"And the tomb in New Orleans?" Kyle asked.
"Something Crwys bought when he came to New Orleans. A place to mark his death if it were ever needed. The curse of immortality, because the living always need a place to visit the dead." He turned and motioned them to follow him. "This way."
They hiked north along the cliffside. The breeze picked up and the sound of waves crashing against rocks carried to them. On a higher elevation near the edge was a lone tree, and at the foot of that tree were three small, hand carved head stones.
Maggie, Emma, and Samantha.
An overwhelming wave of emotion swept over Kyle as he saw his best friend's name on that stone. He'd not seen her grave, never been to the cemetery, and hadn't really accepted she was gone. But now the reality was real and he crossed his arms over his chest.
Arden came to him and put her arm around his shoulder. "It's hard, I know."
"So…" he said when he could. "What are we doing here? Cosgrove can't know this exists. So if he exhumes the grave in New Orleans—"
"He'll find it empty," Tas said. "What we have to do is decide whether or not we want to move her to Gypsy Gardens, or to New Orleans. If they do win their case and have it exhumed, whether legally or not, and they don't find a body, this Thorn person is going to be relentless at finding out where it is."
"Then we're pretty sure it wasn't the Witches who took Lizzie," Levi said.
"It wasn't. Someone else took her. So what we need to do is make sure Sam's corpse doesn't tell that she had a child, which I'm sure given she had an egg, will tell a story different than what a coroner will know. They won't find the markers of a regular child on Sam. They might not find any at all, given the presence of the egg." Tas sighed. "I'm just not sure if they'll be able to tell she had something inside of her. Quan did a number on her stomach, and the only reason Lizzie survived was because of the shell of that egg. Either way, we need the Witches watching the right hand so we can use the left hand to find Lizzie."
"That sounds complicated," Levi said. "So let's do this one step at a time. We exhume Sam and take her back to Gypsy Gardens, and then see if one of Arden's people, whom I believe is a medical doctor, can see if there are markers. Then we can place her into Lafayette."
Arden put her hands on her hips. "And then what?" She looked at each of them. "We leave her there when we find Lizzie?"
"No, we bring her back here."
Arden shook her head. "No we don't. I think it would be better if she were put to rest where Lizzie can visit. I know it's a stupid human thing to do, but I think we owe that to her. A crazy person took her mother from her, and then her own father took her body and himself away from her. I want to put something right."
"Crwys isn't going to like it," Levi said. "I think her body's safer here than at Gypsy Gardens. No one will find this place."
Arden held up her arms. "Well I don't think that at all. And do you see him here? I don't. Has he participated in his daughter's life since she was born? No. And since I'm her guardian and we're raising her, then we bring her mother back, we check to see and we re-bury her there. Agreed?" She looked at each of them.
Everyone sort of nodded, except Levi. He held up his hands. "I'm abstaining. I just want to find the asshole and talk some sense into him. He's got a responsibility to that child. Time to stop being an ass."
Tas held out her hands. "So we're mostly in agreement we bring the body back to Gypsy Gardens?"
Everyone nodded, even Levi.
Tas motioned everyone back as she ran back inland and transformed. She didn't seem as big as before, or maybe Kyle was just getting used to having Dragons around.
Not likely.
He and Arden stood back with Levi as Tas dug with her claws, being careful not to rip anything up she shouldn't. But after an hour of careful pushing the earth around, Arden stepped close the mound and looked inside. She saw rotting clothing, a pair of shoes and then jumped down in the hole. She held out her hands and the wind spiraled stronger around them. Tas dug her talon into the ground to keep from taking off and Levi and Kyle knelt over the side.
"Well?" Kyle said when Arden finished her spell.
His aunt looked up at him with a worried expression. "I don't understand it, but she's not here. She was here, but she's not now."
Levi and Kyle helped her out of the hole and they stood looking down.
The ground wasn't disturbed before I started digging.
Everyone agreed with Tas as she poked her nose into the Earth.
"So unless someone has perfected the art of teleporting," Levi said. "She disappeared."
"Or," Arden said. "Crwys moved her."
"Then where is she?" Kyle asked.
Arden shook her head. "Only Crwys knows."
And no one knew where he was.
SEVEN
He couldn't Sleep, though he did try. For over a month he rested in his natural form and wished to fall into the abyss of unknowing. He wanted to forget his life, his mistakes, his inability to protect those he had loved.
Maggie. Emma. And now…
Samantha.
As well as the child he lost when Quan destroyed…everything. What drove him mad, even more than his wife's death, and that of his child, was the utter pointlessness of it. Of everything that happened.
None of it made sense. At least with Maggie and Emma's deaths, there was a person to blame, a dark part of his past bent on the destruction of his future. But this…
A son, bent on recrimination for his mother?
The questions persisted and Sleep was an impossibility. So the revenant of what had once been a mighty Dragon walked the streets of a hundred cities. Night after night he found himself in a different country, adjusting to a different language, drinking a different drink. And the more he walked, and talked and drank…the deeper into darkness he felt himself fall.
Tonight he wasn't sure where he was. Frankfurt maybe? The language sounded German. Not that it would matter. His Mother had made sure her children could speak all languages, and he had made sure they could blend in as humans, and not the Titans of legend.
The bar was crowded. Flat screen TVs flipped and flickered with some piece of news he'd already seen repeated a dozen times. Couples, friends, families, they all gathered in the bar to drink and have conversation, and to eat. The spicy aroma of sausage permeated everything, and he caught a whiff of sauerkraut as well. His stomach rumbled as it had for weeks, but he didn't dare eat. Nothing had stayed down those first days. And he knew his human body was wasting away to nothing.
Let death come, he thought to no one in particular.
I'm afraid Death isn't for you.
He sat up and stared at his beer. The foam on top began to move in a widdershins direction before he stuck his index finger in it to stop it, and the world around him, from spinning.
Like that's going to help? You are a sad sight, mate.
He recognized the voice. Its sound, its taste, and its feel. He'd know it anywhere.
That's when the owner of the voice sat down in the chair at his table and placed his elbows on the surface. He studied the surplus army jacket, the patches sewn on the shoulders. The yellow stone ring worn on the left, middle finger. And as his gaze traveled up to the youngish face, the smirk playing over the young man's lips and the dancing glint in the man's green eyes, he knew this wasn't a man at all.
He sat back and narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Dáinn."
"Apollo."
"I don't go by that."
"Yeah…so I've heard. But your new name is damn hard to pronounce." Nothing had changed Dáinn's lilting accent. Not even a few centuries.
"It's Welsh."
"Sorry sot."
"Damn ingrate."
"Drunk."
"Fucker."
Dáinn grinned, and all that did was make him look more impish. He hadn't shaved in a day or so. "Harsh words for a brother you haven't seen in what…a few decades?"
"You need a haircut."
"And what kind of edgy cut is that, eh?" Dáinn reached out and thumped the shock of hair that covered Crwys's face. "Trying to look cool."
"What do you want?"
"Mum wants to see you."
"I'm not in the mood."
His brother shook his head. "I think you should get in the mood. She sounded urgent."
"I don't care."
"You need to care, mate. It's our Mother."
"She's not our real mother, Dáinn." Crwys stood and tossed a few Euros on the table. "And I'm not in the mood, like I said. Now, if you bother me again, I swear I'll burn you deeper than I did before. So deep, it'll take you a hundred years to heal."
Crwys left the bar, half expecting Dáinn to follow him. He turned down a few alleys, ready for a fight, whether that be in human form, or Dragon. Didn't matter to him anymore. His life was over. His future. His…everything.
He paced at the end of an alley he was familiar with—because he'd slept in it the night before—waiting for Dáinn to show up. He readied himself, bouncing back on two feet, his fists up. He was a little off balance, alcohol numbing his reflexes. A beat later he wondered if setting himself up alone in a dark alley in his condition was such a good idea.
As if to punctuate the thought, he heard footsteps approaching. The sound of heels on cement, then cobblestone. At the other end of the alley, he saw someone approaching. It wasn't Dáinn, not a man. The shape of a cloak and clacking sound told him this was a woman. He sensed her the closer she came.
And then she stopped, blocking his exit from the alley. He couldn't see under the cloak. Her face was just a shadow.
Crwys straightened as best he could before he held out his hands. "Yeah?"
"Oh dear…I can smell you from here," came a familiar voice. "Not a very impressive sight, I might add."
He knew the voice; he just couldn't place it. "If you're here because of Dáinn, then tell him to go to hell."
"Dáinn? Who is this? Another of your kind?"
Of my kind? He narrowed his eyes at her and pushed his power further.
The woman staggered and put her hands to her hood. Within a few seconds she pushed it back, revealing an aged face, with piercing eyes and long, silver hair.
"Emily Pearson. Earth Witch. Cleric," he said as he ignited his internal furnace. This was the Witch who first made it possible for the Clerics to Warlock Samantha. This was the Witch who had kept Sam's Earth Elemental.
She held up her hands. "Now, now. I can sense the heat, Mr. Holliard. You wouldn't want to enrage the Parliament and set them all against you, would you?"
"What do I care?" he said as flame engulfed his fists. "My life is gone. My love is dead. Why are you here? And don't tell me this is a coincidence, that you would find me in Frankfurt."
Another set of footsteps, slower cadence, echoed in the alley. Another hooded figure joined Emily. Taller. Broader shoulders. Male. He also pushed back his hood and revealed a thin and wizened face. Gaunt cheeks, sharp chin, and thinning hair. Dude kinda looked like Peter Cushing.
"How many of you are here?" He asked.
"Just us," the man said in an authoritative voice. "And you are correct. It is not a coincidence we are all three here at the same time. Our people have been looking for you since Samantha Hawthorne's death."
"I'm assuming by our people you mean Clerics, not just Witches."
"Witches, with a few agents within other practices."
By other practices, Crwys assumed he meant Voodoo as well as Ceremonial Magicians. And it would have taken all three of them to find a Dragon. He cursed under his breath, realizing he hadn't hidden himself well enough. "Why?"
"We need to talk to you."
"Who are you? I know her, and I don't like her."
Emily clasped her gloved hands in front of her. "The feeling is mutual, I assure you."
The man nodded to Crwys. "My name is Cleric Elder Kingsley Thorn. I had the pleasure of meeting your late wife before she died."
Thorn. He remembered that name. Crwys raised a flaming hand at Thorn. "Oh I remember you as well. You were the one who wanted her thrown out of the Witch circus because the God Mother had taken away her power."
"So she claimed," Thorn said. And the way he said claimed sounded as if he were saying something offensive. "That was never proven."
"Fuck you," Crwys thumped a fire spark at the Witch Elder. It zeroed in on the edge of his cloak and set a little flame.
Thorn made a gesture and snuffed it out.
Crwys pursed his lips. Impressive.
"As I said before, we need to talk to you."
"I don't need to talk to you. Fuck off," he doused his fists but kept this furnace charged as he started dismissing the spell that kept him human. If these little peons didn't go away, he was going to show them exactly what they were missing. He allowed his wings to appear. They were man-sized and not the glorious span of their natural size.
Emily moved then, pulled something from beneath her robe and held it out. It was a golden bow and an arrow. A set he recognized all too well. "Where did you get that?" he thought—he believed—that Arden had the bow and arrow of Artemis hidden away, safely. Was she even aware they were missing?
"You recognize this?" Thorn gestured to the artifacts in Emily's hands. She hadn't actually notched the arrow into the bow yet, but he wasn't going to take chances and kept his furnace at full. If she struck him in the heart with that thing, it could be bad. If she missed…it would be bad for her.
"I take it from your reaction, you do," Thorn said. "Please, we don't want to resort to violence, or even pain on your part. And please don't think for a moment Cleric Pearson would miss your heart. She's an excellent marksman, and the arrow has been spelled for accuracy."
Crwys still didn't douse his furnace. "So you're working for the Faeries now? Has Medbh decided she wants me hanging in her palace, now that Brendi's gone?"
"No. In fact, we've had no contact with the Faeries. Since Miss Hawthorne's—"
"HOLLIARD!"
Thorn winced as he nodded. "Mrs. Holliard's death, our meetings with them have been canceled. There has been no communication."
He nodded to the arrow. "Then why threaten me?"
"It's more of a…gesture, than a threat. We merely want to talk."
"Then talk." Crwys did something he hadn't done in a long time and called out to his brother, still seated in the bar. Dáinn's answer surprised him. Already here, mate.
Yeah, he knew that bastard was following him. Stealth mother fucker.
Even if Emily shot him, there was only a single arrow. They would have a second Dragon to deal with.
"It has come to our attention that your wife's death came with an even greater price. A price we believe is important."
"I don't understand."
"You say your life is over, that you don't need us, that you…want us to fuck off. Can you say that about your child?"
The world came to a stop at that moment. He'd not spoken about his unborn child to anyone. Not even Sam's friends. But he knew the last people who should know such a child was ever conceived were these bastards. A group of power hungry assholes. Just as Arden warned him. If they ever knew a child existed, they would have destroyed it, or taken it.
No one was supposed to know. He and Arden and Tas had taken very real steps to keep that knowledge a secret, even whisking Sam's body away so that no one could touch it. And he had kept that location his own secret.
And yet, months later, here they are. Asking questions they had no business asking.
"Well," Thorn clasped his hands behind him. "I see our assumption was right. There was a child."
"There was no child." Crwys said, venom in his voice. "My wife is dead because of a madman. She was butchered, her body cut apart. And you—"
"There was a child, Mr. Holliard," Thorn interrupted him with a loud voice. "I know this."
"Proof?"
"That is where you come in. We need to see your wife's body."
"No."
"Give us permission or we will exhume it with a court order."
"No."
"You want us to drag her remains out of her coffin for strangers to see?" Thorn took a step forward. "You want us to desecrate her resting place?"
"I want you, and that bitch beside you, to go to Hell. And stay out of our life!" At that moment he shifted and became his true self. The alley was too small to hold him so he accidentally put dents into the brick of the surrounding buildings as he moved and then pushed himself into the air as the bricks hit the ground.
Just as he suspected, Emily never fired at him.
So he climbed higher and higher, joined by the pulse and beat of another set of wings. Soon Dáinn flew beside him, a dragon of golds and browns, the same size as he. The Dragon of Air.
Who were those blokes?
None of your business.
Oh come on, mate. I'm your bro. And what's this about a child? You had a baby? Am I an uncle?
Crwys banked to the left, away from Dáinn. The child is dead. Please…just leave me alone.
He was both happy and disappointed when Dáinn did as he asked and didn't follow. Crwys looked at the world below him and decided it might be time to go home. But not yet. Not before he checked in at the Eye. He needed to rest and rejuvenate.
And he needed to properly mourn his wife and child.
Dáinn landed on the white cliffs of Dover and easily shifted back to his human form. He didn't bother with clothing. Not yet. There was no need as he sat on a large stone and chewed on a shaft of wild onion. What in the hell was this ruddy business with Witches about? He'd never really trusted them, himself. In fact, Dáinn trusted very few people. Or creatures. Or even Dragons.
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