*That’s all I could get. I only hear surface thoughts, and she’s a particularly hard read.*
Quinton finished, “—and I always worried I might step into some room or cave and find myself back . . .”
Collins naturally finished with “home,” so Quinton’s words caught him by surprise.
“ . . . where we came from.” She turned a sheepish smile on him. “Silly, huh?”
So, Barakhai is home now. And Algary is “that place we came from.” Collins said the necessary words. “Not silly at all. I’d probably do the same, if I had brought a wallet with me.” He shrugged. “After losing everything on my last visit, I knew better than to bring it this time.” Collins could not let Prinivere’s revelation go. A third world? Really? How many are there?
*Only two that I know of.* Despite the significance of their conversation, Prinivere redirected Collins to what currently mattered, *Take that wallet thing, and let’s get going on this.*
Deep in thought, Collins obeyed.
While Collins hurriedly changed into clean underwear, jeans, a T-shirt, socks, shoes, and his glasses, the unfamiliar man rigged a curtain across the back of the cave, with two slits that admitted the dragon’s claws. It seemed safer to Collins to blindfold Carrie Quinton, but the magic required Prinivere to access all parts of the woman’s face, including her eyes. He would also have preferred the task done while Prinivere held woman form, but they did not have time to quibble. Once she completed the process, he would count himself lucky to save Zylas before his switch.
As magic flowed from dragon to woman, and the harsh scars of Quinton’s face faded to her normal, soft contours, Collins paced wildly. He knew the woman had mastered biology and would recognize that those claws belonged to nothing in their own world. Quinton had worked with the young dragons and would notice how the claws seemed more birdlike than mammalian, their size and shape, the lack of anything resembling paw pads. Others might wonder, but Quinton would know a dragon had healed her and might report that fact to the king.
Stop worrying. They already know we have a dragon. He took momentary satisfaction from the image of Prinivere plunging down on the soldiers at the portal entrance, their disciplined ranks exploding into screaming chaos. As terrifying as he had found the situation, they must have found it doubly so, since they had no reason to believe the creatures still existed. He could liken it to warriors on a battlefield suddenly menaced by a pterodactyl, but that would not catch the full scope of these men’s experience. At least the men of the twenty-first century had seen 747s and Jurassic Park movies.
Korfius trotted at Collins’ side, invigorated by the constant movement of the master who would not be comforted. The only one who might have the right words to calm him was too engrossed in the process to speak them. Aisa watched with uncharacteristic quietness, letting out only an occasional soft grunt, her head feathers ruffled like a hatchling’s.
Collins glanced at his wrist repeatedly, each time remembering that he had not taken the time to riffle through his pack for his watch. Now, he felt lost without it, at the mercy of circumstances and a nonsensical world that violated many of the tenets he relied on as facts. His mind edged back to the day an avowed Catholic coworker had argued with his father, a balding, conservative man of few words. “After all,” the Catholic had argued haughtily, “evolution is only a theory.” James Collins had ended the conversation with a gruff: “So’s gravity, but I wouldn’t go jumping out any windows.” Now, huge men morphed into tiny mice, four-legged dragons bore wings that could support their massive weight, and animals shared a digestive system with their human alter egos. Gravity seemed like the only scientific principle Benton Collins could still count on.
“How’s that?” Aisa said suddenly, and Collins jumped at the coarse sound. He whipped his attention toward the blue and gold macaw who stood with her head cocked, one eye fixed on Quinton, the pupil widening and contracting in an instant. The reek of ozone filled the air.
Collins guessed the question actually came from Prinivere, though she must have thought it wiser to direct her mental communication solely at Aisa. If the dragon had a physical voice, Collins had never heard it. He peered around the women to look. Quinton’s features closely resembled those he remembered, minus a year or two of age. “Beautiful. Perfect.” He smiled encouragingly.
Quinton pulled a small mirror from her pocket and examined Prinivere’s handiwork from every angle. She made a few suggestions regarding cheek apples and eyebrow widths that made little sense to Collins but sent the dragon’s claws diligently back to work on her face. The odor thickened, and a bright series of sparks rose from the contact.
Collins’ pacing grew more frantic as he worried about the time. Once the kingdom realized who it had imprisoned, even Carrie Quinton might not be able to talk them into releasing Zylas.
Again, Quinton examined her face and again found faults that seemed meaningless and miniscule to Collins. He could not understand why the woman could not just appreciate the second chance at normalcy that Prinivere’s magic granted her, why she had to pick and poke at every detail.
During one of Quinton’s surveys, Prinivere explained. *She sees this as her only salvation and doesn’t want to regret anything about it.* The dragon gave Collins an intangible smile. *Let her be as fussy as she needs to. We don’t get many second chances in life.*
Collins nodded in understanding, though he barely did. Time constraints weighed heavily on his soul, and hardly noticeable details seemed all the more ludicrous since he knew it was all a temporary illusion. Only then, he recalled his own changed features and wondered how difficult Quinton had found it to take the hand, arm, and embrace of a man who was currently a dead ringer for a female guard. Maybe that’s why she could do it. My changed appearance allowed her to put aside that I’m the one she hates most in all the worlds.
*I’m concerned about time, too,* Prinivere sent to the earlier parts of Collins’ thoughts. *But to rush her would arouse suspicions we can’t afford.*
Collins had to agree, though he did not like it. He needed not only to convince Quinton of the dragon’s ability to permanently heal her, he needed to act as if he believed it, too.
Before Collins could reply, Prinivere directed her attention back to Quinton, erasing lines and blemishes invisible to Collins’ eyes. He sighed deeply and resumed his pacing.
At length, Quinton finally seemed satisfied. She studied her face in the mirror from every angle, reaching to touch her cheek with an expression of perfect awe.
Remembering Zylas’ warning about touching, Collins caught Quinton’s hand. “Don’t mess with it.” Needing a reason besides exposing the illusion, he added, “It has to . . . to set.” Collins hoped that did not sound suspicious or stupid.
Quinton lowered her hand and smiled.
Collins found himself staring into a face so gorgeous it left him speechless. The first time he had looked upon Carrie Quinton, he had believed her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Now, his jaw sagged open as he looked upon features brought to smooth, unwavering perfection.
*Wow?* Prinivere supplied.
“Wow,” Collins forced out. “You’re . . . you’re . . . absolutely . . .”
Now it was Quinton’s turn to supply him with words. “Hot?”
Collins continued to stare. “Hotter than hot. You’re drop-dead stunning.”
The grin broadened. “Apparently so.”
Collins shook free of his trance. “Let’s go.”
Quinton’s smile disappeared. “That’s it? You’re pretty, let’s go?”
*Careful,* Prinivere sent.
Worried about what the old dragon might have read, Collins jerked his attention to her. What? Is she thinking something . . . dangerous?
Prinivere’s thoughts seemed slowed, vexed. *I only get what’s on the surface,* she reminded. *And that’s tied up with excitement, curiosity, seeking a perfection that goes way beyond matching what she had. Deep down, that girl’s a volcano
.*
Quinton concerned Collins as well, a boiling wellspring of hatred, mistrust, and need veiled with a thin veneer. I’ll be careful. But we have to go now. It’s got to be close to midnight.
*Dangerously close,* Prinivere admitted. *Go and Godspeed.*
Collins had never understood that expression, and it troubled him doubly now. He had never heard any person in Barakhai mention a deity; and, for the first time, he wondered if they even had religion. Given the inherently magical nature of nearly all the people here, seeking divine explanations for the lesser mysteries of the universe seemed unnecessary. Though no more eerie than many of the other oddities of this place, the lack of a formal system of beliefs gave Collins goose bumps; he had never been anywhere where religion did not play a major role in society. He wondered what Prinivere had actually said and why the spell had translated it into “Godspeed” rather than “good luck” or something equally banal. Now, however, did not seem the time for an explanation. Clutching Quinton’s hand more firmly, Collins steered her toward the cave mouth. “Now can we save my companion, sweetheart?”
“Of course,” Quinton studied her reflection in the hand mirror, lips taut as she clearly battled the urge to touch it. Her fingers twitched in his, and her free hand fluttered near her face as if to brush away a few errant strands of hair.
*The young dragons,* Prinivere reminded him. *Where are they?*
Though Collins hated to leap directly into all parts of Quinton’s promise so soon after honoring his own, he knew it safer to hear the information in front of others. That way, if something happened to him, the renegades could still rescue the young ones. Also, Prinivere would know if Quinton described some place that did not exist, and he could threaten to take back her new features while still in the presence of the one who had crafted them. An illusionary place. Collins grimaced. To go with her illusionary face. “So—where are the dragons?”
Quinton sighed, clearly unhappy with Collins’ decision to ply her for information before taking sufficient time to adore her. “They’re dead.”
Collins stiffened, every muscle frozen in terror.
*She’s lying.*
Collins did not take the time to delicately re-phrase Prinivere’s discovery. “You’re lying.”
Quinton jammed her hands onto her hips, her new features twisting in affronted anger. Somehow, she managed to make flawless features turn ugly. “How dare you!”
Collins could not afford to give ground, nor waste time. “I dare because you promised me the truth.” He put his face nearly against hers and tried to look deeply wounded.
“They’re dead. Why won’t you believe me?” Quinton sounded so sincere, Collins would have believed her had he not had Prinivere to tell him the truth.
Collins sighed deeply, lowered his head, then shook it sadly. He made a throwaway gesture at the curtain. “I’m sorry I wasted your time. Put back the old face.”
“Wait!” Quinton squeaked. She glanced around the cave, from the man waiting quietly in the darkness at its mouth, to Aisa, to the faceless claws poking through the curtain. “I promised to tell you. Not the whole world.”
Collins saw no reason to argue. So long as Quinton told him within range of Prinivere’s mind reading, she would hear, too. “Whisper it.” He tipped his head toward her.
“You’re the only one who knows this, and you have to promise not to tell a soul.”
“I promise.” Collins nodded, saved by a technicality. Prinivere would learn it from Quinton, and no similar vow bound the old dragon to silence.
Quinton placed her mouth over Collins’ ear. “Cavern. South of Pashtir, west of the Uraffs, north of the Kastarnin Sea.”
The directions sounded impossibly vague to Collins. Do you know where that is?
*I know.* A hint of discomfort entered Prinivere’s sending, but she did not elaborate. *Now go save Zylas.*
“Oh.” Collins did not have to feign confusion. He had heard of none of the places Quinton had named. Shrugging, he hauled her toward the exit, Korfius eagerly following.
Quinton lost her grip on the mirror, bobbled it, then caught it before it hit the stony ground. She returned it to her dress. “Whoa, Ben. What’s the hurry?”
“The hurry is a locked up friend. Once we free him . . .” Collins pressed his body against Quinton’s. “I’ll be able to give you my full attention.” He raised and lowered his brows in an exaggerated motion, emphasizing the innuendo.
Quinton snorted. “I’m gorgeous again, remember? I can do a hell of a lot better than you.”
Though not wholly certain Quinton was joking, Collins bantered. “You think so? How are you going to do better than the best?”
“The best? You?”
Collins continued to steer Quinton toward the exit, trying to figure out how to rid himself of the dog. “Best in Barakhai, anyway. I’ve got the highest education. A driver’s license.” He added with a scratch. “No fleas.”
“No fleas? How endearing. And I’ve got my own driver’s license—not worth the plastic it’s printed on here.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I’d venture to guess, I’m the only one with a Snickers bar.”
Quinton whirled. “Oooh, really? You’ve got candy?” Her eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. “That’s not just another name for your . . . manhood, is it?”
Despite his urgency, Collins huffed out a laugh. “No. I have real candy, and a few other luxuries from home.” He hissed in her ear, “But my . . . manhood is pretty sweet, too.”
Quinton slapped him, harder than flirtation demanded, then ran from the cave.
Rubbing his cheek, Collins stopped at the opening. “Stay, Korfius.”
The hound ignored him, tail waving, waiting for his master to move.
*I don’t think it’ll hurt to take him with you.*
Collins had never considered doing such a thing, accustomed to leaving the dog in his room while he attended classes. The overeager animal seemed worse than useless in a dangerous situation. You don’t think he’ll be in any danger?
*No more than with me. He really misses you, and he can run for help if you get in trouble.*
Collins doubted Korfius would know how to bring help. He seemed more the type of dog who would dote on thieves and murderers, so long as they were human or carried biscuits. Nevertheless, Collins considered the possibility the dog might help him in a violent situation, and he could not deny that Korfius had brought people to save him when he returned to Daubert Labs badly injured. Besides, Collins would not gainsay Prinivere. Without argument, he followed Quinton into the night.
Korfius bounced after them, tail waving.
Moonlight sheened from Quinton’s tresses, glinting like metallic gold. Her step turned light and happy, and she consulted her mirror often, though she had to hold it nearly to her nose to see. Collins did not attempt to distract her, though he felt a fiery pang of guilt every time a smile of recognition stretched her lips. The higher joy buoyed her, the lower she would crash when the illusion decayed, leaving the scarred, withered cheeks and bald spots in its place. For Zylas’ sake, he had no choice but to continue the charade. The life of a friend had to take precedence over the happiness of a self-sworn enemy.
The cloud cover unraveled, revealing a nearly full moon that obviated the need for the mag light. Nevertheless, the walk back felt twice as long as the one to Prinivere, though Collins had not known her location at the time nor had the full visual clarity his glasses provided now. Every pause Quinton took to stare at her reflection felt like an eternity, an intolerable delay from rescuing Zylas before his change overtook him; yet Collins could not find a way to rush her without admitting to his friend’s identity or seeming utterly insensitive to the needs of a woman he claimed to love. Love, he considered, uncertain of its meaning. He had believed his parents the very definition until their divorce and personal quests for new companionship left him feeling orphaned. Love certainly did not describe the feelings he had for Carrie Quinton. If his last relati
onship, with Marlys Johnson, had taught him nothing else, it was that devotion without respect, without trust, was meaningless. Quinton’s attitude did not evoke admiration, and he doubted she thought all that much of his abilities either.
The castle came into view, and sudden anxiety overtook Collins. He had many bad memories of that place and only a few good ones. “Come on,” Quinton pulled playfully at his arm. Korfius barked.
Collins eased free of her grip and patted the dog. “I’ll wait here. After you’ve let my friend loose and had a chance to explain me, I’ll meet up with you again.”
Quinton gave Collins a pouting, doubtful look. “It’ll be all right.”
“I don’t think so.” If the guards grabbed Collins, he would find himself in a worse situation than when he had started: not only would he and Zylas both be prisoners but Korfius as well. “I think I’m better here, thank you.”
Quinton plastered herself against Collins. Even through the fabric of her dress, he could make out the gentle contours; and they excited him wildly. “Are you sure?”
Collins kept his voice steady, willing it not to crack. He could feel the imprint of a nipple on his arm. “I’m sure. We can do . . . that . . . after.”
“Assuming my offer still stands,” she teased.
Collins could not afford to give in to desire. He nodded, squirming free of her embrace. “I think it will.” It took a monumental effort of will to add the necessary confidence to the claim. He barely considered his looks ordinary, even when not illusioned into those of an unpleasant woman. He knew an intelligent beauty like Quinton, until the burns, could have had anyone she wanted. “I really think it will.”
A flash resembling anger passed through Quinton’s eyes, then disappeared. If Collins had interpreted correctly, though, she gave no sign of it in her tone, which remained upbeat. “I think you’re being silly, but what can I say?”
The Lost Dragons of Barakhai Page 14