by S. W. Clarke
Ferris sucked in air. “Did she have large men around her?”
“Well, I suppose. There may have been a few.”
“How large were they?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “Uh, you know—pretty big.”
“And did she have a unique emblem on her bag?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Maybe. It was two initials, I think.”
“The letters M and N?”
“Might’ve been. Anyway, it should be an easy rescue.” I finally lifted my eyes to him. “The girl was ninety pounds soaking wet.”
Ferris’s hands struggled against his cuffs, like he wanted to throw them up. “This man’s wife is Michelle Navasov. She’s the daughter of a Russian oligarch. She is rarely without guards, and what you think is a simple rescue mission will make what occurred here tonight look like a stroll through the park.”
“Oh.” I would have set an awkward finger to my temple, but my hands weren’t accessible. So I settled for clearing my throat. “Well, now that I know—”
“Don’t even bother with it, Tara.” Ferris rolled not just his eyes, but his whole head in the other direction. He turned his body away. “You made your choice. I don’t want to hear your explanations for it.”
From my lap, a slow, sonorous snore slowly rose in volume, crescendoed, and descended again.
In the midst of everything, Percy had fallen asleep. The little guy was tuckered.
“Well what are you going to do now?” I whispered to Ferris.
He didn’t look back at me. “I’m going to find the last gnomeling. At least eight were rescued, no thanks to you.”
“Hey, at least we got eight.”
He glared at me over his shoulder. “Would you sacrifice one of your children and call it a success?”
In the silence that followed, Percy’s snore continued on its arc, and Ferris and I just stared at one another. If I could have, I would have stroked my dragon’s face. Ferris was right, of course. If I had children, I would go through hell before I’d give up on any of them.
I didn’t know who I was madder at: Peter, or me.
“I’m sorry, Ferris,” I whispered. “I made the wrong choice. I should have gone after the gnomeling.”
After a time, Ferris sighed, shoulders slumping a little. He scooted around toward me. “I owe you, even though I’m angry at you.”
“For what?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “For talking the police into letting the gnomelings out of their cages. And for getting us in here in the first place.”
“You don’t owe me for that.”
He fixed me with a Don’t argue with me look. “Listen, I’m sorry, too”
“For what?”
His eyes flicked to Percy, back up to me. “What Dordri said about Percy’s mom. I told the others I didn’t want them bringing that up to him.”
My heart dropped into the heat vat of my stomach. I had wanted to avoid talking about this. “Percy’s never going to let it go now.”
“I imagine not.”
I sighed. “Where is this dragon, Ferris?”
“What few there are tend to roam, but there’ve been sightings of a matriarch here in Louisiana over the past couple months. They say she’s black-scaled—just like Yaroz was.”
I leaned toward Ferris. “I found Percy not far from here. In Texas. Do you think…?”
“It’s very possible. Not many dragons still inhabit this Earth, much less this continent. And a matriarch? Even rarer.” He paused. “Tara.”
I waited for him to go on.
“Female dragons aren’t known to be maternal. They have little affection for their babies.”
So he knew what was in my mind. And judging by the look on Ferris’s face, I shouldn’t be so keen on sending Percy off to meet with this matriarch.
I should think about it long and hard, even if she was his mother.
↔
The next morning, I rubbed at my chafed wrists as Percy barrel-rolled through the air. When he swooped down close to me, I hop-skipped into a run, leapt to grab his left front ankle so he could carry me up with him.
But either he flew too high, or I didn’t jump high enough. Either way, I ended up catching only air.
When I hit the ground, I stumbled onto my knees with a curse. “GoneGodDamn it. We’re learning in reverse.”
He landed next to me with a thud. “You cursed at me again.”
“Not at you.” I threw my braid back, rubbing dirt and hay off the knees of my pants. “Just in general.”
“You said you wouldn’t.”
I stood, swung around with hands on hips in a very unapologetic stance. “I’m sorry.”
He thumped his tail like a cat. “You didn’t rescue the last gnomeling.”
My eyebrows rose. “Now what’s that got to do with anything? We have a show in thirty minutes.”
“It’s got everything to do with everything.” His golden eyes narrowed at me. “You didn’t help.”
“How do you even know about that? You were asleep.”
“I wasn’t.”
“So you were pretending.”
His wings extended, and he went airborne, preparing for our next trick. “Maybe. You’re not the only one who’s good at pretending, you know.”
I bit back any reply; we had to focus right now. So I went back and stood in position. “Let’s start with the barrel roll trick again.”
A half hour later, we stood in the middle of the French Quarter in the spot I’d rented for an absolutely obscene premium. Fortunately, a nice, hefty crowd had gathered as soon as the kids spotted the blue dragon. There was no better advertising than five-year-olds yelling, “Mom, a dragon! It’s a dragon!”
As people slowed and stopped, I made a show of unfolding my sign and setting it up on the street: Don’t Feed the Dragon.
That one always got laughs.
After some ten minutes of pre-show setup (which was really part of the show), I came to stand next to Percy, one hand on his neck and one on Thelma at my hip. “I’m Tara Drake, and this here is Percival, my partner.” As we had a good number of children, I asked, “How many of you have ever seen a real dragon?”
One of the kids raised his hand.
“Oh really?” I said.
He nodded with the absolute conviction only kids and idiots are capable of. “Yeah, I saw one in the sky yesterday. Way bigger than Percival.”
I half-smirked, though beneath my performer’s facade the detail did register. A dragon in the sky—the matriarch? “Well, you see Percy here is a young dragon yet. How old are you, Perce?”
“Twelve,” Percy said. “But I’m five in human years.”
Some of the kids jumped, and a few shrieked. “He can talk!” was murmured all around us by children clinging to their parent’s leg.
“He’s twelve,” I said. “And once he gets to be full-grown, Percy’s going to be as big as any dragon in the sky. Bigger, I expect.” I nodded at the boy who’d spoken up. “You want to see him fly?”
His eyes brightened with delight. “Yeah.”
“All right,” I said. “Now folks, no matter what happens, don’t worry—you’re not in any real danger. Except, of course, if you try to feed the dragon.”
When I winked, the children giggled.
And so the real show began. Percy took off into the sky, swooping around the buildings, nearly clipping them in the process. I wasn’t worried; he had supreme control in the air.
On he went for a good three minutes, spiraling and swooping, his wings cracking like lightning in the sky, drawing even more onlookers. Meanwhile, I explained the power and speed of a dragon to the amassing crowd.
“He may be young,” I said, gazing up at him, “but this dragon can already break the speed limit on Louisiana highways.”
More laughter. I changed that joke up for every state.
As he came around toward us, I took a breath. This barrel roll had been part of the new show, and we’d had it down fo
r a few weeks now. This morning was an anomaly, I told myself. We’d just been off after last night’s events.
Percy passed through the barrel roll, spinning elegantly through the air toward the crowd.
I hop-skipped, ran toward him. Leapt into the air.
This time, my fingers brushed his talons. But I didn’t get a grip.
I came back down to the ground, brought my momentum into a forward roll. I sprang up amidst the crowd, offering my most dazzling smile as Percy swung around in a big loop-the-loop over the green space behind us. “Second time’s the charm.”
As he came back around, he repeated the barrel roll. That was our way: if we missed the trick the first time, we’d try twice. If we missed twice, we’d move on to the next trick.
But we rarely missed on the first try.
He came close and low. I ran toward him, leapt. Finally got a loose hold on his ankle, but a little too loose. A second later, I’d lost it.
This time I hit the street with less grace, the hardness of it vibrating up through my legs in a jarring way. The crowd didn’t look quite so amused when the street performer clearly wasn’t in control.
That was the death knell of tips.
With two fingers in my mouth, I called Percy back. “Quick water break, folks.”
When he landed, I grabbed a bottle of water and the bowl I’d prepared for him. “We’re gonna do the old show,” I whispered as I drank. “The one we did for three years. It’ll be no problem.”
“No.” Percy stopped drinking. “We can do this. I can do this.”
“Perce …”
He stared at me with hard, unyielding eyes. And in the middle of a crowd, I couldn’t exactly argue with him.
So the show would go on, for worse or worse.
Chapter 11
In the course of the show, I fell three more times. Percy blew fire at the wrong angle, incinerating a stop sign so that it was no longer red and white but an ominous, post-apocalyptic shade of black.
And the cherry on top of the unappetizing sundae came as we neared the end. We were on the last trick—I’d set an apple on a volunteer’s head, have them stand on stage and wait like William Tell. Then I’d ride Perce in a big arc through the sky, and when we came around I’d be hanging from his leg, and I would shoot out my whip to slice the apple in half. Percy would drop me off in the middle of the crowd, landing next to me with a flap of wings that would blow everyone’s hair back.
But when he landed next to me, his wing slapped right into me. I narrowly avoided falling again, and ended up with a bloody lip, which I laughed off. “All part of the thrill of working with a dragon, folks!”
People’s eyes were wide as coins as I wiped blood off my chin.
Percy’s head swung around toward me. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?” He didn’t whisper it.
I took a violently quick breath. Glared over at him. “I think the meaning’s clear.”
“You think I’m an unpredictable beast. A sideshow attraction.”
He wasn’t wrong that I’d been implying those things. And yet he knew none of that was true. He knew it was all part of the act. “Perce, why don’t you go and meet the kids?” I swept a hand out at the audience, who looked too petrified to move. One child burst into wails.
Percy didn’t move. He blinked at me. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“It’s a suggestion. A strong one.”
His tail was curling. I’d never really taken note of it before, but ever since Ferris had told me what it meant, I’d noticed him doing it three times.
This was the third time.
“No,” he said. “You know, I’ve finally figured out what I would really wish for.”
“Percy—”
“I would wish to be a real dragon so I didn’t have to be raised by you.” And with that, his wings extended, and he took off into the sky in a blast of wind and noise. He disappeared over the rooftop of a building, and I was left standing with Thelma still uncoiled, her cracker sitting lifeless on the ground.
I swallowed, my eyes flitting over the crowd. Began rolling Thelma up out of habit. “Behold a pre-teen dragon. I’d imagine those of you with adolescent kids know what I’m talking about.”
I could always elicit a laugh, even if just an uncomfortable one. Deliver the truth in just the right way, and it zipped straight into the head and heart.
Coins began clinking into the tip bag. The child went on wailing as his parents carried him off. I occupied myself with brushing off my jacket and taking stock of my knees and bloody lip until everyone had dispersed.
At the end, I picked up the sign, folded it up and replaced it in the inside pocket of my jacket. Then, with the morning just getting on to noon, I walked over to Cafe Du Monde so I could silently take out my frustrations on a long wait for a cafe au lait and a couple of overpowdered beignets.
I walked and ate. Leaned over the boardwalk railing to stare out at the Mississippi. Thought about taking the ferry to the other side.
This wasn’t unprecedented. Percy had done things like this before, especially now that he was getting older and establishing his independence. He was probably off hunting.
Not that I didn’t worry about him. I always did.
I couldn’t explain the sourness of our show. It was the worst one we’d done in memory, absolutely tragic on my knees and face—and that stop sign, which I’d have to pay the city to replace.
We knew our routine. We practiced it every day. We’d done all those tricks hundreds of times without a flaw.
I retraced my way back through the show, seeing every trick, every foible. And then I came to the moment we’d stopped for water. The moment he’d whispered to me, “You didn’t save the last gnomeling.”
He knew. He’d known since last night.
In a world without gods, I had always been Percy’s hero. When he was a baby, he’d watched from inside my gear bag as I did street performances alone, just me and my whips. By two, he’d begged for us to do a street show together, to be by my side, to let him be my partner.
And so we became Tara and her Dragon.
We were a formidable team. The only dragon and his rider in the country. And yet in the last year, we’d begun falling apart.
There was no other way to put it. We were falling apart.
And now I wasn’t even his hero. I hadn’t saved the last gnomeling.
I watched the ferry press through the water toward the far side, fighting the current.
If I couldn’t be his hero, then could I at least be the adult he needed in his life? I had to be—he had no one else. But the darker truth I could hardly bear to acknowledge was this:
I had no one else.
I clenched the railing and my jaw, pressed away. Started down the boardwalk.
That wasn’t the reason I wanted Percy by my side. Maybe it had been at one time, back when I was fifteen. But I’d had to do so much growing up in the ensuing years, and so had he.
At some point, I’d transcended need.
Did I love him? Sure. But unconditionally, like a mother should?
I walked through the French Quarter, the answer refusing to come easy to my lips. And that was really all I needed to know about why our show had soured.
Percy and I couldn’t quite bridge the divide between partners and best friends to mother and son. And the older he got, the more apparent it became, that invisible current between us.
I didn’t know how to pass through. I didn’t know how to change it.
But I knew this: I would always, always go looking for him.
↔
Before I headed back to the barn to look for Perce, I had a call to make.
I phoned the downtown police station, and a man picked up sounding for all the world like he was over his own existence. I led with my stage persona. “Hi there, Officer. Would you be so kind as to put me in touch with Officer Aubert?”
“Name?”
I cleared my throat. “Tell her it’s the
blonde.”
He listened in perfect silence. “There are lots of blondes, ma’am.”
“The blonde with the whips.”
“Lots of those too, ma’am.”
I regripped the phone. “Argh, the blond with the whips and information on a certain Other trafficker. And if you say there’s lots of those too, ma’am, I swear to the GoneGods I will show that there really aren’t. Not like me, at least.”
He sighed. “Give me a minute.”
As I waited, I sat on a bench outside a Cajun restaurant. I could spend the rest of my life surrounded by scents like these. In fact, once Perce and I were done with the Scarred, maybe we’d spend some more time in the city. Just … being.
The officer had lied; I was on hold for far longer than a minute. Some time elapsed before a familiar female voice came on, asking me who I was.
I sat forward. “Well hello, ma’am.”
“You’re the performer from the party,” Aubert said at once.
“Tara Drake,” I said. “And you’re the nice cop who let the gnomelings out of those cat carriers.”
“I heard you have some information for me, Tara Drake.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the sense you’d be interested in any leads on the Scarred.”
“You’d be right.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ve also got an interest in the arrest of a specific member here in New Orleans—for my own reasons.” I paused. “His name’s Peter Navasov—nowadays, at least—and I have a strong lead I’m willing to share with you on one particular condition.”
I could hear her faint amusement in her exhalation. “And what’s your condition, Tara Drake?”
“That you keep an eye out for that ex-vamp and his activity in New Orleans. If he surfaces, he belongs in cuffs. And behind bars.”
“And how would you know that?” Officer Aubert asked.
“He’s been a vampire for a long, long time. Things happened before the gods left. Need I say more?”
“I suppose not. So what’s your lead?”
I took a breath. “You remember that day you spied me and my dragon chasing a man down the street and you sped after us?”
