I let go of my shirt fast. "Right! Yes!"
I looked back and saw her shaking her head as she walked away. From my angle, I couldn't tell if she was amused or annoyed. I knew which one I was, though.
I hated being human.
* * * *
Forty-eight hours later, sitting poolside at the Apikewa Shadows Resort, I still hated it.
They'd saddled me with the name "Drake Muldoon." I was willing to forgive that since I got a driver's license, but Grace had refused to let me drive. We decided not to risk the immunizations with my blood chemistry, so I had falsely up-to-date shot records, but Grace got the idea to miniaturize some magically infused medallions and get those inserted as well. Rak, and Charlie only got St. Michael for general protection, but Grace had been up all night preparing a half-dozen of our most useful spells, and she wanted us "fitted" with every one.
I left aching in both armpits, behind the ears and high up inside one thigh, where the tracker went. That made for an uncomfortable drive to Colorado Springs, to another secure facility where we had Death by Power Point Briefings on the mysterious Frank Li and his consortium. Of course, all the resources of the United States Intelligence service didn’t produce a single picture of Frank himself—just his leggy daughter, Helen. Rak gave one dinner party photo a long wolf whistle and nudged me with his elbow.
“Makes a man glad to be single,” he quipped.
“Shut up,” I and, on his other side, Charlie growled in unison.
Stale donuts and bitter coffee added to the torture. I ate and drank anyway and regretted.
After an hour with no bathroom break—another wonderful advantage to being human, small bladders—I asked if I could get a hard copy of the information and a Rosetta stone program for Indonesian, so I could do something more useful than sit on my sore behind and fight a sugar rush. That earned me a quiet couple of hours, at least, although on the drive to the airport, Rak told me I needed to work on my "people skills" and to practice on the trip. I thought I'd done great, but Charlie, alias Nigel St. James, kept snickering. Then I and "Nigel" got stuck in coach for the next twelve thousand miles while Rak and Grace lived it up in First Class.
Of course, I assume they flew First Class all the way. We took separate flights after Honolulu. We hadn't seen them since.
Nigel set down a coconut smoothie next to me and sat on the beach chair beside mine. He also wore swim trunks, orange ones that somehow went very well with his magically-induced tan. His hair was also bespelled to blonde and his eyes a darker shade of blue. "What's eating you?" He spoke Gaelic. Earlier, I'd done a listening recon of the hotel and found no one spoke anything close, so we figured we were safe with that.
I grabbed something from my growing list at random. "I'm an actuary."
He snorted. "Well, next time you can be a shoe salesman."
I huffed. "You are not going to let that go, are you? I got told to strike up conversations.
What else do you talk about in the security line?"
Charlie mimicked my conversation, alternating between my voice and the woman I'd talked to. "'Nice shoes. Quality leather.'
"'They should be. They cost a hundred and twenty-five dollars on sale.'
"'For Gloria Quatrinnis? Get out!'" He dropped his imitation to sigh with annoyance.
"How would you know what shoes should cost?"
"You'd be amazed at what I know."
Nigel snorted. "Whatever you say, Drake. But 'get out'? When have you ever said 'get out' in your entire life?"
"I'm in character."
"Yeah? Well your character's a little light in his loafers, if you know what I mean."
"No." I leaned back in the lounger, and the sun glared into my eyes. I missed my nictitating membranes. I pulled my hat down. I'd seen it at an airport shop and snagged it up.
Best part of the whole trip.
"You know, not everyone can pull off a fedora with swim trunks."
"Go jump in the volcano."
"Actually, you can do that. They have a bungee jumping platform at the apex. Here, look."
He passed me the brochure. The Hottest Adventure on Earth! Jump Into A Volcano! The advertising copy emphasized the danger while at the same time assuring the patron that every safety measure had been taken, including a hundred-thousand dollar net spanning the mouth of the volcano—just in case you're the one in a million person whose cable snapped. In fact, the ad promised a free week's vacation, travel fare included, to the immediate family if that unlikely event did happen.
They had pictures of people taking the plunge. They smiled. I couldn't decide what was more likely to have been photo-shopped—the millions of cubic meters of superheated death or the excited smiles.
"I will never understand humanity."
Charlie laughed. I passed him the brochure and leaned back, tipping my hat forward again. I closed my eyes. The sun didn't feel nearly as nice on my skin as it did—does—on my scales but pleasant enough.
After a minute, I heard the plastic and metal scrape of the chair as Charlie stood up.
"When it cools down, we'll rent some ATVs and go explore the island. You can drive. That should cheer you up some. I'm going to get a swim then take a nap. Don't stay out here too long, or you'll get a sunburn."
"I don't sunburn."
"Sure about that, Drake?"
He didn't wait for my reply, and I didn't bother to give him one. Like Rak said, people skills. Why did I have better people skills as a dragon than a human? Then again, maybe I didn't.
Do expectations differ by species?
It wasn't easy being a superior being in an inferior disguise.
"Uh, excuse me?"
The tentative voice invaded my thoughts, and I opened my eyes to squint at the brunette standing beside me. She wore a red bikini that had yet to experience pool water and held a bottle of sunscreen in both her hands.
"Hi," I said. Brilliant opening, but I couldn't compliment her shoes, could I?
She slouched a little with relief. "Oh, good! You speak English."
I pushed my hat back and sat up a little straighter. Don't ask me why. I didn't think about it or anything. "Well, 'hi' isn't a big stretch, linguistically," I said.
She had a nice laugh. And inhumanly bright teeth. I peered closer. "Are those diamonds?" Not that I had to ask—human shell or not, I knew gemstones—but it gave me a reason for gaping.
She hummed assent. "Graduation present from Daddy. Oh! I'm Kirsti."
"Drake. Drake Muldoon. I didn't pick it."
Again, she flashed the five thousand dollar smile. "Anyway, I was wondering if you'd mind?" She held out the bottle of sunscreen.
"Sure." I took the bottle and before my brain could override my mouth, asked, "Where?"
"My back, silly!" She straddled the chair in front of me and undid her strap with one hand while she held the suit in place with another. "At least for now," she added.
I didn't know what that meant but knew enough not to ask. Of course, that left me with nothing to say, so I concentrated on her back.
Know what? Dragons are no good at small talk.
Fortunately, my new acquaintance didn't need any encouragement. "Are you here for the festival?" she asked and without waiting for answer, launched into a monologue about how Daddy had paid for her and her girlfriend to spend a week on Bhandar Baru as a reward for her getting her degree in anthropology from the University of Toronto. Her thesis had been on isolated tribes, though in South America, not the Indian Ocean.
"After this, it's two years in the Peace Corps—"
"You'll have to lose the teeth," I said.
She sighed. "I know. They'll probably be out of style when I get back, too. You know, I think that's enough sunscreen. Could you?" She wiggled one shoulder to indicate the strap.
"Right. Sure." It took me longer to figure out the catch than any human alive, but she didn't seem to mind. When I finally had it done, I complimented her on her patience, which made her laugh aga
in.
I really needed to observe human behavior more closely.
"You know, you could use some, too. I was thinking what a funny tan you'd have if you fell asleep with your arms over your chest like you were."
She watched me slather lotion on my body, which made me feel, well, odd, then offered to do my back. We traded places. She spread the lotion and then went to work on my shoulders, undoing knots formed from forty-eight hours strapped into cars and airplanes. It felt as good as any scale rubbing I'd ever had as a dragon. As a human, it felt better than taking off my shoes at the end of the flights had, and I hadn't expected anything to top that.
"You are so hired," I purred. I wondered how she'd take that, so I asked, "Tell me what you know about the indigenous peoples of Bhandar Baru."
What she knew I'd mostly heard from briefings or read on the Internet, which allowed me to grunt in the right places and ask an occasional intelligent question but otherwise sit there with my head hanging, until a familiar scent caused me to look up. Finally!
Grace, dressed in a modest one-piece bathing suit of blue and green with a blue skirt, stood on the high dive.
Kirsti followed my gaze. "Wow. She looks out of place, doesn't she?"
Grace leapt, bounced, and tucked in for a perfect one and a half summersault dive, cutting the water with the merest of splashes.
I grunted with satisfaction. One of the few things she ever complained about was that there were no good diving spots around Los Lagos.
"Oh, you know her?"
"No," I said, probably a little fast. "Just...admiring her form. The dive, I mean!" Why couldn't I recognize a double entendre before it came out of my mouth?
"So... You're not seeing anyone? 'Cause I'm only here until after Festival, but maybe we could..."
Her touch became feather-light caresses, and thanks to my brief experience being human around McGrue, I did know what that meant. I spun around so fast, my fedora spilled onto the ground. Not easy to do in a plastic webbed lounger.
"No! I mean, yes!" I stopped took a breath. "I mean, I'm already...devoted...to someone."
That wasn't a lie, right?
Her mouth dropped. Then she was all apologies. "I am so embarrassed!"
"No. It's my fault. I'm like that sometimes. I mean I give the wrong impression without intending to. I've been warned about my 'people skills.'" I gave her a self-deprecating smile and felt a momentary pleasure at pulling that off. Dragons don’t self-deprecate, after all. Why would we?
She chuckled but didn't bare the bling.
I tried again. "I really enjoyed talking with you. You know an impressive amount about the area. And the massage was first rate. You're going to be great in the Peace Corps."
Now I got the blinding shine. "You think so?"
"Absolutely. You'll be brilliant. Maybe we can talk again sometime. I'll do your back…as a friend."
She laughed. "As a friend."
I tried not to show my relief when she sauntered away. To cover, I picked up my hat and set the lounger so I could lie on my stomach. Maybe the heat would bake away the tension that had returned to my muscles. Grace was right: I needed human training. Unfortunately, God had neglected to enroll me in the orientation program.
I glanced at the pool to see Grace doing a neat crawl across its length. Was it my imagination, or did she glare at me when she passed?
* * * *
Later, I and Charlie went to explore the island on rented ATVs.
Shaped like a fried egg with the volcano making an off-center yolk, the island was only eighty miles in diameter. Kotapikewa, the main resort city, sprawled along the beach with one side to the hilly jungles and its back against the lava-blackened cliffs. I wondered if there were any diving spots off them. Our hotel sat on the outskirts, the complex nearly half the size of the
"city" itself, with the rental place on the far end.
We didn’t want to advertise ourselves to any demigods or their minions, so rather than using our bespelled earpieces and mikes, we used the secure phones BILE had outfitted us with to talk to each other on the ride. The Bluetooth fittings would have been uncomfortable under the helmets, so we'd stuck those into our backpacks as soon as we were out of site of the rental guy.
The sun was still high over the horizon, and the wind ruffled my hair. I could get used to hair.
We tooled along the trails, past resorts, abandoned or populated by a few guests who actually came on vacation to relax, and stopped in the port city—named, originally enough, Kota Bhandar (a.k.a. "port city")—right around dinner time. There actually was a seaport there but not a particularly big or active one; most people and supplies came by air. The majority of the natives, of course, still relied on bicycle or foot travel, and as we'd hoped, the plaza we found was full of residents stopping for a snack or drink on their way home from work. We chose a little outdoor kiosk selling mengitugas, Bhandar Baru's answer to the burrito, and spoke to each other just enough for folks to dismiss us as stupid tourists. Relating my encounter about Kirsti had made that easy enough. We'd finished our meal in silence while I eavesdropped on conversations between businessmen and common laborers, even saw a father and son fight. Then it was back onto our rides with the sun-kissed beach on our right and the dark brooding jungles on our left.
Beautiful, yet ominous, knowing that it harbored secrets . If we came across a silo, I wasn’t going to push any buttons.
Charlie, however was still thinking about how I'd inadvertently pushed Kirsti's buttons.
"Actually, you handled it quite well, considering," he said through my headset.
I felt a surge of pride, followed by irritation. I snorted. "I'm not totally inept," I said into the mike.
"I know that," Charlie said. "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, honestly. Even if they were 'quality leather.' So, learn anything at the plaza?"
"We came at a good time. This 'festival" is going to be big. Some folks are planning it as their last hoorah before leaving for good; others are calling it the start of a new era. Apparently, a few have even been promised bonuses if they stay for a year afterward. A few are desperate to leave before it happens. Lots of conversations; no middle ground."
"Is this some kind of religious ceremony? Apikewanism?"
"Yes and no. You saw the old man who spit on his son? He said they've distorted the Old Ways. He's blaming the Christians for it."
Charlie skirted a piece of driftwood; then gunned the engine to leap over a small puddle. I did the same. I found the bulky four-wheeled vehicle surprisingly easy to handle. Don’t know why a car would be harder.
"Could it be true?" Charlie asked. "After all, these Mundanes do have a knack for mixing things up to make something that suits them, even in their religion."
"Kirsti didn't think so, though. She said the stuff they're labeling as 'Christian' elements are common to most human religions. She seemed to know her stuff. I wonder if we could get Grace and Rak to meet her." They were traveling as reporters for Island Getaway and could ask pointed questions without looking suspicious.
A flare of warmth behind my ear made me swat at the back of my neck. I almost lost control of the ATV and stopped fast. Charlie skidded to a halt a little ways ahead.
"What's wrong?"
"Not sure." I scratched lightly at my hairline, where the St. Gilmore medallion gave a last warning itch. I got off my ride, wandered to a large boulder, and did a slow circle. My eyes may have changed color, but I still had a dragon's vision. I caught a slight movement and a glint of reddening sunlight off a small glass. "Don't look around. You won't see it, but there's a guarded building hidden among the trees about halfway up the mountain."
Charlie didn't move from his bike. "What do you want to do?"
I looked out at the sea. "Nice sunset. Let's see how much our being here bothers him.
Grab us a couple of waters." I dug into my backpack and pulled out my camera. I wouldn't be so stupid as to invite trouble by taking a photo of our suspici
ous target, but with two hundred seventy-degree vision, I could point the lens just about anywhere else while still keeping an eye on him. In fact, the sunset was at a convenient angle to the jungle; we could sit and watch for a while.
"Hey! Stand there a minute," I called to Charlie. He posed leaning against the fender, his back to the jungle, and I snapped a few wide-angle shots. Maybe we'd get something, maybe not, but it was worth seeing if we got a reaction. I pretended to take a few more shots of the sunset, the clouds, the beach... You know, the typical twenty shots of the same thing? Maybe I should print them all, so I can bore women with them before they hit on me. Or use them in a Power Point briefing later.
Charlie handed me a bottle of water. He settled himself beside me and swallowed down half of his, looking out over the water, lost in thought.
I sat down to switch lenses, keeping an eye on our guy keeping an eye on us. The long lens made him duck a bit and take a closer look, but when I used it to scan the ocean—
supposedly for an interesting atoll or wave I could capture digitally a dozen times—he didn't seem to care. He wasn’t looking out for anything in the ocean, then.
"Well?" Charlie asked.
"I think he's called his buddies twice but didn't react to my taking photos of you. If he thinks he's just monitoring tourists, he'll probably call in again, if these guys are good at what they do."
"If they aren't?"
"They send the local police to run us off. If we're tourists, we wouldn't think a thing of it, but if we aren't, it'd tip us off. Or they shoot us. Kidding! We're out of range. Relax. Want to take some photos?" I handed him my camera, but he shook his head.
"Why are we sitting here?"
"I'm waiting to see when he calls in again." I put my camera back in the pack, noticed the small velvet box I'd stuffed in there while packing, and pulled it out. I handed it to Charlie. "Got a surprise for you."
He looked from the box to me. "Heather's ring?"
I grinned. "Courtesy of McThing's Right Hand. I don’t even think he resized it. I'd never seen such delicate fingers on a man. What's wrong? I cleaned it. Just think of the history that ring has. If I hadn't swallowed it, I'm not sure we would have gotten out of there."
Live and Let Fly Page 18