In the Shadow of Dragons (Aftermagic Book 1)

by Sonya Bateman

  She’d seen enough of Sawyer Volk today.

  Admittedly, it hadn’t been all bad. Once she got past his bristly tough-guy reactions, he’d been charming and funny, at least for a few minutes. She could still feel the rage in him bubbling beneath the surface, but he held it on a tight leash. And she’d started to think maybe the decent guy she’d glimpsed in him was a little more real than the drunken, swaggering ego he plastered across the media.

  Right now she didn’t want to see the public Sawyer. It would ruin the one she’d met.

  The tea was still a touch too hot to drink. She blew on it, set the mug on the side table next to the chair and frowned at her phone. A few minutes ago she’d considered calling Scott again, but then she’d put the phone down and decided to make tea first. She was still undecided about the call.

  She sighed and looked at the far wall, the single framed picture hanging there. For a few years she’d kept it covered in black cloth, unable to look at it without hurting, without crying. Funny that she’d finally removed the cloth on that morning, the birthday to end all birthdays. The day she’d been happy to see Scott. Even after the dragons, she was glad he’d been there.

  Now the sight of her husband’s face brought a fond smile. “Well, Roger,” she said to the photo, trying her tea again. Still too hot. “I bet you could’ve made more sense out of all this than I can. You’d probably be too fascinated to be scared, wouldn’t you?”

  He didn’t answer. She would’ve been worried if he did.

  Roget Talbot had been a scientist, an astronomer with a brain like Einstein and a pure, childlike awe for the stars and constellations, the planets and galaxies, the marvelous complexities of the universe. When he died, he’d been working on some mysterious theory that he promised to tell her all about once he had more information, more proof. He’d said it was absolutely mind-blowing, whatever it was. But he never got the chance to explain.

  If he’d been here for the Eclipse, he would have loved it. Dragons and all. He might have even been able to figure out what caused it, maybe how to stop it. No matter what, she would have felt safer with him.

  “No, you wouldn’t be scared at all,” she said aloud. “But I am. Roger, I’m so scared. If you’d heard Scott on the phone, the way he sounded … and he was right. Something very bad is happening,” she finished in a whisper. “Something worse.”

  She glanced at the phone again. If she did this, called Scott and told him she knew about the Eclipse, she might end up proving he wasn’t crazy after all. She wouldn’t be able to pretend everything was okay for all but one day of the year.

  But everything wasn’t okay. It hadn’t been for a long time — and if it was going to be worse, she had to know.

  “All right,” she said on a shaking breath. “All right, I’m calling him.”

  Her determination carried her as far as picking up the phone and swiping to the call log. It was a few long minutes before she found the nerve to tap the number he’d called from. She almost hoped the line wouldn’t ring.

  It did. Just once, and then Scott picked up. “I was right,” he said, sounding even more shaken than before. “Dear God, Omes.”

  What’s happening? she wanted to scream. Instead, she forced herself to breathe slowly. “Yes, you were right,” she said. “One hour and ten minutes. But what does it mean?”

  “Are you taking HeMo?” he said abruptly.

  His tone made her shiver. “No. What does that have to do with—”

  “Don’t ever take it. No one should take it.” He was breathing fast, the words tumbling and rasping. “The darkness is coming.”

  “Scott, you’re scaring me.”

  She remembered too late about not using his name, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Burn it all,” he said. “Give them placebos. I have to go, it’s not safe.”

  “Wait! You didn’t answer—”

  The line went dead.

  A low, moaning sound broke the cloying silence, and it took a moment to realize the sound was coming from her. She reached for her mug with a trembling hand and only managed to slosh lukewarm tea all over herself before she put it down.

  More deep breaths, and she’d calmed down enough to stop moaning. She swallowed with a dry click, swiped the phone back and tapped Scott’s number.

  “The person you are calling is not available—”

  “Damn it, you crazy son of a bitch!” Her own shout startled her. She ended the call, dialed again, got the same recorded message. He must have turned his phone off when he hung up.

  Well, she wasn’t going to drop this. He couldn’t leave her with a bunch of ominous warnings and no answers. If he wouldn’t answer the phone, she’d go out to his ranch tomorrow after work and confront him.

  Safe or not, she had to know.

  CHAPTER 18

  The Warrens; Casper, Wyoming

  August 8, 9:46 p.m.

  Teague felt completely naked without her bow. She’d tucked a switchblade in her pocket for emergencies, but that was only useful one-on-one. And from what she’d heard, that wasn’t how things went down in the Warrens.

  A BiCo patrol car had dropped her off several blocks outside the area, and she made sure no one was following her before she came in here. It was still in the mid-seventies with the sun down, but she’d worn a leather jacket to hide the Magesign on her arm. Nothing she could do about the markings on her neck. At least with an area that small, it could pass for a tattoo.

  The main entrance to the Warrens was beneath a half-demolished highway bridge, which the residents of the neighborhood had blown up in September of Year Two to cut off the bulk of the patrols. By then BiCo officers had already started to avoid the place, and they were happy to let the crude blockade stand. Julian took the Warrens off the patrol rotations a few months later. The area had steadily declined since.

  On the other side of the bridge, houses and tenements crowded on narrow streets. Yards were worn patches of dirt sprinkled with sad patches of yellowing grass. Tents and crude shacks stood in empty lots. The few people she saw either slunk down the sidewalks staring deliberately at their feet, or strolled in the middle of the near-silent streets glaring a challenge to anyone who passed.

  A lot of them had Magesign. And a few were more advanced Changers, with pointed ears or deformed limbs, discolored skin or distorted facial features.

  This was a forgotten place, filled with forgotten people. Gloomy and strange and a little sad — but they were surviving. They still had lives, even without BiCo policing them and protecting them. The Warrens had embraced what the rest of the world was trying to reject. For the second time that day, Teague had to question what she was doing.

  But she couldn’t back out now.

  The plan was for her to go to this bar, the Five Cowboys, and get noticed. Talk to people, play the rebel out looking for trouble. Spout off a lot of anti-BiCo rhetoric and get friendly with anyone who responded. Then the next night she was supposed to ‘attack’ a pharmacy in the Warrens, the only one left that stocked HeMo. Julian had given her a time when there wouldn’t be enough people there to get hurt, but there would be enough witnesses to spread the word. To get the attention of the right people. In theory, she’d be approached by the Darkspawn from there.

  Except she wouldn’t even get to step one of the plan if she couldn’t find the damned bar.

  She stopped with a huff at the corner of McKinnon Boulevard and Someone Spray-Painted Over the Name of the Cross Street, a regular occurrence for the last five blocks or so. She was probably getting closer, at least. She’d passed a few businesses now — a hair salon, a pizza place, a corner convenience store. No bars yet, and no Prospect Place road sign. Maybe she should double back to the convenience store and ask for directions.

  Movement across from her caught her eye. There was a man in a long, dirty yellow coat on the other side of White Blob Street, or whatever this was, waving her over. He was short and hunched, with strings of greasy dark hair dangling from the battere
d leather cowboy hat jammed low on his head. And on his feet, below threadbare jeans, were crusted fuzzy pink slippers.

  Definitely not the type who screamed trustworthy, or even sane. But he was the first person in the Warrens who’d acknowledged her existence.

  She sighed and headed toward the bizarre figure, thrusting a hand in her pocket in case she needed the switchblade. She’d just skip the friendly conversation, if that was what he wanted, and ask if he knew where Prospect Place was.

  Before she could get a word out, the man peered up at her and grinned a mouthful of grimy brown teeth. At least two of them were fangs. “You’re lookin’ for pr’tection, I can tell,” he said, with all the quicksilver patter of a two-bit carnie. “Lady like you, out on these streets alone. I got what you need right here.”

  “No, I just—”

  He flipped a coat panel open. She actually cringed and started to look away before she realized he wasn’t flashing her. Rows of necklaces, medallions, buttons, and little figurines decorated the inside of the jacket from top to bottom. “Goddard’s the name, charms’re my game,” he said. “I got cantrips, Evil Eyes, ward stones, talismans, you name it. All one hundred per-cent guaranteed.”

  Yeah, guaranteed to waste your money. None of that stuff actually worked, and she was surprised people still fell for it. But she wasn’t here to argue with a snake-oil salesman. “I’m good,” she said. “Unfortunately, I’m also lost. Can you tell me where Prospect Place is?”

  “Sure, sure. You go that way, though, you’re gonna need what I got.” Goddard laid a scraggly thumb on a bronze medallion etched with a blank eye. “This one here shows you who’s trouble, and who you can trust. Very affordable-like, too.”

  “No, thank you,” she said firmly. “Look, do you know where it is or not?”

  “Sure do.”

  She waited. When he didn’t elaborate, she said, “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Nah.”

  “Seriously?” Rolling her eyes, she fished the small clutch purse from her inside jacket pocket and unzipped the back where she kept her cash. “Fine. How much for the medallion? And directions.”

  “Ten bucks,” Goddard said. “Directions come free with a purchase.”

  “What a bargain.” She handed over two fives.

  He made the cash disappear, then plucked the metal disc from his coat lining and pressed it into her palm, releasing his coat with a chorus of jangling. “Down there,” he said, pointing north on White Blob Street. “Turn left in two blocks. Next right is Prospect, take you straight to Five Cowboys.”

  She gave a startled blink. “How … I didn’t say that’s where I was going.”

  “Everybody wants Prospect, wants Five Cowboys.” Goddard grinned again, flashing his fangs. “You be careful, though,” he said. “They’ll know you don’t belong.”

  “What?”

  “You live in the Warrens, you know who else does. That ain’t you.”

  “Oh. Right.” She managed to breathe again. Knowing she didn’t live in the neighborhood was a lot different from knowing who she was and why she’d come here. “Er, thank you,” she said, absently tucking the medallion into a pocket.

  “You got it.”

  She hurried away without looking back and tried to shake the feeling that Goddard had somehow seen right through her. It was just her nerves, making her over-analyze everything and imagine trouble around every corner.

  Three blocks later, she turned the corner into actual trouble. Six men with Magesign and matching black armbands that proclaimed them a gang, approaching her with nasty expressions that proclaimed they didn’t want to sell her a street charm.

  “Hey there, pretty,” the apparent leader drawled as they stopped in a road-blocking line. Close enough to see that half of them carried blades and chains, and the other half had guns. “You headed up to Five Cees? Because nobody gets in without a date, you know.”

  “I got a date for her,” the man to his left said, and grabbed his crotch. “Right here.”

  Teague tensed and got ready to pull the switchblade, as much good it would do. Six against one didn’t exactly favor her. But she couldn’t back down, and she’d never make it if she tried to run. She took half a step back, preparing to lunge.

  That was when a blast of blue magic zipped past her and struck the leader straight in the face.

  CHAPTER 19

  The Warrens

  August 8, 10:00 p.m.

  All Noah wanted was a quick beer before he checked his sources and rounded up supplies. But when he’d seen the young woman turn the corner heading for Five Cowboys alone, he took off after her, knowing there’d be trouble.

  And here it was. Deacon Thomas and his boys sniffing around the stranger, riled up and raucous. They called themselves the Vultures —a self-appointed welcome wagon looking to remove any ‘dead meat’ in the Warrens. In other words, anyone with loyalties to BiCo. Most of the time they were all bark to scare off Norms without a reason to be here. But sometimes they took it too far, especially with pretty girls.

  This looked like one of those too-far times.

  When he blasted Deacon, the girl jumped back and pulled her hand out, the one she’d just stuck in a pocket. There was a switchblade in it. She looked warily from Noah to the Vultures, as if she was deciding which one to attack first.

  Something told him she was pretty handy with that knife. Still, she wouldn’t have been able to take down all six of them.

  The gang’s second, Cash, had an arm around Deacon, who’d staggered back and bent over with the blast. He glared at Noah, who was still hanging back in the shadows just beyond the reach of the nearest street light. “Hey, what the hell’d you do to Deke?”

  Deacon lifted his head and blinked blearily. “Who’s Deke?”

  “Goddamn it.” Cash jerked a gesture at the man next to him. “Cut that son of a bitch.”

  Noah stepped forward, into the edge of the light. “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “Oh, shit. Prophet?” Frowning, Cash helped the stricken leader straighten and handed him off to someone else. “Why’d you blast Deke, man? His brains are fried.”

  “It’ll wear off in a few minutes.” Noah glanced at the girl. Her focus was on him now, and she looked incredibly pissed off. “You need to leave her alone,” he said. “Got it?”

  Cash pulled a who-me face. “We weren’t gonna hurt her—”

  “Bullshit. I know exactly what you were doing.”

  “Okay, man. Sorry.” The color drained from his features, and Noah almost laughed. There was a rumor going around the Warrens that he was actually psychic, as the name he went by here implied. Looked like at least Cash believed it. “Hey, is she with you or something?”

  “Yes, she is.” He ignored the gasp of protest from the girl. He’d explain once the Vultures were gone — if they thought she was known to him, they’d spread the word, and the rest of the unpleasant elements around here would lay off her.

  Cash shook his head and looked at Deacon. The man was standing on his own now, staring blankly at nothing. “You sure he’ll be okay?” he said.

  Noah nodded. “Five, ten minutes tops. Now clear out.”

  “All right. We’re dust.” Cash gripped Deacon’s shoulder. “Come on, man. Let’s go grab some cold ones at Marley’s.”

  Deacon’s head swiveled to face him. “Who are you?”

  “Christ, he’s a vegetable,” Cash muttered, steering the unresisting man away. “See you around, Proph.”

  Noah didn’t reply. He watched them file past, headed for the next block, and turned to the girl when they were out of sight.

  She still had the knife up. “Who the hell are you?”

  “You’re welcome,” he sighed.

  “I had them handled.”

  “Oh, you did?” He frowned and folded his arms. “Fine. I’ll just call them back, and you can handle them.”

  Her lip curled, but she lowered the knife. Slowly. “You used magic,” she said
, making the words an accusation.

  “And you have Magesign.” He pointed at the side of her neck.

  “It’s a tattoo.”

  “Oh, boy,” he said with a smirk. “If you think anybody around here’s going to buy that, you’re definitely in the wrong place.”

  “I don’t care what they think.” With a slight roll of her eyes, she collapsed the switchblade and pocketed it. “Why did you say I’m with you, creep? I’m not available.”

  Creep. That was a new one. “So those assholes would tell everyone else around here not to kill you,” he said. “Again … you’re welcome.”

  She blew a flustered breath. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  Before he could point out that she’d needed it, whether she asked or not, she spun on a heel and stormed off toward Five Cowboys.

  Noah stared after her for a long moment. If she carried that attitude into the bar, her evening probably wasn’t going to go the way she planned. And honestly, he couldn’t imagine what someone like her was planning in the Warrens at this time of night. Everything about that girl screamed clean, sheltered, delusional HeMo addict — especially the comment about him using magic.

  But he was too angry to bother saving her again. He’d already made sure she would stay alive, and she reacted like he’d demanded sexual favors in return or something. Was a goddamned thank-you too much to ask?

  Jaw clenched, he turned away and headed for the four-wheeler he’d left at the end of the block. He didn’t need a drink that badly, if it meant being in the same building with that ungrateful brat.

  CHAPTER 20

  Five Cowboys Bar

  August 8, 10:30 p.m.

  Teague was starting to think she should’ve been a little nicer to the man they called Prophet. In fact, she probably should have gone down the flirty buy-me-a-drink road, much as the idea disgusted her. Whoever he was, he obviously knew people around here — and she couldn’t get anyone in this bar to talk to her.