Dragon Storm

by Katie MacAlister

  “It’s a long story,” Aisling said, giving her husband an odd look. “Drake’s a special sort of dragon. They call them reeves, and I have a whole lot to say about that because it means he can take another mate if I die, but he knows full well if he even thought of it, I’d haunt him to the end of his days and make his life a living hell.”

  He kissed her hand, and murmured something in her ear that had her giggling. “So what do we do now?” Aoife asked.

  Everyone looked at Constantine. Slowly, as if he was still thinking it all through, he answered, “Bael’s source of power is the items he will use to make new tools—the light sword and Asmodeus’s ring. To unmake them, we’d need an alchemist. But those don’t exist anymore.”

  I froze, watching Constantine.

  “They do, I think,” Drake said, turning to Aisling. “I heard there were two still in existence. Did not Dr. Kostich say that to you at one time?”

  “Not me, but to May.”

  “Dr. Kostich?” Constantine asked. “The archmage?”

  “Yes, he rules the Otherworld. He’s a big pain, but that’s a long story,” Aisling told him. “All I remember hearing was something about his quintessence, and why it was so valuable, and that it had taken a Welsh alchemist years and years to make. And May asked why he didn’t get more alchemists making them, and he said there were only two that he knew of. Alchemists, that is.”

  “I thought alchemists were like…” Aoife waved her hand around vaguely. “Like old-time chemists. Didn’t they try to turn lead into gold and all that jazz?”

  “That’s the mortal version,” Aisling told her. “They were half mystics, half chemists who didn’t know what they were doing. The Otherworld version is different. They can unmake magic.”

  “How do you unmake magic?” Aoife asked, shaking her head a little.

  Aisling shrugged. “The same way that Bee unmakes curses. You just… you know… break it down to tiny little bits. Alchemists used to be popular because they could take a simple bit of magic like a spell, and break it down into base matter that was used to form super powerful things like Dr. Kostich’s quintessence.”

  “And a quintessence is…?”

  “A priceless bit of magic material that can do just about anything,” Ysolde told her. “It can bring something back to life. It can wipe out a continent. It can create matter from nothing. It’s literally priceless, and one of the reasons there are only a couple of alchemists around anymore. Most of them died because unscrupulous people would hold them hostage, forcing them to make quintessence by threatening to kill people they loved.”

  “And if we need one of those guys to unmake Bael’s tools-in-progress…” Aisling gave a little shudder. “We’re up shit creek, we really are.”

  My heart dropped at that. Panic hit me then, panic and a strong desire to protect my little family, now grown larger to include Constantine and Gary. I bit my lip, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to be away from it all, and alone with Constantine. The happenings of the day were just too much for me.

  Constantine must have sensed something, because he pulled me closer, whispering in my ear that we would soon be done, and then we could leave. “I will allow you to have your way with me this time,” he added, his voice rubbing against me like silk on my naked flesh. “You may even use my faux-fur–lined handcuffs if you like.”

  “Deal,” I said. “And perhaps I might even try those nipple teasers on you.”

  “We are leaving now. We’re done!” Constantine said abruptly.

  “We are?” Drake looked a bit confused. “But we still have things to discuss. How will we find an alchemist?”

  “Who is the mortal warrior we need to take down Bael?” Ysolde added. “We need to talk about that, too.”

  “We can’t just leave Bael out in the world, running amok,” Kostya agreed. “We have to find the mortal that the First Dragon spoke of, the only one who can destroy Bael. We have to find an alchemist to unmake the magic tools.”

  I leaned into Constantine, drawing strength from him, but more, drawing a bone-deep satisfaction. It was like our souls fit together perfectly, one complementing the other. Separately, we held power unto ourselves, but together… I smiled up at him. I’d do just about anything to guarantee a future with my ghost dragon. Reluctantly, I admitted to myself that there was no other way but to admit the truth about my brother. “I think I have the answer to all the problems you’ve mentioned, Kostya.”

  “You do?” Aoife looked surprised. I braced myself against the hurt that I knew I was about to inflict.

  “Yes. We have a brother, Aoife and I. His name is Rowan. He’s a social anthropologist, working in Brazil this year.” Everyone was watching me now, but it was Constantine’s eyes that I met; his lovely dark amber eyes always seemed to pull me in and bathe me in a warm glow of happiness. “He’s also one of the two alchemists alive. And he’s mortal. You know him by a different name, though.”

  The impact of that statement took a few seconds to sink in, but Constantine got it instantly. “Dragon Breaker,” he said.

  The other dragons gasped.

  I nodded, praying that Rowan would understand when he found out I was the one who turned their eyes to him. “But it’s not like what you think.”

  “Think?” Drake snorted. “We all know what the Dragon Breaker did. He killed four innocent dragons. The First Dragon bound danegeld to him for that crime, and told him he must repay the dragonkin for what he took from us, and yet the debt has not been repaid.”

  “It’s not like that,” I started to say, but the dragons all began talking at once, arguing about whether or not they should involve someone as heinous as the infamous Dragon Breaker in the plan.

  Everyone but Constantine. To my surprise, he smiled, leaning down to bite my lower lip, sliding his tongue along it to take away the sting. “Do not despair. Your brother’s actions have nothing to do with you.”

  “He’s not guilty of killing those dragons. You have to believe me. Honestly, I think he did the wrong thing by going into hiding, but it was his choice. I just hope he forgives me when he finds out I’m the one who told you all about him.”

  Constantine struggled for a moment, clearly wanting to believe me, but finding it difficult. “If he helps destroy Bael’s power, then I will be satisfied.”

  I leaned into him, wishing there was another way. “Just don’t let the past bias you against him. He’s a nice man, and I know he’ll help us once I explain the situation.”

  “For your sake, it will be so.”

  “Thank you.” I pressed a kiss to his lips, feeling his fire roar to life.

  His smile broadened. “Definitely I will let you use the nipple clamps on me tonight. And afterward, I will get on my knees and thank the gods and goddesses for sending you into my life.”

  “Such a drama llama,” I said with a little laugh, and kissed him as I had wanted to ever since I met him.

  The others were talking excitedly, asking a hundred questions, and getting no answers as Constantine and I left the room, arm in arm, with Gary following behind.

  “Remind me to introduce you to Ramona,” Constantine said as we walked out of the front door.

  “Who’s that?” I asked, wondering if I should be outraged. “You know that I’m not into threesomes, don’t you?”

  “Ramona’s his blow-up sheep,” Gary said, pulling a little spinning wheelie on the sidewalk. “He keeps her in a special bag stuck under the bed. I thought someone at the brothel had left it there by mistake, but Connie said it was his.”

  “Really, Constantine?” I asked as we followed Gary. “A blow-up sheep?”

  “I was lonely,” he said, trying to look innocent, and failing. Dear goddess, how I loved him. “I didn’t know you. I didn’t know I would ever find you. I needed comfort, and Ramona was there.”

  “A blow-up sheep,” I repeated.

  “She’s quite comely. She has stockings and everything,” he countered, his mouth twitching.<
br />
  “Do you seriously think I’m going to want to invite a blow-up sheep to romp with us when we’re filling the cream donut?”

  “I would,” Gary said, and zoomed ahead. “Oooh, taxi. I’ll grab him, shall I?”

  I sighed with a mixture of happiness and resignation. “That poor mortal driver.”

  “We’ll tell him Gary is a movie special effects prop that we’re trying out. Now, about tonight… how do you feel about warming lotions? Feathers? Where do you stand on the subject of vibratory devices?”

  We strolled on, happy as a spirit dragon, his mate, and a disembodied head could be.

  ALSO BY KATIE MACALISTER

  Dragon Fall

  A foe to all of dragonkin, an alchemist known as the Dragon Breaker is about to undergo the transformation of a lifetime. But his love for a beautiful woman may change him even more…

  Please see the next page for a preview of

  Dragon Soul.

  One

  “I’m sorry for waking you. Would this happen to be your vibrating butterfly?”

  The man I was crouched next to squinted at me even though the lighting on the plane had been turned down so as to be conducive to sleep. His face scrunched up even more when I gingerly held up a bright pink object wrapped in a crinkly plastic package, and his voice, when he spoke, was thick with sleep. “What? Who are you?”

  “I’m so sorry I woke you,” I apologized again, shifting a little when my calf muscle began to complain about the fact that I had spent the last twenty minutes squatting my way up the first-class aisle on the flight from Los Angeles to Munich. “My friend—really, she’s more my charge than my friend—appears to have mysteriously acquired this object from someone on this side of the plane, and I wondered if it was you.”

  His eyes focused on the sex toy. “The hell? Do you think I’d use something like that? I’m a man!”

  “Oh! That’s mine, George,” his seatmate said with a little giggle. She flashed him an embarrassed little smile, and said in a rush, “I thought we could try it out once we got to the hotel. Second honeymoon and all.”

  I assumed the last part was aimed at me, and I duly dropped the toy into her outstretched hand with a murmured apology and a loud plastic rustle that seemed overly loud in the hushed cabin.

  “Although I don’t know how it fell out of my luggage…” She glanced upward at the overhead bin as if expecting to see her belongings hanging out of the opened door.

  I gave her a wan smile and stood, gratefully stretching my cramped muscles. “My client must have mistaken your bag for hers. Sorry to disturb you both.”

  The husband grumbled in a low tone to his wife, but I didn’t wait around to hear how she was going to explain her plans for their stay in Germany—I had an elderly lady to watch, and as the last few hours of the flight had shown, I had to watch her like a hawk.

  I hurried to the galley area between the first-class section and coach, and slipped in with a couple of flight attendants busy with beverages for the few folks who were still awake. Next to them, seated on a small pull-down emergency seat, sat a tiny old woman, her hair a mass of white curls and her brown face bearing a myriad of wrinkles and crisscrossed lines. She bore an air of fragility and profound age that made one think she was crumpling in on herself, but I hadn’t been with her for half an hour before I realized just how false that impression was. “Here I am, back again. Have you enjoyed your visit with the flight attendants?”

  The old lady, clutching a can of Coke and gleefully stuffing crackers into her mouth, shot me a look out of eyes the color of sun-bleached jeans. “I told them you took away my pretty pink shiny, but that I forgave you because you’re taking me to my beau.”

  I smiled the smile of a martyr—even if my martyrdom was short-lived, I already felt very much at home with it—and said gently, “That sexual device was not yours, even if it was a nice shade of pink. I’m glad you’ve forgiven me for giving it back to its rightful owner, although I didn’t know you were meeting a gentleman friend in Cairo. Your grandson… er… drat, I’ve forgotten his name. All he said was that you were going on a cruise.”

  “I have been kept from him for a very long time,” she said, confusingly scattering pronouns along with a few cracker crumbs. “But you will take me to him. And you will find me more shinies.”

  I spread my smile to the nearest attendant, who earlier had taken pity on me and offered to babysit while I returned the pilfered object. It was the second item I’d had to return since I picked up my charge at an L.A. hotel—the first had been a watch that I had seen Mrs. P pluck from some unwary traveler’s bag. “Thanks so much for your help.”

  “Oh, it was no problem, Sophea,” Adrienne the flight attendant said in a chirpy voice that perfectly suited her manner. “We enjoyed having Mrs. Papadom… Mrs. Papadonal…”

  “Mrs. Papadopolous,” I offered. “She likes to be called Mrs. P, though.”

  “Yes! Such a difficult name.” A look of horror flashed over her face when she realized what she’d said, and she hastily added, “But an interesting one! Very interesting. I like names like that.”

  “It’s not my name,” Mrs. P said, letting me assist her to her feet. “It never was my name. He gave me the name. He thought it was amusing.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Papadopolous had an excellent sense of humor,” I said soothingly, giving Adrienne a little knowing look. She’d been on my side ever since I explained how Mrs. P had used my visit to the toilet to blithely rifle through the bags of fellow sleeping passengers. I herded my charge toward the last row of seats, saying softly, “Now, would you like to watch another movie, or do you want to have a little rest? I think a nap is an excellent idea. We still have another five hours before we land in Germany, and you don’t want to be tired when we get there, do you?”

  Mrs. P turned her pale blue eyes to me. “I like gold. You must like gold, too. Isn’t it pretty when it glistens in the sunlight?”

  “Uh… pardon?”

  She gave me a beatific smile. “I knew your husband when he was a youngling dragon, still learning to control his fire.”

  “Dragon?” I gawked at her, not sure I heard the word correctly.

  “Yes. He has much better manners than you. He would never treat me as if I have no wits left to call my own.”

  I stared at her for a few seconds, unsure of how to take that. “I didn’t… I apologize if I seemed rude, Mrs. P, but my husband was most definitely not a dragon. And for the record, I’m a widow.”

  She said nothing, just pursed her lips a little, then slid me a gently disappointed look.

  “As in, my husband died almost three years ago. And yes, he had lovely manners, but he’s not around anymore, and in fact, when I met him, it was the first time he’d been to the U.S. He spent most of his time in Asia running a family business. Let’s get you back into your seat. Hello again, Claudia.”

  The last sentence was spoken when we approached the woman across the aisle from our seats, a pleasant woman in her mid-forties who was on her way to visit family in Germany. She had been very chatty during the earlier part of the trip, taking an interest in my plight when I hurriedly explained to her that Mrs. P was an elderly lady in need of watching. When we stopped at our row, she was holding a book on her lap.

  “Ah, you have found the owner of the pink sex toy?” she asked in a voice that was very slightly German. She tipped her head in question and I got Mrs. P settled in her chair.

  “Yes, thankfully. It was owned by a lady on the other side.” Wise to the ways of Mrs. P, I made sure to buckle her in before relaxing my guard.

  “I will watch a movie,” Mrs. P graciously allowed. I got her headphones plugged in, and flipped through her movie choices, stopping when she said, “That one. No, the one with the male dancer. Did I tell you that I was a president’s hoochikoo girl?”

  “Yes, you mentioned that when I picked you up at your hotel.”

  “I was quite the dancer in those days, you know. I
received many shinies for my dancing, many pretties that I kept hidden. Men used to ogle me when I danced, and afterward, they gave me things.” She cackled quietly to herself. “It was a long time ago, a very long time ago, but I remember it well. I remember each of the shinies given to me, although I don’t remember all of the men. A few I do remember, but they were the ones who gave me the best pretty things. I won’t tell you the president’s name, because I never was one to kiss and tell, but one time, he wanted me to pretend that he was a walrus—he had a very big mustache—and that I was a little native girl, and so we got naked while he took a tub of lard—”

  “I’m sure you were an awesome dancer,” I interrupted, trying to expunge the sudden mental image she had generated, “but as I think I mentioned in L.A., for you to have been that particular president’s… uh… companion would mean that you are a very old lady indeed.”

  Still chortling at her reminiscences, she patted my knee with a gnarled hand. “Appearances can be deceiving. You remember that, and you’ll survive just fine.”

  Survive? I didn’t realize that was in question. I gave her another suspicious glance, but she was settled back happily watching her movie. Mrs. P had a way of inserting an unexpected word into a sentence that made me feel uncomfortable. And then there was her mention of knowing my late husband…

  “She is quite the character, isn’t she?” my seatmate said with a benign smile directed past me toward Mrs. P.

  “Hmm? Oh, yes, she surely is that.”

  “And you said you are going to Egypt together?”

  “Cairo,” I agreed. “My husband’s cousin… uh… man, I really can’t think of his name… he asked me if I’d escort Mrs. P to her Nile River cruise since he couldn’t take her, and she’s a bit frail and could use a helping hand.”

  “Oh, that sounds so very exotic,” Claudia said with a little sigh. “I can only imagine how wonderful a cruise up the Nile would be.”