Clipped Wings

by J. P. Rice

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  Special Acknowledgments: Mom, My Grandmas, Nandita, Ljilja, Larry Tushman, Milia Glafira, Amy, Saundra Wright, Val Davis,

  Ginger Storm

  The Scarlet Dragon Saga

  Book 1

  J.P. Rice

  RELEASE DATE 12-26-18

  Chapter 1

  I wiggled my nostrils, took a quick sniff and didn’t detect any magic coming from the client. I’d thought he was hiding it behind the heavy layers of cologne, aftershave and deodorant, but he was clean. Confident the man wasn’t setting me up, I opened the door wider.

  “Get in here. Hurry.” I grabbed the tanned man by his right shoulder and pulled him into my balcony cabin. With a look of concern on my face, I peeked out into the hallway of the ship, popped back in and closed the door. “Were you followed? Lock that door.”

  “Nobody followed me.” The man turned around and swung the latch over to lock it. I performed a cursory scan and didn’t detect any weapons on him. Knowing I could kick the shit out of him or kill him if it came to that, I remained calm. He whirled back to face me and extended his arm for an introductory handshake.

  I put my hands up. “No names. It’s better that way.”

  The client shrugged his shoulders. Dressed in a light beige suit with a loud purple T-shirt underneath, Miami Vice style, he looked like the typical mid-forties South Beach business asshole. He chewed his gum forcefully and bobbed his head around. I assumed he was just trying to come off as a hard-ass, replicating the actions he’d watched his favorite movie gangsters perform.

  Ray-Ban-style shades sat atop the frosted peaks of his heavily gelled hair. He scratched the fine dark stubble on his left cheek and shifted his weight uncomfortably from leg to leg.

  My plan to put him on edge seemed a success, but I couldn’t get cocky. I needed the money from this deal so I could remain in Hilton Head and avoid returning to Pittsburgh. Too many people wanted me dead up north.

  I could see his tough guy routine was an act. His fear was palpable, hiding behind the thin veneer of machismo, trembling uncontrollably and praying that no one would notice.

  Being a veteran of these types of tense negotiations, I remained silent and enjoyed the gentle ocean sway of the ship as I watched him squirm. I had the shades drawn for the balcony, closing off the view of the crashing waves, but I could still hear the cascading melody of the sea. I could have offered him a seat on the couch, or at the table, but I’d rather he stood on the hexagon motif carpet.

  The long black and white art deco clock on the wall caught my attention. The time was stuck at 10:37. It spurred a gentle reminder of how my life had stopped ten years ago when I walked away from the murderous business I’d involved myself in.

  He finally broke the silence as a burst of words sprang from his mouth. “You got it, or what?”

  “Oh, I got it all right.” I tipped my forehead toward the bed. “But first, you wearing a wire?” I knew that recording devices could be the size of a pinhead these days. This was aimed at keeping him off guard and letting him know I was in control of this deal. Besides, now he could feel like a real gangster.

  He pursed his lips and rolled his eyes as he shook his head. “What? Are you serious, lady?”

  “Totally serious. Now, let’s go, Don Johnson. Show me them chesticles.” I did miss screwing with these kinds of guys. That part of the job had been fun.

  “Is this for real?” he asked, looking around the room.

  “Stop wasting time,” I said quickly and gestured with my hands for him to untuck his shirt. “Lift up that pretty T-shirt and prove that you aren’t wearing a wire.”

  Exasperated, he huffed, and a fiery red glow began to build under his stubble, quickly spreading to his nose and wrinkling forehead. “I could ask you the same, you know? Guess you never heard the phrase, never trust a soulless ginger.”

  “No offense, but I don’t exactly look like a cop.” I tugged on my red Iron Man T-shirt. “You do. Plus, as the seller, I’m taking a much bigger risk than you in this equation.”

  He shook his head, mumbled ‘stupid bitch’ under his breath, and reluctantly lifted up his shirt. “Happy?” he said with the pomposity of a spoiled brat who’d finally finished all his vegetables at dinner and wanted an achievement award.

  As he tucked his shirt back into his beltline, I instructed, “Now drop your pants.” This was my second tactic to keep the client off guard.

  “What? What kind of operation are you...” He stopped short when he noticed the smirk on my face.

  A few months ago, I’d overheard this guy’s friends in a bar. They were talking about acquiring the Spear of Destiny and I had seen it as a way to make some easy money. I’d told them about an artifact I could find for them and they’d hooked me up with this guy.

  Now that I had his mind racing, it was time to get down to brass tacks. “You have the money?”

  He tapped his hip pocket and I heard the sweet clank of gold coins colliding with each other. The solid thunk of the precious metal awakened the dragon blood inside me. The sound made me envision a giant pounding on my inner dragon’s front door, inflaming my fire-breathing spirit at the prospect of collecting and hoarding twenty beautiful one-ounce gold coins. Paper money just didn’t do it for me.

  “All right. Let me see it,” he demanded, chewing his gum with even more intensity than before.

  I went over to the bed, lifted the maroon comforter and grabbed the black leather bag. The gold zipper slipped from my fingers, so I grabbed it again, yanked it and walked up to the client. He moved closer as I opened the bag and released a plume of sparkling azure enchantment. The tiny blue bits danced around his face before fading into dust. I warned him, “Pick it up, but be careful. It has to feel comfortable with the holder.”

  With his eyes about to bulge out of their orbits, his arm moved robotically, extracting the broken piece of cherrywood from the black leather bag. “It better be from Merlin’s staff. I have people on our first island stop in the Keys. They’re experts and can tell me if it’s fake.”

  Unless his group contained Merlin himself, his so-called experts were taking him for a ride. “Look at it. Does it look real? How does it make your hands feel? Are they tingling with anticipation, yet?”

  He stared at the nine-inch piece of wood that I had imbued with sparkling sapphire enchantment and dusted in itching powder. I’d found the cherrywood walking stick at an antique cane shop in Hilton Head. I’d broken it, put some wear and tear on it and aged it by soaking it in seawater. I felt bad selling a fake, but this guy wasn’t going to miss twenty-five grand, and if I went back to my former city to get my money, bodies would start to drop. This deal would save lives.

  The client put the staff back into the leather bag and scratched the back of his thumb. “I do kind of feel something. Like it has its own power. But my men will know. And if you try to run, you will be followed and caught. We basically own that island.”

  Threatening a woman. What a tough guy. I hated to break his dear heart, but I’d been threatened by men and women who could cause his body to spontaneously combust just by simply pointing a finger in his direction.

  Unbeknownst to him, I had no plan of being on this boat when we hit the first stop. I had another destination in mind. So his threats had no effect
on me. In fact, they were quite humorous. “I’d love to meet your friends and answer any questions they may have.”

  He kept scratching his hands that had already began to break out in a rash and softened his tone. “Good. Glad to hear that.”

  I zipped the bag back up. “How ‘bout that pocket change?”

  The client pulled the suede pouch out of his pocket and dangled it by the drawstring. The tiniest little pinprick of an opening allowed me to see the golden glow inside. I snatched the bag and shook it next to my ear, the glorious golden symphony reaching my soul.

  He asked, “You gonna take a closer look at it?”

  “No. It’s real.” I laughed evilly. Fake base metal coins gilded in gold had more of a ringing ching than the heavy thunk of pure gold. “Besides, I know you wouldn’t be stupid enough to rip me off. It would be very foolish to do to a witch who knows Merlin.”

  Beads of sweat formed over his brow and dripped to the carpet as he dipped his head. “Nice doing business with you, lady. Enjoy the cruise.”

  “Oh, the pleasure was all mine,” I commented, eliciting a double-take from the client.

  He tucked the black bag under his arm, unlocked the door and nodded to me. He slid his sunglasses down over his eyes and exited, looking both directions in the hallway before hooking a right. I immediately locked the door again as a devilish smile developed on my face.

  I handled the pouch delicately, trying not to touch the drawstring and the itching powder that he could have left on it. I transferred the gold to a different pouch and went to shove it in my hip pocket, but my tight leather pants refused to accommodate it. After several attempts, I stuffed it in, leaving an unnatural lump on the front of my hip.

  Now that I had my gold and didn’t have to return to Pittsburgh, it was time to go up on deck and enjoy retirement.

  Chapter 2

  “Misunderstanding is the spoon that stirs the cauldron of life.”

  In the realm of supernatural beings, the difference between good and evil depended entirely on interpretation. If one deemed he or she had been treated unfairly, the perpetrator of that behavior was then viewed as evil. Even if that view was wrong. The interpretation, or more often than not, misinterpretation, always lay in the eyes of the beholder.

  Sometimes, the beholder was a vengeful God or Goddess, which naturally resulted in murderous chaos. That was why it had felt good to retire from the mythical artifact hunting game. I gazed dreamily around the torch lit deck of the ship, checking out the small groups of guests, huddled with cocktails glued to their hands. Being alone for the past decade, I tried not to get jealous of the camaraderie.

  Servers in white suits and black bowties circulated with silver trays of hors d’oeuvres perched atop their fingertips. Two young lovers posed for pictures as a violin player serenaded them. The cruise ship bobbed along the calm waters. Glowing moonlight glistened off the crests of the waves. I could get used to this life. The carefree thought barely had time to take shape in my head when a giant man chewing a mouthful of food emerged from a swarm of passengers.

  How had he found me here? I turned to the side and buried my face in a glass of white wine, pretending to drink it. Peeking out of my peripheral vision, I noticed him approaching and lowered my glass. I had been living among humans for the past decade, avoiding anyone involved with the supernatural, especially the wretched Gods.

  It was no use hiding anymore.

  As I turned to smile at Zeus, a sharp pain shot down my neck and into my shoulder. I never used to feel pain.

  The God of Thunder—a mountain of a man—was in his natural appearance, which was unusual for the devious shifter. Dressed to impress in a black suit and bowtie, I wasn’t the least bit impressed. Zeus had long, dark, scraggly hair pulled back into a ponytail and a well-trimmed beard with gray spotting.

  He oozed muscle definition. The buttons on his tight suit jacket were stressed and the material was bunching up around his massive shoulders. His tight jaw, lively green eyes and olive complexion made for an appealing man, let alone a God, but most of the tales were true. He was the ultimate sleaze.

  “How did you find me here?” I asked, unenthused.

  “It’s nice to see you too. I should like to think a man of my stature deserves a better greeting,” he said, holding his arms out at his sides.

  “What would you like? A bow? A curtsy? I’ll start treating you with respect when you do the same for me. Do you even remember our last encounter?” Dressed in a pair of leather pants, short heels and a red Iron Man T-shirt, I’d already started thinking about an evacuation plan.

  He inched progressively closer to me and his cologne quickly overpowered the natural salty sea odor. “I do. But first, where have you been? I remember hearing about you trying to rescue the Dagda’s Harp from the demons. Many reports said that you’d died in the Red Cavern about ten years ago.”

  “They just covered me in lava. No big deal.” I attributed my survival to my mother being the Goddess of Fire and the dragon’s blood that coursed through my body.

  “Where have you been for the past decade?” He stared at me, perplexed. Like I was supposed to check in with him. He added, “Nobody has seen you until recently.”

  I knew it. One of his lackeys had spotted me and ratted me out. “I’ve stayed off the grid for a while. I’m staying out of the supernatural artifact game now. In fact, I’m retired. And why am I even talking to you after what you did to me?”

  A server walked by and extended her hand. I passed her my empty glass. “Thank you.” Behind her, I noticed the client from earlier.

  I waited until she was out of earshot and turned back to Zeus.

  “If you’re referring to our last encounter, we had a wonderful time,” he said stepping closer and leaning in near my face. I could feel his warm breath on my nose as he continued in a softer tone, “You said you loved me if you recall.” His words reeked of absinthe drenched in old man breath, but it had been so long since I’d experienced intimate contact that it wasn’t offensive. No. I couldn’t get wrapped up in the moment.

  I planted my palms on his chest and shoved him away. The man barely moved, making me angrier. “You tricked me, you son of a bitch. You shifted to look like my husband. I thought I’d found the man I’d been searching for. The man I truly love. Not some scumbag who tricks me into sleeping with him.”

  He grabbed my hands. I yanked them away, but he held firm. He puckered his lips as if he wanted a kiss and said, “I did it for you. So that you could have a nice time. You know he’s dead and never coming back, right?”

  That was messed up on so many levels. I took a deep, cleansing breath, but it didn’t work. I was angrier right now than I’d been in the past decade. No wonder I wanted to get away from this shit.

  I yanked my mitts away from his grasp, put my finger in his face and erupted, “First off, stop touching me. I don’t want your stink on me, so that Hera can track me down. Second, I know what the general consensus is about my husband. But I will never give up. My Darabond is out there somewhere and I will rescue him.”

  Zeus chortled. He stopped a passing server, drained a glass of red wine and put it back on the tray.

  “Excuse me, what is so funny about that?”

  “A woman rescuing a man is quite comical. I respect you for trying, but you are only a feeble, frail woman. And you appear to be aging greatly. Perhaps we should go lie down in my cabin.” The chauvinist was unrelenting.

  The left corner of my mouth twisted up. “I’d rather puke into a dirty pair of underpants and lap it up like a dog than go to your room,” I commented, and his eyes bulged with anger.

  Compared to Zeus, I looked small, but I was tall for a woman. I wasn’t skinny, sporting a little gut, but everyone was weak and frail in the God of Thunder’s eyes. I tried to talk him out of this, “I am aging rapidly. So why would you want to sleep with me now? My breasts are saggy, skin wrinkled and I want nothing to do with you. Surely you can find a young maide
n to work your magic on.”

  “But when a man wants certain things like being with a woman with great magical power, he finds a way. Even if she obtained that magic in a perverse manner.” He grabbed my wrists and studied the scars that ran up my arms. I had thirty-one scars. One for each creature that had given me its magic.

  I peeped around and with no one in the vicinity, I raised my voice, “Perverse manner? You can go sit on a sharpened stick with that bullshit. Everyone who gave me their magic did so willingly, and you know that.”

  “You tortured them into relenting to your will. There was nothing willing about it. You’ve even tortured a dragon so that you could steal his powers.” Zeus grabbed two silver dollar crab cakes from a passing server and shoved them into his mouth, flicking the toothpicks out into the Atlantic Ocean. He winked and mumbled, “Keep them coming. And don’t be shy with the bacon-wrapped scallops either.”

  I grabbed a crab cake off the tray. As soon as he focused back on me, I snapped, “I did not torture them. I persuaded them. You know I mix all sorts of magic. Why would you want to be with that?” In hindsight, I had tortured them. I just wasn’t ready to admit it to Zeus. After my husband had disappeared, battles were erupting all over Sleepy Willow. I’d found the Morrigan near one of the battle grounds and we hit it off, becoming fast and furious friends.

  She’d taught me how to cast a spell that would transfer magic from one body to another. But it needed to be sealed with a kiss of blood, hence the scars on my arms. Some of the magic inside me was dark, powerful, dangerous and almost impossible to control.

  Also illegal in some areas of the world where they had those idiotic magic councils. The councils were given powers they didn’t deserve, and they doled out punishment to whomever they wished often on nothing more than a whim. More or less a kangaroo court. Oh, how did the world ever exist before the fooking magic councils?