by Lola Gabriel
Or at least we don’t know how we can be killed, which more or less makes us immortal.
It was a small price to pay, indulging Amelia’s whims and desires when she asked for silly favors like using his place to impress her vapid friends. What difference did it make? She was right—he wasn’t going to be home, anyway.
And while he would never admit it to her in a million years, he was glad that she trusted him enough to ask for whatever frivolous notions crossed her mind.
In another time or place, he thought, if she was a dragon or if I wasn’t so committed to my work, we might have had a fighting chance at being together. It’s a pity we can’t stand each other.
Anders knew that the relationship he had with his ex was far more constructive as a friendship than it had ever been as a marriage, and he wouldn’t change it for anything.
Not to mention our stunning sexual incompatibility, he thought wryly. He had never known such terrible sex. And yet you still married her.
The alarm on his cell phone dinged then, and Anders groaned loudly, realizing that he had missed an opportunity to sleep. It was impossible for him to sleep inflight, the velocity messing with his inner dragon biology. It took every fiber of his being not to leap from the window and challenge his private jet to a race, knowing full well that his wings would outrun the most elite of planes in the modern sky.
He lay in bed, silencing the alarm and reaching for the remote control on the bedside table. Outside, the wind continued to howl relentlessly, and Anders idly wondered if the pilot would opt out of flying the day.
If he does, I’ll fly myself, he reasoned, his sleepy eyes resting on CNN as he willed himself to find motivation for the day.
“—six arsons in the past four days in Manhattan. Officials are not saying how the fires were started, only that there seems to be a serial arsonist on the loose. The attacks do not appear to have a connection, except for their proximity to one another—”
Anders sat up again, the hairs on his arms rising as he looked at the footage, a sense of déjà vu tickling his gut. He had seen this before, a rash of seemingly random fires, but never this close to home. And not in half a century.
A knock on his bedroom door kept him from pursuing the thought further, and he called out for David to enter.
“Oh, you’re awake,” his assistant said, his dark eyebrows raising slightly.
“When have you ever seen me sleep?”
David chuckled. “Valid point. Coffee?”
“Please.” He watched as the Harvard grad disappeared back into the apartment, and Anders dragged himself out of bed, stretching.
It was time to face the day again.
Anders was moderately disappointed when the flight remained on schedule, his private jet geared for departure at ten a.m. as planned. The wind had died down considerably, but it didn’t deter him, not when the air filled his snout and invigorated him with energy. Anders had been looking forward to braving the trip overseas himself.
Like a petulant child, he pouted slightly, looking out the window as the plane began to taxi down the runway, cleared for takeoff.
“Mr. Williams, we will be arriving in Amsterdam in six hours, forty-one minutes, weather permitting. Enjoy your flight.”
The captain’s voice clicked off the intercom, and Anders sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. He would enjoy it much more if he was the one flying.
“Should we look over Igor’s case files, Mr. Williams?” David asked, but he shook his head.
“Not right now. When we get closer. I want everything fresh in my mind when we arrive.”
There were so many clients, so many cases. The worst thing he could imagine was walking into court and speaking the wrong man’s name when faced with a foreign court. Anders already had to deal with so much scrutiny as it was, an apparent American who knew the laws of multiple countries, with authority to practice in all areas with seeming ease.
He had been around as himself for decades, and no one seemed the wiser that he was ageless. To everyone else, he was an idol to be revered or an enemy to be feared. All it would take was one slip-up for the façade to come crumbling down around him.
His body tilted back as the plane ascended, his ears popping slightly as they flew into the cumulous clouds easily. Soon, the glittering of the Atlantic was all that he could see below.
Anders turned to David, who had nodded off, his earbuds in place, and sighed. Was there anyone in the world who could keep up with him?
The aircraft lurched, and Anders reached for the leather armrests, well accustomed to turbulence. The motion lulled David from his sleep, and he blinked, a slight panic crossing over his face as he looked at his boss. Again, the plane jolted, but it seemed to dip violently, and both men fell forward together.
“What the hell is that?” David shrieked, his tan face the color of the clouds outside.
“It’s turbulence, David,” Anders started to say, but before he could finish his sentence, David released and ear-splitting scream, his finger extended toward the window at Anders’ side. Anders, however, didn’t need to turn, his intuition telling him he knew precisely what was on the other side of the thick glass.
As the jet dipped again, falling into a tailspin, Anders pivoted his head as if in slow motion, his eyes widening despite inherently knowing what waited for him.
A massive beast flew beside them, his majestic head on level with Anders’ seat, his yellow eyes fixated on the attorney.
The plane leveled again, but the dragon was anticipating the move and swooped to avoid being struck, a belt-like wing narrowly missing the side of the jet before it zoomed upward and vanished into the blue sky above, as if it had been nothing more than a dream.
“What the hell was that?” David choked, his voice strangled. “Did you see that?”
Anders inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. It was Marcus, playing a stupid joke. Or Titus, he told himself, forcing his eyes open.
“Mr. Williams!”
Anders turned his head slowly back to his assistant, his brow furrowing. “David, everything is fine,” he told the young attorney calmly. “The plane is flying normally again.”
“The plane?” he breathed, a sweat breaking out over his face. “I’m talking about—about—that—that creature!”
Anders’ eyes narrowed slightly, his brow creasing. “Creature?” he echoed innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”
David’s mouth dropped open in shock, and he shook his head, dazed.
“Didn’t—I mean—I…” he trailed off for a moment, uncertain before clamping his mouth closed, and Anders exhaled slowly.
The last thing he needed was mass hysteria in a closed space. Especially when he had no idea who the dragon was who had attempted to crash his plane.
But if he wasn’t one of us, who the hell else could it be?
“Mr. Williams, are you all right back there?” The pilot’s voice was fraught with terror, and Anders stifled a groan.
Oh, Jesus Christ. “We’re fine, Pat. We know, it’s just turbulence.”
“It was—” Patrick stopped talking abruptly, weighing his next words carefully, and Anders waited for him to respond. “All right, sir. I’m glad you’re fine.”
“He saw it, too!” David screamed, and Anders wished he had the disposition of one of his brothers, maybe Ansel.
Then I could knock him unconscious and think without a hysterical voice in my head.
“Mr. Williams!”
“I swear to God, David, if you don’t stop…”
David clammed up again, and Anders exhaled, his eyes darting back out toward the window. Whatever it was had long disappeared and did not seem to be returning.
Whatever it was, Anders thought. It was a dragon, wasn’t it? He had no answer for himself. It had never occurred to him in seven hundred years that something other than dragons could exist. Maybe even other dragons? It wasn’t possible…
Was it?
5
Sawy
er had almost forgotten about the chance meeting with the man in the coffee shop until she got home from classes that evening and flipped on the television. Making a sandwich, she half listened to the human misery enveloping the planet as Janis Joplin (or J.J., as her greyhound preferred to be called) sniffed around her feet for scraps of Sawyer’s food.
Sawyer wasn’t even sure she liked the animal—a bony, skittish beast who enjoyed her own company—but after her father had died, she hadn’t felt right about leaving his favorite hound behind. Even though some of the neighbors in the trailer park had offered to keep her, Sawyer insisted on bringing her when she finally left Huntsville.
In some way, she wondered if she felt closer to her dad having the antisocial dog in her too-small apartment. Or maybe she simply felt that she could relate to the animal.
“I just fed you,” she snapped. “Stop trying to eat my food, too. I barely have enough money to last me through the next ten days as it is.”
J.J. looked up at her balefully, but did not move, knowing that Sawyer was all talk and no action. She would endure the ridicule if it meant catching a fallen piece of her sandwich.
Sawyer grimaced and relented, tossing a slab of bread toward the skinny creature before turning her attention back to the small television in the area that served as her living room. She blinked as the screen flashed to a picture of several buildings engulfed in flames, and she reached for the remote control to turn up the sound.
“—series of highly suspicious fires in Manhattan over the past few days. This is the seventh reported arson in days. Witnesses have conflicting and confusing accounts about how they began. Our reporters are on the scenes, trying to make sense of the tragedies unfolding, but the number of casualties continues to grow while the suspects remain at large. At this time, it is being regarded as an act of terrorism, though no group has taken responsibility as of yet.”
A strange twinge tickled Sawyer’s stomach, and she gaped at the screen, a dozen memories flooding her mind as she recalled the situation in Landerneau a year earlier.
It can’t be. We took care of those beasts in France… didn’t we?
But from what she could see, it seemed all too familiar: the perplexed shop owners, the grieving families, and the lack of rhyme or reason surrounding the blazes.
Again, her mind flittered toward the man at the coffee shop that morning, the Chinese symbol for ‘dragon’ etched into the flesh of his wrist.
This can’t be a coincidence, she thought. That man belongs to The Order. He had to be there for me. But why didn’t he try to talk to me? However, Sawyer knew she could not be certain unless she was contacted by The Order again.
Swallowing, she pushed her untouched sandwich aside and reached for her laptop, falling into a plastic chair at the scarred table she used as a meal center and work desk. With trembling fingers, she logged onto the dark web, pulling herself into the world of hunting she had left behind after the brush with death she had faced in the coastal town in France.
Why are you doing this to yourself again? The question did not slow her fingers from delving into the bizarre underworld chat rooms, which were fraught with things Sawyer could have happily lived her entire life without knowing.
As she scrolled and read, bits and pieces of the events that had led her to Europe the previous year threatened to knock her breath away; the feeling of loneliness and loss following her father’s death, the displacement and hunger for something bigger than herself.
The Order had been a joke at first. She had found it among a bunch of conspiracy theorists vomiting inane ideas about the earth being flat and GMOs causing lizard people to walk among us. Somehow, the lizard people became shifters, werewolves, and vampires who prowled the forests on nights of full moons, some seeking unsuspecting woodland creatures while the others sought others like themselves.
By the time The Order had contacted her, Sawyer was certain the world was completely off its axis and there was nothing she hadn’t heard, but she was wrong. The messages about dragons wreaking havoc in other parts of the world, vying for domination, were amusing, and the stories kept her entertained on the nights when insomnia reigned, and she was left feeling desolate and unloved. But slowly, she was pulled away from the rest of the chatrooms and left to discuss the topic of dragon shifters with members of an elite group stationed in every corner of the world.
There were tales of ancient beasts that flew about only at night and lived in caves, undetected, while other members of The Order swore that they walked among the mortals, assimilating.
Even if they exist, Sawyer messaged, why should we care? Live and let live, right?
It was an important mantra to her after years of abuse at her peers. She didn’t care what others wanted to do as long as they stayed out of her business.
Because they must be stopped. They have been lying in wait for centuries, possibly millennia.
They are responsible for all the chaos we see and feel in the world now.
Because if we don’t stop them, life as we know it will be over. We will become their slaves.
The answers kept coming, and Sawyer’s amusement eventually gave way to curiosity, especially when she was contacted by Jericho, who claimed to have firsthand knowledge of where one of the beasts lived.
Sawyer shuddered at the memory and sat back, trying to compose herself. You shouldn’t go down this road again, Sawyer. Nothing good can come of this.
As if sensing her aggravation, J.J. barked once, cocking her silvery head to the side.
“I’m not leaving you again,” she promised the dog, slamming the laptop closed with finality. “Don’t worry.”
The canine barked again, but Sawyer wondered if there wasn’t a note of disbelief in her growl.
There’s no way that any dragon would take on New York City. They are solitary beasts who thrive on silence and anonymity. The last place they would go is somewhere as crowded as the Big Apple. They would stick to tiny places like Landerneau, where no one would notice; a small town where no one would care about the destruction they brought about.
Yet Sawyer could not dispute the similarities, no matter how much she tried to silence the flood of warning coursing through her mind. Even if it was true, she would not go back to take them on. She had already lost one friend to that battle. Did she really want to tempt fate with her life?
The matter was settled, and Sawyer flicked off the television. She wasn’t hungry anymore. She was antsy, but she had no desire to leave the apartment either.
The dog eyed her, as if gauging her next move.
“Stop staring at me,” she snapped. “I’m not—”
Her cell began to ring, and Sawyer gasped at the unfamiliar sound. No one would ever use her number to actually call her. Even texts were fleeting, given her handful of acquaintances, yet there was her cell, ringing an obnoxious tone of a quacking duck, which she noted to change at the first opportunity.
It was a private caller, and Sawyer grimaced.
“Let me guess,” she snickered, tossing the Samsung onto the table. “I’ve won a cruise to Alaska.” The phone was finally silent, and Sawyer rose, changing her mind about leaving the unit. Her nerves were fraying slightly, and she needed to burn off some energy. “Come on,” she told the dog. “Let’s go for a—”
Again, the duck quacking notification exploded in her ears, and she gaped at the screen, again reading the private caller.
“You have got to be kidding me!” she cursed, running a hand through her long, jet black hair. She glanced at J.J., who growled, and before she could stop herself, Sawyer snatched up the device. “If you’re selling me something,” she snapped into the phone. “I’m going to be pissed.”
“Sawyer?”
She blinked. “Maybe?”
There was a low laugh. “We met this morning at Starbucks.”
Sawyer froze, her eyes narrowing slightly as her back tensed.
“I knew it,” she mumbled. “Who gave you this number?”
<
br /> “A mutual friend.”
Diana, she thought. She could have given me a heads up before spreading my number around like that. I’ll deal with her later. In the meantime, her curiosity demanded that she hear her stalker out.
“Look, I don’t know what she said to you, but I don’t want any part of… of…” She trailed off, feeling foolish at having to say such a thing aloud.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the man replied, and Sawyer felt ridiculous.
“What?”
“I called because our mutual friend suggested that we might get along,” said the man, “and I need a date for a party on Friday night. Now, I realize I’m quite a bit older than you, but I assure you, I am also very gay. Trust me, I must be, because you may be one of the most stunningly beautiful women I have ever seen, and I felt nothing at all in my pants.”
“What?” Sawyer asked again, feeling dumb. She decided to ignore the bizarre compliment… if that was what it was meant to be. “You’re calling to invite me to a party?”
“Yes. Would you care to come? It will be very high end, with excellent food. May I pick you up at five?”
“Five?” she choked. “What the hell kind of party starts at five?”
“A very interesting one,” he promised. “Be ready—my limo will be downstairs.” He disconnected the call, and Sawyer was left staring uncomprehendingly at the phone in her hand.
“Is this guy nuts? I don’t even know his name, and he thinks I’m going to go to a party with him. At five? Yeah, right.”
But even J.J. seemed to smirk as she turned her head away, leaving Sawyer to wonder what the hell was going on.
6
Anders’ mind was not on the case, and thankfully, the Dutch legal system was as liberal as their mentalities.
“The case is adjourned until further notice,” the bailiff informed the attorneys in an almost bored tone. Anders wondered how many times the man had said those words in his career. It’s probably some National Mental Health and Marijuana Day. God, I love the Dutch.
