But the dragon did not attack her. Instead, he sank down into the carpet as if he had been struck, himself. “I cannot believe what I am hearing. Magic Hope University is finished. The governor will defund us now—of that there is no doubt. And all you can offer is your resignation…”
He looked up at her. “Is it true that the Dark Lord is risen?”
Miri nodded.
Dean Rosehill gulped. “You’ve imperiled this entire world, girl. You do not know what you have unleashed. The idea of keeping him in a cage—it’s a foolishness that has no name.”
She thought about telling him that Old Dark had escaped, but she decided that perhaps that was going too far.
“I’ve made some mistakes, Dean Rosehill,” Miri said. “And maybe it was because I was naive. But I’ve got to fix them now, or I’ll never live with myself. Like I said, I’m so sorry.”
Dean Rosehill had nothing to say as she walked away.
She took one last look at the old dragon. He lay on the floor with his eyes closed, saying “It’s over. It’s finally over.”
***
Earl was waiting for her in the hallway. “That didn’t sound like it went so bad, Miss. Did he forgive you?”
“I quit my job, Earl.”
Earl almost choked on his own saliva. “You what?”
She laughed nervously. “But god, that felt really good.”
“So let me understand,” Earl said. “You’re jobless, looking at legal trouble, and you’re relieved?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Miri said, smiling.
XXX
Lucan sorted stacks of grimoires as he sat on the cold factory floor.
He’d stayed the night here and slept on the floor. His shoulder was killing him. Already he’d popped two painkillers and an antibiotic—the latter was a bitter, horse of a pill—and his arm throbbed.
He had to understand his grimoires. Old Dark had.
Damn!
The grimoires were supposed to be far enough so the dragon couldn’t have reached them.
Old Dark shouldn’t have been able to cast. Lucan had counted on that. When they first met in the tomb, Dark had tried to cast a spell but it backfired on him, exploding in his face. That had only been a few days ago. The dragon’s recovery shouldn’t have been so fast.
Lucan held up one of his grimoires; the card stock glowed as a pentagram emanated from it, flashing into a glowing circle of runes. Lucan cycled through them, noting each different spell.
Fire.
Ice.
Wind.
Paralysis.
Heal.
Protect.
Speed.
Lucan stopped.
He returned.
Heal.
Heal?
Why was there healing spell?
The meds must have been getting to him. He put his hand to his head as he remembered. A few months back, customers had filled out satisfaction surveys in which they requested simple healing spells in light of recent monster attacks on the highways outside of Magic Hope City. Lucan didn’t see a need for it; after all there are plenty of potions, balms and salves that you could purchase at Gavlin’s for a few spiras that you could carry in your purse or pocket. They worked better, too. Healing spells were difficult to encode and didn’t always work as intended. Sometimes they healed the wrong body part. Other times the spell would heal certain injuries and not others.
What did a healing spell actually mean, anyway? Fire meant fire, speed meant haste to get you away from danger, but heal…what about an ankle injury? Or an amputated limb? Not even a magical spell could function as a cure-all. Hell, even dragons admitted as much, and they had warned the general public about the efficacy of these kinds of spells. They weren’t like pills, which were engineered to localize at the point of an injury by dissolving into the bloodstream. And they weren’t like an actual doctor who could give you the real care you needed. They were true potions at best and snake oils at worst.
Lucan would have preferred to put more defense spells on the grimoires instead—at the end of the day that’s what you really needed when a fire-breathing wolf was staring you in the face. But he’d had to listen to customer demand, and the news cycles were killing him with monster attacks and people complaining about his grimoires. He had no choice.
Either Dark had been lucky or his magical skill was good enough to focus the spell’s effect on his wings.
Gah! What was the point of thinking about all this now? He flung the grimoire aside. All the grimoires in the factory were the new versions; all of them would have had the healing spell embedded into them. That much was clear.
But how the hell did Dark get his claws on a grimoire?
Maybe it didn’t matter, but he couldn’t let it go, stalking around the factory, scrutinizing every pallet and piece of machinery for an answer.
He stopped at a forklift.
The keys were still in the ignition. His eyes dropped down to the forks, which his employees used to lift and move the pallets.
A mop and janitor’s bucket lay next to the equipment.
He recalled a brief update from Gus saying how Dark had spooked the night janitor and caused a commotion. It was a mix-up and the night janitor should have never been there. She was a trustworthy woman and she was under a non-disclosure agreement anyway, so Lucan didn’t anticipate any trouble. He’d trusted Gus and Orion to handle it.
But he was not thinking wide enough. He could have never anticipated this. Something probably happened in the scuffle, knocking a few of the grimoires loose from a pallet, and Dark seized the opportunity.
The old dragon was injured, but he wasn’t as stupid as Lucan thought. He’d hidden the grimoires in his stomach and vomited them up when the time was right.
If Lucan learned anything, it was that desperation created better odds.
Lucan kicked the forklift. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
How was anyone supposed to stay ten steps ahead of the smartest dragon in history? The cage and the secluded factory should have been enough.
And there wasn’t a damn spell on any of his grimoires that could help him now.
All things in the universe wanted to be free, an elven elder had once said.
Wise saying, but he had no idea how to apply it to this situation.
He was deep in thought when he felt a kiss on the back of his neck, and then the force of a forehead against his shoulder.
“Hey, babe,” he said, not looking back.
He knew her by her scent—floral with a hint of wooded perfume. But she didn’t respond.
She sighed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“It’s not good.”
“Old Dark getting out? Yeah, not good at all.”
“Not that.”
He turned around. Celesse wore a baseball cap and jeans. Her sporty look. Whenever she was dressed like this, he knew she was doing some dirty work. Her eyes were blustery, as if she had been crying.
“What is it?”
“I went to find Tony.”
“Did you get him? Is he going to talk?”
“I found him. He’s been talking to Amal Shalewood.”
Lucan shrugged.
“She knows, Lucan. About all of this. Old Dark. The cover-up. Everything.”
“Shit.”
Lucan dropped his head and closed his eyes. He loosened his tie and threw it on the floor. Giving his neck some breathing room made him feel good. “And here I was thinking it couldn’t get any worse.”
Celesse took his hand. “She was pretty pissed. She gave us forty-eight hours to come clean.”
“Or what?”
“She’s going to take it to the media.”
Lucan cursed again. “And I thought she was the ‘honest’ candidate.”
“She caught us vulnerable. She’s using it. Wouldn’t you?”
“That kid is nothing but a pain in my ass,” Lucan said. “Demetrius Shalewood is looking for the
kid, too.”
“He probably already knows everything he needs to know,” Celesse said. “And the moment your uncle finds out—”
“He’s going to destroy me,” Lucan said, running a hand through his hair. “Literally.”
He reached out and pulled her to him and sat her on his lap. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you, babe. We’ve both been through a lot these past twenty-four hours. Now we’ve got to figure out how to get out of this.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Celesse said. “We have no choice but to come clean. It’s going to sting. But what if we could pull your uncle into it? What if we could turn this into a referendum on his leadership?”
“I’m listening.”
Celesse stood up and started pacing around.
“He passed the Magical Lands Act five years ago. But the penalties weren’t as harsh as they could have been. It’s only one or two years in jail for interfering with the law.”
“That makes me feel great, thanks.”
“But let’s be honest. The election is in a few weeks. If you win, it’ll be an old issue. If you lose, well…let’s plan on not losing.”
“Gotcha.”
“When you met with your uncle recently—did you tell him anything?”
Lucan shook his head. “He asked me if I had anything to do with the bog incident, and I evaded his questioning.”
“We’re going to have some fallout. Moss won’t be happy. He and Dark were enemies. We’ll likely lose his coalition.”
“I can afford to lose Moss,” Lucan said. “If I know anything about Old Dark, Moss might not be alive much longer, anyway.”
“Here’s what we do,” Celesse said, suddenly thinking of an idea. “It’s going to be a long-shot, and we’re going to burn every bridge there is, but it just might work.”
XXXI
On her way home from Magic Hope University, Miri stopped in her apartment to change and pick up some books about dragon psychology. It was nice to be back home if even for a little while, and she exhaled with a smile the moment the air-conditioned breeze cooled her.
Her gray cat met her at the door and brushed up against her leg. She bent down and scratched it under the chin. “I guess I’ve been away for a while, haven’t I?”
She pointed to the kitchen. “Earl, I’m going to change. Would you mind refreshing his food?”
“Not at all, Miss.”
“Third cabinet on the left, over the stove.”
Miri kicked off her flats and hopped toward her bed, which was sectioned off by a large divider made from rice paper. She opened her closet as she heard a scooping sound coming from the kitchen, then a bag rustle as cat cereal pelleted into a bowl and then spilled across the floor. Earl cursed and she heard the floor creak as he gathered up the rogue bits. Then the faucet turned on for a few seconds as he filled the water bowl.
She hurried into a fresh change of clothes—a sun dress with a red floral pattern. She walked back into the living room, putting on her glasses.
She plopped down on the floor among her piles and piles of books, her dress a swirl on the floor. Her cat, who had been nibbling on the freshened-up bowl of food, pounced on the bay window couch and curled into a ball, the city humming to life in a rosy glow behind him.
“Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge,” Miri said. “Hopefully too much hasn’t spoiled.”
“You sure you won’t mind, Miss?”
Miri laughed.
Earl opened the fridge and shrugged. Then he pulled out a plastic container with rice noodles, tomatoes and shrimp. He grabbed a fork, sat down at her metal wireframe table and began to eat quickly.
Miri reached for several thick, worn hardcover books. One of them was titled Dragon Psychology Before the Age of Fenroot and it had a spine with golden lines across it.
She thumbed to the table of contents while balancing her notebook on her lap. She seemed to remember something about a story of a dragon that lied to a human—and a description of the warning signs. It was an acronym that she couldn’t remember. It had bugged her the entire ride to the apartment, and she was determined not to leave until she found it.
And then she did.
If you suspect that a dragon is about to do you physical harm, do not delay in seeking magical help. The dragon will typically display the following steps in progressive order. Remember the acronym SCARE:
S: Subversion. First, the dragon will attempt to disarm you with words. They make up their minds about a person or thing immediately and there is very little that you can do the change that impression. Should you find yourself being subverted, reply in kind to earn their respect.
C: Crass Threats. If a dragon means you harm, it will threaten you, usually in colorful, vivid, graphic and grotesque language about what it will do to you. These threats, however, are idle, and the dragon is simply gauging a response to determine how simple a kill may be. The way to avoid trouble in this phase is to be neutral. Show anger and it will confirm the dragon’s plan; show fear and it will accelerate your death. An even-keeled sensibility may convince the dragon that your life is worth living.
A: Attack. A false attack. It will lash out at you with the intent of only causing minor harm. This is the time to attack if you have offensive spells, but do not delay. A blindness spell is known to be 100% effective, but it will not decrease your chances of death—for the side effects of such a spell may blind you, too, and you may stumble under the dragon’s feet. However, such a spell may show the dragon that you are serious about defending yourself.
R: Retaliation. A dragon will take something you have done and use it as justification to attack you, even if your actions were not a threat. There are many stories of human doctors trying to heal injured dragons who have been attacked for merely touching a scale. If a dragon takes on an affected tone and begins blaming you for ANYTHING, either attack it or maintain a safe distance. You will not earn its respect, but you may buy yourself some time.
E: Extreme Violence. Should a dragon determine that you’re worth killing, it will attack suddenly and unannounced. At this point, there is no hope for survival. However, this can be avoided by following the prior steps, and playing to the dragon’s biggest weakness—its ego.
The ego. Miri was right before.
Hadn’t Dark displayed many of the traits above? Yes. He had tried to subvert her right away for being a woman, a half-breed, and for knowing the ways of dragons. He’d threatened her more times and in different variations than she ever thought a dragon could, each progressively more violent. He’d tried to blow fire in her face.
He was in the retaliation phase now. He was going to come after her and Lucan—of that there was no doubt. And unlike the dragons in textbook example, he had a legitimate reason to be pissed.
She picked up where the book left off.
Dispelling one of a dragon’s five senses is the most effective way to stop an onslaught. Pair that with a charm offensive and it will merely buy you time to escape, seek safety, or wait for help. If you cannot do any of those things, gunshot or sword wounds to the neck are your next best option. The neck is lined with tough, flexible and sinewy muscles that give the dragon range of motion and balance. They are weakest at the atlas, just under the skull. The nerves to its fire sack are also are most exposed at this region as well, so the right blow can potentially prevent it from using fiery breath, again lengthening your survival.
Miri shuddered. She hoped it would never come down to that. Her only consolation was that there was one step left. Old Dark hadn’t actually retaliated yet.
But he would.
And she’d be ready for him.
“I’ve got tricks you’ve never even seen before,” she whispered, jotting down notes. “You’ll fall out of the sky when you see them. You’ll wonder if I’m not really a dragon in disguise, Old Dark.”
She had paged through several books and had written several pages of notes and strategy when the door to her apartment creaked open.
&nb
sp; It was Laner. And Jasmine.
Crap.
She hadn’t followed up to confirm if they were safe. The escape had distracted her. She must have seemed like a heartless bitch. She wanted to run away and found it hard to even look Laner in the eye because she was so ashamed.
Earl stood and moved to block the doorway. “We’re a bit preoccupied at the moment, sir.”
“Ah,” Laner said. “Then it explains a lot.”
“Earl, it’s okay,” Miri said.
Laner and Jasmine entered and stood in the living room. Laner folded his arms and Jasmine wiped her eyes; it looked like she had been crying; her foot was wrapped in gauze. They were both dressed in their field clothes and had dirt on their faces.
“I’m so glad you both are okay,” Miri said, hugging Laner.
He didn’t hug her back. He didn’t even move in response to her hug, and when he spoke there was rue in his voice.
“Glad to see you’re okay, too, enjoying a couple of books. We’re just fine, thanks.”
“Laner, listen. I—”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked. “We could’ve died back there, and you wouldn’t have cared.”
“I called for help,” Miri said. “I didn’t know what was going on. I thought it might have been dangerous.”
“So you called your contractor friends, right?” Laner asked.
“Oh, you mean Gunther. He can be a little crass, but—”
Laner stomped and punched the wall with one arm. “How long is it going to take you to come out and say it? You’ve been lying this entire time. Those contractors are the ones who made the mess in the bog.”
So he knew. How the hell did he know? Miri was a terrible liar and she knew this day might come. And she was, exactly as she predicted she would be, speechless.
“You knew that the trees were damaged by equipment. Yet you didn’t want us to ‘rule anything out.’ You also steered us toward the pond. You told us to open the chests. We asked if you wanted to be there but you told us to go ahead. I’m starting to think maybe you wanted us to die.”
Old Evil (The Last Dragon Lord Book 2) Page 16