The Dragon's Secret Baby

by Jasmine Wylder

  Ceara’s painted lips curled in a smirk. “I see you’re still working alone,” she said. She walked around Savannah, eyeing her. “You look so tired all the time. Must be hard running this sorry-ass place all by yourself…unable to afford to hire anyone to help…”

  Savannah had to chuckle. Shaking her head, she let out a long sigh. “Okay,” she said, holding up her hands. “I can see what this is. This is your monthly ‘sign over your share of the property so we can sell it to that real estate development office for more money’ visit. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but this is my monthly ‘Hell to the No’ answer.” She planted one hand on her hip and the other on the nearest table, and leveled them both a hard glare from her cool green eyes. “Daddy put a lot of his blood, sweat, and tears into this place. He also put a lot of his heart in it. He worked hard to make sure we all had clothes on our backs, food in our bellies, and a roof over our heads. He also made sure we each got into a good college. And for all his hard work, all he ever asked in return was for us to keep his legacy and this restaurant alive.” She folded her arms beneath the shelf of her abundant bosom and lifted her chin in defiance. “As long as I continue to draw breath, I will not let his dream die.”

  “You can be so ignorant,” Tynice said with a derisive snort. She pointed a thin finger at Savannah, her long manicured nails and gold jewelry gleaming under the dining room’s dull lighting. “My husband works for the Alderman. All I have to do is give him the word and he will draw up the papers to have this place shut down.”

  Savannah raised an eyebrow. “Good luck with that,” she said dryly. “The restaurant is up to code, and so is the rest of the building – including the apartment upstairs, where I live.” She looked from Tynice to Ceara. “I know you two never got over the fact that your mother walked out on you when you were little, that she just up and abandoned you without a word. No child should ever have to go through that, and no matter what you may think of me, I’m sorry that had to happen to you. I’m also sorry that you’ve always resented the fact that your father met and married a white woman – my mother – who did her best to raise you as her own despite how vicious you were to her. You hated me from the moment I was conceived. All my life, you’ve treated me like dirt, called me ‘high yellow’ and other racist names, and mocked me for being heavyset.” Savannah waved her hand. “I forgave you for that. I forgave you for making fun of my mom’s religious beliefs, and I even forgave you when you said nasty things about her after she got cancer and died – because that’s how she raised me.” She shook her head again. “I know you don’t care if I wind up homeless and jobless just so you can make some money off this property before washing your hands of it and me. But I’ve told you before, and I will tell you again: I am not going anywhere. I’m right where I belong – and while it goes against everything I hold sacred, don’t for one moment think I won’t curse you both before I give up.” She smiled. “Give that a moment to sink in.”

  Savannah watched the shadow of fear chase across her sisters’ thin faces. Oh, yeah – they knew she had power. They had witnessed it as young girls, when she had called upon the spirits to get back at them after they had pushed her down the basement stairs and broke her arm. Savannah had been seven years old at the time, and she had watched her mother perform rituals asking for the punishment to fit the crime. In her pain and anguish, Savannah had pointed at her sisters and announced that they would pay for their cruelty. The next day, Tynice had fallen from the balance beam during her gymnastics routine and wound up shattering her ankle, thus ending her dream of becoming an Olympic competitor. Later that same afternoon, Ceara had been clipped by a city bus while crossing the street on her way home from school, resulting in a fractured jaw. Most people would have brushed it off as coincidence, but the two older girls had no doubt that their injuries had been the result of Savannah cursing them.

  Savannah’s mother had scolded her when she had found out. You have to be careful, she had said. Our kind values all life. Anger can lead to destruction of life. When we ask the spirits to exact justice, we have to divorce our own personal feelings from the request. If we don’t, it will come back on us threefold. Once she had explained this, Savannah had been careful. Still, she found sometimes just the threat of a curse could be enough to get things accomplished.

  “You know,” Ceara said, in a blatant but vain attempt to show she would not be intimidated even as she started to back away toward the door. “Maybe you should use those ‘powers’ of yours to conjure some winning lottery numbers. Then maybe you can buy us out.”

  “Oh, but you know she won’t do that, Ceara,” Tynice said. She looked Savannah up and down, making no effort to hide her disdain. “You think you’re so high and mighty, so noble.” She let out a cold laugh. “Just because you call yourself a witch doesn’t make you any better than anyone else.”

  “I never said I was better,” Savannah said, unflinching. She continued to meet her sister’s hard stare, calm in the face of her fury. “And I don’t just call myself a witch – I was born to it. It’s in my blood, going back to my mom’s Strega ancestors.” She rolled her shoulders. “Even if I could change it, you’d still hate me just the same.” She made a shooing motion with her fingers. “Now, why don’t you two just take yourselves on out of here, and let me finish closing up. I’ve got trash in the kitchen that needs to go out, too.” She smiled, content to let them decide if she had meant that as a double entendre.

  “Come on, Tynice,” Ceara said with a petulant huff. “We’ve got to get downtown.”

  “That’s right.” Tynice gave Savannah an icy smile. “Our husbands are waiting for us.” She could never resist an opportunity to make a petty dig at Savannah’s solitary lifestyle, pointing out how she and Ceara had both married rich, powerful men after years of being sought after for their physical beauty alone. “Enjoy your evening with the dishwasher, little sister.”

  Laughing, they left the restaurant. Savannah sighed and walked over to lock up behind them. She stood there for a moment, watching them climb into the back of an expensive, chauffeur-driven car. They had both done well for themselves after college – Tynice had pursued a career in law and local politics which led to her marriage to an Alderman, while Ceara chose to go into Marketing – and had worked hard to obtain their place in society. But they hated being reminded of their humble origins, that they had once lived above a greasy spoon of a restaurant run by their father. They didn’t really need the money they would get from selling this place to a developer. They just wanted to be rid of the embarrassment. As if they could erase that chapter of their lives with a wrecking ball. They had no respect for tradition, and no appreciation for how hard their father worked to give them everything they had ever wanted, always blaming himself for driving their mother away. Savannah’s mom had explained this to her once, when Savannah had asked why her two older sisters never seemed to show any gratitude, always demanding more. Some people feel like the world owes them, her mother had said. It’s like having a craving that you can’t name – so you eat and eat, but you still aren’t satisfied. People who feel entitled are always hungry because they never allow themselves to be happy with what they have. There will always be an emptiness inside them that they can’t fill. All you can do is feel sorry for them, because that’s no way to live.

  “I do feel sorry for them,” Savannah murmured. She gave a soft snort of amusement and shook her head. “Even if they do come in here, putting me down, bringing all their negativity…damn. I am going to have to burn a lot of sage before my ritual tonight.”

  Turning away from the door, Savannah headed back toward the kitchen, collecting the tub of dirty dishes along the way.

  Chapter Two

  Justin paced the small confines of the holding cell, a room with concrete walls and floor and a reinforced steel door strong enough to withstand the strength of a werewolf. At least he had been allowed to return to his rooms where, under close supervision, he had showered and dressed. H
e grabbed his black leather jacket just before they had moved him to his present location, if only for the pack of cigarettes he always carried in the upper breast pocket. Chain smoking, he ran his fingers through his dark blond hair before slumping in a corner and sliding down the wall to the floor.

  What the fuck happened? Less than twenty-four hours had passed since his argument with his dad. In that time, he had returned to his room, got drunk, and then – according to video footage – he had gone back to his father’s study where he had proceeded to commit murder. Only he couldn’t remember anything after taking off his clothes and sprawling on his bed with a bottle. He didn’t remember getting dressed again and leaving his room. He didn’t remember tearing out his dad’s throat with his bare hands. And yet, his father’s blood had been on his clothes, under his nails and smeared on his face. Justin sat with one arm extended, resting across his knees, and stared at the curls of smoke rising up from the cigarette clasped between his slender fingers. Why can’t I remember?

  They had shown him his father’s body, and as they had dragged him from the room he had thrown up in the hall. At this very moment, the Clan Council would be assembling, preparing to hold court as they placed Justin on trial for the murder of the Clan Alpha. Not twelve hours from when he had supposedly killed his father. He understood why. They had the evidence. They had witnesses. And they would need to appoint a new Alpha before they could pass sentence upon him. Who are they going to pick? he wondered. Before yesterday, he would have been named Alpha Successor. But that had been before his father had announced his plan to demote Justin to Omega status. He would not have made that decision unless he had already discussed it with the Council. They probably already have someone lined up. They would have had to have someone in place the moment I was removed.

  He rubbed at his neck with his free hand and felt the pull of the gold chain. Reaching down into his shirt collar, he drew out the small medallion etched with his family crest, a medieval emblem of a rampant wolf with a banner bearing the words “Blaidd a Man, Gyda’n Gilydd.” The Welsh saying translated to “Wolf and Man, Together.” While it had always been meant as the description of their kind, Justin had come to think of it as a prediction for the future, where Werewolves and Humans coexisted. That had always been his personal dream, and it had been the last thing his father and he had argued about. Justin closed his fist around the pendant and grimaced. I wish we could have made it happen, Dad. I wish you could have seen things my way, just once.

  Justin kept coming back to the image of his father’s body. His eyes teared up and he sniffled. No matter what our differences were, I still loved him. He tilted his head back against the cool stone wall and sighed. He had watched his mother die and his father had always blamed him for it. Now, his father was dead and everyone said he did it. I’m not a killer. I don’t have it in me.

  The sound of a bolt sliding, metal on metal, made him look up. The door opened and he saw Gerard and Phil standing there. Gerard still had that look in his eyes, cold hatred. He had never liked Justin. He had always found Justin’s behavior disrespectful, and had never made a secret of these feelings. Justin had no doubt Gerard would be the first to step up when it came time to carry out his execution.

  “Get your ass up,” Gerard growled.

  Justin gulped. Taking one last draw from the cigarette, he crushed out the rest on the floor. He stood up, exhaling his lungful of smoke, and stepped forward.

  Gerard grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. “Hands behind your back.” Justin obeyed, and felt heavy shackles snap onto his wrists. His escorts flanked him as they led him from the cell.

  When they reached the courtroom, Justin was placed in a circle at the center and his restraints removed. Gerard and Phil stepped back but remained within arm’s reach. Justin turned to face eight of the nine members of the Clan Council seated at a long table before him. The ninth chair had always been designated for the Alpha. At present, it remained vacant. Justin frowned at this. How can they hold a trial without even an Acting Alpha? he wondered. He knew all the others at the table all his life – he knew their names, went to school with their children, saw them at parties in the main house and around the community. Men and women, they represented the oldest and wisest of the Pack. Justin could not read their faces, their expressions hard as they regarded him. Some regarded him with stony eyes; others, open loathing.

  Vincent Thompson, the head of the Council and most likely the one who would take over as Alpha, began the proceedings. “Justin Waylan,” he said, addressing the young man. “You stand before this tribunal as the Accused, charged with the murder of Randall Waylan, the Clan Alpha and your father. How do you plead?”

  It took a moment for Justin to find his voice, still overwhelmed by how surreal this all felt. “Not guilty,” he replied. “My dad and I may have had our problems, but I would’ve taken a bullet for him. I would have killed for him. But I loved him, and I never would have done anything to harm him.” He looked around at them. “You’ve got to believe me.”

  Justin felt his heart sink lower when, unmoved by his claims, Thompson just snorted and continued. “The Accused will now see the evidence brought against him.”

  Samuel entered the room with clear plastic bag containing what Justin recognized as the clothes he had been wearing yesterday, now covered in his father’s blood. He placed the bag on the table.

  “Does the Accused concede that the items before him are his property?”

  Justin nodded reluctantly. “Yes,” he said.

  The wall behind the Council opened to reveal a wide, flat screen television. As Justin watched, the surveillance video from the cameras outside of the main house began to play. It showed Justin leaving the house at just after seven in the evening. The hood on his sweatshirt was down and his face could be seen clearly. The footage moved ahead, showing Warren exiting an hour later. Then, just after the midnight mark, a figure dressed in Justin’s clothes, hood up, returned. Twenty minutes passed and he reappeared, head down but still hooded, the front of the light-colored shirt splattered with blood. Justin frowned. “You can’t see my face,” he muttered. He raised his voice, looking at the Council as he pointed to the screen. “You don’t know for certain that’s me! That could be anyone! Someone could have taken my clothes and worn them to make it look like me.”

  “You were overheard arguing with the victim shortly before seven o’clock,” Thompson said, his chair creaking under his bulk as he turned back around. He gave Justin a look that bordered on smug. God, this man hated him. He never made a secret of it, either. More than once and right in front of Justin he had suggested to Randall that his wayward son be sent away for ‘rehabilitation.’ “You were heard to make a threat.”

  “A threat,” Justin scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It wasn’t a threat. All I did was tell my dad I was going to be Alpha someday. He didn’t think I would make a good Alpha but I told him I would prove I could be.” He looked around. “Where’s Warren? He’s the one who said he witnessed this conversation, but I’m here to say he overheard wrong.”

  “The Council calls the Witness,” one of the women at the table announced.

  The door opened and Justin twisted around to watch his cousin enter the room. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck rose as Warren made his way to the empty seat at the table and sat down. “What the hell is this?” Justin demanded. He looked at the others. “That’s the Alpha’s chair. Why is he sitting there?”

  “The position of Alpha is always passed to the nearest blood relative,” Thompson stated. “Normally, that would fall to the first born child – but given the circumstances, the title must now go to the next in line.” He motioned to Warren. “As the son of the Alpha’s brother, he is the most likely candidate.”

  “It’s a great responsibility,” Warren said, speaking up for the first time. He pushed nervously at the bridge of his glasses. “I wasn’t prepared for it, but if working alongside Uncle Randall taught me anything, it
’s that the Clan needs an Alpha at all times. I never thought I would be in this position, but I have every intention of continuing his legacy.”

  Justin had to laugh at this. “Seriously?” He looked at the rest of the Council in disbelief. “You’re going to let this – this brown-nosing bean counter be in charge of the Pack?” He snorted. “He’s only a Beta because Dad felt sorry for him after his parents died. I’ve seen Omegas who have bigger balls than he does!”

  “The Accused will be silent!” Thompson said sharply. Beside him, Warren looked down at his hands clasped on the table, clearly uncomfortable. Several of the Council members shifted, some cleared their throats. “He has already been sworn in as Clan Alpha,” Thompson said, and placed a hand on Warren’s shoulder in apparent support of this decision. “The Accused will show the proper respect, or be placed under full restraint.” He gave Justin a thin smile. “Is that understood?”

  ‘Full restraint’ meant being muzzled. The last thing Justin wanted or needed was to be rendered mute. As much as he hated to do it, he swallowed back any further protests and responded with a contrite nod. He averted his eyes, staring at the floor while his mind continued to reel over this surprising turn of events. Warren – the Alpha? This is insane! And it’s his word against mine, being the so-called “witness” to my argument with Dad. He grimaced. God, I am so fucked.

  “Will the Witness please give his account?”

  Warren nodded. “Yes. I was on my way to see the Alpha to discuss the quarterly accounting when I heard voices raised in anger – I recognized them immediately as my cousin and uncle. I was in the hall just a few feet from the door when it opened and I heard my cousin say ‘I’ll show you, Dad,’ and ‘I will be Alpha, mark my words.’”