Fianna the Gold

by Louisa Kelley

  She tried to reach her again on the mind link, knowing Abbie wasn’t always in control of her communication skills. Again, nothing. Stay on track, she reminded herself. What were her priorities? The urgency to talk to the Queen had reached a new level. She was so torn, but Fianna had to believe Abbie could take care of herself a little while longer. And there wasn’t any evidence of Marcus or dark magic at the house, only the strange human housemate.

  “We have to trust Abbie. Whatever she’s doing, she’ll be fine until we can get back. Our priority is to contact Nareen,” Fianna said. “Marcus is a wild card and he could be a very destructive one if not checked, and only Nareen can do that. I’m also worried about Orla. Why isn’t she on the link?”

  She tried to soothe the group anxiety by reminding everyone that Abbie had demonstrated crafty resourcefulness again and again. She was an unusual, clever dracling. They’d barely left her alone for an hour. What could have happened in an hour?

  “And she’s got your ring, Fi.”

  “Right. Good thought.” Fianna was certain Abbie wore it. She’d want to admire her own cleverness. Maybe the silver ring had given itself willingly to Abbie, recognizing a greater need for protection. Abbie had no idea, of course, of the power she held. Fianna hoped, with a fervent prayer to the gods, that the ring found a way to tell her. Sometimes Dracan magic worked in just such a way.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dragon Capture

  “Where do we go now?” Abbie asked, thrilled with her enhanced sight.

  She followed her sister-self’s directions through the neighborhood like a puppy on a leash, ending up at the entrance to Floral Drive, a hilly road that disappeared around the twisting curves into the trees. Her bossy inner voice urged Abbie forward, following a scent or noise human Abbie couldn’t sense. Maybe it was her inner superpower. Cool.

  A sudden shared purpose brought Abbie’s edgy dual nature into a more positive rhythm. She swung into the first couple of uphill miles in a newly coordinated unit with her other self. The directions sorted out fast, like having Google Maps in her head. Only so much better.

  The street lights became fewer as she climbed, and the twisting street grew darker. The surroundings reeked of exclusivity, evidence of gated communities and perfectly manicured lawns in front of huge, sprawling estates.

  She slowed at a ridgetop to catch her breath, barely noting the view of the Willamette and Columbia Rivers below. Then, a strange noise cracked the silence and buzzed along her nerves, pinging alarm. The sound was distinctive, so… so…familiar. This must be the special signal, the one Fianna and Guin had left to find. She reached out to Fianna, desperate for connection, then clutched her head in pain. A scale erupted on her forearm in a painful skin break, the precursor to full shift.

  “No!” Abbie ground her teeth and pushed away the shift, while she continued to stumble up the steep hill. She rounded the next bend, where, to her immense relief, the relentless directions sent her skidding to a gasping halt in a grove of trees alongside a gravel driveway. Yards ahead loomed an imposing barrier of ornate wrought iron security gates. Street lights shone above, making her skin prickle in the spotlight of brightness. She shook off the conditioned paranoia of a thief.

  If she had found her way here, surely Fianna and Guin had, too? “Are they here?”

  “No.” Abbie heard the sound of dragon teeth clicking in frustration. “They were. Missed them.”

  Oh, great. They were gone? Should she go back?

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she groused and was rewarded with tense silence. Communication between them was so hit and miss. Where did chatty dragon go? Well, Abbie wasn’t leaving yet, so there.

  The signal rang in an insistent, maddeningly familiar beat, and the place was drenched in astounding Draca magic. Abbie inhaled power, both familiar and darkly foreign. What the hell was going on here? And why had Fianna and Guin left?

  Abbie debated her next move. Maybe she should bolt, since Fianna would freak out if she was gone when she returned to pick her up.

  “Should have thought of that before you left,” said the acerbic voice in her head.

  “We were both in on this and you know it.” Abbie wasn’t taking any shit from her new partner. She’d led them here, for God’s sake. Plenty of blame to go around.

  Oh, she was so curious about the shimmer of magic. Shouldn’t she check it out? Even her meager powers sensed that the Draca energy came from the massive estate behind the trees. She wanted to check out that house.

  Her intense, dragony curiosity overruled her good sense, not that she’d ever had much to begin with. The huge property appeared fully enclosed by a twelve-foot-high iron gate. That had never stopped her before. She gauged the tall stretch of metal with practiced eyes. Thief skills go well with dragon skills, she thought with a grin. Another reason to love her new status.

  Abbie ignored the steady drumbeat of uneasy premonitions, and the disagreement of her dragon, and went for a section of wrought iron gate she estimated was out of line of sight. She grabbed on, flipped over the bar as if she weighed nothing, and landed lightly on her feet. Pleased with her burgeoning skills, she dodged into a scanty line of shrubbery.

  She sniffed and caught a whiff of Fianna and Guin, like a ghost trace of their familiar energies, which beckoned her on with tantalizing scents. She had to know more. If Fianna and Guin were really not here, why had her sister-self urged her up the hill in the first place?

  “MISTAKE,” stated the unhappy voice in her head. “GO BACK” was accompanied by a growl.

  “You’re not in charge,” she said, and took off, a large three-story house coming into focus as she ran.

  Her sister-self shrieked warnings as Abbie rounded the corner of the house and saw construction crews, trucks, and piles of building material. She came to an abrupt halt. Above her floated the sounds of murmured conversation, a clink of a glass on the second-floor deck. Magic poured from the deck in dark waves, beckoning to Abbie until, curious beyond bearing, she launched herself up onto the balcony above. She sailed through the air as if she’d unfurled her wings, to collapse in a heap before a huge glass door.

  She lay there, wits scattered—did she just do that?—when the sliding doors flew open and a tall, gray-haired, older man emerged. He clapped his hands.

  “Bravo, little dragon. I didn’t expect you to have those powers yet.” There was nothing friendly in his tone. He leaned over Abbie, his long hair swinging above her. “We’ve been waiting for you,” he said, eyeing her under lowered brows. “Excellent timing. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist the magic.”

  He reeked of the same dark energy she’d sensed surrounding the deck. Abbie shook off his hand as she scrambled to her feet. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

  Had she just flown up to the balcony? She hadn’t known about those powers, either. Then, it sank in that the creepy character knew who, or rather what, she was. He exuded danger in a bad, crazy way, yet he smelled like Draca, adding to her confusion. She looked behind her for an escape, when a hard grip yanked her around. He emitted such immense, scary power, Abbie’s knees went weak.

  “You want answers? Get inside.” He growled in an unmistakable dragon tone. His eyes…that familiar brilliant glint.

  Thinking fast, she tried to remember what Fianna had told her about the Houses of Draca. The Counsel Leader was from Diamond. Was this guy…maybe?

  “Go on.” He shoved her toward the door.

  Abbie stumbled like a robot into a tastefully coordinated living room. It disoriented her already spinning brain—the matching autumnal colors, the oriental floor rugs, the arranged antique end tables and love seats…and the elegant woman standing by the brick fireplace. Her thick blonde hair hung in artful waves from a side part, like a forties movie star, complete with black trousers and white blouse. She looked as startled as Abbie.

  “Miriam, meet your dragon.” He gave Abbie a push forward.

  Abbie recognized the woma
n in a sickening jolt. “You!” she said, through the alarmed chaos in her head.

  “Hello, Abbie. Do you remember me?” the woman asked in a cool voice. Her eyes blazed with triumph. “Quite a show you put on.” She came closer, as if to inspect her prize. Abbie backed up, her throat tight with growing fear. How did she know her name?

  “I hate to interrupt your little reunion,” the elderly Draca said. “First, we need to secure the dracling.”

  Abbie tried to dodge, but he caught her arm and tripped her to her knees. He snapped his fingers, something sparked and, in seconds, she was wrapped shoulders to ankles in a thick, luminescent green rope. She gasped, fighting to breathe from within the tight restrictions. The demand to shift raged, and caused agonizing pain in every nerve.

  “Stop!” Abbie screamed in a hoarse shout, as much to her inner self as the bastard who was tying her. She fought the rope but it only wound tighter. He’d wrapped her in a fucking magic rope. Her sister-self whimpered in pain, blocked from shifting by the power in the bindings.

  “I can’t breathe,” Abbie gasped. “Please?” She aimed her plea to Miriam. Her inability to make wise choices hadn’t changed with the onset of dragonhood, it appeared. Abbie would give anything to be waiting back in her bedroom.

  An expression of alarm crossed Miriam’s face. “Take it easy, Marcus,” she said.

  Marcus? Abbie’s heart gave a thud. She remembered the conversation with the Draca about the weird call from Marcus. Her stomach dropped. This was him, tying her up. For freak’s sake! She just could not stay out of trouble!

  The ropes loosened a fraction and Abbie sucked in a relieved breath. “You shouldn’t have been the boss,” said the pissed-off dragon in her head.

  “Focus,” Abbie hissed. “Get us out of here!” What the hell was happening? She fought against the rope, seeking to loosen it further.

  Marcus knelt down in front of her, a scowl on his long, pointed face, eyes blazing. Yep, House of Diamond all right. So, he was in league with Miriam. He had to be. He acted like he was in charge. But why? What was he up to?

  “What is this, some kind of initiation? Why all the drama? I mean, you could have just called me.” The ropes wouldn’t budge. Where were her so-called powers?

  “I regret the necessity of the rope,” Marcus said. “But even draclings have power, and your lack of training is a danger.”

  “What the fuck do you want with me, then?”

  An expression flickered across his face, a mix of rage, greed, and pain. Abbie’s dual nature shuddered. Then his pale eyes went blank and filmy with some emotion Abbie didn’t recognize.

  “You must be secured,” he said gruffly.

  “But why?”

  “Enough questions!” he barked. “Miriam, is the basement prepared?”

  Basement? Abbie swung her gaze from Marcus to Miriam. Her “weird monitor” was ringing off the hook.

  “Everything is ready,” Miriam replied.

  This had all been planned. “We fell right into a trap,” Abbie hissed internally to her dragon. Her sister-self seethed in agreement. “Can’t you do something?”

  “Not yet,” the dragon answered in a preternatural voice promising death. She twisted in the binding magic, as helpless as Abbie. Abbie’s wits woke up at the paralysis of her dragon, and she let it rip with screams for help. “Help me! Help! Help! I’m being kidnapped! Help me!”

  “Quiet,” Marcus hollered. He waved his hand at her and paralyzed her vocal cords.

  Abbie glared hate daggers at Marcus and fought the ropes. Goddamn fucking asshole!

  “I’m sorry about the ropes,” Miriam said, smoothing the hair out of Abbie’s eyes with a trembling hand. “I didn’t realize how young you were.”

  Abbie caught the tiniest glimpse of guilt and thought fast how to use it. “Mm?” she whined, trying to look puppyish and pathetic.

  “Let’s get her into the cage,” Marcus said.

  Cage? Not a good word. Could Fianna and the gang sense her distress with the telepathy thing? Abbie cursed her lack of understanding about Draca ways. Her sister-self coiled in helpless rage. “Told you so,” she growled. “We shouldn’t have left the house.”

  Marcus scowled. “Get up,” he demanded.

  Abbie aimed more hate daggers at him. Miriam assisted her to a standing position. Abbie teetered, so Miriam loosened the strands around her lower legs.

  “Try that,” Miriam said.

  Marcus tugged on the lead of rope, forcing Abbie to take a tentative step. When she remained upright, he grunted, “Good,” and proceeded to lead Abbie across the living room toward a dark hall.

  Fighting panic, she followed in small, restricted steps over what seemed like miles of hardwood flooring. She wanted to keep track of where they went, but staying on her feet took all her concentration. Miriam accompanied the procession, her arms crossed over her chest. Whatever sympathy Abbie had sensed before seemed gone.

  Abbie stumbled into a large, bright kitchen, and Marcus directed her to a metal door. The snick of multiple locks echoed like gunshots. He pulled the door open, and Abbie got a glimpse of steep wooden stairs heading down to the basement. Every scary movie she’d ever seen rushed through her head. She tried to twist away, to no avail.

  “Mfufffck!” she pleaded over her shoulder at Miriam, who made a shooing motion.

  “Go,” Marcus said, and gave her a small push. Abbie nearly pitched headfirst, then recovered by falling against the handrail. She shot a glance of pure venom at her captors, and sort of hop-stepped down in awkward fashion, until she lost her balance and crashed face first, down the remaining steps and landed half-on, half-off the cold, concrete floor.

  “Sorry about that,” Miriam muttered. She tugged Abbie down the last step and turned her over with unexpected gentleness. “You’re bleeding.” She sounded distressed. “Your nose might be broken.” She dabbed at Abbie’s face with a tissue.

  Abbie laid still with the wind knocked out of her. She glared at Miriam through watering eyes as Marcus’s magical kibosh on her voice continued.

  “Marcus, restore her voice,” Miriam said. What the hell kind of partnership did these two have going?

  “After we get her locked up,” he said.

  Locked up? No! No locking! This isn’t the way Fianna described how dragons took care of draclings, that was for damn sure. She struggled to sit upright, wincing in pain. She pressed at her ribs. Tender, but probably not broken. Her nose throbbed and her face was sticky with blood.

  “Come,” Marcus said, as he bent to assist her awkwardly to her feet and tugged her with the hateful rope to the open entrance of an enormous black metal cage. “In here.” He gestured, indicating she move past him into the metal enclosure. “Sufficient, for now,” he pronounced, and gave a swing of his arm.

  The loud clang of a heavy metal door sounded. As soon as the lock secured, the ropes dropped off her body, save for a single, thick strand connecting her ankle to the farthest bar in the back.

  Abbie looked around and noted the narrow cot and toilet with alarm. That meant an extended stay. Oh, God, what had she gotten herself into now?

  What were her escape odds? She flashed a look at the wide, black bars with odd engravings. The bars rose from drilled mounts in the concrete floor to the ceiling, where they were fastened, joined, and mounted into a large rectangular square. Her sister-self seemed deeply affected by the metal. A pitiful moaning started as soon as the door banged shut.

  They both jumped in a hiss of pain when Abbie touched a fingertip to a bar. A disturbing vibration buzzed through the rope and up Abbie’s leg. Her shifter senses shrank from the rough magic activated by the mysterious metal. Abbie looked closer at the bars. The marks were in a rune-like pattern, as if they had been specially prepared for…what?

  “A dragon trap,” her sister-self moaned. Oh, of course it was. Leave it to her to be caught in a special magic jail cell for dragons. She was never going to question Fianna’s instructions again.

>   Marcus’s strange eyes gleamed in triumph. He muttered a few words of what Abbie knew was the old dragon language and suddenly her voice was back.

  “Fianna will be here any second!” she burst out. “Everyone will be looking for me. You can’t keep me here!”

  “Oh, I believe I can.” He eyed her with cunning speculation. “It is my right, and my due.”

  “What is your right?”

  “You,” he declared with a terrifying smile of satisfaction. “Such a fortuitous arrival. Just in time to begin the necessary and long overdue…changes.”

  “I am not yours, you fucking asshole! Nothing’s beginning here! Nothing! Do you hear me?”

  “What you think is of no consequence, little Draca.” A shadow flickered across his face. “In time, you will become accustomed to your fate and the cage will no longer be required.”

  “What kind of fate?” Each time he spoke, she gleaned a little more.

  “You have no idea, do you? Fianna neglected to mention the special powers in your scales?”

  “Powers? What are you talking about?” Finally, maybe some answers.

  “Why do you think Miriam hung on to the scales she found?”

  She did? Abbie gaped at Marcus. Where was he going with this?

  “The rise of the House of Diamond is upon us. You will serve only me, and not the whim of the Dracan Council.” She scrambled to remember what little Fianna had told her about the Council. “The rest of the Council will have something to say about that,” she said, defiantly.

  “The rest of the Council will have nothing to say about that,” he roared, making her jump back. “What you possess belongs to me. You belong to me.” Frightening resolve flashed on his face. The gray pupils of his eyes spun like pinwheels, hinting at unhinged power.

  Total creep-fest. This guy was off his rocker. His changing emotions shot her in the gut like arrows, and she shuddered at his implications. What did she have that he wanted so badly? To Abbie’s relief, Marcus turned away and bolted up the stairs. The basement shook when he slammed the kitchen door shut.