Don't Feed the Dragon: A Dragon Rider Urban Fantasy Novel (Setting Fires with Dragons Book 1)

by S. W. Clarke

  Fortunately, no one seemed to notice.

  The audience cheered, clapped, whooped for us. Coins and bills dropped into our tip jar, and a few people even threw Mardi Gras beads at our feet.

  In the back, Ferris leaned against the Mystery Mobile and gave a slow clap. Apparently we’d impressed the gnome, which was a feat in itself.

  As the crowd cleared, I bent to start cleaning up our gear. “If we keep performing like this, Perce, we can make some serious bank.”

  Ferris appeared in my periphery with folded arms, nodding as he surveyed our equipment. “Serious bank minus 10% for your manager.”

  I coiled Louise and set her at my hip. “Sure, sure. You got us this permit, so I cannot disagree. Thank you very much, Ferris wheel.” I straightened. “So, how are we going to celebrate? This is the best show we’ve ever done.”

  A strand of purple beads flew through the air, landed directly at my feet. Not far off, a drunk teenager slurred, “Hey leather girl, show me your fun bags!”

  My eyes rolled toward the teenager, the fingers of my good hand curling. Time to—

  A plume of smoke appeared between me and the teenager, and Percy stepped through it with a growl, extending his wings.

  The teenager fell into a swerving, uncertain run in the other direction. He nearly crashed into a garbage can as he disappeared into an alley.

  “You forgot your beads!” Percy called after him.

  I stepped up to his side, staring after the guy. “Thanks, Perce.”

  Percy glanced up at me. “What a loser.”

  On my wrist, my watch started buzzing. It was Officer Aubert.

  I accepted the call. “Why hello, Officer.”

  “Hello, Ms. Drake.” She paused as though choosing her words carefully. “Just wanted to check in with you. I heard there was an incident involving a dragon in the city the other night. Our people found quite a few scorch marks in the French Quarter.”

  I glanced at Percy, whose eyes were shut as Ferris rubbed along his spine with his special dragon backscratcher. “Really now? Did they ever find the dragon?”

  I heard her soft chuckle. “Not as yet. Also, just a little warning: you absolutely shouldn’t go near the address I’m texting over. No matter what you do, stay away. We’ve got reason to believe it belongs to a certain member of a nationwide criminal organization.”

  Bingo. “Sounds dangerous.”

  “Very. On the danger scale, you could say it’s ogreish.”

  Ogreish. I’d have to steal that expression.

  She cleared her throat. “Just curious, when do you plan to return Nancy?”

  “Nancy?”

  “My moped.”

  “Oh. I’ll ride her over tonight. Thanks, Aubert—she was a first-class ride.”

  When we hung up, I turned to Percy. “I’ve got one stop to make before I head home.”

  Percy’s eyes opened. “You’re going to the ogre’s place, aren’t you?”

  Dragons and their incredible hearing.

  “That’s right. I think you ought to go with Fer—”

  “No.” Percy’s gaze on me brooked no argument. “I’m going with you. If you want me to stay on the sidewalk, I will. But if my mom’s going somewhere dangerous, she’ll need my protection.”

  His mom. I could get used to that.

  ↔

  On the way to Grunt’s place, I called Aubert and asked her if she’d like to accompany me inside.

  “Don’t have a warrant,” she said with a conspiratorial note in her voice. “I guess the only way in would be to break in.”

  I smiled. “Shame that’s illegal.”

  “A shame,” she agreed.

  I knew there was a reason I liked her.

  So that afternoon, I stood in the alley behind the apartment complex, staring up at the window of Grunt’s apartment. I hadn’t seen any evidence of him coming or going for the past hour.

  I climbed up to the second floor, onto the balcony out back. I FaceTimed Aubert on my phone as I stood on the balcony.

  Her face appeared after two rings. “Tara?”

  “Hey there, Aubuert. Guess whose apartment I’m about to enter …”

  “Ah ah ah!” she said. “I’m not breaking any laws.”

  I smirked. “Right, of course.” I climbed in through the ajar kitchen window, still holding the phone up.

  The place was empty. Completely empty. These Scarred bastards were awfully good at giving me the slip.

  As I made a circuit of the apartment, Aubert whistled. “For your first time not breaking into a place, that all happened awfully quick.”

  I shrugged, turned back to the ransacked living room. “Kind of you to say.”

  We took a tour of the apartment, searching the nooks and crannies, the furniture for any clues as to where he’d gone. And when I stopped in the center of the living room, Aubert sighed. “Nothing, huh?”

  I nodded. “Seems that way.”

  “I’m afraid this is typical. The Scarred don’t often make mistakes—especially not this guy, now that he’s on the run.”

  “Well, thanks for joining me on this totally non-illegal, not-break-in, Aubert,” I said as I left through the front door and made for the staircase.

  “Good luck, Tara Drake,” she said as I came out onto the sidewalk. “Where do you think you and that dragon will head next?”

  I glanced over to where Percy crouched at the corner of the block, waiting for me. A pair of children had gathered around him, giggling and screaming as he blew smoke from his nostrils.

  “I hadn’t quite decided.” I glanced back at Aubert. “We haven’t been to the Big Apple.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “You’re going to need a permit to fly a dragon in NYC.”

  “Well, I do like a good bureaucratic challenge.” I winked, ending the call with a wave. When I came up to Percy, I patted his neck and smiled at the kids. “You two ever touch a dragon?”

  The children’s eyes grew wide as plates as they shook their heads.

  Percy stood, wings half-extending as his head drew near to the little boy. When he’d gotten close, he lowered his face.

  The boy reached up, touched one finger to the top of his head like an ordination. Then screamed, as kids do. The girl did the same.

  When they’d had their fill and left us alone, Percy and I started down the sidewalk in the late-afternoon New Orleans sun.

  “Did you get him?” Percy asked.

  “Nah, he skipped town.”

  “I’m sorry, Tara. You missed your chance because of me.”

  I lifted the flap of my jacket, flipped out the business card I had found deep in the couch cushions. “That’s OK, kiddo. I’ve got me a lead.”

  Percy stared at it. “The Singing Angel?”

  “Good name for a bar, isn’t it? Seems we’re going to New York just in time for the leaves to change color.”

  He tilted his head. “But fall is months away. Why don’t we go now?”

  I hadn’t shown him what was written on the back of the card: V on Halloween.

  There was only one V I knew of. One V who could possibly be associated with Grunt, whom he’d leave for New York to see.

  Valdis. The ex-vampire who’d led the coven of vampires into the circus on that night. The leader of the Scarred. And now, he was the mortal who’d die by my hand. If I had bloodlust in my veins, it ran hottest for him.

  And something was going down on Halloween.

  “Because we’ve still got a whole lot country to see,” I told Percy. “And if we’re going to perform in Times Square, we’ll need to give Ferris some time to get that permit, won’t we?”

  His eyes grew wide. “Times Square?”

  “That’s right.” I chucked him on the shoulder. “It’ll be you and me in the Big Apple.”

  Two blocks down, we came past a little shop selling ice cream. Percy and I stopped, and we looked at each other.

  He tilted his face, tongue flicking out as his eyes darted bet
ween the window and me.

  “Oh, why not.” I pulled open the door, and in we went. When we came out, I held two three-scoop ice cream cones. Percy had already eaten one while we were inside.

  As we made our last pass through the French Quarter, I extended one of the cones to Percy, and he took a lick. “You might not have been my mother,” he said, gazing up at me with those glittering golden eyes, “but you are my mom.”

  I turned away to hide the emotion swelling in my chest and blurring my vision. “Well that’s sweet of you to say, Perce.”

  “So since you're my mom,” he went on, “will you tell me where I got my name from?"

  I laughed, wiping moisture from my eyes. “I'll never tell.”

  “I just told you you're my mom! You should tell me. I was named after the Knight of the Round Table, wasn’t I?"

  “You already tried that one. It's not it.”

  “Long-lost relative?”

  “Keep looking.”

  “An ex-boyfriend?”

  “Percy …”

  “A dead boyfriend?

  “Percy!”

  Book 2

  Chapter 1

  Ever tried to get a permit to fly a dragon over Times Square? Gives a whole new meaning to red tape …

  I stood on the platform, my favorite bullwhip in my left hand. Around me, New York City spread like a glittery, overdrawn circus, all those tourists peeping at me like I was about to split their heads wide open.

  And maybe I was.

  You never knew what a street performer would do—that was the beauty of the art. The wildness. The thrill. The fear.

  I snapped the whip, a simple circus crack on the platform. “I’m Tara Drake,” I called out. “And this here’s my dragon, Percival.”

  Beside me, Percy let out a low, chest-rumbling growl, the kind of noise that sent shivers down a spine. If I didn’t hear him growl in his sleep every night, it might do the same for me.

  He shook his blue-scaled head, yellow eyes surveying the crowd like he couldn’t decide on the tastiest morsel. Already they’d backed up a few steps, hands set to their fanny packs like he’d siphon out their cash as he reduced them to ash.

  How many of them had seen a dragon? A real, bonafide, fire-breathing dragon?

  I’d yet to encounter a tourist who had.

  I smiled, set one hand between the spines sticking up from Percy’s long neck. “He’s not gonna bite unless you don’t leave a tip when we’re finished. And I know none of you kind folks would do such a thing.”

  Soft laughter. I’d been hearing that kind of laughter all my life—usually nervous. But even nervous laughter still eased the nerves.

  I fell into a languorous pacing around Percy, which took me on a radius of about twelve feet. He wasn’t as big as dragons in the books—yet—which suited me well enough. I could ride him and I could stable him. It’d be years before I had to worry about him growing big as a house.

  The bullwhip’s thong trailed on the platform behind me, seven feet of potential with a pretty gold cracker on the end. “How many of you know how fast a whip can move?”

  A few hands went up. As I came around Percy, I pointed to a man near the back. He looked harmless; nobody with a bald spot the size of an orange could be one of the Scarred, or so I told myself.

  But I still kept watch for them, especially in this crowd. The Scarred were here. My intel was solid. They might not be in this crowd, but they were nearby.

  And now that I’d taken down Peter Novasov, they knew I was hunting them.

  “Let’s hear it.” I delivered another crack as punctuation.

  “Twenty miles an hour,” he called.

  I shook my head with a close-lipped smile. “Sir, you drive that slow you’ll get pulled over. What makes you think this here whip’s got any less pep?” I dug into my native Kentuckian accent, hamming it up for the crowd. A cutesy girl in a tartan skirt, blowing bubblegum, cracking a whip and riding a dragon was one thing. But combine all that with a Southern accent, and it positively drove them over the edge. Twenty percent increase in tips, easy.

  More laughter. I was winning them by quips and cracks before I’d even gotten to riding Percy.

  More hands went up. More numbers were called out.

  Finally, I raised my free hand for silence. And they obeyed, because I had them. I’d had them since the moment I’d ridden onto the platform atop a dragon.

  There was nobody like me and Percy. Nobody in the world.

  I adjusted my grip on the whip. “When the kinetic force leaves my shoulder, it travels down my arm right to the handle, speeds up through the thong and on down to the fall. By the time it hits this little cracker, you’ve got a sonic boom. Only thing faster than that is when the gods high-tailed it out of here.”

  Raucous laughter. Don’t know why that joke always kills, but it does. Gods be damned.

  I paused, stepped to the edge of the platform, lowered my voice until they all leaned forward. “This little piece of cord and cable moves at nine hundred miles an hour.”

  Gasps. Wide eyes. These were my bread and butter.

  When I stepped back to Percy, he eyed me in anticipation. “That kind of force hits a regular person, it won’t just leave a scar. You might rupture an artery. If you’re real unlucky, you might find yourself without a hand.”

  I turned back, my free hand returning to Percy’s neck. “But dragon scale? It’s the hardest material on Earth. Which is why me and Percy are the perfect pair.”

  I cracked the whip a third time—this one an overhead swing against Percy’s side. The sonic boom echoed off the buildings around us, and Percy? He didn’t even blink. He didn’t move a centimeter.

  “Now don’t call PETA on me, folks. Percy likes it—finds the whips tickle him a little. Don’t you, Perce?”

  His head angled toward me, yellow eyes meeting my own. He never talked during our performances—it scared the onlookers more than it thrilled them. And you never wanted to scare them more than you thrilled them.

  Best way to lose that tip.

  So he shook his head in assent, scales lifting and rippling like he was flexing his muscles.

  Another wave of nervous laughter from the crowd.

  I pointed out toward them, cracking the whip in a figure eight beside my body—pow-pow. “Who wants to step up onto the platform? We’ve got a trick to show you, and we need a volunteer with a steel bladder.”

  When no hands went up—they never volunteered after I invoked the steel bladder—I set both hands together as though in prayer. “Nobody gets hurt, except maybe me. That’s a promise.”

  This was the point where two or three brave palms would rise into the air. And they did, just on cue.

  I pointed to a young man. “Come on up. Quickly, please—Percy gets ornery when he has to stand still too long. Ornery dragons are nature’s least favorite sight.”

  I grabbed the two apples off the stool behind me, set both into his hands as he came up onto the stage. “Now balance this one on your head, and hold the other out before you. Face this way”—I positioned him toward the crowd—“and stay real still.”

  One of my fingers pointed straight up toward the sky, and their faces followed the direction I was pointing. As though they could see me up there already. As though my finger bore the answers to the world’s questions, if they could just figure out exactly where I was pointing.

  I hopped up onto Percy’s back, gripped his nearest spine with my free hand. When I clicked my tongue twice, he took two steps forward, claws scratching across the platform as he brought us to the edge. As his wings extended, the skin stretching almost transparently taut along the wingbones, that was when the shiver went through me.

  There was something about a dragon lifting into the air. You never got over it.

  He leapt off, wings fully extended to catch the air. As he did, I struck the bullwhip up over my head, the cracker flicking through the air to bite straight into the apple atop my volunteer’s head
. I didn’t look back; I heard the gasp, followed by the two apple halves hitting the platform.

  We swung low a moment, to within a foot of the nearest terrified onlooker, before we ascended past the billboards and the noise of the city. From here you couldn’t get a good view of the roofs; it was only when you were up high you could see properly.

  Which was where Percival came in.

  We came alongside a skyscraper, and I sat low against Percy’s neck, the wind whipping my braid against my jacket. He already knew which direction to take us: straight on to the clouds. His reflection blackened story after story of windows as we rose, his wings cracking the air like ice.

  When we crested the city, Percy’s wings extended, tenting in the air. We hovered there, just us looking down on eight million people. From up here, New York City might have been a miniature toy town; I could practically scoop up Central Park in my palm.

  “I told you I’d show you the world, Perce,” I whispered to him.

  His wings flapped once. “The GoneGod World, you mean.”

  I patted his neck. “Even a world without gods has some beauty to it.”

  We needed to swing back around toward the platform; the crowd was waiting. But first—

  “Over there, Percy.” I pointed over at the cluster of properties, the tallest of which struck like a pointed finger into the sky. “Think you can swing us past those buildings on your way down?”

  If my intel was right, the Scarred would be getting up to something particularly nasty on one of these rooftops. Trouble was, I didn’t know which one.

  Percy snorted as he flapped once, the sound echoing over the city like a firecracker. “Child’s play.”

  I leaned close, grabbing his spine as he shot us forward a few blocks. He angled hard right, and we made an elegant circuit around the buildings in question.

  I stared. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for—not until Percy saw it. And then it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Tara,” Percy said. “On your nine. Do you see what I see?”

  As we came around the tallest building, there, piled in one innocuous corner of the roof, were six human-sized crosses.