by the time we arrived. Funny how it works out like that so often, hey?”

  I wanted to ask him about Claryce and the others, but didn’t want to verify his suspicions about a link between the incident and me. “Yeah, must happen a lot in your line.”

  He grunted. “Sometimes. So anyways, this ‘Ladykiller’—don’t you just love the names these hoods give themselves?—we’ve had our eyes out for him for a while. He works all sides, especially between Capone and the North. A regular Rey Salomon—sorry, King Solomon—with making judgments and mediating. Guy would know a lot if we could make him sing.”

  “Why tell me? I wouldn’t know Ladykiller from Scarface, Cortez. I’m just trying to m
ake an honest living.”

  “Mmm. It’s okay, Bo. Just trying to keep you entertained until Maria’s got food made. You’ll love her pozole . . . heck, you’ll love everything, I promise. Nothing fancy. Just good.”

  I shrugged. “As tempting as I’m sure that is, I’ve got to get going.” I pushed myself up—and immediately regretted it. The entire room raced around me. I tried to focus, but couldn’t.

  “Whoa! Easy, Bo! Lay back again!” Cortez was there next to me, hands bracing me as I settled into my original position. “That wound might not be as vicious as I first thought, but you can’t jump up like that. You’re spending the night and if you think you can argue that, forget it! Maria’s orders, Nick Medea. Those are final.”

  “Cortez—”

  The good detective snapped his fingers. “Ay ay ay! It’s Miss Claryce! We didn’t know how to contact her. You want to call her now?”

  “If I could.”

  “Sure, sure. But there’s only the one telephone and it’s in the hall. Don’t think you can stand long enough, you know?”

  “I’ll take that chance.” I fought to rise again and this time succeeded. After taking another deep breath, I tried for standing. All the while, the dragon remained stubbornly out of the picture.

  Cortez offered me an arm. “Brace yourself. Gonna be a little walk.”

  A long walk was more like it. A very long walk. It wasn’t one to be measured in distance, but strength . . . and I was sorely lacking in the latter. Still, somehow we gradually neared the short, worn table where the weathered candlestick telephone stood.

  Cortez stayed near as I leaned against a wall covered in some pattern I suspected reflected the land of his birth. As I picked up the telephone, I noticed a pair of sleepy brown eyes peering up at me from a darkened room on the other side.

  Cortez followed my gaze. Making a tsking sound, he quietly said, “Bed, Juanito.”

  The boy, a miniature version of Cortez, disappeared back into the room.

  “Sorry,” the detective whispered. “Our youngest. Got more curiosity than a dozen cats, you know?”

  “Future police detective?”

  “Hopefully something safer.”

  I got the operator and told him Claryce’s number. To my relief, she picked up after the first ring.

  “Nick?”

  I winced at the fear I heard in her voice. Fear for me. “Yeah. It’s me. I’m fair. Banged up but serviceable. They caught me by surprise.”

  “‘They’? You’re not alone right now, are you?”

  “As a matter of fact, the good Detective Cortez got a tip about my troubles. He dragged me from the shoreline back to his place.”

  When I’d mentioned “a tip,” Cortez had shaken his head vehemently. He clearly didn’t want anyone knowing about his Maria’s gifts. I was struck by all the secrets going back and forth.

  I gave him a nod, then indicated with a tilt of my head that he should step away. With a slight nod of his own, he headed for what, from the enticing smell and occasional clatter, had to be the kitchen.

  “We’re good now,” I quietly told Claryce.

  “Are you actually in his house?”

  “Yeah and someday you’ll have to meet his Maria.” I realized I was starting to sound like him. “Mrs. Cortez has the gift.”

  “She’s a witch?”

  “Probably the wrong term, but she seems to have a pipeline to a certain saint. I’ll fill you in later. Right now I want to know how you are. You, Fetch, and apparently Quiet. He explain how he showed up so conveniently?”

  “We’re fine, all of us. They drove off. Right after what happened with you. It looked planned just for that, Nick.”

  I’d suspected as much. “And Quiet?”

  Claryce paused, then answered, “Evidently, he’s been pursuing another legacy he failed to mention to us. He can explain later.”

  “He’s still with you?”

  “Yes, and he remembers what happened. He seems . . . resistant . . . to the effects of magic, although I could be wrong.”

  Why didn’t that surprise me? “The big question is, do you trust him?”

  She paused for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “And Fetch is there, too. Just in case.”

  “Nick, if what we think is true, Michael chose him for a reason. I’ll be safe.”

  I winced from a sudden shot of pain centered around my wound. Despite the dragon’s power healing it, it still had a long way to go to be of no further discomfort.

  I must’ve made a sound, because Claryce’s tone immediately changed. “Do you need me to come there right now? Just give me the address—”

  “No. I’ll get a cab. You stay put. Galerius is up to something. Not sure what. We need to go through my files at the house. I want to run over everything I have on the Wingfoot Express. By then, Barnaby might have something to add, too.”

  “Are you sure a cab’s a good option?”

  “No, but it’s the only one right now. Listen. I’ll be some hours still. Try to stay put. I know it’s a lot to ask—”

  “Don’t worry. I will. Give me Cortez’s number, though. Just in case.”

  I recited it for her. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

  “I know. I know.”

  I started to say more, but the sharp pain returned. I hung up without thinking. The dragon shifted uncomfortably in my mind. The receiver slipped from my hand and, despite my best efforts, the telephone followed from my other hand a moment later.

  “I got it!” Cortez growled. I watched him through blurry eyes as he returned the entire telephone to its stand.

  “Thanks . . .”

  “Listen, Bo. It’s back to the bed for you. Maria wasn’t too pleased with me letting you use the telephone. She says you needed to eat first.” Without another word, he got his arm around me and guided me back to the room in which I’d been recuperating.

  After helping me onto the bed, Cortez left. My stomach began rumbling shortly after. Fortunately, Maria soon entered, carrying a wooden tray with a bowl and a small plate atop it. Besides the pozole, there was what looked to be fresh cornbread and a glass of water.

  “This will give you strength,” she said quietly.

  “I thank you very much. I can’t stay much longer after this, though. I have to return home.”

  “I know. I have just told Alejandro that he must drive you once you are ready. The wound should be better after you eat.”

  Something in her tone made me eye the pozole. “Something special in the food?”

  Maria smiled. “An old recipe from my abuela.”

  “Your grandmother? Was she anything like you?”

  The smile widened. “Much like me . . . but more.”

  I didn’t pursue that comment. Maria nodded goodbye to me, then, after a glance past me, departed the room again.

  I couldn’t help it. I looked to see what so intrigued her over there, but I only saw the wall. If she’d been eyeing the small crucifix across from the foot of the bed, I wouldn’t have been surprised. The wall, however . . .

  Something occurred to me. Give your sight. . .

  Eye will give you nothing, he petulantly replied. Eye give and give and you toss us into chaos time after time . . .

  Give me your sight, I repeated, this time more sternly.

  In the end, he could not refuse me. I was, after all, the dominant partner.

  Partner . . . he snarled. Partner . . .

  I ignored his bitterness as the view around me changed, the emerald world of the dragon taking over. I don’t know what I expected. Michael, maybe. Wouldn’t have surprised me.

  What did surprise me was the fact that it was Diocles.

  Even with the dragon’s vision, he was murky and translucent. He hovered over me, hands clenched tightly together as if he’d been praying.

  Georgius . . .

  His voice came into my head. It also stirred a memory of someone shouting my name as the dragon and I’d been strugg
ling by the lake-shore. At the time, I’d assumed it’d been Michael’s voice, but now I realized it’d been Diocles all along.

  Georgius . . . I prayed you would be better . . .

  “How long have you been there?”

  Since you arrived.

  I frowned, thinking of something else. “How can you be there . . . here?”

  I do not know. I remember drifting in nothingness for what seemed forever after the church. Then, someone called my name and said I had to get your attention. I screamed as loud as I could. . .

  “Yeah, I heard you. Go on.”

  I tried to follow the voice that had called to me . . . and then ended up in this house just as the Hispanian called Cortez brought you through the front entrance . . .

  Being Roman, Diocles still couldn’t help thinking that anyone like Cortez originated from the ancient region encompassing Spain and Portugal. I brushed that to the side, though, as what he said registered. “The moment we crossed into the house?”

  Yes . . .

  “Just like it happens when I enter Holy Name? Exactly maybe?”

  His murky form rippled, then, “Exactly.”

  I wondered if Cortez knew he lived on hallowed ground. Married as he was to Maria, maybe that fact wouldn’t have surprised him much.

  I think she can see me, Diocles went on. He, on the other hand, cannot. I have stood before him and had him walk through me . . .

  “Was this while I was asleep?”

  Yes . . .

  Diocles sounded stronger than when we’d first talked. I thought his form was beginning to define, too.

  He stood there in silence. I started feeling some discomfort. Finally, I asked, “Did it hurt?”

  Yes . . .

  “I’m sorry.”

  Diocles acknowledged my comment with a bow of his head. However, as he looked up, his gaze narrowed.

  I quickly glanced at the doorway. Cortez stood there wide-eyed . . . but not the Cortez I’d been expecting. Instead, Juanito stared at both of us and it wasn’t clear who captured his attention most.

  I quickly dismissed the dragon’s eyes. Juanito didn’t flinch; in fact, he smiled.