Tesser: A Dragon Among Us (A Reemergence Novel)

by Philbrook, Chris

  "Do you want another drink before we go?

  Matty sucked the water from the melted ice in the bottom of her plastic up and slammed the empty down on the bar. "Hell yes."

  Tesser waved for the female bartender, and like magic, two new drinks appeared.

  *****

  They'd left in a cab after saying goodbye to Alexis and Abe. In order to say goodbye, Matty needed to pry Alexis' face off of Abe's in the corner of the thumping nightclub. The fiery cougar looked invigorated beyond description with her red lipstick smeared half across her face. Abe looked the same, right down to the smeared lipstick.

  In the back of the yellow taxi, they made the decision to go to Matty's place.

  At her front door, she made the decision to start kissing him, and in her kitchen, as they headed to the bedroom, he made the decision to undo the zipper on the back of her evening dress. It fell to the tile floor soundlessly, inconsequential and forgotten in the moment. She stepped out of it, her mouth still on his, the both of them moving towards her bed.

  His shoes came off, and then hers, all four kicked about the small bedroom haphazardly. He fumbled a bit then, his hands feeling at her breasts though the bra she wore. He tugged at the undergarment, attempting to get it off her without undoing the hooks in the back. She pushed him away, reached around to free up the bra, and tossed it aside. His hands immediately returned, cupping both her breasts as they kissed again. Within a moment, she'd undone his shirt buttons and had tugged it off his back, his fingers gently pinching her nipples.

  My God, he's almost all muscle. But in that good way.

  She bit his collarbone for no reason she'd be able to describe later, and he let slip a satisfied laugh. She then reached down to his slacks and undid his belt, noticing he had a girth pressing against his zipper that could only be an erection. She undid the zipper and before the man could do anything about it, she yanked down his pants and underwear, letting his cock pop out.

  It's like a sexy Jack in the Box. Nice dick.

  Tesser pushed her flat on the bed and pulled her underwear down as she stroked him. He was ready, and when his fingers reached between her legs at the freshly trimmed area she'd spent time on in the shower earlier, she felt how ready she was.

  "Wait."

  Tesser froze immediately. "Is everything okay?"

  "Yes silly, but we need a condom." Matty squirted out from under him and rolled over, pulling out her bedside drawer. After rummaging around in a completely unsexy way, she produced the small square foil wrapper, and tore the corner with her teeth.

  "What's that for?" Tesser looked intrigued. Horny, but intrigued.

  "Um for real?" Matty looked at him, slightly drunk and amused by his apparent newness.

  There's no way he's a virgin.

  "Yeah, for real. I've never used one before. Where I'm from. Does it make sex better?" Tesser watched her as she pulled out the condom. He sniffed the air.

  "Well sort of. You'll probably – hopefully – last longer with it, which is good. But really, these help prevent girls from getting pregnant, which isn't a real problem with me, but they also prevent the spread of disease. I can't believe I'm explaining this to you." She scooted down towards the foot of the bed where Tesser stood naked, dick standing proudly at attention.

  "You can't get me sick. And as for having babies…"

  Before he could say anymore, she put the condom on her lips, and used her mouth to slide it down on his cock. It was a maneuver she'd done more than once in a happier time. She rested back on her bed, and spread her legs, one hand finding its way to her clit, the other finding a nipple. Her heart pounded happily.

  "I guess we'll make it work," Tesser said breathlessly as he climbed onto the bed, then on top of her.

  A moment later Tesser slid inside her, and for Matty, the world stopped moving again. It didn't start moving until they were done, quite some time later.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mr. Doyle

  The telephone would simply have to do.

  Despite my efforts, and a throbbing, aching head as a result, I simply cannot make long distance communication spells work without the presence of Tesser. The man confounds me. A Dragon? I think not. Someone strange who possesses a set of unique powers, sure.

  Mr. Doyle sat at his desk and looked at his telephone with disdain. Technology in any form made him sad. A reliance on something unnatural seemed… unnatural. It was an old phone with a fine brass finishing and an antiquated rotary dial. It was from another century. It relieved his distaste a small amount to use antiquated things.

  Well, it's overdue and needs to be done.

  Mr. Doyle reached out and picked up the receiver. Holding it to his ear, he reached out with his other hand, and spun the phone's dial repeatedly, having to stop and slow his wobbly fingers more than once to guide them into the small brass rings accurately.

  Damned arthritis is flaring again.

  After a long hissing pause and several clicks indicating the transatlantic call was being connected, the phone started to ring on the other end. After a few tones, it was answered. The gruff male voice had a familiar Russian accent.

  "This phone has not rung for me in many years. Does it ring now with the good news or the bad?"

  Mr. Doyle couldn't contain a smile. "It rings with tiding neither good nor bad, merely compelling and in need of sharing."

  A laugh was given in response. That too had a Russian accent. "For an old Limey, you are still a good man, Doyle. Kak pazhivayesh?"

  Mr. Doyle's smile persisted. "Nice of you to ask, Belyakov. I am getting older faster than ever, and the world seems to be changing right before my eyes. I've no idea why my spells are still failing. I haven't the energy to keep up with any of it. In short, I am shite."

  Another Russian laugh came back through the receiver. "Your spells are failing, warlock. You should've expected this. All the magic in this world bleeds away. Our time is faded. You need to move to an older place, where the magic has not faded so much. Come to Russia. And soon is best."

  Mr. Doyle leaned forward on his desk. "I'm not so sure Belyakov. Things are happening where I am. I've come into contact with a strange man who claims to be a dragon. He calls himself Tesser. He's why I called."

  Belyakov snorted, "A dragon? Taking the form of a man? Tesser? Such a silly name. Dragons are myths. Tales told by ancient wizards to scare their children into being cobblers and bakers. They don't exist. Dinosaur bones and active imaginations."

  "I'm not so sure. This man might be something special, something very new to us that we've never encountered before. I've searched all my texts for mentions of the name Tesser and nothing has come up. Dragon or not, true or false, the man has brought arcane power with him that I haven't seen in well over ten years."

  "Arcane power?" The Russian said, his skepticism lost.

  "Arcane power. I was able to cast a defero spell easily with his assistance, and our kind haven't been able to perform that act in far too long. He has access to a different reservoir of power, some kind of essence that is internal, special, and far larger than anything we have access to now. Something I can't tap into without his presence. Even when he is nearby, material things work better. Many of the relics in my collection regain their properties when he is in the house. I can't say if he truly is a dragon or not, but he has a quality about him I've never seen before."

  The Russian chewed on that thought for a bit. "Are you watching the world? There have been stirrings all about. Things we thought were extinct are moving again. Our old friend in Romania sent me a letter the other day. He has said that the dhampyr have returned."

  "Ah, letters. A lost art of communication. Is he certain?" Mr. Doyle asked.

  "You doubt the Romanian?"

  "No, I suppose I don't," Mr. Doyle said, rubbing his chin in thought. "I've noticed some things. I haven't heard of the dhampyr yet though. Very worrisome. You know what follows in the footsteps of the dhampyr. Other friends around the world are
saying more or less the same. Belyakov, tell the Romanian a hamadryad has moved into my front yard. I've never encountered one before, and here I sit, looking down at it as it stands in my front yard. I had to look at a book to realize what it was. It claims it came to us because of this Tesser character. I know this is optimistic, but I think he might be the key to returning magic to our world. He claims another of his kind, a dragon named Kaula, has disappeared and that her absence is why our talents are failing."

  "Bullshit, as you say. Magic does not come from dragon."

  "But how do we know that, Belyakov? Truly? None of us knows where our gifts come from. We merely speculate and postulate late at night over brandy and insults. Is it that hard to imagine that there is a single creature out there that allows for the miracle of our spell craft?"

  "Vodka. We drink vodka here in Russia when we insult each other. And I think you are drinking too much of your ensorcelled wine, my friend. Soon you will tell me you are marrying a stick-thin woman without breeding hips. When are you having a child? Tell me of your apprentice. Does he progress as you would like? Is he still alive, unlike many of your others?" Belyakov provoked.

  "Funny, you old bastard. It's times like these I’m reminded of why I don’t ring you more often. But I still miss some of my former students dearly. Yes, Abraham is still alive, and he's doing as well as you would imagine in a world gone cold. I find him refreshing. His youth reminds me of my insolence and wonder. Having him around is akin to pulling out my fingernails at times, but I do love him so."

  "You are foolish to try and teach magic to this generation, Doyle. No honor or work ethic, just video games and internet sex videos. You waste your time. Focus on keeping yourself alive another decade, that is what is important for you now." The Russian chastised.

  "I love magic far too much to let mine die with me. If all he manages is a single spell, I'll consider my efforts to teach him worthwhile."

  "You're a strange man, Doyle." The aged Brit heard the Russian sip heavily from a drink. He wondered if it was a life-extending brew like his own.

  "We live in a strange world, Belyakov. Watch the news; talk to our old friends. Something is very important about this Tesser, the so-called dragon man. I'd wager that he does something very noteworthy soon. I don't want us all taken by surprise like Iran in '67. Or Peoria in '82."

  "No, we wouldn't want that. I'll keep my ear to the ground for you, friend. It is good to hear your voice again. Be wise. Da Sveedaneeya."

  "It is good to talk to you as well. Until we speak again, old friend." Mr. Doyle hung up the phone with a sad smile and picked up his enchanted wine glass once more. He assessed the level of shake in his hands and reminisced as he swirled the wine.

  I'll be dead soon if something doesn't change.

  He took a long tug from the rich wine in the glass and sat it down on the heavy desk. The life-extending tingle on his tongue was miserably faint. He reached for the phone once more and recalled the number of his old friend in Romania.

  If dhampyrs are coming back, I want to know more. And for this, there is no time for a letter.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tesser

  Try as hard as he might, Tesser couldn't clear his mind of Matilde. Matty. He sat down the world almanac he was reading and let his mind wander.

  Such a beautiful creature. Soft skin, intense eyes. And her scent. I know it from somewhere. Why can I not place it? Ahhh, she antagonizes me.

  "Man, I feel like a million bucks, Tesser. Alexis is one hot woman. I do not know how you did it, but Tesser, you're the fucking man. Best wingman ever. Must be because you're a dragon, right? Get it? Wingman? Dragon?" Abe quipped. He collapsed happily into the luxurious couch in the lower sitting room of Mr. Doyle's opulent home.

  Tesser smiled at his friend. It is good to give you confidence, Abe. You are a beacon that is as yet unlit.

  "I'm glad."

  "You're glad? I'm fucking ecstatic. I went back to her place, Tesser. Do you understand what that's like for a guy like me?"

  "Language, Abe, you wouldn't want Mr. Doyle to hear you." Tesser picked up the almanac once more.

  "Ah, fuck him. I'm too happy still." Abe grabbed the remote and popped the television on. The sounds of reality television and news that pleased no one flooded the room. Both men's eyes drifted up to the widescreen television and immediately became entranced.

  I think the television is evil. "There is something strange with Matty," Tesser said before he realized it was a thought.

  "Strange how? Dangerous strange? Or like, exotic and sexy strange?" Abe asked.

  Tesser shook his head, unable to find the descriptive words needed. "She carries a scent. An old scent. She reminds me of snow, and running water, and long nights. I cannot place where it comes from, but it is familiar to me somehow. She perplexes me. It's going to drive me insane if I can't figure it out soon, Abe."

  "You're crushing on her hard, bro," Abe teased.

  Tesser gave Abe a hurt look. "My feelings for the lady aside, there is something quite incredible about her. Something old. It could be important."

  "Well buddy, you should definitely stay in touch with her. If you're that interested in her scent, that is." Abe flipped the channel again. He found more news that depressed. "Does Alexis have a strange scent?"

  "She smells of a woman about to pass her time of fertility. And I am that interested in Matty's scent. And I thank you for showing the appropriate level of concern over my challenged state regarding Matty. Typically when a dragon takes interest in something, it is worth putting some of your own time into that thing."

  "You sound butt hurt, bro."

  "You are taunting a dragon."

  "I am taunting a man that says he is a dragon. There's a difference." Abe didn't even look over at Tesser. The magic of the television was in full effect.

  "I could breathe fire on you and show you what's up."

  Abe lolled his head to the side, completely unimpressed by the threat, "Whatever, dude. Come at me, bro. Breathe away. Kill your wingman."

  Tesser sighed. I want to see Matty again. I should've gotten her phone number. I should get a phone too. I suppose that should come first.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Alec Fitzgerald

  Alec Fitzgerald sat in his corner office at the Amethyst Project facility. The office was lavishly appointed with mahogany bookcases, a desk to match, and plush leather chairs and couches. The rug was thick, and felt pleasant under the shoe. A large wall made of smoky, translucent glass looked out into the green suburbs of northern Massachusetts. If you looked high enough, and the sky was clear, you could see deep into New Hampshire and the White Mountains. The other walls were covered with awards and plaques that showered praise on Alec's achievements in the biomedical field and in the world at large. He'd given hundreds of his own hours to charity as well as millions of dollars. Fitzgerald Industries was the model of a good company, and Alec himself was the model of a good man. Alec was handsome, successful, philanthropic, witty, charming, and motivated. He was the full package. Some of his college friends from Yale used to call him that. The Full Package. The innuendo was lost on no one.

  Alec was poring over a report that a close aide had handed to him earlier in the day. It was a short assessment of the amount of effort and energy required to keep the purple dragon in the vault far below contained. It was staggering.

  The electricity required to maintain the subterranean complex each month was over $75,000. Alec required a rotating staff of thirty-seven specialists with a combined monthly salary of just under $200,000. Maintenance on tubes, wiring, air conditioning, hermetic sealing, security weapons, cameras, and such was over $10,000 per month. The true monetary costs were hidden in the exotic cocktails that were pumped straight into the bloodstream and airway of the massive dragon. Some of them weren't commercially available anywhere and needed to be manufactured from scratch by other Fitzgerald Industries companies. The legality of the powerful mixtures was
dubious, but the FDA wasn’t paying attention to the safety of drugs for dragons yet.

  All told, it was costing Fitzgerald Industries nearly a million dollars a month to house the slumbering dragon. Alec and company had been doing this for almost a decade now in this way. If Project Amethyst yielded the fruit he expected it to, he'd make that money back in year. There were other costs associated with keeping the dragon still, but that price had already been negotiated by Alec's father.

  Alec sat the report down and spun in his chair, happy that everything was going according to his plan. It pays to be King.

  The phone on his desk toned an internal call. Alec spun around again and looked at the name on the call. It was Samuel Host, his head of security.

  This can't be good.

  Alec snatched up the receiver, "Yes, Sam?"

  Samuel's voice was low and layered. He sounded like a three-pack-a day-soldier that had seen it all and could care less about what had happened to him. Samuel was the only 'person' in the world Alec feared.

  "The sniffers have picked up a strange alert on the first floor. Dragon scent."

  Alec sat forward in his seat. "Someone trying to steal something from the vault again?"

  "No. The sniffers caught the alert at the main entrance coming in." Samuel didn't sound alarmed, despite the incredible strangeness of the situation.

  "Wait, coming in? As if someone were bringing parts back in? How did they slip the parts out in the first place? Is the inventory accurate? Are we missing scales? Or blood? Anything?"

  "Inventories are tracking as accurate. There's something else."

  Alec felt his temper start to flare. "What else?"

  "It's a different signature."

  "I'm sorry. Signature? Speak science to me, Sam." Alec's heart was racing. He was getting furious.

  Sam explained the matter flatly, "A different signature. A new signature. A new scent. One that doesn't belong to the amethyst dragon. A different dragon, Mr. Fitzgerald."