Flight of Dragons

by Elianne Adams, Sadie Haller, Zoe York, Shelley Munro, Zara Keane, LC Alleyne, Skye Jones, Evanne Lorraine, Ann Gimpel

  Because his mind spun like an out-of-control top, he shifted to things he’d need to know so he wouldn’t appear a total dolt. What did text mean or page? What was this gasoline that powered cars? How did men wage war without horses?

  “Eight hundred miles in a day,” he muttered. “That canna be.”

  “Och aye,” Maggie aped a Scottish brogue, “but ’tis.”

  “Has everything changed so much, then?” he murmured.

  “Yes, and especially since around nineteen hundred.”

  Lachlan shook his head. He reached inward for Kheladin, but the dragon was silent, probably as disconcerted as him. Were there dragons in this world? Or had they all died out? He was enticed with the woman, wanted her fiercely, but she’d spoken true when she said her knowledge would be more useful to him than her body.

  Well now, there’s no reason why I canna have both.

  “Tell me about 2012.”

  “It might be better if you ask me questions.” She briefly laid a hand over one of his and squeezed.

  “I doona know where to begin.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  He inhaled sharply, reluctant to disclose what might be used against him.

  “Lachlan.” She squeezed his hand again. “I’ll never hurt you, but I need information, or I’m afraid I won’t be much help.”

  Her words held the ring of truth when he tested them with his magic. “The place where ye found me was verra close to where my castle used to stand. I…”

  “Keep going,” she urged. “Just let the words come. We have a little time before we get to my flat.”

  He took stock of what to tell her. She didn’t need to know about Kheladin or his dragon-shifter magic or the cave. If things went to hell, it was the only place he could retreat to that he could fortify with magic.

  She glanced sidelong at him as if she could read his mind. Who knew with witches? They all had at least one magical strong suit. Mayhap that was hers. Lachlan shuttered his thoughts. His magic was far stronger than hers. Even a tiny trickle would be more than adequate to keep her from his mind.

  “What year—?” she began

  He waved her to silence. “Everything is so new…” He smiled disarmingly. “I fear ’tis a fair challenge to know just where to begin. In 1683 I had an, um, altercation with a powerful warlock. He ensorcelled me.”

  “Ensorcelled, as in put you to sleep?”

  “Aye. I just wakened a few hours ago.”

  Maggie’s breath whistled from between her teeth. She pulled the car into a large square area off the roadway and placed it next to another. “We’re here,” she said brusquely.

  He grappled with the side of the car door, hunting for the trick to make it spring open. “Which little piece do I pull or press?”

  “Never mind. I’ll come round and let you out.”

  His sword clanked loudly against the car when he struggled to unfold his long legs and get out. Between making certain it didn’t catch on the car’s door and getting his feet under him, he longed for the simplicity of a warhorse.

  “You really don’t need that sword,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow and shifted from foot to foot, one hand firmly planted on the hilt of his sword. “How would I defend us? Is this a world where magic is common? Ye said ye had a witchy grannie.”

  “Come on.” She crooked a finger. “We’re better off talking inside.”

  He followed her into a rambling grey stone building with 1846 carved over the lintel. It looked as if it had once been a manor house. Mayhap the lass had more in the way of resources than he imagined if she could afford such a place. They climbed to the second floor. It confused him. Why would she not receive him in the great room or a parlor? Maggie pulled a key from her bag and inserted it into the lockset on a peeling, oak door.

  “Why do ye keep your bedchamber locked, lass, but not the house proper?”

  “It’s not just my bedroom. This is where I live.” She pushed the door open and gestured him inside. “This was a manor house once upon a time. The family that owns it broke it up into four apartments with a common area downstairs that any of the tenants can use if they wish.”

  “The family must’ve fallen on hard times indeed to rent out their ancestral home to strangers,” he said softly.

  “Not necessarily. The house is quite a way out of town. The story I was told, the owners didn’t want to live here anymore. They tried to sell it, didn’t get any takers, and so turned it into what it is today.”

  Lachlan’s brow creased. No matter what Maggie said, giving up one’s home meant the next generation would have nowhere to live. It was a truly Draconian move, likely driven by something the lass didn’t know about. He looked around, curious. Rather than a bedchamber, he saw a small, neat, sitting room with a leather couch and a puffy, soft-looking chair covered in flowered fabric. Something he couldn’t identify sat on a table. It looked like a mirror, but its surface was black. Books overflowed onto every available surface. He didn’t see any scrolls.

  The door snicked shut behind him. He heard the thunk of a lock falling into place.

  “There.” She walked around him and headed for the far end of the room. He recognized a table and chairs in that part of her home but not much else. “Can I make you some tea?”

  “Tea is a woman’s drink, lass. Have ye a stiff ale, or better still, whiskey?”

  Maggie spun and faced him. “I have both, but it’s not evening yet.”

  He frowned. “What? Is that some kind of rule? No spirits except weak beer until after dark?” He chuckled at the absurdity of it.

  She cocked her head to one side. “There’s a saying, It’s always five o’clock somewhere.”

  “And that means?”

  “People use it as an excuse to drink whenever they want, because five at night is supposedly a safe time to begin drinking.”

  “I doona understand. Safe for whom?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Sit.” She waved her hands at the couch.

  “Will ye be sitting next to me?” he inquired, working to keep a seductive note out of his voice. They had serious conversation ahead of them. Sex would only get in the way.

  “Eventually. I’m going to make myself a cup of tea. You know…” She winked at him. “That woman’s drink. And I’m going to make myself a sandwich.”

  “What’s a sandwich?”

  “Bread, meat, cheese, mayonnaise—”

  “Might ye make one for me as well?”

  Maggie threw back her head and laughed. “I suppose after over three hundred years asleep, you’d be hungry. Christ! You’re like the male equivalent of Sleeping Beauty.”

  “I doona understand.”

  “Look, if you don’t want to sit, come on into the kitchen. We can chat while I make us something to eat. Sleeping Beauty is a children’s story about a princess who was ensorcelled and slept for a hundred years.”

  “What wakens her?”

  “A handsome prince finds her and kisses her.”

  “Aye. At least some things havena changed—and likely never will.” He stepped to her side, watching as she drew items from a small cold box, rather like a miniature spring room. She filled a kettle and set it on the stove. Flames leapt beneath the kettle when she twisted a dial.

  Lachlan nodded to himself. Life had certainly improved if you didn’t have to light a fire to cook over and tend the wood, so it didn’t go out or blaze so brightly the food burned. Not having to retreat outside to the spring house or the buttery for cold items was another improvement. “Where’s the pump?” He tapped a silvery spigot that dripped water into the sink.

  She sliced bread from a loaf and laid four pieces on the counter. “Let’s see,” she mused. “Where to begin. There’s a city water system. Water comes to houses through underground pipes. All I have to do is turn the faucet.” Her eyes sparkled. “Put your hand under this.” She flipped a lever.

  Though he tried for equanimity, Lachlan felt his eyes
widen. “’Tis hot.” He drew his hand back. “Ye doona have to heat bath water over a stove?”

  Maggie shook her head and returned to the bread, spreading something on it. “Nope. Why don’t you go check out the bathroom while I finish the sandwiches? I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  Lachlan looked about. Bathroom should mean a room where a bathing tub was located. In poorer homes that was always the kitchen, usually behind a curtained alcove, yet he didn’t see any hidden nooks.

  “Go back to the living room and down the hall. It’s the door on your right.”

  He was reluctant to leave her side. There was something soothing about standing next to Maggie, and exciting too. He felt he’d known her far longer than only a few hours.

  Almost as if she could read his thoughts, she said, “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He bent his head and brushed his lips against her neck before following her directions toward the bathroom. It was dark in the hall, so he called his mage light.

  “What have ye gotten us into?” Kheladin hissed deep in his mind.

  “Do ye have any better ideas? We slept for more than three hundred years. The world is vastly different. I must have information afore we can plot a course.”

  “Humph,” the dragon snorted. Lachlan swallowed back steam that sat just at the back of his throat. “I could overfly—”

  “No. I doona believe there are any dragons left. I havena asked the lass about modern weaponry, but ’tis likely something exists that could blow you out of the sky. And me right along with you.”

  “What do ye mean, no dragons left?”

  Lachlan swallowed hard. There was so much about the year 2012 that troubled him, he hadn’t dissected each item. And he wasn’t going to now. The most important thing was seeing if Rhukon were still a threat. “I havena seen any,” Lachlan said cautiously. “It may mean nothing, yet I dinna sense dragon energy anywhere.”

  “Ye must cede to my form, so we may look.” Compulsion ran strong beneath Kheladin’s frantic words. “Failing all else, I must return to Fire Mountain to see if any of my kin remain.”

  Lachlan fought the dragon’s magic. Fire Mountain—the dragon’s home world—was the last place he wanted to go right now. No. He needed to figure out what happened to Rhukon. He clamped his jaw firmly shut. “Soon. We need to know more—much more—afore we take unnecessary risks.” He stood in the hallway, every muscle tense, waiting. After long moments, the dragon backed down, grumbling there wasn’t space for him to force a shift.

  Lachlan exhaled sharply and continued down the short corridor, not wanting to think about what it meant if dragons were truly gone. He turned a doorknob and walked into a tiled room with a bathtub, a sink, and what had to be a commode, except there was no odor, and it was filled with what looked like water. Experimentally, he hiked his kilt to the side, took hold of his cock, and pissed into the basin.

  Lachlan frowned and looked at the commode. A pull chain ran down from a white box mounted on the wall behind it. He pulled the chain and jumped back as water whooshed out of the commode only to be replaced with new. He grinned. Clever, but where did the piss and shit go? He’d have to ask the lass.

  He stepped to the sink and turned first one tap and then the other. One discharged hot water, the other cold. Mayhap living in this era willna be quite so bad as I feared. Lachlan grimaced. He was focusing on small things to avoid thinking about the loss of a way of life that had been precious. Friends, family, his castle, even his servants were lost to him.

  “Lachlan. Your sandwich is ready.”

  “Coming, lass.” He turned his mind to Kheladin. “We willna be telling her about you. Not yet, anyway, so no smoke, steam, or fire.”

  “Fine by me. Do us both a favor and bed the lass. She’s nearly begging for it, and ’twill clear our heads to search for Rhukon.”

  Lachlan walked slowly down the hall. He extinguished the magic powering his light before he emerged from behind the curtain that separated the hall from the front room. Maggie sat at the table. He pulled out the empty chair and joined her.

  She smiled around a mouthful of sandwich. “What did you think?”

  “Of the garderobe?”

  She nodded. “I’d forgotten they used to be called that, but didn’t those just have toilets in them?”

  He took a sip of the tea she’d made for him despite his protests. It was surprisingly good, smooth and tannic-y with just the right amount of cream and sugar. “Most were as ye described. Wealthier homes had a pump for water somewhere close by. Where does the waste go?”

  She set down her sandwich and took a swallow of tea. “I heard the toilet flush and thought you might be curious. There’s a sewer system. Waste water flows from houses to a central processing plant where it’s cleansed and recycled.”

  “Ye reuse shit?” He stared suspiciously at his teacup.

  “Don’t worry. Drinking water has to meet certain safety standards. Without going into a whole lot of detail, there are too many people on Earth. Later, I’ll bring up a globe, er, representation of Earth on my computer, so you can see all the countries.” She crinkled her brow, clearly thinking. “Um, a computer is… Never mind, I’ll just show you in a little bit. Anyway…” She waved a hand airily. “There’s not enough water, so it’s important not to squander what we have.”

  Lachlan returned to his sandwich. Not enough water? The lass must be daft. Enormous oceans covered much of Earth. Oceans so large, it took men months to cross them.

  “You don’t believe me, which is understandable. Let’s switch gears.” She must’ve responded to confusion on his face, because she clarified, “Topics. Let’s switch topics. There’s no way I’ll be able to give you a primer on modern life in a few hours. At best, you need enough so you can blend in better.”

  “Agreed. I hate to admit it, but ye may be right about my garb. I dinna see even one other man in a plaid.”

  “We’ll take care of that tomorrow. Have you given any thought to what you want to do now that you’re here?”

  “Aye. I must see if Rhukon yet lives.”

  “Who’s that?” Maggie narrowed her eyes, almost as if she didn’t trust him simply from the sound of his name.

  “The warlock who ensorcelled us, er me.”

  “How could he possibly still be alive? You were in some sort of suspended animation. Presumably, he wasn’t.”

  Lachlan shrugged. “Well, lass, I was trapped by his spell until a few hours ago. ’Tis a solid argument that he, too, lives. Or, mayhap, that he died and ’tis why I’m finally free.”

  And wouldn’t it be lovely if I knew just which of those alternatives was true.

  He smothered his frustration and took another bite of the food she’d made. It was really quite good. “Thank you.” He pointed to his plate.

  “You’re welcome. Where would you look for this Rhukon?”

  “His castle used to be in Inishowen, and he had a manor house a few leagues south of Inverness. From what I’ve seen, it appears unlikely either yet stands, although ’twould be a logical place to begin.” An idea blossomed. “Could ye teach me to drive your car? I could hunt Rhukon while ye work.”

  She pushed her chair back from the table. That done, she stretched out her long, bare legs and folded her hands over her belly. “The short answer is, of course I could teach you to drive, but there’s much more to it than that.” She reached for her bag, lying on the floor next to her chair, and extracted a leather pouch. “Here.” She handed him a card with a likeness of her face and writing on it.

  “What might this be?” He flicked at the stiff card with a fingernail, wondering what the hell it was made of.

  “My international driver’s license. You have to have some sort of license to drive a car.”

  “Couldna we secure one for me?”

  “You don’t have any identification.”

  He bristled. “I have my word.”

  “That’s not enough anymore. Besides,
even if you had a birth certificate, or a family bible or something where births were written down, no one would believe you. What year were you born, anyway?”

  “1316.” The words slipped out before he understood he should’ve picked a false date, one much closer to 1683. “Sorry, what I meant was—”

  She held up a hand. “No. You told me the truth. Rhukon may have bested you, but you have power. I felt it when I let you inside my head. What are you?”

  “A warlock, just like you’re a witch.” He tried to smooth the lie over with spells, but she saw right through him.

  “Try again, buddy.” She sounded annoyed—and disappointed. “I may not have developed my magic, but I do recognize lies when I hear them.”

  Chapter Four

  The strains of a Braham’s lullaby sounded. Maggie made another grab for her bag and pulled her phone from its pouch.

  Lachlan’s eyes widened. “Good God, lass. That thing makes different noises? Where in the nine hells do they originate from?”

  “Ssht.” She waved him to silence, tapped the Answer icon, and said, “Dr. Hibbins.”

  “It’s Berta,” one of the nurses who ran the mental health unit said. “Sorry to bother you, since you take so little personal time, but Chris Conley’s back in here.”

  “What’d he do this time?” Aware of Lachlan both listening and watching her intently, Maggie kept her words neutral. Discussing patients in front of anyone but treatment staff was bad practice.

  “It’s not pretty,” Berta went on. “He’s alive but he wouldn’t be if his sister hadn’t found him.”

  Maggie glanced at the time and bit her lip. “Is he conscious?”

  “Yes, and asking for you.”

  Damn!

  “Okay. I’ll grab my things. Be there in half an hour or less.”

  A weary sigh rustled through the phone. “Thanks, Doc. He’s quite a handful. We need someone to write orders, so we can release him—to somewhere.”

  “Got it.” Maggie disconnected and looked speculatively at Lachlan. “I have to go to the hospital. I could drive you back into town, or…” She inhaled sharply. “I suppose you could stay here until I get back.”