Kissed by Fire

by Shéa MacLeod

  “Morgan Bailey! Welcome to my shop. I’m so thrilled you’ve come.” Sandra came bustling out from behind the counter, wrapping me in a perfume scented hug. She might look nothing like her sister, but she was just as effusive and had the same sense of drama if her outfit was anything to go by.

  Sandra was dressed in a flowing white gown with a scooped neck and long bell sleeves like something out of a tale of Camelot. She must have been wearing some seriously good underwear because her chest was boosted to the sky showing an enormous amount of cleavage. Gold cords were wrapped around her waist in Grecian style to match her gold sandals and she was wearing a crimson cloak, of all things.

  A multitude of gold bracelets jangled on her arm as she waved to indicate the rows upon rows of dragon paraphernalia. “Isn’t it marvelous? I dreamed about a shop like this for such a long time. Then my third husband died and left me quite a lot of money. Voila! The Dragon’s Den was born.”

  It was quite something. I didn’t think I’d ever seen so many items to do with dragons in one place in my life. There were dragon statuettes, paper-mâché dragons, dragon paperweights and paintings of dragons. An entire wall was devoted to shelves of books about dragons. There was even a glass case with a sign that claimed the artifacts inside the case were dragon artifacts, though it mostly looked like a bunch of old bones and bits of leather to me.

  “It’s great, Sandra. Really amazing.”

  She beamed at me. “Why thank you. It really was a labor of love.”

  “Do you sell many dragons?”

  “Oh, much more online than in the shop, of course. But you never know when a person will need a dragon.”

  “No, I suppose not,” I murmured. I wondered what sort of emergency would require a person to hit the streets of London searching out dragon statues. I also wondered vaguely how to broach the subject of her abilities.

  “I suppose,” she said, leaning against the counter, “you’re wondering how to broach the subject of my magic.”

  I must have looked startled because she let out a laugh very much like Cordelia’s. “It was written all over your face. You’ve a very expressive face, Morgan. You show the world everything you’re feeling.”

  Great. And here I thought I was a badass vampire hunter with endless emotional fortitude. And calm. Heh.

  “Since you mention it, yes, I would like to know more about your ability. How long have you been able to do ... what you do?”

  “Oh, all my life,” she said. “I was still an infant when I turned my rattle dragon shaped.”

  I found that difficult to believe, but I kept my face still, trying not to show my doubt. It didn’t work.

  “You don’t believe me, of course,” she said with a smile. “I don’t blame you. It’s not as though I could prove it. My mother was there, but my mother was a bit unstable so no one believed her, either.”

  This was the first I’d heard of Cordy’s mother being nuts, but then again it wasn’t something you just brought up in conversation generally. Cordelia and I hadn’t known each other that long.

  “Cordy didn’t tell you?”

  “Uh, no.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure she understood. We were both very young when Mother died. Still, the fact remains that my ability has always been with me. I did it again when I was three, turned a teaspoon into a figure of a dragon. I remember it clearly. We were at the dinner table and father was furious because they were silver spoons. Even worse his mother was there and she was not a fan.”

  “Of magic?”

  “That. And my mother. Considered her a bad influence on my father.” She laughed again and it was light and bright like Cordy’s. “Trust me. My father needed a bad influence in his life. Anyway,” she continued, “here it is all these years later and I’m still turning things into dragons.”

  “Why?”

  She looked a bit confused by that. “What do you mean, why?”

  “Why dragons, specifically? I mean, why not monkeys or elephants or mermaids?”

  “Oh, yes, it is rather odd, isn’t it?” She shrugged. “I don’t really know why dragons. They’re just in my head. All the time. I suppose you could say I’m obsessed.”

  I gazed around the shop. Obsessed was a good word for it.

  “Of course, my husband thinks I’m a bit bonkers. But what does he know? He’s a TechMage, after all. Not exactly normal, if you ask me.”

  “I thought you said your husband was dead?”

  “Oh, that was husband number three, dear. This is husband four. He’s quite lovely, number four.”

  I wondered vaguely if Four had a name. Maybe Sandra had gone through so many husbands she’d given up learning their names and started calling them by numbers. The thought made me grin.

  “I was hoping you could tell me more about dragons,” I said, bringing her back to the subject at hand. “I see you have some dragon artifacts.”

  “Oh, those are just for the tourists. They’re nothing of interest. The real stuff is back here.” She motioned me to follow her through a wrought iron gate into the back room.

  The back room looked pretty much like the one at Majicks and Potions, just a bit less dusty and much more orderly. Several metal shelving units held boxes of goods meant for sale and paperwork meant for filing. A state of the art laptop sat squarely in the middle of a neatly organized desk and a file cabinet stood sentry by the door.

  Sandra beckoned me behind one of the shelving units to a space not visible from the door. There sat a large metal foot locker, locked tight with a padlock. Sandra took a chain from around her neck. The chain held a single key which she inserted into the lock.

  The lid opened with a slight creak. Inside were several parcels and pouches. Sandra pulled one from the chest and laid it on the floor. Carefully, she untied the bindings and unfolded the dark fabric.

  Lying against the cloth was a dragon scale nearly twice the size of the one I had, the one that had been found with Alison’s body. I couldn’t help but gasp at the size of the thing. “Where did you find this?”

  “I didn’t,” she said. “It was a gift.”

  “A gift? Who gave it to you?”

  Sandra smiled. “Why, a dragon, of course.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I wondered if I looked as shocked as I felt. Probably. “A dragon gave it to you.”

  “Yes, of course. Where else would I get a dragon scale? It’s not like they’re just lying about waiting to be picked up.” She began carefully wrapping it back up.

  “So the dragons really do exist.”

  “They do. There aren’t as many as there once were, but they’re still out there.” She pulled another parcel from the trunk, unwrapping it slowly.

  “Is that a dragon claw?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly, running a finger over the enormous ivory claw. “It was taken by a Hunter after he killed the dragon it came from. He wore it around his neck as a token of his bravery.” There was bitterness in her voice now, and anger.

  I noticed the hole drilled at the base of the claw. Someone had definitely turned it into jewelry and from the looks of things it wasn’t recent. “You took it back.”

  “It did not belong to him. For a thousand years, his descendents desecrated the memory of that beautiful creature; I simply freed it. When the time is right, I will return it to its rightful place.”

  “With the dragons?”

  She gave me a look. “Yes.”

  “Sandra, what would you say about this?” I pulled the warm dragon scale from Alison’s crime scene from my pocket and handed it to her. The scale gave me a slight zing as it left my hand. Weird.

  She turned it over, running her fingers across its surface. Her face glowed with wonder. “Where did you find it?”

  “I didn’t. MI8 found it on a dead body. A body that had been clawed to death.”

  “Alison Reynolds.”

  I nodded.

  She shook her head. “No, that cannot be. If a dragon did kill s
omeone, he wouldn’t leave a scale behind. Not to mention there wouldn’t be much left of the person. Someone planted this.” The tone of her voice was one of absolute certainty.

  The scale was cool when she handed it back, but the minute it touched my skin, it began to warm. It was just too freaking weird.

  “That’s what I thought. There simply wasn’t enough damage to Alison’s body for the killer to have been a dragon. Unfortunately, MI8 isn’t exactly listening. They’re working off the premise that Alison was killed by a dragon and they’re not listening to reason.” I watched her closely as I shared my information, not terribly surprised as a look of horror swept across her face.

  “You must stop them, Morgan. You must. They are innocent. The dragons did not do this! If you don’t stop it, there’s going to be another hunt.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “It will be genocide.”

  “I know Sandra.” I reached over and took her hands in mine, stilling them. “I don’t want that to happen any more than you do. They’ve left us unharmed for centuries. If they wanted to hurt us, they’d have done so long before now.”

  “You believe me? But you are a Hunter.” Her tone told me she held Hunters in about the same regard as sewer rats.

  I smiled at her and gave her hands a squeeze. “Apparently I’m not your normal run of the mill Hunter. I’ve been accused of being too open minded for my own good.”

  She gave me a watery grin. “So what are you going to do?”

  “The only thing I can do. Find out who really did kill Alison.” I released her hands and sat back. “Who would have the most to gain from framing a dragon for murder?”

  It was rhetorical, but she answered, “Why a Dragon Hunter, of course.”

  I shook my head. “Hunters like me don’t even know about dragons and there hasn’t been a true Dragon Hunter born in over a century.”

  She held my gaze for a moment as though deciding if I were trustworthy. Apparently the decision was in my favor. “That isn’t true.”

  “What do you mean?” Alister had been very clear that Dragon Hunters no longer existed. They weren’t needed.

  “A true Dragon Hunter was born twenty three years ago right here in London.”

  ***

  I was late getting to Alison’s flat, my head still buzzing with the information I’d learned from Sandra. She hadn’t known the identity of the Dragon Hunter, but if she was right and Dragon Hunters still existed, then either Alister was lying or he was sorely misinformed. Either way it didn’t look good. After all, if he had such a blind hatred of Witches, he could very well feel the same about other supernatural beings. And if that were true, what lengths would he be willing to go to destroy them? Would he actually be willing to commit genocide?

  I shrugged it off and rapped on the door. It swung open to reveal Kabita and The Look.

  “Don’t give me that look,” I said, giving her one of my own as I stepped passed her into the hall.

  “You’re late.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “Believe me it was worth it.” I quickly told her what I’d learned from Sandra. Kabita’s jaw tightened.

  “So, my father is probably hiding something. No surprise there. He always did let his own personal bigotry get in the way.”

  “Generally how bigotry works.”

  She ignored me and headed down the hall toward what I assumed was the main living space. I was right. The hall emptied into a large American style open plan living area. A kitchen lay to the left, living room to the right and dining area down the middle. In front of it all was a wall of glass with an unobstructed view of the city.

  “Freaking fantastic,” I breathed. “I had no idea MI8 paid this well.”

  “They don’t. Not to peons like Alison. Her grandfather Reynolds came from money. Left her a load when he died.” Kabita nodded to the right. “I’ve cleared the living room. Nothing exciting there. I’ll check out the bedroom, you get the kitchen.”

  “Roger that.”

  The kitchen was large by London standards, with all the accoutrements of a modern kitchen such as garbage disposal and a dishwasher. Luxuries I hadn’t been able to afford back when I lived here. I could now.

  I rummaged through the freezer. Classic hiding place of the unimaginative. Nothing. I guess Alison either had an imagination, or hadn’t had anything to hide. The fridge, oven and cupboards also revealed nothing. I even went through all the bottles of cleaning products under the sink. Then a thought struck me.

  It wasn’t a particularly unique hiding place, but not everyone thought of it first thing. I opened one of the cupboards and pulled down a large plastic container filled with flour. I’d seen this in a movie once. I peeled off the lid and stuck my hand into the powdery stuff, swishing around. Nothing.

  I pulled down another container. A cookie jar this time. I felt around until my fingers snagged a plastic bag. I yanked it out of the cookies, spilling crumbs everywhere.

  Inside the large sealed bag was a leather bound journal, each page covered in neat little letters. As I flipped through a photo fell out onto the floor. I scooped it up. It was a picture of Alison with a big smile stretching across her face. Next to her stood a tall man, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and such a look of adoration on his face it made my heart ache.

  It was Alison’s colleague from the funeral.

  “Kabita! I found Alison’s journal.”

  She hurried out from the bedroom. “Good work.” She peered at the pages. “It’s all a bunch of gibberish. She must have written it in code.”

  “That would make sense. She was obviously worried about being discovered. She hid the thing in a cookie jar. She also hid this.” I held out the photo.

  “He worked with Alison. I think his name is Landry. Something like that.”

  I nodded. “I had a feeling he had a thing for Alison. Do you think it was mutual?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “That’s just sad,” I sighed and tucked the picture back between the pages of the journal. “Do you know how to crack the code?”

  She shook her head in the negative. “My brother Adam’s good with codes, though. I’ll let him give it a try. Maybe he can do something with it.”

  “Here’s hoping. I have a feeling there’s something important in there.”

  “I agree.” She led the way toward the front door. “I think that’s all we’re going to find here. I could use a drink. You?”

  “Sure, why not. I saw a pub just up the road.”

  We headed up the street in companionable silence. We’d known each other long enough we didn’t always need words. I could tell something was eating at Kabita, but I figured she’d share it when the time was right.

  It was early yet and the pub was mostly empty, so we had our choice of tables. I sank down at one near the back and took a sip of pear cider. I’ve never been a fan of beer, and wine made me sleepy. I’d found cider to be a nice alternate. “Boy, I needed that. This has been a crazy couple of days.” It was nice to relax in the dark coziness of the pub.

  Kabita smiled and sipped at her wine, but her face was strained. I frowned. “OK, what is it?”

  She sighed. “I’m worried about you, Morgan.”

  I blinked. “Worried about me? Why?”

  “This whole dragon thing. I know you think the dragons are innocent, but I’m not so sure. Dad obviously thinks they’re involved.”

  “Right. And your father is the pinnacle of fairness and honesty.” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

  Her jaw tightened. It made me feel bad. Just a little. It was obvious her father only told the truth when it suited him. He hated everything his daughter was, for crying out loud. Yet here she was getting all upset at me calling a spade a spade. Then again, I supposed I’d be protective of my family, too.

  “I’m sorry, Kabita, but come on. Alister hasn’t been entirely forthcoming. About anything. He had to have known the Dragon Hunters were still around and yet he conveniently didn’t tell us. In fact, he ou
t right told us they were gone.”

  “It isn’t just the dragons, Morgan. You’re obsessed.”

  “With what?” My temper was rapidly fraying.

  “With the vampire that killed you,” said a voice from behind me.

  I knew that voice. I turned slowly in my seat. “Jack. What the hell are you doing here?”

  Jack stood behind me. His beautifully sculpted face was stoic, but his sea blue eyes burned with fire. He was mad. Really mad. “You left Portland without saying goodbye. You didn’t take the amulet with you. And now you’re chasing all over the city of London after a vampire you think killed you three years ago.”

  “I know he’s the one that killed me. I’ll never forget the smell of him.” My lip curled at the memory. They may have thought I was crazy, but I knew that vamp was following me. I knew it in my very bones.

  “Maybe so, but it’s not just the vampire, it’s the dragons, too.” I hadn’t noticed the second man standing a little behind Jack until he spoke.

  “Trevor Daly. Fancy meeting you here. Is there some reason you think what I do is your business?”

  He sat down at the table and leaned toward me, his brown eyes flashing with anger. “You work for Kabita and Kabita works for me, therefore everything you do is my business.”

  “Bullshit. I’m on my own time.” I took a deep gulp of cider. “What I do in my own time is my business.”

  “Except you’re not on your own time anymore. This is now an official joint investigation.” The look he gave me was just a little too smug for my liking.

  “Excuse me? Don’t you think you’re a little out of your jurisdiction?”

  “MI8 invited him.” Kabita’s voice was quiet, calm. She probably knew I was about to turn into Vesuvius.

  “MI8? Why?” I couldn’t imagine Alister would enjoy having the Americans on his turf. They had no beef with the dragons and might not accept everything he said blindly.

  “They had no choice. I’m the American Dragon Liaison.” Yep. His smile was definitely too smug.