But that legend had become policy after the first exit opened in some failed experiment performed by the dragon Queen Yaslynne, over a thousand years ago. Over time, more followed, more worlds were linked and dozens of species infiltrated Drimera. The details weren’t known by my kind, or even the younger dragons. It wasn’t considered necessary for us to know why or how. Neither held any bearing on our present actions. We were told only that opening the exits had led to great cataclysms and wars. Many were lost on all sides before it was done. Somewhere along the line, my kind were born, the Guild gained power, and lyrriken were enlisted to serve and protect. The elders named us, educated us, and trained us. They gave us purpose. A dragon could be generous with their rewards, occasionally even their affection. Earning that elusive prize was at the heart of lyrriken loyalty.
It wasn’t until years after I left that I realized we’d been taught a history that was slanted and full of holes. The elders had kept their offspring in the dark as much as they had the humans. It was just a different ‘dark’. If it weren’t for Oren and my ability to see the exits, I’d know far less than I do.
I tried to lighten my thoughts, but the whole night had left me unsettled. The tunnel under Ella’s house with the old tribe signs on the wall bothered me near as much as my brief jaunt home. The more I thought about my vision of the odd parade, the less I was sure it was a parade at all. Such varying species would never travel together. It was more likely their ghosts (and time) had been overlapping. If the blood and the residual trauma on the floor had worked together to kick my retrocognition into high gear, I could have been seeing simultaneous glimpses of different events, spread out over decades or even centuries. The exit was obviously far from new. Yet Oren had said nothing of it.
If he was unaware of its existence, his status with the Guild was lower than he claimed. If he knew, why send me to the address of a known exit without telling me it was there?
For years I’d tolerated Oren’s enigmatic bullshit. I didn’t like it, but I dealt with it. I understood his place within the Guild. I accepted there were secrets he couldn’t share. Most of the time those secrets had no bearing on my job, so I was patient.
Not this time. Not this case.
Crossing the street, I dipped into the alley. The surrounding buildings were dark. It wasn’t merely the late hour. The storm had knocked out power in several sections of the city. I took advantage and let the scales out to cover a good portion of my upper body as I swung silently up onto the fire escape. The railing was slick. Moisture beaded the stairs. The drops burst and scattered as I jogged up.
Traveling by rooftop was considerably faster than walking the streets. Tonight, though, it gave me something I wanted more than I had in a long time: the freedom to shift.
I didn’t need to alter every part of me. Unlike others of my species, who saw their human halves as a burden, I saw the benefits of both forms. I enjoyed both. I also valued being in a half-state as I was now, with traits of human and dragon working in concert. It had taken me years of living here to appreciate it, to see the advantages of tailoring my form to what I needed at the time; years to accept that I didn’t have to be bound by what was customary.
Drimeran societal expectations were different than human, but repercussions came with rejecting the accepted norms of either world. Choosing my own way (even for a short time, under the cover of night and the camouflage of a power outage) came with a sense of liberty. It was something I’d recognized before, but never felt as acutely as I did right now.
Denim and scales both slid over the pebbly tiles as I hit rooftop number six in a roll. Jumping up, I ran for the next. The building was close. It was a simple leap.
Making it with ease, my boots touched down, and I paused. Eyeing the adjacent structures, I measured the spacing between buildings. I studied the height and slant of the rooftops.
Deciding on my next three jumps, I dropped to a running stance. I was about to push off, when the cold bite of extraneous fear nipped at my skin. Pain blew over and in me.
Fresh trauma was the hardest to ignore.
Yet this wasn’t merely fresh, it was first. Someone, whose life had never been touched by an ounce of grief or terror, was getting one hell of an introduction to it. On one of the upper floors of the building or on the street out front, in a car parked at the curb, or in the alley. Somewhere close, someone was hurting. Distress and shock had scratched its way into their psyche, scoring it, creating the scar tissue that was, right this second, leaching black from their soul. It didn’t matter that it was out of view, that I couldn’t yet see their ghost. Newborn pain had a mental sheen like spun gold. If it was nearby, and particularly bright, it captured the attention of my empathic senses like a signal flare. First pain shined even brighter.
It tugged at me to find its origin, to root out the flare. Yet, the ghost had already been born. Whatever happened to create it was done. I wasn’t in the mood to witness the aftermath.
Only, as I stared across at my destination, my interest in jumping waned. It couldn’t compete. This particular ghost was exceptionally persistent.
Rising, I moved to the front of the building. I looked over the ledge and studied the street. Seeing nothing, I moved to the back of the roof. Scanning the darkness below revealed only a young couple, whispering at a volume that alcohol had convinced them was much quieter than it was. Stumbling, he pressed her up against the wall. She giggled and they proceeded to pull each other’s clothes off to the arousing aroma of the nearby dumpster.
I glanced at the adjacent building. A few distant, muffled voices escaped cracked windows. There were no cries, no screams. But it’s close. It has to be.
Taking to the fire escape, I ran down the metal steps with an urgency I didn’t understand. My noisy approach startled the couple. They conspicuously stopped groaning as I landed, but I didn’t even spare them a glance. They were peripheral. The trauma I was chasing was all consuming. There was no alley, no sidewalk or buildings. No street or pedestrians to notice. There was just the pain, so strong it drowned all my other senses.
A glimmer of oily black blazed up ahead. I moved toward it. Obstacles bumped against me. I threw them off. Lights blinded me. Horns blared.
A sudden pressure wrapped around my chest and arms. Hauled back, I stumbled. Shapes came into focus: cars, the street, the curb. They grew farther away as the shadow of an awning stretched over my head. My back hit the stone of a building, and the impact cleared my mind. My vision followed, and I stared at the hands gripping my arms. I looked up into the face close to mine. Blatant concern tightened the familiar golden-brown eyes staring back at me.
“Coen?” Swiftly, anger replaced my bewilderment. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” He gestured urgently back at the street. “You walked in front of those machines like they weren’t even there.”
“I didn’t—”
Coen’s stare tensed in protest. I had a vague recollection of car lights speeding toward me that implied he was telling the truth.
I still didn’t want him touching me.
“Get off.” Putting both hands on his chest, I shoved him back. Coen’s black muscle shirt was wet from the rain. Paired with faded jeans and combat boots, I could easily imagine him bouncing at a club downtown. But he’s not downtown. He’s here, following me.
And giving me an odd look. “What?”
His eyes flitted over me. “You should put that away.”
I glanced at the scales on my arms. “Shit.”
Doing as he said, I looked up and down the sidewalk. Only a few people were in view. Thankfully, none of them were staring. I was equally glad I could sense no trauma. The ghost that had captivated me was gone. Not gone, I thought. Quiet. For now.
I swallowed my relief and looked at Coen. “So we’re doing this again already? I thought we had an understanding.”
“We do.” He leaned back against the building beside me. “You understand I have an o
bligation. I understand you don’t care.”
I smiled to myself. I liked his odd way of talking. I just didn’t like him.
I glanced around with a wary frown. “Where’s the rest of you?”
“Tonight there is only me,” he said with a polite bow of his head.
“Why? Something tells me you aren’t in the habit of going out alone.”
“One is usually seen as less aggressive than three. I assumed it would help you relax.”
“You want me to relax, Coen? Stop following me.”
“If you would let me accompany you, I wouldn’t have to follow.”
“And if I tell you to fuck off, will that buy me at least a week of not seeing your face in another alley?” Coen stared at me with unhappy eyes. I knew I should have been more concerned with the trance I’d been in than the man who broke me out of it. But anger was easier to digest than worry.
“You’re more colorful than I imagined,” he said.
“And you’re incredibly stubborn and ambiguous, and it’s not a great combination.”
“Would you be willing to accept my company, if we had this conversation over a drink?”
“A what…?”
“Have you had beer?”
I held in my laugh. “Yes, Coen, I’ve been here almost a hundred years. I’ve had beer.”
“Many human conversations are had over a cool refreshing beer. It comes in packs of six. More than enough to share.”
“Wonderful. You’re learning the local customs. I’m happy for you. But you shot me, Coen. It would take a lot more than a beer, or six, to make me sit down and listen to you say nothing, over and over.”
“You continue to make decisions that are unwise.”
“Every day.”
Coen fell quiet. He stared at his boots a moment, then up at me. “I have never seen such food as they have here. The buildings, the machines…This place is astonishing. But…”
I took a guess. “It’s not home?”
“No. It’s not home. It’s loud. Exhausting. Sad.”
“Sometimes. But if you stick around long enough, you’ll find there are treasures here. Just not the kind you’d expect.”
“Do you not miss it anymore?
“Drimera?” I’d stood on Drimeran soil only a few hours ago, but my return home had been abrupt, and I’d been focused solely on rescuing Evans. My observations had been mostly strategic in nature. I’d taken little time to reflect on much besides the danger of our situation, which hadn’t bothered me then. Now, suddenly, I felt cheated. After an absence of nearly a hundred years, a part of me had wanted more. “The sky,” I said, picturing it. “I miss the sky. The moons. The smell of the forest after a winter thaw.”
“Is that all?”
I shrugged. “The simplicity of things. The straightforward order of life. As much as I hate the Guild’s methods, it was cut and dry. Here, everyone makes things so complicated and then complains that they are.”
Watching me, he nodded, but it wasn’t a thoughtless gesture. Coen understood, and it surprised me. Not our shared sentiment, so much. I was more taken aback by the odd relief I felt at his silent commiseration and his clear, unabashed need to ease his own longing for home.
I pushed off the wall. Heading in the direction of Evans’s car, I glanced at Coen and started walking. “I used to play a game when I was young.”
He joined me. “Tell me of it.”
“When the elders would fly overhead or walk the city streets, their bodies would cast these elegant, powerful shadows. If you looked carefully, you could detect the subtle differences between them, the distinctive lines and curves. I would spend hours watching and studying, until I could identify each elder by their shadow alone.”
“Do you still remember them?”
Passing an alleyway, I glanced in. Could I trick myself enough to see some semblance of dragon-shape in the dark? No. “Not how they looked. Just how they made me feel.”
Coen’s head cocked, waiting for my answer.
“Safe,” I said. “They made me feel safe.”
“Would they still, if one were to descend right now?”
“Not in the least. But that doesn’t diminish their grace or their splendor. I’ve found no other creature as worthy of my awe as the dragons.”
Hearing the slight waver in my throat, Coen gave me a startled look. Nostalgia was the last thing he’d expected from me.
He wasn’t the only one.
“I know you want me to trust you, Coen. You want me to care about what you want. Why you’re here. Who sent you. But I can’t right now. Right now, my caring is all tied up with eighteen dead humans, one that’s barely alive on my couch, and the countless others that will suffer if I don’t figure out what the hell is going on. So unless you can help with that…?”
“That is not my mission.”
“Then you should respect my full plate right now and go.”
Resigned, he nodded. “You have concerns that need resolving. I will wait until your mind has cleared.”
“Great. You can try and kidnap me then.”
“There is one thing,” he said, so grim, I knew my sarcasm hadn’t even registered. “Can you tell me what happened back there? You were about to injure yourself.”
“Not on purpose.”
“Does that matter?”
I shrugged like it didn’t. Taking a chance, I confessed. “I’m empathic.”
He didn’t react. Either Coen wasn’t impressed or he already knew. “Does it always make you lose awareness of your surroundings to such a dangerous degree?”
“This was a little extreme.” I glanced back. I couldn’t remember walking up to the curb, let alone stepping off it. “It’s been a busy couple of days. No sleep, lots of bodies. Reech.”
The last put a hitch in Coen’s step. “What do you know of Reech?”
“I know he’s an asshole. If there’s anything you’d like to add, feel free.”
He wanted to. Frustration hardened Coen’s jaw as he ran a hand over his bearded face. “My duty, my service, is all I have. I can’t betray that.”
“Can you at least tell me who you’re protecting me from? Is it Reech?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Yourself.”
Not liking that answer—or how stupid I felt for wasting my time indulging him—I stopped and faced him. “Fuck you and your cryptic bullshit, Coen.” There were no cars. The sidewalk was empty, so I raised my voice. “If you have some strange, unspoken duty to follow me, knock yourself out. But do it from far away. I don’t want to see you again.” The scales ran down over my face and arms. Fire burst into my palm, emphasizing my point.
Watching the flame dance, Coen nodded. “When the time comes, you will change your mind. You’ll need answers no one else can give.”
“I need them now, asshole.” Dropping scales and fire, I turned to go.
“These burnings, the murders…it’s not what you think.”
Pausing, I pivoted around. “I’m listening.”
“Not all things must be connected.”
“I’ll remember that. Anything else?”
As he stared at me, desire crept into his eyes. It wasn’t lust, though. It was the yearning to come clean. Whatever secrets Coen was keeping, it pained him to do so. It was a feeling I knew all too well, but I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything, and he lowered his eyes and walked away.
Twenty-One
Evans let out a groan as he pushed the blanket off and sat up. “So, that was another world? Your world? Drimera,” he added awkwardly. “And you’re a lyrriken. A shapeshifter.” Inspecting the bandages on his chest, he glanced up at me. “A dragon.”
I gave him the extra cup of coffee in my hand. “We’re half. Partial. Hybrid is the human word some of us have adopted.”
“But you’re an offshoot of real dragons—the big-ass, fire-breathing kind?”
“Elders,” I smiled. “We call them elders. The
males father us. Humans birth us. The Queen rules us.”
“And who raises you?”
“Lyrriken aren’t parented like humans. We live together, similar to one of your orphanages. Elders are revered, worshipped. It’s an honor when one acknowledges a hatchling.”
His forehead crinkled. “You…came out of an egg?”
“No,” I laughed. “A hatchling is what a dragon calls all their young. But lyrriken don’t hatch. Only true dragons do.”
“What about your human mothers?”
“Some don’t make it. The ones that do are given homes on Drimera.”
“Like yours?”
“I have no idea. We never meet them.”
He nodded to himself, soaking it in. “And you come here whenever you feel like it?”
“There are places where it’s possible to travel between worlds.”
“Thin spots, right? No, wait…” Pointing at me, Evans smiled like a five year old on his birthday. “Inter-dimensional rifts.”
“Exits. We call them exits.”
Taking a sip of his coffee, he frowned. “That’s lame.”
“I’ll be sure to lodge your complaint.” Sitting on the ottoman, I pulled my robe tighter around me. I supposed my modesty was silly, considering he’d seen nearly everything I owned last night, but I couldn’t help it. I’d bared my body (both of them) and now I was baring my soul only a matter of hours later.
Coen was right. I did make bad choices. And, lately, they were starting to add up.
“Seriously, Nite,” he grumbled. “Dragons are supposed to be wise and intelligent, and all you guys can come up with are ‘exits’?” Evans chuckled at his own joke, jostling his healing body until he was pale and hurting. “Son of a bitch…” Breathing hard, he moved his free hand to his chest. Bumping his bandaged wrist in the process, he recoiled with a grimace.
I took the coffee back before he spilled it. “Remember that pain. Because it’s nothing compared to what will happen if you tell anyone. And if the Guild finds out you know—”
“The Guild? What’s that, like…?”
“Death, Casey,” I said, as serious as he’d ever seen me. “It’s like death.”
Nite Fire: Flash Point Page 22