by Ruby Ryan
"Do it," he said. "I have been taken from this world more times than memory can recall. For millennia we have been born and fought and died, always the death, yet always we return. Our battle is endless, boy. It will always be endless." He turned to look at me, the gun still pressed against his sternum. "Until we finally win."
He held my gaze a moment, then pushed the gun out of the way and strode past the cashier. The front door dinged again as he disappeared into the night.
*
The cashier watched the dragon disappear, then stared at the door after he was gone.
"Excuse me," I said, wincing as I pushed to my feet. "You wouldn't happen to have a bottle of Dubliner 20 in stock, eh? I prefer my whiskeys to be old enough to fuck."
He whirled toward me. "GET OUT!" he screamed, voice a noticeable degree more confident now that the dragon was gone. I raised my hands slowly, one of which was still too numb to go above my shoulder.
"Mate, I may have one hell of a concussion but I seem to remember him getting the jump on me. I'm the victim here."
"You destroyed half the store!" he gestured to the bottles broken and scattered on the ground, and the aisle that was collapsed.
"Again, I was just minding my own business..."
"The cops are on their way," the cashier said with his chin in the air. "Feel free to stick around and explain to them how a fighter from Boris's illegal den is the innocent victim here. I bet they'll be real sympathetic."
Bloody hell. It wouldn't do for them to connect the dots that the dragon and I were both underground bare-knuckle boxers.
"All I wanted was a fucken drink," I muttered as I took a wide arc around the shotgun-holding kid and back out into the street.
A crowd of preppy Harvard guys had gathered outside and pointed when I came out, so I turned in the other direction and limped down the street. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off all the pain my brain had been avoiding came back with a vengeance: the bruised knuckles of my right hand, the throbbing pain in my temple, the hollow ache in my gut that still tinged each breath with fresh pain. My vision was still a little blurry--which couldn't have been a good sign--but the longer I walked the more that started to fade.
The dragon had said a lot of things, and most of it didn't make sense. But one thing that did ring true: the totem.
It wasn't the word I'd used for it, but the moment the word was out of his mouth I knew he meant the ruby gryphon carving. That's what he was after, though I had no bloody idea why. Thinking about it, I could almost sense the totem far ahead of me. To the south. That's probably where it was, with Harriet flying out of Atlanta. Or was it my imagination that I could sense it?
But the dragon douche had known. Somehow.
And if he was going after the totem, it meant Harriet was in danger.
Passion flared up in my chest like a bonfire. I realized I was clenching my fist so tight my nails dug into my palms painfully, and it took more than a little willpower to force myself to stop. Harriet and the gryphon totem were in danger.
My mate was in danger.
I had to protect her. And not just because of how I felt about her: because it was my job. My duty. Nothing in the world mattered as much as keeping Harriet, and the totem I'd given her, safe.
I pulled out my phone to look up plane tickets when it vibrated from an incoming call.
CALLER: ETHAN MASTERSON.
I would have ignored it, but I was angry and frustrated and the phone was already in my hand, so I slid the connector to receive the call.
"Ethan, I've had one hell of a fucken night, so this had better be important."
It was.
20
HARRIET
I woke up with Africa spread out beneath my window.
I'd been dozing on and off all flight, and one moment there was blue ocean beneath me and the next moment there was sand. Beautiful brilliant orange sand, which my in-flight screen told me was the Namib Desert over Namibia, which was a country in frigging Africa, the continent I was flying towards, which did I mention was in Africa?
I looked around the plane for someone to share in my excitement, but nobody seemed to care.
When I was 16 my aunt took me to Kenya for a week, which was probably the most influential trip of my life. Seeing elephants up close, the sounds they made and the sheer immensity of them, guided my decision to go into animal conservation. It was also the first time I'd ever been outside the United States. The entire trip was a week-long adrenaline rush, the excitement and wonder of something new.
I felt a thousand times more giddy for this trip. I wasn't just visiting Africa: I was coming here to do real research! With a famous conservationist who specifically wanted me on his team! With all of the events of the past week, rushing around completing tasks and preparing, the reality of what was happening hadn't quite sunk in. Not until that moment, with my face plastered against the window and my eyes as wide as baseballs.
When the elderly man on the aisle seat looked over to gaze out the window, I blurted out, "That's Namibia we're flying over. Did you know Namibia is the only nation in the world that incorporated environmental protection into its constitution?"
"I'm from Capetown, yes," he said in a South African accent, turning away so I wouldn't bother him.
It was stupid, and cheesy, but I put my headphones in and listened to Toto's Africa on repeat for the next hour.
I still had to wait another two hours until we reached Johannesburg, and by the time we touched down I was practically bouncing in my seat.
Customs was torturously slow, a line that snaked back and forth for almost an hour. When I finally reached the front I excitedly told the bored customs agent that I was here for research, and to my disappointment he didn't ask me any other details before stamping my passport.
The terminal at O.R. Tambo International Airport was like any other airport in the world, though with foreign sounds and foreign smells. I strode forward and looked around at the high ceilings and windows showing a blue sky, not caring that the people behind were bumping into me and pushing past. Since I had a long layover, I was going to try to find one of the attached hotels and take a hot shower and get some sleep. But first I wanted to try--
"Miss Reckmeyer?"
The voice came from a white-haired and white-bearded man standing next to a luggage cart piled high with boxes of equipment. He looked like the old man from Jurassic Park, with kind eyes and wearing tan shorts and a vest.
"Doctor Cardiff!" I exclaimed, rushing over to shake his hand. He grinned widely.
"Please, no need to tell the world the extent of my education. Call me Arnold."
"What are you doing here? I thought I was meeting you and the rest of the team in Mozambique..."
He waved it off with a well-callused hand. "Oh that plan was ages ago. The best plans never see the light of day, I've found. Come--I need you at the ticketing desk."
I followed him as he pushed the luggage cart through the airport.
"So the plan..." I said.
"Ahh yes. I'm here because of a flight cancellation. Dozens of them I'm afraid, but we'll make do." He took his hand off the cart to jab a finger in my direction. "Your thesis is one of the most creative I've seen in decades. Not since Elizabeth Falco's proposal for inter-species primate habitations, I'd claim, though of course that was back in 1972 before... or was it 1973? The year of the..." He snapped his fingers to try conjuring up the memory. "No, it was 1973. Anyways, Miss Falco's research on primate habitations led to the largest breakthrough ever in her field. Put her name on half a dozen papers after that, with me as the cosponsor of course, though I insisted she be the primary. Have I told you what she has gone into these days? Hyena research. Can you believe it? Not that hyenas aren't fascinating--they are quite so!--but such a dramatic shift in topics mid-career is rare. I cannot imagine doing that myself. Though now that I think about it, the new information we have on hyenas, especially regarding their specific social structure and family bond
, piques my curiosity in that special researcher's way..."
I cleared my throat. "My thesis, you were saying?"
"Oh yes! The bees. Wonderfully creative. All the best solutions have an almost artist nature to them, to mirror the wonderful symbiosis of nature itself. Interconnectivity amongst everything, everywhere. There's simply no other way! The other researchers on this trip all have fine proposals--fine in an academic sense--but they all lack that special... oh I don't know. But you know what I mean?"
"I think so," I said. Talking to someone like Arnold was overwhelming after stepping off a 15-hour flight!
Arnold suddenly stopped in the middle of the walkway, and looked around with a confused expression. The moving crowd was forced to flow around us, and then Arnold's eyes widened and he pointed.
"Over there, yes." He began walking again. "Anyways. I've already sourced the bees for your research. Apis mellifera scutellata, all purchase here in Johannesburg, which will make the next leg of our trip more interesting but I have accounted for the travel."
"African honey bees, right," I mumbled, trying to be part of the conversation. The airport was far crazier than I'd initially thought, with long lines of angry passengers at every gate. There was a hectic din to the air, an impatience among the population. I couldn't decide if that was just the norm here or something else.
"This species is already present in East Africa, which makes all the paperwork infinitely easier. No fancy rubber stamps to procure." He turned to me with deathly seriousness in his eyes. "You'll find that I abhor paperwork, Miss Reckmeyer. It impedes true research! The only paperwork I can stand is the data coming out the other end."
"I agree," I said, dodging a luggage cart coming the other way. "So our trip..."
"Ahh yes. We were lucky to get booked on the next flight out. Very lucky indeed."
"I still don't understand," I said. "Is my flight different now too? Not just yours?"
"Why of course," he said, stopping behind the long lines at the South African Airways counter. There were dozens of ticketing agents running around like the place was on fire. "Here we are. Now, where was the agent I spoke to..."
He wandered forward in between the lines, forcing me to follow. Customers gave us angry looks, especially those Arnold shoved out of the way, so by the time we got to the front of the line I wore a permanent, "I'm sorry!" expression on my face.
"Caroline!" Arnold exclaimed when he got to the front. The young ticketing agent jerked her head toward him, then visibly slumped. "Mr. Cardiff..."
He grabbed me by the shoulder and shoved me forward. "Here is my accompanying passenger, as requested. You have your identification?"
It took me a moment to realize he was speaking to me. I pulled my passport out and handed it to the woman, who looked like she was having the worst day of her career.
"Very good," she said in a South African accent, which I decided was a charming cousin to an English accent. It vaguely reminded me of Roland.
Someone in line started yelling that everything was too slow, and another customer shouted at him to shut up. They went back and forth behind us while I smiled at the ticketing agent.
"The next flight to Harare is tomorrow morning," she finally said, pulling glossy paper out of a ticketing printer. "Here are your seat assignments..."
I gave a start. "Harare? That's in Zimbabwe."
Arnold looked at me like I'd told him the sky was blue. "Yes...? That is our new flight. And where we will pick up our sourced honey bees. Oh Miss Reckmeyer, I wish you could have been there when I spoke to the cultivator! Attempting to explain the logistics of refrigerated transportation--which is a service they offer on their ancient website, I might add!--was quite an ordeal. Perhaps something young and more accustomed to such things might have had an easier time..."
"But the flight," I said, gently touching his shoulder to bring him back. "We're flying to Harare, and then Mozambique?"
"Of course not," he said. "Not with the volcano!"
I stared at him with my jaw open.
The ticketing agent must have taken pity on me, because she jumped in and said, "Monte Muambe erupted yesterday. The ash cloud has grounded most of the flights to and from East Africa."
"No no no," Arnold said. "Monte Muambe has only begun to erupt. The caldera has started the pyroclastic flow stage, which is primarily dispelling dust and ash into the upper atmosphere. It remains to be seen if it will truly erupt with lava discharge, though as a shield volcano such a stage would not be as exciting as, say, a volcano with a conical shape..."
The ticketing agent stared blankly at me. Working with Arnold would be interesting, to say the least.
"So... Harare," I said, mentally picturing a map of Africa in my head. The two countries were next to each other. "That's what, a few hours drive?"
"17 hours!" Arnold said excitedly. "It will be fun! I've never seen the south-west section of Mozambique..."
The ticketing agent handed us the stubs for our baggage and then the tickets, and looked relieved to see us go.
We didn't have to wait long; boarding began the moment we arrived at the gate, and then we were on the plane and flying to the north-east. The two hour flight was filled with Arnold talking while I listened and tried to get a word in edgewise, but honestly I didn't mind. I could have sat there all day and listened to him talk about his various research expeditions and projects. And when I did get to talk about my thesis project, he had interesting opinions that jostled around in my head. Good stuff to consider when analyzing my research.
Harare was a modern city with skyscrapers and busy downtown traffic. It was early afternoon, but we took a taxi straight to our hotel and ate dinner at the small lobby restaurant. It felt wonderful just to sit at our own table, with room to spread our limbs and fresh air instead of the warm, recycled airplane air. And the chicken tenders and rice were delicious and filling.
"Early to bed means an early start tomorrow!" Arnold said as we left the table. "I'll meet you in the lobby at 6:00 and we'll go from there. Miss Reckmeyer, it is going to be a pleasure working with you!"
He extended his hand to shake mine, but I impulsively leaned in and gave him a hug. He reminded me of my grandfather, even if he was a little more scatterbrained. "It's going to be an incredible three months!"
I felt more like myself after a shower, getting the sweat and smell of travel off my skin. I didn't have anything to unpack since we were leaving so early, so I flipped through a tourist pamphlet on Zimbabwe and enjoyed the softness of the bed.
It would have been nice to text Roland just then, but when I pulled out my phone it wouldn't connect to the hotel Wi-Fi. I thought about going down to the front desk to ask for help, but that was so far away, and the bed was so comfortable, and letting my muscles relax instead seemed like a better plan.
I watched the sun set out my window, and still couldn't believe I was in Africa.
Finally I got ready for bed. I took the gryphon carving out of my bag; it seemed to vibrate in my hand, but didn't make a noise when I put it on the bedside table. It was probably my imagination.
Still, seeing the carving was a nice reminder of what was waiting back home.
I began to pull off my shirt, then paused. I eyed the carving and said, "Roland, that gift had better not be a secret camera device just to see me naked while I'm away." I finished taking off my shirt, then turned and removed my pants, bending over seductively to give the carving a view of my ass. It was fun to pretend like he could see me.
And as I got in bed and pulled the extra pillow to my chest, I realized I'd be doing a lot of pretending. I let my mind drift, imagining Roland's muscles pressed against me, spooning me from the other side, his crotch grinding against my ass...
"Oh!" I yelped, jumping out of bed. I almost forgot! I went to the window and looked out at the stars. I could see Altair peeking above the horizon. I smiled and thought of Roland standing on the roof of his apartment, seeing the same thing from another vantage. Acr
oss the world, but sharing that moment.
I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and climbed back into bed.
Waiting was going to be hard, but I'd be busy. It was going to be an incredible three months for sure.
I had no idea how wrong I was.
21
ROLAND
"Ethan," I said into my phone as I walked down the Cambridge sidewalk, "I've had one hell of a fucken night, so this had better be important."
"Let me guess," he quickly said. "You got attacked by a dragon."
I stopped dead in my tracks.
"Mate, if this is a bloody joke..."
"Have you done it yet?" Ethan's voice was quiet, and mystical. "Have you changed into it?"
It was still fresh in my mind: flying in the night sky on wings as powerful as a machine, swooping and diving and feeling the wind in my feathers. It was only an hour ago out back of the fighting bar, but it felt like a lifetime.
"Ethan," I said, "what's going on?"
"You found the totem in the cave. In Belize. Right?"
I couldn't find the words to answer him, which Ethan took as an affirmative.
"Mine was in that hole I crawled into. Sam's was over by the wall where he vomited. We all found totems, Roland. All of us can... do it."
"I..." I wiped my forehead, where sweat was beading. "I don't know how to explain it."
"Don't apologize. None of us told each other, except Orlando and Andy, they found theirs together. But the point is that the totems wanted us to keep them a secret. They have power over us, as I'm sure you know. A power that must be unleashed. We're bonded to them."
I thought about shivering in my bed with piles of blankets and clothes on top of me, so sick I thought I was going to die. I thought about gripping the gryphon tight in my fingers, not daring to let it go, and feeling it pulse along with my heartbeat. I thought about how desperate I'd been to keep it a secret from my friends, the terrifying fear that if anyone else knew they would take it from me.