"And since when did you notice legs?" Grace asked as she pulled hers more fully under her skirt.
I was not going to get out of this gracefully, so I went on the offensive.
"You have cute toes." I waggled my eyebrows at her.
I couldn't help it. I buckled over in laughter at her look of horror. Rak managed to keep a straight face for only a few seconds longer.
She gaped for a minute, her mouth opening and closing. Then she reached down, grabbed a handful of dry seaweed and flung it at me. I blocked it with my tail. A good reminder of what I really was.
"At any rate," she said, with the severity of a teacher trying to call her class back to order,
"she could be using some kind of spell to alter her form. I don't care how nice her legs look or how much make-up she puts on. She still looks like Hel. So we're back to motive."
"Give me time," he replied. "We talked until four this morning. She was actually more interested in me as a reporter than a man."
"No!" I threw both shock and sarcasm into one word. Sometimes having friends with teenage kids comes in handy.
"Amazing, I know. As it turned out, Hel was looking for some good press, and I managed the perfect combination of intelligent hard-hitting reporter and enthralled fanboy. My being published by some major international magazines hasn't hurt, either."
"You have?"
He examined his cuticles in a display false modesty. "All approved by my employers, naturally. I majored in journalism. Can't afford the publicity of winning a Pulitzer, of course, but I produce clean and at times, inspired copy, if I do say so myself. At any rate, she's suggested I be her special guest at the Apikewa ceremony Friday. 'Big things will happen,' and I can have the exclusive. She showed me the guest list. There are some major players coming in tonight by private jet—Fortune 505 companies, heads of state. In fact, she laid some hints that she needed a press agent. I'm sure I can string her along until after the festival."
"We can't wait that long. There can't be a 'big event.'" For the third time that day, I explained my suspicions.
Rak's playful expression turned serious. "So if they manage to recreate this accident and make a second Gap, people are going to get killed in the process."
"That's the best situation. If they mess up the experiment, they could take out the entire island." I was guessing, but we were talking an experimental nuclear reactor and a large, soon-to-be-angry volcano. I didn't think it was too big a stretch.
"How likely is it they'd mess things up?" Rak asked.
"I'm not convinced they really know what they're doing but are just trying to mimic what the Los Lagos crew did. The console I saw was an exact duplicate, even to the Dilbert cartoon taped on the side. Yet they've completely changed the environment—even the humidity is radically different. I don't know if that has any impact, but I'm willing to bet they don’t know, either."
Grace spoke quietly. "Santry said Gates' floppy disks had correspondence with five of the top nuclear scientists in the world. None of them seemed to know exactly what had triggered the explosion, or caused the interaction between it and the magic in our dimension. They even theorized that it was dumb luck, that our dimensions happened to bump into each other on a-a string level. A couple even suggested that it cannot be recreated. And Vern, three have been murdered in the past five years. Guess how."
I didn't have to. The haunted look in her eyes said it all. She held my gaze; then turned to the rosary she still held in her hands. Her thumbs rubbed the crucifix, as if smoothing away Christ's wounds.
Rak groaned. "So, stopping this is priority one. Any suggestions for how?"
"Sabotage the reactor?"
"Can we do that without blowing it up?" Grace asked.
"Wipe the computer memory? Destroy the consoles—be obvious about it? I'll change back to a dragon and eat the plutonium if necessary. You can't kill a dragon, only inconvenience it."
"Won't that make you sick?"
"And radioactive," Grace's brow furrowed, but she didn't look up from her beads. "What's the half-life of plutonium?"
Twenty-four thousand years, give or take. Long time to be inconvenienced. "Last resort, then."
Rak smiled reassuringly. "Easy. We're not totally alone here, you know. Let me contact the home office; they can find experts who can tell us the surest and most stealthy way to shut it down." The breeze was picking up, bringing the clouds. I was getting chilly despite my windbreaker. I reached out with my senses, assessing the storm. No lightning, just a long, steady downpour. We'd get soaked for certain.
Rak rubbed his hands together with satisfaction rather than cold. "Not much of a moon tonight, anyway, and the storm will keep folks indoors. People are already heading home to prepare for the festival. Perfect! We can take a car up the mountain as far as the gas station/souvenir shop where the road forks. We ditch the car in the back and walk from there.
Your watchmen shouldn't be able to see us, and the dog patrols might even stay in."
Great. A hike in the jungle. In the dark. Cold rain. Mud. Bugs. Possibly guard dogs. And Rak grinning like it’s a day in the park.
"You must have driven your mother crazy," I said.
Rak smirked, probably the same smirk he'd worn at eight when he'd come home, mud spattered and scabby-kneed from who-knew what kind of mischief. "Where's Charlie?"
"Had something he needed to do."
"Not with Heather, I hope." The grin disappeared, the little boy replaced by a man who wasn't going to let some lovesick yahoo put his country or his world in danger.
"No," I said. I was starting to shiver. I wondered if I had an outfit for this. "Moping, more likely. I gave him back Heather's ring. He's probably sitting somewhere brooding over it."
"Heather's ring? You gave him back Heather's ring?"
"Yeah...?" I knit my brows then raised one. I love that I can do that.
"The one with the unique and easily identifiable dragon stone?"
"Uh, yeah."
"The one you bit off McThing's hand?"
Now that he put it that way. "Uh..."
"The same McThing who could be on this island, right now, in Hel's abode? Are you an idiot?"
Few mortals can call me an idiot and get away with it. Rak just made the cut.
Not that I would let him know. Instead, I shrugged. "I'll warn him when I get back to keep it hidden."
"And don't bring it on the mission."
I sighed with the asperity of the Costa girls. "Yes, we know. We're not totally stupid."
* * * *
Later, it seemed, I'd have to eat those words.
We agreed to meet at sundown in a parking garage outside of town. In the meantime, Rak would contact BILE HQ and see if they had any suggestions for stopping a nuclear experiment that did not involve my eating radioactive substances. He left, but Grace and I lingered for another hour to pray, to talk, to just be together. I'd really missed her, and it bugged me some, enough that after she donned her wig and headed back to the hotel, I stuck around and brooded as I watched the incoming storm, focusing my hearing on the splash and patter of the rain on the distant waves.
Long-lived as Grace could be with her Siren blood, she was still mortal. What would my life be like when she was gone? Emptier. Lonelier.
Suddenly, I shook myself. What was I doing? Dragons don’t think like that! Mortals live and die. Each one brings something unique to be enjoyed because of its fleeting nature, like fireworks, and you don't mourn the firecracker when it's gone off because you're already anticipating the next shower of sparks. That's how dragons think. So what was I doing moping around instead of enjoying the spectacle?
Stupid human thyroid—that's what it was. Human hormones affecting dragon mind. Did humans deal with this all the time?
I gave a prayer of thanks that I didn't have to go through puberty.
I stood up and stretched—and heard Charlie and Heather murmuring lovingly to each other in another hidden nook not forty feet aw
ay from me.
Just because I had a new appreciation for the effect human hormones had on judgment didn't mean I wasn't going to kill a certain lovesick idiot.
Even in my eight hundred fifty-pound dragon from, I can move with the stealth of a jungle cat. Human form actually made it easier. I poked my head around an outcropping of rock.
Speaking of fireworks...
Charlie held Heather in a tight embrace. She wore his jacket over her swimsuit and shorts, but cold was not the reason for him holding her so close. They had locked lips like he'd saved her from the dragon's lair. There's irony for ya.
Seemed love was getting a little impatient.
I cleared my throat, and they jumped away from each other like I'd stuck a firecracker between their noses.
A hundred opening lines crossed my mind, from "Are you an idiot?" to "Shall I play the jilted lover?" I decided judgmental silence would make the better effect and leaned against a boulder with my arms crossed over my chest and a scowl on my face.
Charlie paled and squirmed like I had him under my claws, but Heather merely zipped the jacket a little higher and approached me with a smile and an outstretched hand. She spoke in Gaelic. "You must be Nigel's...associate?"
I glared at her right hand and glanced at the left. At least she wasn't wearing the ring yet.
"Miss Dakota, use your acting skills, make up an excuse, and get off this island."
She lowered her hand, untouched, and raised her shoulders in a shrug. "Nigel told me to already, and I would, but all the flights are canceled until after the festival."
"And what else has Nigel told you?"
"Only that my stupid agent had booked me out of the frying pan and into the fire! They thought the easiest way to keep me from McThing and his people was to send me on tour. The Frank Li Constorium promised all kinds of extra security. You have no idea how hard it was to get away from them. I had to climb out the bathroom window."
"Go climb back in."
Okay, so it wasn't the most diplomatic way to handle things.
Have you ever seen a hormonal teenager go from lovesick to wrathful in nothing flat? I have, and trust me; it rivals the transformation of the lycanthrope. At least with werewolves you know when to expect it. Add spoiled starlet to the mix, and you get something really fearful.
She opened her mouth to throw an Oscar-winning hissy fit that would have probably reached the hotel.
A human would have put a palm over her hand and shushed her, but I reacted like a dragon. I stepped in close and loomed over her with my menace face on. Heather paled, and her protest died in her throat.
I leaned in closer and growled softly. "Listen, princess. Your intended is suffering from an advanced case of stupid. If it's contagious, there's a good chance one of you will get us all killed. Understand?"
I didn't think her eyes could get any wider. She shivered. I took that for a yes.
"If you love him like you say you do, you'll go back to your room, stick near whatever guards you brought with you, and stay off the volcano. The safer you stay, the easier it will be for Charlie to concentrate on his job. Got it?"
She nodded. "Are you—"
I had my hand over her mouth before my brain processed why. Then it registered the footsteps coming our way. Not wandering, either. Firm, purposeful, and heading right for our spot.
"Quick! Give Charlie back his jacket and hide!" I hissed at her, spinning her toward a small cave tucked into the rocks. "Don't move and don’t make a sound until you can't hear anyone. Then count to five hundred and get back to your room!"
I didn't wait for her to answer, just pushed her toward the opening, and grabbed Charlie by the arm and yanked him in the other direction. "Come on, lover boy," I said as I pulled him toward the waves. I swept the sand with my virtual tail as we went.
Once we were a ways away, I said in Faerie Gaelic, "We need to get attention away from her. Talk to me and don't be quiet about it."
"Were you following me?" Charlie demanded.
I couldn't help it; I actually stopped in my tracks. Charlie turned back, scanning the island as he did. With his waterside hand, he held four fingers.
"What are you going to do about it?" I asked. Nice, double-meaning question.
Charlie threw his hands in the air and ran.
I yelled, "Hey!"—for effect, honest—and took off after him.
In my true form, I'd have loped past Charlie, grabbed him by my tail and swung him onto my back without breaking stride. As a human and running on sand, I had enough trouble staying upright and keeping up. It doesn’t matter, I huffed to myself, as my feet slipped and my stupid canvas shoes squished. We just had to draw attention away from Heather, although if we could get somewhere populated, they might not be able to nab us.
What did they want with us, anyway?
"You two! Stop!" hollered one henchman as they gained.
Big surprise—Charlie put on more speed. I followed suit.
Until Trigger decided to back up his command with a bullet.
The sound of it striking the sand startled me, so much so I twisted away. A large wave stuck the shore and smacked me mid-calf. I lost my balance and fell into the water. By the time I came up sputtering, salt water stinging my eyes, two guys in jungle drag had their rifles pointed at me.
"What are you doing?" I shouted. It seemed the thing to say.
While one kept his rifle pointed at me, the other slid his over his shoulder and pulled out handcuffs. In heavily accented English, he said, "You and your friend are under arrest for trespassing and killing an endangered species."
"What?" I looked down the shoreline. Charlie was standing with his hands in the air. One guard grabbed his wrist with the cuff, pulled the arm behind his back and cuffed it to the other one. We weren't going to run or fight our way out of this one.
I looked Heather's way with my peripheral vision and saw her running alone and unnoticed to the hotel. I was going to keep it that way.
I started to push myself up. "Listen, you! I've no idea what—"
In one swift motion, rifleman turned his gun around and struck me in the face. For the second time in five minutes, I spun and fell into the water. As the waves flowed over me, all I could think was, "Didn't see that coming. That was pretty smooth. Wonder if he practiced."
My lungs screamed that I was breathing water, not air, but my brain was still disoriented by Rifle Butter's move and didn’t do anything about it.
Maybe I should have planned a little better.
A pair of hands gripped my shirt and pulled me up. I let in a huge gulp of air, my lungs crying in gratitude to my captors. Traitorous lungs. Afterward, I was too busy coughing up water and taking in air to fight or even to come up with something more witty to say while they cuffed me. Naturally, the sky chose that moment to open up and dump on us a steady shower of cool rain. I did manage to look toward the hotel. Heather was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Eighteen: The Spy Who Came Out of the Closet
"Hey, come on!" I yelled through the bars of the underground dungeon they called a jail.
"Don't we even get a phone call?"
It'd been hours since we were escorted off the beach in chains, shoved into waiting squad cars, and hauled straight out of town. We headed in a different direction than I and Charlie had ever explored, and the rain had come down so thick the half-rotted rubber on the wipers couldn't keep up. They were playing it smart, keeping me and Charlie separated; the only way I'd known he was behind me was from the odd angle of the other car's headlights.
They'd given us perfunctory interrogations, first together (good for us, because we got our story straight), then separately. Because they were pretending to be introducing a small population of tigers to the island for a preservation program, and we were pretending to be clueless tourists, we all sounded like a bad sitcom script—except that when someone smacked me upside the head, it hurt. My ears were ringing by the time they locked us up in separate cells opposite fro
m each other with empty cells between.
Yeah, I think they suspected we were more than stupid tourists. Didn't stop me from keeping up my part of the charade, though.
"Who are you going to call?" Nigel groaned from where he sat on the clean hay.
Yep, hay. No cots, no sinks, no toilets, open or otherwise. Jailers must have been going for a style-thing. Early Norman Incarceration or something. They even had a hook in the far wall in case they wanted to chain someone. At least they'd decided to forego that lovely detail in my imprisonment. Of course, they didn't sacrifice practicality for style. The entire cell was concrete—no tunneling yourself out with a spoon here—and the bars, while iron on the outside, had a modern steel core on the inside. Even in my dragon form, I couldn't have bent them. Then there were the locks, which required a key, a thumbprint and a code. I'd listened to and memorized the code when our jailor tossed me in, and I might be able to feel out the tumblers with my virtual tail even without my lockpick tools, but a thumbprint, I couldn't duplicate.
What I needed was a guard to get close enough to thwack him with my virtual tail.
So didn't it figure these guys had me labeled as the troublemaker? Then again, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. I'd been nasty enough in the interviews, I thought one of them would come to take their revenge on me personally. They'd tossed me in the cell still cuffed, while they uncuffed Nigel and let him walk into his, yet no one had come to take advantage of my incapacity. I'd toyed with trying the "Help me, I'm sick!" routine—believe me, I felt sick enough to make it work—but I'd already done my share of vomiting sea water and groaning, and no one had so much as offered me a moist towelette. I know; I asked for one. Seemed in character.
One guard had amused himself by hitting me during the interview. However, once they'd locked us in, he'd exited through the steel doors. I could see the cameras set into the cell walls and had tried to goad him back in by making faces. No such luck. For all I knew, he wasn't even watching. There had been another guard with the keys to the cellblock, but "Brutus" had gotten his jollies by dragging me in by the hair, and I didn’t see his face. Not to mention that no sooner would I think about my tail than he'd find some way to step on it. How come he could pin my tail down when neither of us could feel it?
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