by Livia Quinn
Aurora nodded. She glanced up as the front door jingled. Tempe rushed through the door and straight into Montana. Montana's Dinnshencha responded and she wrapped her arms protectively around her friend. "What is it?" Her voice came out more forceful than necessary.
Tempe looked from her to Aurora. "I didn't know where else to go. Jack's..." her voice trailed off as words failed her. She pulled away and sat down.
"I know, dear heart. Montana told me." While she talked, Aurora handed Montana a large plastic sheet and proceeded to stretch one over the dresses she'd been working on while she kept her eyes on Tempe. "Come on, I'll make you a cup of my—"
"Zeus' blue bolts! I don't want any friggin' tea," Tempe yelled and thunder followed. Aurora and Montana glanced at each other, then at Tempe. Ropy currents of blue fire tangled along her arms and sparks flew from her pupils!
That was a new one.
Montana approached slowly, her voice low and calm as if she were speaking to an abuse victim, "Don't hurt me, sweetie. I'm on your side." She extended her hand palm up, waiting as her friend's face quivered. Taking a chance, she slipped her strong hand around Tempe's upper arm and tugged her forward. Immediately, the thunder and lightning stopped but a steady shower gave everything in the room except for the covered stock a good dousing. Montana held Tempe as sobs shook her body and garbled words streamed out against her chest.
For a long time, she and Aurora simply allowed her to pour out her emotions. Finally, the rain let up and Tempe drew back hiccupping, "I-I'm... so..." her hands shook and Montana grabbed them just in case there was any excess energy.
"You're okay, dear," said Aurora. "Here's a mop to keep those hands busy. Now, tell us everything." Aurora handed the mop to Tempe who stared at it at first then rolled her eyes and started mopping. "I'm sorry about this, Aurora."
As she dragged the mop over the wet floor, she told them about the fiasco at the mail center, the odd encounters with Dick and her boss, her jealous feelings toward Miranda and about the woman, Diane, who'd apparently texted Jack.
"I killed my scanner, turned the mail center into a hurricane, and the males in town are acting weird around me again. Remember when my quickening was coming on before?" Her head fell to the side as she rubbed her forehead.
Montana raised a questioning brow at Aurora. Back then, they'd joked about Tempe's paranormal hormone fluctuations. Their friend Bailey joked about her being pregnant and Tempe had quipped, "In my case, there'd have to be a star in the east."
That was then… Montana thought.
Aurora risked offering Tempe another cup of her tea. This time, Tempe placed the mop in the sink in the hallway and sat on the stool at the counter. "If only this tea could divine where Jack is."
"Ryan doesn’t have any leads?" asked Montana.
"No. Has Conor heard anything?" Tempe looked up from her tea to see Montana and Aurora exchange a look. "What is it?"
"Oh, goddess, Tempe." Montana sank into a chair across from her. "When did you last see River?"
"River?" Tempe looked perplexed. "I don't know, a couple weeks ago. Why?" Her eyes widened, "Oh, no, is he—"
"River's not hurt, but there have been some developments." She told Tempe about everything she'd just related to Aurora. Tempe's eyes were alive again and her voice dangerous when she said, "River knew about the dragonhunter?" Her mind was spinning with the ramifications. She asked, "Where's Conor?"
"He uh, left."
Tempe's voice was shrill. "Jack's been taken by a dragonhunter, and Conor left?" She stood up and both her friends grabbed for her.
"Stop, Tempe. You can't go off half-cocked." Montana could tell her words weren't making a dent. "That's the reason I didn't tell you before."
"Well, who's here that can fight a dragonhunter? Can you?" She aimed the question at Montana.
Straightening, Montana admitted, "I've been thinking about it. I'm willing to try, but Conor is expected back today, so let's wait on him. His sister, Cinder, has arrived. She's a dragonhunter slayer."
Tempe's head sank back and she let out a sigh of relief. "Zeus! What a stroke of luck."
"Well yeah, but she was looking for the dragonhunter and found River instead, and now, she's suspicious of River."
Tempe rubbed her eyes, fatigue making it hard to follow Montana's story. "Why would she be suspicious of River?"
Montana grimaced. "She thinks River might be...um, working for the dragonhunter."
"What!"
"She believes River met with the dragonhunter and then lied to her about it. But then he saved her life, and didn't even try to stop her from killing that cretin."
"Then he's dead!" Tempe jumped up, but sat down abruptly when Montana shook her head.
"Why isn't he dead?" Tempe asked.
"That's why Conor left," said Montana. "Cinder wasn't able to go through with the slaying."
"But that's her job!" Tempe said, incredulous.
"Tempe," Montana moved toward Tempe. "Sit tight. Conor will be back anytime now. Hopefully he and this druid have a solution." Montana's eyes narrowed on Tempe. "Are you listening to me?"
Aurora agreed with Montana, "Jordie will be back with Jarell in a bit. Why don't you hang around until then, and when Conor returns, Montana can bring him here."
Tempe worried her bottom lip. "I can't just sit here. I have too much built up energy." She shrugged. "It has to go somewhere. My phone isn't working half the time because of it. What is up with that?" She rose. "I'll see if I can find Marty. That sneaky imp! He knows more than he's telling but says he's 'forbidden'." Aurora got up suddenly to wash her hands.
Montana's eyes narrowed on the seer. "Aurora? Do you know something?"
Aurora squared her shoulders and turned, her expression calm. "Know something about what?"
Exasperated, Tempe rose. "I'll be back in a couple hours. Montana, as soon as Conor returns, please tell him to find me."
"Wait…where will you be?"
Tempe gave her head an exasperated shake. "Never mind. I'll find him." With that, she left, the bell nearly jingling off its hook as she slammed out the front door.
"You know what's wrong with her, don't you?" Montana asked Aurora. "Is it what I think it is?"
Aurora nodded and Montana closed her eyes. "Oh, goddess, I should have tried to stop her."
Chapter 26
T'will be difficult…and heartbreaking, but it is time.
Conor stretched his wings to their full length, enjoying the freedom from having to hide his massive silhouette in the human world. Here, in this ancient realm, it was not unusual or particularly concerning to most creatures to see strange beasts flying above, especially dragons. Dragons had been by far the most powerful creatures here for almost as long as there'd been a "here". Valdregon, the seat of their ancient land, could be seen across the plane below the great cliffs. Conor felt a familiar intelligence brush his mind spirit. The old druid knew he was coming, of course. And he knew why.
As it had on the journey, Conor's mind turned once again to his odd reaction upon encountering the dragonhunter. Drakos, but he wanted to be wrong about what he'd sensed. The thought had been so abhorrent to him that he couldn't even speak of it to the woman he loved, or to his own sister. There was still a chance he could be wrong...
However, Conor was no dragonling. Nor had he become a knight by turning away from bad news even when it involved his own family.
As he approached the town square he saw a small crowd milling about. Some people pointed at him, others ran toward town to announce his arrival, and a few went off to sound an alarm. He made a tight turn over the street then let his dragon go, shifting midair and dropping to the ground in his familiar knight form.
Exclamations of surprise went up from men and women, and welcomes, as he stopped briefly to speak to some of the older townspeople and give out small favors to the children. Then he strode up the narrow path that snaked around the base of the mountain. Lush greenery obscured the steep slope from below
with exotic plants springing up to fill the air with their sweet scent. But Conor didn't notice the beauty this trip; his attention was on a simple mud dwelling in the center of a clearing halfway up the trail. The front door stood open, but with the windows covered and the rooms dark, he could not locate the old druid at first.
"Finally, you have come," said a voice from behind a wall at the back of the hut. Conor's boots clinked as he walked toward the voice. His eyes adjusted to the dusk instantly and he spotted the frail being leaning against the wall. Once a mighty dragon, Aevyn was nearing the end of his days as evidenced by his emaciated human form.
Pale and gray, the only features that still gave a clue to his magic were the glittering lavender eyes that surveyed Conor from head to foot. A familiar tug assailed him as he looked at the old dragon, which was odd. He'd never met this druid, as far as he could remember.
"Conor de Sept Flambé, you have made your ancestors proud." The lavender eyes glowed and Conor sensed the transformation before the glamour lifted from his surroundings to reveal his real location—not the mud hut at the edge of town, but a massive cave overlooking the valley. What had been a frail being was now a black dragon easily the size of Conor's dragon, and achingly familiar.
Shocked, Conor looked into the old dragon's face and smiled. "Grandfather?"
Conor perceived that his ancient ancestor was stronger in dragon form so he shifted and soon stood eye to eye with the dragon who'd been the most powerful influence in his life after his father's death.
"Why did I not know about your other life as a druid?" he asked.
"It is not another life. It is but one life…one soul, one span through all the realms, a chuilein." When his grandfather used the old language for "my valiant young warrior", Conor grimaced.
"Pay attention." His grandfather chuckled, "Our souls can take many paths. When you and your brothers and sisters left our cave crèche, I accepted the druidic path."
"But what about Donalen?" There could only be one druid, and when Conor had left the crèche, their clan druid, Donalen had been fit and vigorous.
"The previous druid perished unexpectedly. I could not tell you, because it was necessary to relinquish my personal... affections."
"That's harsh." Conor remembered feeling hurt at his grandfather's abandonment. They'd been so close, it seemed odd that he would go away without saying goodbye.
"It is not easy to turn away from those you love, grandson, but as with many species, it is often a necessary measure."
Conor agreed remembering the Pomeroys' situation. "Why show yourself to me now, grandfather? Or should I call you Aevyn?" he asked, using the druid's new name.
"Whatever you prefer, a chuilein. I regret that this will be a one-time meeting to fulfill a promise made long ago."
Conor felt an ache in his chest at his grandfather's admission. He would experience that great loss once more. The old dragon dipped his head. "I know it's hard. We are social creatures especially within our own family. A dragon's love is deep and eternal. It is neither easily earned nor easily extinguished. "
Conor looked out the cave entrance across hundreds of miles of spectacular beauty—chiseled cliff faces to the left, canyons and lush forests beyond, which stopped abruptly at the sapphire blue sea on the edge of the horizon. "You know why I've come." And I get the feeling you've been waiting for me to discover this terrible violation for a long time.
Aevyn didn't bother to nod. "Come inside. I will be stronger near the source." Aevyn angled his head toward the back of the cavern and turned to lead the way.
Conor followed as they lumbered slowly down the immense hallway to a large cave within the mountain. Aevyn shifted and Conor did also. Once again, the old man he'd met in the mud hut stood before him, but now he was no longer a stranger. He was still frail, however.
Conor kept pace with him walking beside him as they slowly picked their way along the edge of a black mauling ravine and then across fallen chunks of colorful rock. He stood ready to reach out and pull his grandfather to safety as he eyed the steep drop into the bottomless black pit, but despite his frailty, Aevyn was as adept of foot as any younger dragon.
Finally, they came to a large rocky enclosure, it's roof open to the sky. Thick, leafy mats covered the floor and a fire blazed in one wall. Conor's great, great grandfather eased down slowly into a cross-legged position on the mat nearest the fire.
"Sit. I have a story to tell you that is long overdue, one that will be difficult to hear and heartbreaking, and will undoubtedly test you far beyond any previous challenge you have faced in your life. But I can no longer put off the telling. It is time."
Many hours later the villagers stood grouped together, quaking in terror as the great black dragon dove into ravines, skimmed over their homes and herds, then aimed himself at the top of the mountain, often obscured by clouds. Today, the clouds were made of ash, created by the dragon's fiery blasts as he burned brush on the high slopes. Rocks cascaded down the mountainside in an avalanche after he slammed into it several times at full speed.
Had he lost his mind, some wondered. But Aevyn calmed their fears in a rare appearance saying it was the dragon's way of grieving and venting his anger at atrocities against his family.
This, the dragon's people could understand.
Conor finally calmed enough to think. He stood on the edge of a cliff, his hair and silks waving in the breeze, his swords reflecting the sun for all to see below. He knew what they must do.
But how could his sister prevail against so powerful a force, especially when she found out its source. It would be a devastating mission, but it must be done… and they must accomplish it together.
Chapter 27
You ain't never heard of the 'hanging sheriff'?
The place where the dragonhunter dragged Jack to was an old, abandoned jail that looked like it belonged in a Stephen King movie with its dark façade and barred windows. They'd entered through a security door on the ground level of the rear parking lot of the courthouse, which was closed for a state holiday. The scarred man, Jack's nickname for him until he'd introduced himself, had forced him to crawl through a long, flooded tunnel through stinking foot deep ground water as he twisted against his bonds struggling to gain his feet.
It was useless, due to the being's immense strength and the serrated garrote around his neck, which cut deep into his flesh whenever he resisted. Instinctively his dragon attempted to shift, and each time, the spelled blades tightened, nearly strangling him.
His jailer droned on about the history of the 'hanging jail' built in 1913 with its thick concrete walls, heavy barred cells, and vault-like doors. Known for the grisly murders of two prisoners by their jailer, it was said to be haunted. Styx had laughed at the story dismissing it as silly folklore. His aim was security and he assured Jack this prison was not only one of a kind but inescapable.
His captor was covered in thick scars and at first, Jack thought it made no difference to Styx who he was, but he revisited that notion when he got up close and personal with the amulet around his neck. In the center of the large disk was a dragon's eye and it looked so life-like Jack found himself mesmerized by it. Then, the upper lid drifted down and it blinked. It was alive. The ramifications of this discovery made bile rise from his previously imperturbable stomach.
The monster that Ryan and Dylan helped him eliminate at his house back in March had been some kind of pseudo-dragon killer, probably more like a paranormal bounty hunter, but this dude had hung a captured dragon's what—eye or essence—around his neck, and he wielded some disturbingly strong magic. That made Styx infinitely more dangerous. What was he after? He could have killed Jack by now and turned him into an amulet, if that was his only aim.
Styx plodded relentlessly up the spiral stairs dragging Jack's thrashing body after him. Jack caught glimpses of the individual cells on each floor above where a short angled set of steps split off the main at each level, the short hallways offering a view of the unrelenting
bulwark of concrete.
He thought about the hopeless detainees who'd been incarcerated in the dank cells with the incessant sound of dripping condensation, the entreaties of female prisoners they could never touch in the nearby cells and the mutterings of those who inevitably lost their minds echoing through the chambers. He couldn't imagine the horrendous end of days they'd endured.
He looked around. If he didn't figure out a way to escape, his last days might beat theirs all to hell.
The being, which looked like a djinn but didn't smell like one, had left Jack alone overnight. He'd heard him leave several hours earlier, following the sounds of his steps as he descended the stairway and slogged through the water-filled tunnel to the outside.
Then Jack started searching for a way out.
The acrid smell of pipe tobacco and a deep chuckle hinted that Jack was not alone. But when he searched his cell and looked through the oddly ridged bars all he saw was concrete…floors, walls, ceiling, stairs... the place was a veritable fortune in concrete construction.
He must be losing it. But once again, smoke tickled his sensitive nostrils. "Got yourself in a pickle there, lawman."
That was a voice, he'd heard it, and not in his mind. Jack whirled, but no one was there. Stupidly, he looked up at the ceiling—the scarred, rough concrete ceiling. No one could hang there but Spidey.
Light filtered in through the window and the details of his prison were exposed. It had been obvious the day before when Styx forced him through the cell door, locked it, and shut the solid outer door, that there was little here he could use to affect an escape. The dragonhunter had placed some kind of spell on the lock connected to his dragon. If he were to get out of his constraints and tried to break the lock, what would happen? He presumed it wouldn't be pleasant. He'd tested it and felt the painful surge of power, which effectively stopped any attempt by him to use his own magic.