Real Dragons

by Rebecca Shelley

  "I don't know about this," Tom said, rubbing his hands on his jeans. "What if this Stevens guy doesn't believe I found the dragon wristband?"

  Weldon pushed his way through the crowd toward the tall silver building that peeked its head out above the other skyscrapers. "There no way some kid could of broken into his penthouse and gotten them jewels out of that safe. I don't know how you got them, but he can't possibly blame you for steeling them. It'd take a whole team of cat burglars to pull that heist. They didn't even set off no alarms or leave no trace they been there. Stevens didn't even know them jewels was gone until they showed up for sale."

  Tom stopped. He gripped his wrist over the diamond dragon with his opposite hand and stared around at the buildings. "How are we supposed to find this Stevens guy?"

  Weldon pointed to the silver skyscraper. It was exactly as he'd seen it on the news. "Stevens lives on the top three floors."

  Tom frowned and stared up at the building. His eyes glazed over for a moment. Then he shook himself. "How are we going to get up there?"

  "Don't know," Weldon answered. "But we gonna try." He didn't dare tell Tom how scared he was. He continued up the street. The salty taste of fear lingered in his mouth. He felt out of place there. The fancy people around him made him hyper-aware of his shabby jeans with strings dangling from the frayed bottoms, the tomato soup stain on his tight gray t-shirt, the dirt under his fingernails, things he'd never thought much of before.

  To make things worse, he had a goose egg growing on his forehead, which had thankfully stopped bleeding. There was no hiding that, or Tom's battered face. People looked at the two of them, did a double take, then put their heads down and hurried on. No questions asked about the strange pair of boys. No one wanted to know.

  They reached an intersection and crossed the street with a crowd of people. The Stevens Tower filled half of the next block. A sleek silver limousine pulled up to the curb in front of the main doors.

  Weldon's heart jumped into his throat, and he froze, unsure where to run.

  "What's wrong?" Tom said.

  Weldon pressed his finger against his lips and edged away from the building, trying to hide himself in the throng of people. But he was too close to really be out of sight.

  The chauffeur got out and went around to open the door. Weldon's arms went numb and his fingers tingled like they were pricked with needles. It was the same man, the chauffeur who had ordered the muggers to kill Tom.

  Mr. Stevens stepped out of the limo and swept into the building.

  Weldon's vision swam.

  Tom thumped him on the back. "Breathe man."

  Weldon took a gulp of air, turned around and headed away from the building. Tom followed, demanding an explanation. Weldon didn't speak until they'd crossed the street and put plenty of distance between themselves and the silver building. He pulled Tom around so they faced away from the street as the silver limo glided past in the flow of traffic.

  When it had gone, Weldon took another deep breath and spoke. His voice came out hoarse and frightened. "That chauffeur, he the one that ordered them thugs to kill you. But I don't understand. Looks like he working for Mr. Stevens. Why would Stevens want you dead?"

  "Maybe he knows I took the jewels." Tom's face went whiter than its usual white. "He doesn't want the police involved for some reason. Figures he'll get revenge himself."

  "But the police be involved," Weldon said. "They done told the chauffeur where to find you at Alice's." Weldon's head throbbed. He felt like he held a handful of puzzle pieces, but none of them fit together.

  "Well, we can't go to Mr. Stevens. Now what?" Tom asked.

  "We can't go home," Weldon said. "They gonna be waiting for us there." Weldon shook out his hands, trying to get the blood flowing back through them. "Maybe we could run past the building and toss the wristband to the doorman?"

  "But I can't take it off. Believe me, I've tried," Tom said.

  "Right. Forgot about that." Weldon bit his lip. He didn't have enough money to get back on the subway. He didn't know this part of the city and had no idea where they could hide. He moved away from the street up against a black skyscraper with gold lettering on the front, listing some fancy-sounding attorneys at law. In contrast to the neat building, an old homeless man with scraggly gray hair and whiskers sat in the building's shadow. Weldon almost stepped on him before seeing him and had to swivel away at the last second.

  The man looked up from playing a slow tune on a harmonica in hopes that someone would drop some money into the dented paper cup that sat out in front of him. When he saw Weldon and Tom he stopped playing. "Ain't you two a sight?" he said in a gruff voice.

  Weldon fingered the bump on his forehead and thought about walking away, but Tom squatted down beside the old man. "I like your music. I don't have anything to give you but this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out something smooth and black.

  Weldon grabbed it away from Tom and found himself holding a black marble that shimmered like a pearl. "Where you get this?" he said, shocked. "You know what it be? It a pearl. The pearl dragoness, don't you see?" Shivers crept up and down his spine.

  "It's not a dragon," Tom said, snatching the pearl away from Weldon. "It's just a marble. I found it in the alley by the shoe shop." He dropped it into the old man's cup. "It's not worth anything, but it's all we have."

  The old man set the harmonica down on his ragged pants and fished the black pearl out of the cup with calloused dirt-streaked fingers. "A pearl," he said, twisting it around to catch the sun. "A blessed pearl. Thank you."

  Weldon swallowed his anger at Tom for giving away the pearl. But he couldn't help feeling a sense of horrible loss. The dragoness would never return to the Realm Below. Her mate and her children would never see her again.

  "It's really just a marble," Tom said to the old man. "Weldon has this imagination thing going on. He should probably see a therapist, but I doubt we'll live long enough for that to happen."

  "Shut up." Weldon punched Tom in the shoulder.

  The old man glanced with watery eyes back and forth between the two boys. "You kids in some kind of trouble?"

  "Naw. We ain't in no trouble at all," Weldon said. He grabbed Tom and tried to pull him away. But the old man got to his feet and shuffled along beside them.

  "There's a youth shelter down four blocks that way." The old man pointed away from the spectral silver building toward a grubbier part of town. "You'll be safe there for a bit. No need to keep getting beat up. A friend of mine named Jonas works there. Buys me coffee every morning. Just tell Jonas Old Baxter sent you. Thanks for the pearl. I'm going to keep it with my most precious things."

  Baxter halted and let Weldon and Tom move away. Weldon couldn't stop shivering. The dragoness had come up into this world after all. She'd been in Tom's pocket for who knew how long. She'd come to help, but now she was trapped in Baxter's wrinkled hands.

  "Lucky we had that dragon of yours," Tom said, heading in the direction Baxter had pointed. "At least she helped us find somewhere safe to go. You know, like her note to Barthelme to come back and hide in a safe place. She just saved us."

  "Shut up. You don't even believe it is the pearl dragoness." Weldon balled his hands into fists and moved away from Tom. Of course, Weldon knew it was just a marble Tom had given Baxter. It couldn't really be anything else. But it had appeared in the alley after Weldon had drawn the black dragoness flying into the Realm Above.

  "I wish I could shrink myself and go down into the Real Below," Weldon muttered.

  Tom didn't say anything in return. He just kept on walking through the streets teeming with people.

  Tom's head throbbed. Every bruise on his battered body ached. The hot city streets couldn't keep the cold fear at bay. He glanced over his shoulder at the silent silver tower, the source of his fear. It felt familiar to him, like a nightmare from his deepest and most constant dreams. But he couldn't put a name to his fear. He could find no coherent memory of ever being there exc
ept the blanket of silver that covered his aching mind.

  His glance lasted less than a second before he accidentally slammed into a man's briefcase, knocking it to the ground.

  "Watch where you're going," the man shouted.

  "Sorry," Tom said, reaching to pick up the fallen briefcase. But Weldon grabbed his arm and dragged him away, moving as quickly as they could through the mass of people.

  The thunderous footsteps and rumble of cars on the street made Tom dizzy. He doubled over. "I don't think I can make it four blocks."

  "Course you can," Weldon said. "We already come half way. It just a bit farther." He tugged on Tom's arm. Tom straightened and stumbled along behind Weldon.

  Four blocks down they found no sign of a youth shelter.

  Tom leaned against a building and closed his eyes while Weldon went inside a café and asked directions. The smell of the hot city sidewalk made breathing difficult. On the inside of his closed eyelids Tom saw silver—a flat sheet of silver that twisted and curled into the muzzle of a gun, pointed right between his eyes. He caught his breath and froze. Cold terror gripped him. A man spoke to him, low and menacing. Tom couldn't make out the words.

  "This way." Weldon's voice shattered the nightmare.

  Tom's eyes flashed open, and the city reappeared around him. "Weldon?"

  "You don't look so good," Weldon said.

  Tom brushed sweat from his face and wiped it on his sweat-soaked shirt. "I-I almost remembered something."

  "What?" Weldon scratched his frizzy hair and waited while Tom choked out an answer.

  "A gun. Pointed at me."

  Weldon glanced back and forth across the crowded city street as if expecting the gunman to appear at any moment. "We should go. Can you make it just a bit farther? The phone book says it two streets south of here."

  Tom nodded, and then wished he hadn't moved his aching head so quickly.

  "I hope this place is safe," Weldon said. "Old Baxter don't seem too reliable. He was right about it being four blocks this way, but he didn't say nothing about going two streets over."

  "You didn't exactly give him a chance," Tom said. "You weren't very friendly to him."

  Weldon shrugged. "Sorry. I was surprised to see the pearl."

  They didn't talk again until they stood in front of a two-story red brick building with white trim. A small sign in the lower front window by the door said it was the Safe Home Youth Shelter. They both hesitated outside, staring at the forbidding black door.

  "What you think?" Weldon said.

  "At least it's not silver." Tom scanned the street for any sign of the muggers or the chauffeur that hunted them.

  "If we go in there, they'll probably want to contact our parents," Weldon said.

  "Good," Tom said. "Your dad seems like a nice guy, and your Mom's probably worried crazy by now."

  Weldon grimaced. "I gonna be in the all-time-biggest trouble of my life."

  "They can come get you and take you home safe."

  "I ain't never gonna be safe again," Weldon said. "Look what them guys did to Alice. If they see where I live, they might attack my family too? What if they hurt Phillis?"

  Tom swallowed the nausea that welled up in his throat. The edges of his vision grew fuzzy. "I can't go any further, Weldon. I'm sorry." He staggered toward the door. Weldon got there first and opened it for him.

  Weldon helped Tom slump onto a wooden bench in the entry hall. The shelter smelled like hot bread just out of the oven, making Weldon think of home. The low sound of soft conversation wafted to them. "Stay here," Weldon said.

  He walked down the short hall and found it emptied into a living room with soft blue carpet, a stone fireplace, and a mismatched collection of a comfortable-looking couch and chairs. Two black girls sat on the couch chatting, and a white kid hunched in a chair by the fireplace, listening to an MP3 player and rocking back and forth.

  The girls stopped talking and looked up at Weldon when he entered.

  Weldon shoved his hands in his pockets. "Jonas around?"

  "In the kitchen." One of the girls, who wore a pink shirt and cute braids, pointed to a doorway across the room.

  "Thanks." Weldon flushed as he walked past her. She was probably three years older than him, and he couldn't help liking her.

  He stepped onto the tile floor of the kitchen and blinked in surprise. Someone had painted the kitchen walls orange and mauve, and they contrasted brightly with the yellow cupboards, black stove, and white fridge. A man with short, spiky, blond hair pulled two loaves of bread out of the oven and set them on top of the stove next to a big pot of vegetable soup. He wore a striped white-collar shirt with the front half unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up.

  He set the oven mitts down on the counter, wiped his hands on his jeans and turned to look at Weldon. He half smiled, making him seem like a nice guy, but his eyes were serious and looked straight through Weldon to see everything about him.

  Weldon took a step back. "B-Baxter said come here. My friend, he sick." He pointed over his shoulder. "We need some . . . somewheres safe."

  Jonas blinked and said nothing.

  "These . . . these guys is trying to kill us." Weldon felt compelled by Jonas's silence to try to explain. "The police too. They done told them where Tom was staying so they could attack Tom's foster mother. They already almost killed Tom. They know he can identify them. They be coming back to finish the job. Please, don't call the police. Don't call my parents. My sister. They gonna hurt my sister. She a brat but—" Weldon fell silent.

  Jonas's face remained calm and friendly. His eyes softened. "What's your name?"

  "Weldon."

  "Where's your friend?"

  "Bench." Weldon pointed back toward the front of the building. "He not doing so well. Already been to the hospital. Doctors patched him up. But he don't remember nothing, and he didn't bring no pain pills when he ran."

  Jonas switched the oven off and led the way back to the bench. Tom looked awful with his head leaning against the wall. Black circled his closed eyes, and his right cheek was purple and swollen, contrasting with the waxy paleness of the rest of his face. He still had the bandage around his wrist, and from the bulge beneath his t-shirt around his ribs as well.

  "Hi, Tom. My name's Jonas. Welcome to Safe Home," Jonas said in a soft voice.

  Tom opened his eyes and looked up at Jonas without speaking.

  "So, can we stay?" Weldon asked. If Jonas turned them away Tom wouldn't survive long out on the street.

  Jonas frowned. "No parents? No police?"

  Weldon nodded. "I could call my parents. Tell them I be alive and safe. But I can't go home."

  "Ever?" Jonas's eyes turned spooky again, like living lie detectors. He said the one word and then waited for Weldon's answer with that insistent wait that had made Weldon blurt out so much before.

  Tom's hand tightened around the bandage on his wrist. Weldon shuddered. He wanted to trust Jonas with the whole story, but he didn't know Jonas yet, couldn't tell how he would respond. And Tom obviously wanted Weldon to keep his mouth shut. Weldon wondered how long Tom would spend in prison if convicted of stealing the Bourbon Jewels.

  Weldon shrugged. He'd said too much already.

  Jonas waited another moment and then spoke. "What about you, Tom? You willing to call your parents?"

  Moisture glinted at the edges of Tom's eyes, and he closed them to hide what Weldon thought had to be tears. He made no attempt to answer.

  "He got kicked in the head," Weldon spoke for him. "Concussion, the doctors said he don't remember nothing. Not even his own name. The police couldn't find him on no missing persons list, or runaways, or kidnapped. He got no record to say who he is. They put him in foster care, but then they let out where he was staying and the killers done come for him."

  "Killers?" Jonas asked.

  "Yes killers," Weldon said. "I heard them talking. They want him dead. I warned him and he hid, but they figured out I knew and they caught me—" Weldon f
ell silent. He was talking again and couldn't figure out how Jonas managed to make him do it. Next thing he knew he'd blurt out about the jewels, and Tom would go to jail. Weldon snapped his mouth shut, gritted his teeth, and retreated out the front door to the street. He hated to abandon Tom, but he'd do Tom more damage if he stayed.

  Tom opened his eyes when he heard the door slam. He sat up and realized Weldon was gone. He couldn't quite figure out why. His head had throbbed too much, distracting him while Weldon spoke to that Jonas guy who was in charge. Tom got to his feet and reached for the door.

  "I think you should stay," Jonas said softly. "I can give you some aspirin and a place to lie down."

  "Why'd he leave?" The world swayed around Tom, and he pressed his hand against his forehead. Jonas looked like a really nice guy.

  "My guess is that you're in some kind of trouble with the police, and your friend took off before he said something that would make someone want to turn you in."

  Tom wavered and caught himself with one hand against the wall. He hadn't felt this bad at Alice's house, but then he'd had pain killers and hadn't run all over the city. "I-I've got to go out and talk to Weldon. He hasn't done anything wrong except try to help me."

  Jonas opened the door. "Tell him I won't ask any more questions for now. And I'm not going to call the police no matter what he says. I've heard it all before. This home is a safe place, no matter what kind of trouble you're in."

  "Thanks," Tom said. "I'll tell him if he hasn't run off too far, and I can still find him." Tom took a step outside and then hesitated. "Have you got a pencil and paper?"

  "Sure. Why?"

  "He'll come in for that, I think, no matter how scary you are."

  "Me, scary?" Jonas sniffed the air. "I think my soup's going to boil over. Go get Weldon. Lunch is ready." He strode back toward the kitchen.

  Tom shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun and looked up and down the street. Weldon appeared at the far edge of the building as soon as the door clicked shut. Tom got his legs working and walked over to him. "You didn't have to leave."