by Jill Jones
Keely felt as if her body had been twisted like laundry on the line. Her muscles were tense, her neck stiff and sore. Another soak in a hot bath sounded inviting, but she found it awkward to bathe with Jack being in the very next room.
She preceded him into their set of rooms, thinking about what she’d just said, that it was not like a Dragoner to go to a hotel room with a strange man, and yet, wasn’t that exactly what she was doing? She knew she should be wary of Jack, especially in light of what she’d overheard that afternoon. But standing outside the door just now, something in Jack’s expression tugged at her heartstrings. Something that reassured her that no matter what she had overheard, Jack Knight was not a killer. He was as frustrated as she, mayhap more so, for it was his job to solve the crime, he’d said, and so far he had failed.
He followed her into the suite and went to a small box sitting on the counter in the kitchen area. Opening it, he took out two bottles, one filled with honey-colored liquid, the other with orange juice. As she watched, he took two drinking glasses from the cupboard, opened the bottles, poured the liquid into the containers, and handed her the orange juice.
“One of the bennies of staying in a high-priced joint like this is the private bar.” He raised his glass in salute.
Keely did not understand “bennies” or “joint,” but she knew what a bar was, and she raised her own glass in salute. Mayhap they were calling a truce.
Jack downed his drink in a few swallows and poured himself another. Keely wondered what was in the little bottles, but decided not to ask. Her own juice was delicious and in a few moments it fortified her flagging spirits.
Jack removed the small phone from his belt and laid it on the table. He ran his hands through his hair and sat down on the sofa, exhaling a heavy sigh.
“Who did it, Keely? Who the hell shot them?”
Keely wished with all her heart she knew the answer, not only for her own sake, but to end Jack’s torment. But she was no longer sure there was an answer. At least not a logical one. She’d been troubled ever since she had realized that Brad had tried to protect Genny, yet she had died nonetheless. Keely took a seat next to Jack and reached for his hand.
“I know ye do na believe in the Dragon lore,” she began, hoping he would hold his temper until she finished what she had to say. She needed desperately to talk to someone who could dislodge her renewed fear, and Jack was the only candidate for the job. “But what if ‘tis true, that somehow death comes, accidentally maybe, to those who betray the Dragon? If it was a burglar who shot Genny, it was an accident of sorts, wasn’t it, I mean that she would be in such a situation?”
Jack leaned back against the sofa and took her with him, draping his arm around her shoulder. “Yes, I suppose you could consider it an accident. But you’re listening to the part of you that’s been brainwashed, Keely,” he said patiently.
“Let no one leave who be Dragon kiss’d,” she sang in a low voice. “It’s…it’s like a curse, Jack.”
“‘Dragon kiss’d.’ What does that mean?”
Keely had already told Jack so many of the Dragon’s secrets, what harm could there be in telling him more? she thought grimly. Mayhap if he understood the depth of what he called their “brainwashing,” he could find some way to reassure her that she was not in danger of meeting with one of the Dragon’s tragic “accidents.”
She drew away from him and turned her head slightly to one side, lifting her hair from her neck and revealing the mark beneath her left ear.
“‘Tis the kiss of the Dragon,” she said in a low voice. “‘Tis a mark of protection Dragoners receive when they pledge their loyalty to the Dragon upon passing from childhood. ‘Tis said the Dragon himself placed such a kiss on the first Healer.”
Jack was distraught that Keely seemed to have relapsed into the fears she’d brought with her from that godforsaken island, but he knew the importance of helping her to work through them. He was curious as well, for he remembered seeing the small, raised mark on both her neck and Alyn Runyon’s. He leaned closer and saw that it was in the shape of a tiny triad of flames. It was not a tattoo. It looked uncomfortably like a brand.
“How do they make the mark?” he asked, knowing it was not a kiss from any dragon.
“‘Tis made with the ring of the Healer, heated in the sacred fire and touched to the skin but briefly.”
“They do that to cattle in my country.” Jack didn’t want to offend her again, but he couldn’t help murmuring the sarcastic comment under his breath. The thought of people laying a brand on their children struck him as barbaric. “Does it hurt?”
“Not now. It did when Ninian marked me, but that was long ago. ‘Tis not a torture, as ye might think. ‘Tis a mark anxiously awaited by young Dragoners, as it is evidence that they are no longer children.”
Jack recalled seeing a red mark on Genevieve’s neck as well, but it seemed there had been something different about it.
Gently, he touched his finger to Keely’s neck. “What does the dragon require in return for this…kiss?” Her skin was cool and silken to his touch, and he longed to caress the entire length of her throat. He saw her swallow, but she did not move away.
“Loyalty,” she uttered. “To the Dragon and to the laws of Keinadraig.”
“What about to oneself?” he asked solemnly, lowering his head until his lips were mere inches from hers.
“One…thinks not of oneself.” Her words were just above a whisper. “One lives for the good of all.”
With his face so close to hers, Jack could see even more clearly the strain on her face, the dark shadows beneath her eyes. She seemed burdened, older than the years she claimed. What had she already been called upon to do “for the good of all?” And had she done those things willingly?
He took her face in both hands, and he could see the ambivalence in her eyes. He sensed she was glad to be away from Keinadraig, but in making that break, she had also run away from responsibility, and from a lifetime promise. He did not think that came easily to her.
“It’s time you thought of yourself, Keely,” he told her. “Time to get past all the fear and the brainwashing and look out for your own best interests, not the good of all.”
He heard a small sigh escape her lips. “I…know that, and yet…Oh, Jack…I’m…so confused…”
Jack drew her closer, wanting to kill every Dragoner responsible for her superstitious fear with his bare hands, wanting to shield her from every danger, real and imagined. “Let it go, Keely. Let go of the past. Let me help you get rid of your dragons.”
Her entire body begin to shake. He pressed her head against his chest and felt the wetness of tears through his shirt. He did not speak, for he had no words that could adequately convey the feelings that suddenly erupted in his heart. The intensity of his emotions surprised him, but he knew at that moment he would hold her forever, if that’s what it took, to restore her spirit and keep her safe.
Jack thought about his sister, streetwise and tough at twenty-five, a teacher in the ghetto. How different she was from Keely. Yet even all her savvy had not protected her from the violence of her world. Jack had made a mistake, and Melinda had died because of it. He would not let it happen to Keely. He would do whatever it took; he would be there for her until she needed him no longer. Until he was certain she was safe and that no dragons stalked her dreams.
Keely clung to Jack, hungry for his reassurance and the protection he promised, yet hating that she was so weak that she continued to fall prey to old fears and superstitions. She had always been strong, independent, had in fact been virtually on her own since her father died. She had never needed a man’s protection. Until Genny ran away, the protection of the Dragon had been sufficient.
Now it was that very Dragon, or at least her superstitious fear of it, that threatened her. She knew it was irrational, but at the moment, that fear was as real in her heart as was the mark on her neck.
She must pull herself together. She must find a way to
take control of her life, as Jack had encouraged her to do. She was grateful for his offer to help her get rid of her “dragons,” but she could not cower in his arms forever.
Protection. Of a Dragon. Of a man. What was the difference? She must be strong, and find protection in her own heart. Only then would she be truly free.
Keely squeezed what she hoped were the last of her tears from between her lashes and fought to compose herself. Her fears were foolish. Groundless. Jack was right. There was no Dragon. There was only legend and her own ignorant beliefs that had held her prisoner for a lifetime.
She had made her choice. She had made her break with the past. Now she must learn to live with it.
She straightened and cleared her throat. “Thank ye, Jack,” she smiled at him. “I’ll find my way soon.”
“So where do we go from here, Keely?” His voice was solemn, his eyes probing.
For a moment, she was unsure of what he meant. If his question concerned the murder investigation, she could not answer. He was the policeman, or investigator or whatever. She knew nothing of all that. But his question sounded like he meant something more personal, something she did not want to think about at the moment. A rumble in her stomach gave her an excuse to change the subject.
“For pizza?”
Jack raised his head sharply, gazed at her in momentary confusion, then warmed her with a slow grin. By the Saints, but he was a handsome man. She wished he would smile more often.
“You suppose they make pizza in this joint?” he said.
Keely grinned in return and shrugged, glad for a release of the terrible tension that had stretched between them all afternoon. “Shall I call room service?”
She did, only to learn that apparently this high priced hotel did not do pizza. But the man on the phone had been very helpful and had directed her to call a nearby pizzeria. Jack showed her how to make the call, instructed her on what to order, and gave her an unexpected hug when she hung up the phone, triumphant, proud of another small victory in her bout with the modern world.
She wished the hug had lasted longer.
Fifteen minutes later, he left to pick up the pizza, as the pizzeria did not deliver to the hotel.
Keely kicked off her shoes, wondering how long he would be gone and if she’d have time for that soak in the tub. She went in search of her small bag of belongings and stopped in the doorway to the bedroom, stunned by the elegance of her surroundings. It made last night’s inn look shabby in comparison. A four-poster bed commanded the far wall, its overhead frame draped with gauzy material that looked as if it might be made from fairy wings. A white satin spread covered the bed, which was piled high with pillows.
A long, low chair stretched near the window, and a cabinet of rich dark red wood stood sentinel on another wall. Jack had called this a “high priced joint.” He must have meant a palace, for indeed this room looked like pictures of royal residences she had seen in the books brought to the islanders by the Education Ministry.
Gingerly, Keely knelt next to her bag on the floor near the long chair, not wanting perchance to soil the elegant fabric by placing the bag there. From the depths she withdrew the bath salts. It would feel good to relax and wash away the dirt of the city. She was still wearing the melon-colored dress she’d worn yesterday. A change of clothing would be refreshing as well.
After a short but refreshing soak, Keely dressed and exited the bathroom, headed for the bedroom, but stopped when she heard a faint ringing sound. She frowned and listened intently. She heard it again. She followed the sound toward the front of the suite and realized Jack’s little phone was ringing.
Should she answer it? Keely was not sure if he would want her to or not. But she had conquered the telephone. After all, she’d just ordered out for pizza, and before that had used the house phone here in the hotel. With a mischievous grin, she reached for the object and pressed the button that read “Send/Receive.”
“Hello?”
Chapter Eighteen
Keely expected a man’s voice. Mayhap Mr. Holstedt was calling. Or the inspector from Scotland Yard.
Instead, she heard a female voice. A terrifyingly familiar voice that after an initial hesitation, began to sing a terrifyingly familiar tune. But the words, unfamiliar, terrified her most:
“‘Twas a fair maid who was called to serve,
But the Dragon’s law she would not observe,
A midnight flight to another shore,
Sweet Genevieve shall return no more.
“Who is this?” Keely demanded, already knowing the answer. The singer did not reply, but continued her torment:
“For the Dragon’s reach is far and wide,
By the Dragon’s claw sweet Genny died…”
The singer pause, then hissed, “Genny died by the Dragon’s claw, Keely, and so will ye.”
Panic-stricken, Keely pressed the button to disconnect the call and crumpled into a nearby chair. Undeniably, the caller had been Erica. How on earth had Erica Sloan managed to find her here?
Keely’s heartbeat pulsed like that of a frightened rabbit. Moisture broke out on her skin, turning it clammy in the air conditioned room. A dark thought crossed her mind. If Erica had found her, had she also found Genevieve? Was Erica somehow responsible for Genny’s murder?
Was Erica about to murder her as well?
These were impossible notions, but nonetheless Keely went to the door and locked it as Jack had shown her.
She paced the small room. There had to be some reasonable explanation for this. And then she remembered. She had left Jack’s card beside her bed. That little sneak must have found it and decided to play a prank. No telling what other of her possessions she’d gotten into.
And then Keely remembered. It didn’t matter.
She would never be going back to her cottage or her things. Nonetheless, she did not want Erica Sloan touching anything that had been hers.
The phone rang again.
“Hello?” This time Keely’s voice was sharp.
“Ye have betrayed th’ Dragon, like the whore that ye are. Beware th’ Dragon’s claw.” Although the voice on the phone was now both disguised and muffled, Keely was not fooled.
“Go home, Erica. Do na call me again.”
She pressed the button that cut off further threats, but her pulse continued to thrum. What was she to do if Erica kept this up? What if that bold snippet called Jack?
Or had she already called him? Keely thought about the “wrong number” call that had rung him at the pizza restaurant in Fowey. Had that been Erica? What had she said? Had she threatened him as well?
The phone rang again. Keely looked at the tiny screen at the top of the little black box. Numbers appeared like magic. Numbers she recognized. Erica was trespassing in the Council office. If she had not been so distraught, Keely would have laughed at the girl’s stupidity. Did she not know it cost money to make telephone calls? Wait until Uncle Alyn found out…
It rang again.
“Stop it!” Keely screamed into the phone.
“You will die,” the voice promised in a dire harsh whisper. “Th’ Dragon’s claw is long. It reached Genevieve, and it will reach you.”
This time, the caller disconnected, leaving Keely staring speechless at the contraption.
There was a sharp knock at the door, scaring her nearly out of her wits.
“Who’s there?”
“Pizza man.”
She let out her breath and ran to open the door, knowing full well it was Jack, but half expecting to find the Dragon there instead.
Jack barely had time to toss the box containing the hot pizza onto the table before Keely, appealingly damp and scented from a bath and wearing the other dress they had bought in the boutique, careened into his arms, nearly knocking him to the floor.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, holding her tightly against him, trying to still her violent trembling.
“They’ve found me.” She choked on a sob.
&nb
sp; “Who? Who’s found you?”
“The…the Dragoners. Erica Sloan must have found your card in my room, and she called and…and…”
“Threatened you.” Jack groaned. Dear God, this was all he needed. He cursed himself for leaving the cell phone in the room. “Don’t worry, Keely. It’s just harassment, nothing more. They don’t know where you are. They just know where you aren’t. Who’s Erica Sloan?”
“Genny’s little sister. She’s a sly, nasty girl. The one who brought you to the pub, then made sure everyone knew a ‘stranger’ had come to see me.”
“Oh. That one.” Jack remembered the sour expression on the girl’s face as they’d left the dock in Keinadraig. “But she’s just a child, Keely. She can’t hurt you.”
He felt her take a deep calming breath, and her quaking eased.
“I know that,” she said. “In my head, I know she’s just making a prank. But after what happened to Genny…”
“What happened to Genny had nothing to do with the dragon legend. There is no dragon.” It was beginning to sound like a mantra.
“I know that, too. I…I just wish she would stop.”
“I’ll get a different phone number tomorrow,” Jack promised, but he hoped he would get just one more phone call from the brat who had unnerved Keely all over again. He’d like to tell her a few things that might put dragons in her dreams for a change. “Try to forget it, okay? Want some pizza?”
Keely released him from her death grip and raised her head. “I feel terrible,” she murmured. “I do na think I can eat.”
“Why don’t you lie down for a little while?” he suggested, going to the sofa and piling some pillows at one end before indicating for her to plop down. Then he had another idea. As she slipped onto the couch, he went into the kitchen and opened the bar. He found several splits of wine and chose a hearty red. Jack doubted that Keely was much of a drinker, in spite of having run the only pub on Keinadraig. But perhaps a small glass of wine might soothe her nerves, and then they could enjoy the pizza.