The Dragon King and I

by Adrianne Brooks

  No strippers meant that the dressing room was fair game, so we set up shop in there. After settling in and convincing the bartender to make us a quick meal, we were ready for some genie conjuring. Or rather, Sam was ready for some Genie conjuring. While I was scared out of my wits, his excitement over summoning the Genie was all too apparent. Which is how we found ourselves kneeling beside the mirror we’d set on the floor and staring down into the shinning surface. I noticed how the edges of the glass were burned silver and my hands tingled in silent recognition.

  I held completely still and allowed Sam to place our hands, one on top of the other, on the mirror’s surface. At first nothing happened. It just felt as if we were touching a mirror. But all too soon I saw the wisdom of Sam placing his hand on mine, because suddenly it felt as if something had burst out of the glass to dig icy claws into the palm of my hand. I rocked back on my knees, arm jerking, but the mirror held strong, the magic embedded into it finding, and grabbing for, the spell my mother had given me. The mirror ate up the spell, swallowing it down and leaving me feeling strangely weightless.

  I collapsed against Sam’s side gasping, my limbs shaky and weak. Together we stared down at the mirror and waited. The longer it took for something to happen, the more tense I became. I was leaning over the glass, glaring, when a hand shot out of it and grabbed me by the throat.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Your American fairytales end that way. Real fairytales end in blood or tears.”

  Luna Lindsey, Emerald City Dreamer

  Sam pulled me back but the hand didn’t slacken its grip. In fact it sort of flowed over me, the pressure increasing as the genie used me to pull himself free. A hand became arms, and then his knees broke free and he spilled into the real world in a flurry of limbs and red hair.

  The man staring down at me wasn’t exactly what I’d pictured when I first heard the word Genie. For one thing he had legs. He had a thinly trimmed goatee that framed a sensually full mouth and his lavender eyes were slanted. There was no turban. Instead his dark red hair was braided in a multitude of braids; the heavy mass had then been braided again so that it fell in a silken cord to the small of his back.

  He had a bone through the bottom of his nose that made me think of a bull, and more bones and bits of colored scarves were interwoven into his hair. The pants he wore were high-waisted and made of some golden material that made him look more like a sultan than the equivalent of a magical slave. He wore no shirt but the tattoos that covered his torso and arms to disappear at the waistband of his pants did enough to draw the eye.

  They were thick black lines, intertwining across his skin in some language I could never hope to comprehend. As we stared at one another I realized that the iris of his eyes was just a tad too large, easily crossing over from ‘normal’ to ‘alien’. It was the look of a man who lacked compassion. The look of a sociopath.

  Looking at him left me with a shivery feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was nothing like the feeling I got when I talked or looked at Sam. This was something different. Something colder. So I was more than grateful when we finally got untangled from one another. I stood close enough to Sam that our shoulders brushed and silent, we watched as the Genie straightened his pants, brushed invisible dust from each shoulder, and bowed.

  “Maxamillian Zaran at your service. I’m sure you’re all aware of the spiel. Three wishes, blah, blah, blah, can’t wish for more wishes, blasé, blasé, and attempting to breach our contract in any way gives me power over your soul, the right to all of your internal organs, and skin of your first born child.” He paused as if sorting through an internal list of fine print and rubbed a small bone at the end of one braid between his forefinger and thumb.

  “No take backs, no repeats, no phone a friend. Sign here.” He held out his hand and an intricately engraved length of parchment unrolled out of his fist. The language of the contract was written in the same tongue as the script on his chest. Which meant that I didn’t understand a word of it.

  At the bottom of the contract was a long line and Mr. Zaran pointed at it with all the crispness of a lawyer, a feather tipped quill appearing in his other hand with as much ease as the contract had.

  Unsure, I looked between Sam and Maxamillian Zaran and whispered, “Do we kill him now or later?”

  “Preferably now.”

  “What’s this then? A coup? A mutiny? A resistance?”

  He tsked and contract and pen both disappeared. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

  Sam reached for him, lightning fast, but Zaran disappeared only to reappear again at one of the vanities further down. His hands were folded at the small of his back and he leaned over to inspect the make-up and other products left on the table as if confused by their purpose.

  “Tell me. If you don’t want wishes, what do you want?”

  Surprising how awkward this was. “We sort of….that is, we need—”

  Sam stepped away from me and I realized with a start that he was stalking the room. Eyeing the genie with a focus that bordered on the physical.

  “We don’t need your wishes, Trickster.” Sam said, eye growing blacker and blacker with each measured step. The Genie watched Sam’s reflection in the vanity from beneath his lashes, head still cocked to one side from when he’d been reading the label on a can of extra hold hairspray. “We do, however, need your power.”

  Zaran grinned, and turned on his heel like a dancer.

  “I see, I see. So you brought me here to kill me.”

  “Not kill.” I hedged apologetically, “Only maim.”

  “No. A good bit of killing is going to happen.”

  When I’d realized earlier that we’d probably need to kill the Genie in order to get his tongue, I’d almost called a halt to the whole thing. But then Sam had explained to me that genie’s weren’t at all what I thought they were. They were lower level demons who were masters at sowing chaos and discourse in the human world through the power of wish granting.

  Every time a human completed his contract, the Genie, or Trickster, got their soul in payment. Many humans never even realized what had happened. They simply went through life, clueless puppets on a string, until one day they did something awful like shoot up a school or set fire to a church. Many of them simply descended into madness.

  But even all of that was nothing compared to what happened to them after they died.

  “A Genie can’t really be killed.” He’d continued. “Their kind has a collective unconsciousness, so that even if the physical body were to die, they would simply be sent back to their own plane and given another. The fact that they can heal pretty much anything just keeps the paperwork to a minimum.”

  Which meant that even if we defeated Zaran, he wouldn’t necessarily be out of the picture. Killing him was just a precaution in case he decided to make a fuss about the whole tongue-stealing thing. It was the root of his power after all.

  Now, I glared at Sam but he didn’t bother looking at me. Instead he paced just a little closer, hunter’s eyes watching for even the smallest movement and body tense and ready. Zaran considered the other man thoughtfully for a moment before nodding.

  “Sounds fair enough.”

  I didn’t see him move but he must have, because the next second he was standing less than an inch away from Sam and his hand shot forward to grab him by the neck. It was the same maneuver he’d pulled on me, except instead of releasing him, Zaran’s hand tightened. Sam reacted instantly. The second the genie touched him his own hand caught him by the throat and they stood there, locked together before with a laugh, Zaran let go of Sam and put both his hands in the air.

  “Go on then. Steal my magic. Take my tongue. I could use a chuckle or two.”

  “Sam?” I didn’t like this guy’s attitude. No one should be so carefree about the situation in which he’d found himself. In fact, if he were sane he never would have put himself within Sam’s reach in the first place. But while Sam stood there, struggling not to let the d
ragon in him split his human skin apart the Genie stood there placidly. Almost…happy. There was an excitement about him, a barely contained enthusiasm that seemed hungry for the promise of violence and as I watched them, Zaran looked away from Sam long enough to wink at me.

  Sam jerked away from him as if he’d been burned and rubbed his hands along the side of his jeans as if trying to wipe away the feel of Zaran’s flesh.

  “What do you want?”

  “You were the one who called me.” Zaran reminded him gently and Sam snorted.

  “I have a feeling that you wouldn’t have come unless you wanted to.”

  “Well, you’re certainly right about that.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed.

  “Why did you come here?”

  Zaran’s eyes darted to me and greed suffused his face. “I’d like to offer you a trade.”

  “No.”

  “Let’s hear him out at least.” I said, trying to play mediator but failing miserably at it since my tone of voice wasn’t in the least diplomatic. I didn’t have time to bemoan my lack of finesse, because a second later Zaran appeared next to me, strong hands gripping my upper arms and stroking them as he pressed his nose into my hair. I tried to step away but his hands tightened painfully, pulling me up short and pressing my spine tight against his bare chest.

  “I’ll give you my tongue, Dragon. If you give me your little Widow. I’d consider it an even trade.”

  It was right around then that I realized something awful.

  “The curse affects you too, doesn’t it?”

  The genie shuddered against me, and his nails dug so deeply into me that blood filled the crescent shaped indentions. “You have no idea.” He purred.

  “Get away from her.” His voice was without anger, in fact he seemed almost bored, but Zaran regarded him for a moment before pulling away from me with a frown. His first and only sign of anger since coming from the mirror.

  “You summon me here under false pretenses just to stab me in the back, and yet you refuse to give me the courtesy of a trade?” He turned his head and spit. “You lack honor, Firebrand.”

  Sam snapped his fingers and nodded. “Oh, right. I forgot. Your kind is really big on that. Unfortunately for you, my kind couldn’t give a shit about what’s honorable and what’s not so long as we get the job done.” His grin was savage. “We’re a lot like humans that way.”

  Zaran looked between the two of us and shook his head in something that looked surprisingly like regret. “I pity you, Firebrand.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because,” Zaran lifted a lock of my hair and twirled it around his finger. “You’re going to die without even the comfort of a wish.” He shrugged. “A trade would have given you your life at the very least.”

  The last image I had of Sam was of him standing beside the broken remains of the mirror, arms folded across his chest and smirk turning his face into the definition of cocky. Then Zaran was across the room, body twisting into something dark and alien. Sam reacted, but for the first time since I’d met him, he simply wasn’t fast enough. Before either of us had realized what had happened Sam was on his knees screaming, the Genie’s arm embedded elbow deep into his chest as Zaran leaned over him as if he were death himself.

  In a way, I suppose he was.

  I couldn’t scream. I was too…horrified. Unbelieving. I didn’t trust what my own eyes were telling me. That disbelief more than fear or shock was what held me immobile as Zaran leaned over Sam, his mouth opening wide enough that I heard bones pop. He swallowed Sam’s agony ridden cries down until the man I loved knelt there already as pale as corpse. Skin shrunken and eyes clouded over in death, Sam collapsed onto his side and Zaran straightened and turned around.

  In his hand he held heart carved of the finest jewel.

  A dragon’s heart.

  Sam’s heart.

  I screamed. I didn’t really hear the noise I made. I just knew that it shook my whole body, that it made my fists clench, and my face drain of blood. That scream took parts of me with it, and yet if I were to describe it, I would have to say that it sounded like nothing but silence.

  I’d heard girls describe break-ups and loss. Heard them say how it felt as if their hearts were breaking. I’d never understood it. But now…

  Now it was a totally different ballgame. I could feel something in the very center of me, shake a little on its axis and the pain of it was indescribable. I found myself moving, falling to my knees so that I could scramble across the floor to him. So that I could grab his face in my shaking hands, my knees growing warm from his pooling blood, and shake him.

  “Sam?” If his eyes weren’t still open I’d think he was sleeping. “Sam. Get up. You have to get up. I need you. You promised…” my throat worked but I forced the words past the grief that tried to chock me. “You said I deserved a happy ending. That you’d make one for me. I don’t know how to do it on my own Sam, please. Please, wake up.”

  I’d known he was going to die. That was the part that really got to me. I’d known it. So how the hell could it still hurt so much?

  “That’s enough of that, little Widow.”

  That word.

  I guess I was one of them now. A Black Widow. A killer of men.

  Zaran gripped me by the chin, turning me so viciously that I had to let go of Sam just to keep from hurting him.

  I’m worried about hurting a corpse?

  My mind reeled but, Zaran’s grip on my jaw forced me back into the here and now. The pressure against my lower jaw grew steadily stronger until my mouth parted. Then he was leaning over me, much the Sam way he’d leaned over Sam. I felt him breathing into my open mouth and I shuddered violently. His breath wasn’t warm, but as cold as ice and the weight of it sunk into my body, into my bones, and skin, and blood, until I was only death trapped inside human flesh.

  The final breath of an honest man.

  Zaran closed the intervening distance between us, his face alight with triumph and madness. His lips were moist, his kisses rough, and when he finally forced his tongue into my mouth my teeth snapped down on instinct. I bit until I tasted blood in my mouth, pulled and snarling as if I were a dog with a piece of particularly stubborn bone to chew. I bit until I felt soft flesh separate, and then it was over.

  I had the Genie’s tongue, and he pulled away, grinning from ear to ear. Watching in obvious pleasure as I swallowed that down as well, gagging on the feel of it sliding down my throat. My body flushed hot. Dragon hot, and when I gasped it was on a tide of steam. My vision was awash in a haze of red and the taste of iron flooded my mouth like an aphrodisiac.

  I felt disjointed. Disconnected. Not all there. I fell into and out of myself for indeterminate amounts of time, and when I finally came to I found myself swaying while the mad Genie danced around me. His movements were tribal and they spoke to something deep within me. Something dark. I was hungry. Starving. I needed more. I needed it all.

  Power.

  My eyes fell on the bloody gemstone heart still clutched in Zaran’s fist, and a growl worked its way up from the back of my throat. It looked different from the last time I’d seen it. Last time it had seemed a thing of beauty. Now I only saw it as something shrouded in that thing I craved most. I lunged for it but Zaran grabbed me by the hair and jerked my head back to a painful angle. I hissed up at him, fingers still clawing for the heart he held just out of my reach.

  “Thank your friend, little Widow.” In the back of my mind I noted that his tongue had already grown back in he seemed in fine spirits despite the blood staining his chin and chest. “When she stumbled upon me in your mother’s home,” he continued, “she wished for your freedom. An end to your curse. It’s taken me longer than I’d like to carry out the task but…” he shrugged. “C’est la vie.”

  He shoved the heart against my mouth and the world was awash in the taste of fire and sweetest ambrosia. It was better than the taste of any goblin fruit. Better than the feel of Sam’s mouth on m
ine. Better than love, better than friendship, better than anything. I lapped it up with my tongue but couldn’t bite down. Not like I wished, because Zaran still held my jaw open.

  When he spoke next he did so as if addressing the world at large rather than anyone in particular. “With this, your wish is granted Rachel Constance Dupree and my debt paid in full. I hope the outcome is worth the price you paid.” He looked back down at me but I couldn’t really see him. It was hard to see anything past the need. “Know this little Widow; no matter your path you’ve made your share of enemies and promises. And those at least, don’t just go away.”

  He released me and mindless, I began tearing into the heart in my hand with a concentrated ferocity. I shoved as much of it into my mouth as I could my teeth cracking on the stone surface, my tongue tearing against the razors edge of the pulsating jewel. The agony was its own brand of sweetness, because I could feel it weakening, thinning, until finally I sunk past the garnet barrier to reach the power trapped in the middle.

  It took my breath away.

  Sam. Every thought, every memory, every joy and fear. It was his laugh, his freckles, his eyes. I felt every defeat he’d ever had and every victory. I was his racing pulse when he kissed a girl for the first time and the wild joy that sang through him when he’d first learned to fly as a hatchling. His honesty, his fairness, his humor, temper, and pride. On some level I’d noticed how open he was. How willing to accept and experience. I’d known, but now I knew it like I knew my own name or the scent of my favorite shampoo. I swallowed down the feel of his skin, the taste of his spirit, and hungered for more. Ravenous with every inch of the yawning loneliness his presence inside of me filled.

  I wasn’t just eating his heart.