Blue Curse (Blue Wolf Book 1)

by Brad Magnarella

  That’s right, I thought. Deliver me straight to the White Dragon.

  After a couple of turns, the cab stopped. The back doors opened, and I picked up five new smells.

  “Stanick wants him inside right away,” one of the new soldiers said.

  Hands grabbed me roughly by the arms and coat and hauled me out onto asphalt. I landed hard on my back, arms flopping out to the sides. After removing my coat, and patting down my pants for anything bulky, the soldiers took a moment to arrange themselves before one lifted me under the shoulders and two more grabbed a leg each. I heard the soldier who had driven me running ahead of us, opening doors. The two remaining soldiers covered me with weapons that bore the now-unmistakable scent of silver.

  “Ugly sonofabitch,” one of the soldiers carrying me grunted.

  “Stanick said he’s some sort of mercenary who needed to be eliminated.”

  “Put down is more like it,” a third soldier said. “Though looks like someone beat him to it.”

  We took a right, and the acoustics changed, the men’s breaths and footfalls suddenly echoing from distant walls. Wooden boards creaked underfoot. We were in the gymnasium. I remembered running suicides in here as part of my training stint.

  “Set him right there,” Stanick said.

  I was dropped onto a large cot, where I lay stiffly, rigor mortis beginning to set in.

  “Back to your posts,” he ordered the men.

  Amid a chorus of “yes sirs,” their footsteps retreated, the men’s scents swirling after them and diminishing. Now only four remained: two men up in the stands, whose weapons marked them as snipers, Colonel Stanick, and the strong, reptilian scent of Orzu, the White Dragon.

  Human footsteps approached at a rapid clip, and the White Dragon’s scent grew stronger. “Idiot!” he cried. “Why did you shoot him? You told me the threats would bring him here.”

  “Yes, but Jason can be very prudent. I felt I needed to drive the point home.” For the first time, Stanick sounded unsure of himself. “And didn’t you tell me the silver would only be lethal if it struck a vital organ?”

  “Or leeched into his bloodstream,” Orzu shot back.

  “Well, he’s here now,” Stanick said. “I’ve delivered him.”

  “Yes, dead. Meaning I derive almost nothing.”

  “Dead or alive, I’ve fulfilled the original agreement. The valley is yours now.”

  “I don’t care about the valley right now!” Orzu erupted. “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll get your precious payment. I am a person of my word. But I won’t forget this slight, white man.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” Stanick said.

  “Leave me. And take your men. I may still be able to siphon off the pittance that’s left,” he grumbled. It was the voice of a man who had just seen the value of his stock portfolio triple and then flatline in the same day.

  But as Stanick and the snipers paced off and the doors closed behind them, I was hit by the first stab of doubt. Though Orzu was near enough for me to reach up and snap his neck, I remained paralyzed, the ache of rigor mortis from the cataleptic spell spreading. And that was the problem—everything had progressed too quickly. Orzu intended to consume me here.

  I was entirely dependent on Croft now.

  “Stupid idiot,” Orzu muttered, still thinking of Stanick.

  I could hear him fussing with something beside me before I picked up the unmistakable sound of a blade sliding from a leather sheath. From a numb distance, I felt the cold metal pressing into my neck. He would drink my blood first, then extract my organs.

  A pair of gunshots echoed from the corridors outside the gym, and the blade paused.

  The gymnasium doors banged open. “Vivere!” a voice gasped.

  Life returned to my body in a burst of heat, and my eyelids popped open.

  I had imagined the human version of the White Dragon to be lithe and powerful, much like his reptilian counterpart. But the man holding a dagger to my neck was short and round with thinning gray hair combed into a ponytail. He wore a black suit, the jacket embroidered with dragon patterns, the shirt collar open to a hairless chest and a white gold chain. As I drew an arm back, I had the feeling our final confrontation was going to be short and sweet.

  Orzu’s jowly face had slackened at the intrusion, but when his pale eyes fell to mine, his jowls clenched with fresh determination. But before he could drive the dagger home, I brought my arm forward. The punch collapsed his paunch and drove him from midcourt to one of the three-point lines.

  Orzu landed hard on his back, the dagger clattering away.

  With a groan, I heaved my still-heavy legs over the side of the cot, pausing as the gymnasium swooped and spun.

  “Here!”

  I turned to find the cab driver running toward me, now wearing the uniform of the soldier who had stayed to watch him. But Kumar’s face and form were melding back into Prof Croft’s as the transmogrification spell left the wizard’s system. He tossed me the bottle of Mr. Han’s energy juice.

  “It’ll act as a catalyst,” he said.

  “The soldiers?” I asked as I caught the bottle and unscrewed the cap.

  “All detained in a holding circle. I didn’t bump into Stanick, though.”

  I chugged down the sour, burning concoction, then tossed the bottle away. “Find him. We can’t let him leave the base.”

  Everson nodded and spun back toward the doors, an energy shield taking shape around him. I stood and stalked toward Orzu. Mr. Han’s juice had already cleared my head, and now it was working on my limbs, injecting fresh fuel into the reviving muscles.

  Orzu rose onto the seat of his pants and blinked several times. When his eyes steadied, he began kicking himself backwards, the heels of shiny black shoes scuffing the court.

  “H-hold on, Texan,” he stammered.

  I stooped for the ornate dagger, picked it up, and flipped it in my hand. I would have preferred a clean pistol shot, but this was the next best thing. I didn’t want to soil my muzzle or talons.

  “We can talk.”

  I narrowed my yellow eyes at the man who had murdered Parker. “There’s nothing to talk about,” I growled.

  Orzu rolled onto his hands and feet and tried to scramble away. I stepped on his right ankle, bones crunching as I placed my full weight on him. The fat man howled in pain. Without comment or ceremony, I eyed the spot on his back where his heart would be and brought the knife down.

  The tip punched through the fabric of his jacket, then smashed into something solid. The blade snapped at the hilt and clanged away.

  He wearing some kind of body armor?

  Digging my talons into the center of his back, I tore his jacket and shirt away. Not body armor. Orzu’s skin had solidified into a mosaic of white scales that were growing and spreading. The son of a bitch was shifting. But how? We were thousands of miles from his place of origin.

  I lost my footing as his body bulged and lengthened. And now wings were erupting from his back along with a spiny crest that thickened into dense plates along his spine. As the wings spread and batted to life, I leapt forward and seized the still-shifting dragon around his throat with both arms.

  There was no way in hell I was letting him get away.

  The White Dragon chuckled. “Surprised?”

  The muscles in my arms trembled as I squeezed harder. I noticed his throat scales were no longer leathery, but hard, as though his growing neck now featured additional armor. With a thrust of his wings the White Dragon lifted off, tail lashing through his falling clothes.

  Don’t know how I mistook his nephew for him, I thought as I clung to his neck. So much larger, more powerful.

  “Yes, I kept a special dragon form in reserve. In the event of emergencies.”

  The White Dragon circled the court once, then shot toward a large semi-circular window at one end of the gym. With an explosion of glass we were through and climbing over the decommissioned base. I grunted as my back healed from several deep cuts, and re
doubled my grip.

  “But honestly, there is no one more surprised than me,” he said. “Here I thought your colonel had blundered the whole affair. But look at you, as full of vim and verve as a young dog.”

  If I can’t get to his neck, going to have to try his eyes.

  But when I dug my talons into the edge of protective plating over his right eye, he twisted, nearly pitching me off. Swearing, I wrapped his neck and held on as the wind blasted against me. Alone in the air, he would have the advantage. On the ground, I would be vulnerable to his ice attack.

  But what in the hell could I do to him up here? I spat out another curse.

  The White Dragon laughed. “Is that distress I hear? There are no helicopters to help you this time. No missiles. You brought a friend, I see, but my new form is impervious to magic—a special gift from the Guardian herself. One time use, but I plan to make the most of it. And after tonight, I will be equal in power to the Great Dragon. A god on earth. It’s a pity the crazy old woman involved you in this, but she has given me exactly what I want.”

  He climbed as he spoke, the air growing colder and colder as the base dwindled into the lights dotting Long Island. Before long, I was gasping for oxygen.

  But the White Dragon began to slow. With a final flap, he tucked his tail and thrust his head down, and I found myself squinting past his ear to the black expanse of Long Island Sound.

  “It’s just a matter of getting you off my back and into my mouth. ”

  He pinned his wings to his sides, and we dove like a plummeting mortar toward the water.

  29

  Long Island Sound spiraled closer and closer until we were slamming into it. The impact shot through me like a monster dose of Novocain, and everything went numb.

  I recovered to the sensation of frigid, foaming water ramming up my nostrils and down my throat and the awareness that I was no longer holding the White Dragon. I flailed and kicked, the moon’s pale glimmer through the boiling water my guide. But the force with which we’d hit was still driving me down, and I could feel the White Dragon somewhere beneath me, his mass and velocity creating a powerful suction through the water.

  I bared my teeth and drove my arms against the drag and pull, kicking with everything I had. The suction effect was abating, but that only meant the White Dragon was slowing, about to come back up. I pictured him climbing toward my flailing legs, his jaws open…

  My head broke the surface with a ragged gasp, and I hacked and squinted through the salt water streaming from my hair. I spotted Fort Bell along the shoreline, but we had landed a good quarter mile from it. Still coughing, I put my swimming training to use and sprinted toward it. I needed to get to land before the dragon spotted me.

  At that thought, the water around me began to bubble. I stroked harder, but when I peered into the black depths, I could see the moonlight glimmering over a growing luminescent form.

  Not gonna make it, I thought, even as I tried to speed up. Gonna have to fight him in the water.

  “Wolfe!”

  My ears cocked toward the distant voice—Croft’s.

  “The raft!” he shouted.

  When I slowed to try to see what he was talking about, something thumped me in the side of the head. I turned to find a ten-by-ten-foot platform of weathered boards over a thick slab of barnacle-encrusted Styrofoam. Croft had evidently unmoored the raft and sent it out to me.

  I wasted no time hauling myself aboard. “I’m on!” I called back.

  Like a hundred horsepower motor had been strapped to the rear of the raft, it tipped back and took off toward shore. In our wake, the water continued to bubble and froth—and then the White Dragon burst up like a geyser.

  He climbed thirty feet above the surface, water raining from his giant wings. His neck telescoped as he peered around, white fire burning in the depths of his eyes. When he spotted me, pleasure drove his mouth into a sharper grin.

  I glanced toward the approaching shore. C’mon, Croft.

  With powerful wing thrusts, the White Dragon lowered his head and sped toward me. A series of grunts boomed from his chest, and in the next moment a frosty blast plumed from his mouth. I could hear the swells of water behind me crackling into ice. I edged toward the front of the raft as the frigid attack billowed nearer. I could see Croft on the other side of the base’s security fence, at the edge of a mock town used for urban-warfare training.

  The cover of buildings would be good—if I could get there.

  As the plume drew nearer, my wet fur stiffened into a crunching cast and my teeth chattered violently. The raft was gaining speed, though, its flat bow breaking through the skein of ice spreading over the water.

  A hundred yards from shore, the White Dragon’s head broke through the dissipating frost and lunged, ears pinned, bone-white teeth gleaming. I reared back an arm, planning to land a hammer blow to his snout, but something seized me around the waist. With a sharp yank, I was shooting through the air.

  The White Dragon’s head descended, and the raft I’d been standing on burst into splintered planks and chunks of Styrofoam. Docks passed beneath me, then land, and soon I was over the perimeter fence and descending into a jumble of concrete and plaster buildings. The force that had propelled me landed me beside a police station in the mock town.

  “Over here,” Croft whispered.

  I turned to find him in an alleyway beside the police station, light fading from the runes in his sword. I hurried over to join him.

  “Did you find Stanick?” I panted, cold water pooling around my feet.

  Croft shook his head. “I gave up the search when I heard the commotion back in the gym.” I swore inwardly, but it was out of my hands. “I thought you said Orzu couldn’t assume his dragon form.”

  “That was the intel I received,” I said. “Apparently his Guardian keeps a form in reserve for special occasions, one that can travel. It features extra armor and is resistant to magic.”

  While Croft frowned in thought, I listened for the dragon.

  “With the amount of energy a form like that would take to sustain,” the wizard said at last, “especially over distance, I’m guessing it has a short shelf life. It might just be a matter of waiting him out.”

  “Doubt he’s going to lay down till that happens.”

  “That’s actually a good thing.”

  “How is that a good thing?” I growled.

  “The more energy he expends, the faster the process.”

  I nodded in understanding. That was a good thing. “So it’s a matter of staying one step ahead of him,” I said, “making him wear himself out.”

  “And though he may be impervious to spells, he’ll still be susceptible to invocations.”

  “Not that I know the difference, but I hope you’re right ’cause he’s coming.”

  I’d been listening to him flap above the water, circling in search of me, but he must have picked up my scent, because now he was driving in full bore. I would have given anything to test his armor with a sustained assault from a .50 cal machine gun. But save for the rifles belonging to Stanick’s security detail, the base was weaponless. And the rifles wouldn’t get it done.

  “It’s me he’s after, so I’ll play the mouse,” I said quickly. “I just need you to throw interference—as much as you safely can—but try to stay out of his sight. His ice breath is lethal.”

  “Roger that,” Croft said, drawing the shadows of the building around him.

  The gusts of the approaching dragon grew in intensity, making the flag in front of the police station rustle and snap. Nafid’s great-grandmother had foreseen this moment somehow.

  I reached into a pocket in my camo pants and pulled out the small wooden cube on its leather strap. She had given me the cube for a reason. I looked at the inscriptions in the wooden faces, half expecting to find them glowing with power like the runes in Croft’s sword had been a moment before, but the deep scratchings appeared as inert as ever.

  I tied the ends of the t
hong around my neck anyway and stepped out into the street.

  The White Dragon was coming in low, the weight of his tail knocking through a section of concrete-block wall that surrounded the mock town. When he spotted me, his grin steepened again, but there was a hardness there now.

  “You are a stubborn one, Texan.”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  I waited until he was a half block from me before darting past a café and down a side street. The White Dragon slipped behind me like an eel. As I bounded down the street, I could hear his body cleaving between the old cars parked along the sides of the street, flinging their smashed and shattering bodies into the sides of buildings.

  “Death or madness, Texan,” the dragon called. “Not much of a choice, really.”

  At the end of the block I took a hard left, then another. Though it had been several years since my training here, the layout of the mock town remained etched in my mind. There were a few dead ends to avoid, but otherwise the streets were mine for running the dragon ragged.

  It already seemed to be working. Tiring of the chase, the White Dragon climbed back above the town. Hearing the telltale grunts of an impending ice attack, I bounded toward the blue-domed mosque in the town square. I cleared the steps and broke through the front door. Chased by a blast of frost that spread into an icy veneer over the arabesque tiles of the entranceway, I slid for several feet before reaching unfrozen floor again, the pads of my soles burning with cold.

  I was barely staying ahead of him, but I remembered what Croft said: every attack cost the dragon energy.

  For the first time, he screeched in frustration, the sound like spikes in my ears. Plaster began raining down in chunks. When I peered up, I could see talons punching through the roof. The dome tore away with a violent roar and crashed into the square outside. My brief glimpse of the night sky was occluded by a pair of wings, followed by another storm of deadly frost.

  The edge of the blast caught my right leg as I burst out the back door. The pain was immediate, biting deep into my marrow. I staggered out onto a back street. From the top of the mosque the White Dragon raised his head, eyes glinting as he recognized my weakness.