by S. W. Clarke
I landed facing the wall as Thelma slapped the ground beside me. I glanced after the minotaur, who straightened even as he skidded forward into the empty darkness, lowing and reaching for his whipped back.
“She’s a real stinger,” I sang after him, slinging the whip’s thong behind me. On my left, Frank had emerged from the bar and stared, horrified, from behind the other two minotaurs, who were now rushing me with fury in their eyes.
Two were always more difficult than one. I couldn’t risk letting the both of them rush me.
I spun and fell into a sprint past the first minotaur, who had finally skidded to a stop and was reorienting himself. A dumpster sat against the wall some ten feet beyond him, but instead of an oversized trash can, I saw one thing: an advantage.
I raced toward it, leaping onto a pile of pallets and grabbing the dumpster’s edge with my free hand to haul myself up the side. In a second I was six feet in the air, standing on the putrid metal edge. The smells coming from that thing were the stuff of nightmares.
I turned, found the three minotaurs coming at me with more ferociousness than ever. The biggest was already climbing awkwardly onto the pallets.
“Don’t do it,” I called down to them. “I have the high ground.”
He ignored my absolutely perfect Obi Wan impression. Why did I even try? Others never appreciated pop culture references.
I sighed, cracked him on the hoof with Thelma as he reached up for my foot. His arm snaked back with a cry, and I cracked the second brother right across the face. The third—the littlest brother—really wasn’t giving it as much effort as the first two, climbing feebly as he did over the pallets. Hell, he was still limping from the kick I’d given him in the bar.
Above me, a fire escape beckoned. After a moment of catlike contemplation, I leapt off the edge of the dumpster and grabbed hold of the fire escape’s grating, swinging past the minotaurs and somersaulting as I landed in the alley below. When I came to my feet, I was standing right in front of Frank.
“Well hello, Mr. Beautiful Soul,” I began. “I’ll be with you in just a moment—”
A roar resounded through the night. That wasn’t the minotaurs. This was something else—something bigger. And Frank wasn’t even looking at me; his eyes were wide as he stared behind me, and I could see flames reflecting in his pupils.
“Really?” I grumbled as I turned toward the dragonfire illuminating the alleyway behind me. “Percy, how many times have I told you about making a racket?”
↔
Percy swept over us, his wake blowing my braid back over my shoulder. Frank gave a cute little shriek as the dragon’s tail whipped by just a foot or two above our heads.
“Now you’re just showing off,” I called after him. Over my shoulder, I followed a trail of dying fire back toward the dumpster, which was now fully in flames. Actually, the metal frame was fine—it was just the contents getting roasted.
And the minotaurs? They busted their butts to scrabble away from that flaming mess and get themselves back into The Singing Angel. They didn’t even look twice at me as they all struggled to get the door open and retreat to the safety of liquor and a crowd.
Not many people stood their ground against a dragon. Actually, I hadn’t met a soul yet who had faced off against Percy, little as he was compared to dragons of old.
Of course, a dragon the size of a Clydesdale is still a dragon. They’ve got claws, big teeth and a cauldron of fire in their bellies.
When I turned back to Frank, he was still gazing after Percy, who’d once again disappeared into the night.
I sighed, set my fingers between my teeth and let out another whistle. This made Frank jump. “Sorry,” I said to him as—finally!—Percy swept down into the alley and sent a little tectonic wave through the ground as he landed some six feet away. “He tends to be a little unruly at night. Gotta do the two-fingered whistle sometimes.”
I stepped past Frank as I coiled Thelma back up and replaced her at my belt. “Now Perce,” I began, “I told you …”
The dragon groaned, two tiny plumes of smoke appearing from his nostrils. “I know, I know. You told me to stay in the alley.”
“GoneGods be good,” Frank whispered. “The dragon speaks?”
“Sure does,” I said over my shoulder as I stepped up to Percy and set one hand to his neck. “Mostly with an attitude nowadays.”
Percy’s golden eyes slitted at me, his blue head turning a few degrees my way. “I don’t have an attitude.”
I glanced at Frank, raising my eyebrows in confirmation.
At that moment, the houri came out the back entrance of The Singing Angel. In one sweep of her almond eyes, she took in the flaming dumpster, me and Frank—and then, of course, the big blue dragon.
And what did she do?
“Franklin!” she called out, rushing over and embracing her much smaller boyfriend. “I was worried for you. Are you all right?”
Huh—not a word about the fire or the dragon. Which told me that this houri was not unfamiliar with unexpected sights. She was a cool-headed lady.
Frank didn’t seem to have any words to describe what he was seeing. Actually, he looked like he really wanted to find an excuse to get out of this flaming alleyway. “I’m all right, Seleema.”
“What about me?” Percy asked. “Doesn’t anyone want to know whether I’m all right?”
“Of course we do, Percy.” I patted him. “You’re all right, then?”
The dragon shrugged one enormous shoulder. He’d really spent too much time around me; I wondered if he even really believed he was a dragon anymore.
The houri stepped forward, leaving her boyfriend’s arms in pursuit of her curiosity. I admired that; she wasn’t enmeshed. “Percy?” she said to him. “That is what you are called?”
“Perce, Percy. Percival when she’s mad at me.” The dragon’s tail flicked around to indicate me. “There’s a whole long story behind the name. And trust me, you don’t want to hear it from Tara. Did I mention it’s long?”
I smirked. “It’s not that long. It’s your heritage.”
“Last time you told it, Ferris fell asleep halfway through.”
“Hey, Ferris is old. That wasn’t my fault.”
Percy rolled his eyes.
The houri had stepped even closer, one hand out as though to touch his nose. “I am Seleema Nourra, Bint Al-Uzza, Arousa-Franklin. It is an honor to meet you.”
“Uh.” Percy snorted, and out came another puff of smoke. “That whole thing’s your name?”
“Hey”—I swatted him—“don’t be rude.”
Seleema smiled. “Yes, it is quite long. You may call me just Seleema. Your rider has quite a dynamic soul, Percy. Which I take to mean you do as well.”
Ah, that again. Apparently this houri was the Shallow Hal of Others … which explained a lot about what she saw in Frank. Though it did warm my heart to see her recognizing what I’d always known about Percy.
He was a hell of a best friend. Loyal to a fault, even if he’d grown distractible of late. I wouldn’t trade him for ten full-sized dragons.
Percy tilted his head, surveying her with his better eye. “A dynamic soul?”
“She’s a houri, Perce,” I said. “An Other who can see souls. I’ll explain while we bed down.”
Frank cleared his throat, finally found the courage to step forward. “Ah, thank you for helping me back in the bar.” His eyes drifted from us to Seleema. “We probably ought to be going home, dear.”
Seleema seemed reluctant. “What about the both of you?”
“Oh.” I glanced around me. “Percy and I have a place we’re staying at. A sleeping type place. Don’t worry about us.”
She nodded, allowed Frank to place an arm around her and lead her back toward the bar. She paused just before they stepped inside. “Thank you for aiding Franklin. What is your name, lady dragon rider?”
“Tara,” I called after her. “Tara Drake.”
At some point in
the last year I’d realized I always gave people my stage name. I knew it was a protective thing; I never told anyone my real name anymore, not unless they were Percy.
“Tara,” she repeated, and then the two of them were gone. Which left me and Percy alone in the alley.
And the fire had died away, which meant the cold October air could slither in under my jacket. I glanced down … GoneGodDamn it, I’d handed my jacket to Paul the singer and never gotten it back.
“Well”—I turned to Percy, crossing my arms—“you really went and did it. You should be grateful we didn’t get the fire department called on our behinds.”
Percy’s wings ruffled like an indignant bird’s. “I saved you.”
“Sure you did.” We both started down the alley toward the spot we’d been sleeping the past few nights. It was a pain—actually, it was downright impossible—to find a place in the city that would put up a dragon. The stables I’d planned for us to stay at, situated just outside the city, were booked solid until tomorrow, so Percy and I had ended up at the dark end of the alley behind The Singing Angel.
But sleeping under the sky wasn’t uncommon for us.
On the upside, let me tell you: nothing quite compares to sleeping nestled in a dragon’s wings. You’ll never feel so safe again.
Fifteen minutes later, we had bedded down. I was just dozing off with my head on Percy’s side when a voice sounded nearby.
My eyes snapped open, and I found Seleema gazing down at the two of us.
“I apologize for waking you, lady dragon rider,” she said, my jacket extended toward me. “I was given this to return to you.”
I accepted it. “Thanks.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Are you sleeping out here?”
I shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
Dismay streaked across her features. “No, no, no. You must come home with Franklin and me. Please.”
“Oh,” I began, “it’s all right. We’re just fine and dandy right here. Cold ain’t got nothing on a dragon.”
Frank’s face appeared next to hers. “Honey—”
“They must come home with us,” Seleema insisted. “It is the least we can do.”
Frank and I exchanged a look. In that moment, we both understood how hard it was to argue with a houri. Meanwhile, Seleema stared hard at him, her expression a mixture of determination and … promise. Of the pleasurable kind.
“Yes,” Frank finally said, clearing his throat. “We would really like it if you stayed with us tonight.”
I mean, a couch wouldn’t be the worst thing. I raised a finger and pointed at the sleeping Percy, who was wrapped around me. “Ah, one problem. Y’all don’t happen to have a place for a dragon the size of an SUV, do you?”
Frank observed Percy from nose to tail, set a finger to his chin. “I have an idea.”
Chapter 4
An hour later, Percy and I stood in a small parking garage in Brooklyn. It adjoined the apartment building where Frank and Seleema and a few other residents lived. On the way over, Frank had explained that Paul the singer and his girlfriend Annabelle also lived here, and Frank was their landlord. Paul had gotten Frank and Seleema free entrance to The Singing Angel for his show.
Well then, I’d thought, this is exactly where I want to be.
Annabelle had been in Grunt’s sights, and I wanted to talk to her.
Around us, six sedans were tucked nicely into their small parking spots; we had been told to wait here while Frank got something to “cover Percy with” during the night.
Eventually, Frank came out the door dragging what looked like an enormous tarp. Percy and I stared as Frank awkwardly tugged the thing through the doorway.
“Is that the cover for a car?” Percy murmured to me.
I nodded. “Looks like a compact-sized one.”
“This should cover him,” Frank called as he came close. “What do you think?”
Percy huffed. “The better question is whether I’ll have any dignity left after you throw it over me.”
I smiled at the dragon. “ ‘Dignity?’ Why Percival, you’ve been reading the dictionary again, haven’t you?”
It always pleased me when he read books. Of course, he’d always read every chance he got, his talons still small enough for him to actually turn the page (which reminded me, I had to get him that Kindle I’d promised him. Maybe for Christmas…). So I should say: it always pleased me to see him learning from his reading.
“You really think I didn’t know what ‘dignity’ meant?” Percy fixed his gaze on Frank. “I knew what that word meant.”
Frank, still holding the cover in both hands, nodded solemnly. He was clearly still a little intimidated by a dragon.
Seleema came out the door into the parking garage, a floral comforter folded in her grip. “Please, dragon Percival, sleep atop this blanket. It will absorb the cold from the concrete.”
Percy snickered—he’d never been addressed so formally—and I elbowed him.
This couple was almost painfully nice. It didn’t seem worth it to tell them that Percy and I slept outside more often than we did inside, and that it didn’t make a bit of difference to him whether he slept on a blanket or a rock, because his hide absorbed it all.
I set a hand on Percy’s neck, an admonition for him to be gracious.
“Thank you,” Percy said as the houri laid the comforter out in the only empty parking spot remaining. This was where he would spend the night.
“We appreciate it,” I added.
And the truth was, I really did. And not just because Annabelle lived here. Dragon or no, in this GoneGod World you never knew who would walk up on you in the night in a city like this. So I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, and that was how I’d ended up in an Uber with Frank and Seleema, headed to Brooklyn as Percy flew behind.
After we got Percy situated in the parking spot, Frank and I worked together to throw the tarp over him. As expected, it didn’t quite fit the dragon perfectly; his feet stuck out. He really had gotten to be as big as an SUV.
“Tell Percy not to move tonight,” Frank said as we tried and failed to tuck the tarp down around his claws. Eventually, we just settled for 80% coverage. “Can he do that?”
“Percy—” I began.
“My birth mother told me that my kind slumbers for decades,” Percy said, muffled under the tarp. “I can handle ten hours.”
I grinned; twelve-year-old boys never backed down from a challenge. “I’ll be back for you at sunrise, honey bunches.”
Percy groaned, the whole tarp deflating. “You’re so embarrassing.”
“You love it, just like I love you.” I patted the tarp before straightening. Frank did the same, and our eyes met. “One dragon bedded down.”
He half-smiled, waving me after him.
Inside the apartment, Seleema had made up their couch with blankets and a pillow. She had also set a mug of steaming tea on the end-table beside it. Her hands were clasped at her chest. “Will this work for you?”
I chuckled, removing my jacket and laying it over the couch back. “This is a dream.”
Seleema’s eyes darted to my torso. She didn’t say anything, but her gaze flicked like a lightning bug over all my accoutrements.
I glanced down. “Ah, did you want me to leave the weapons in the stairwell?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no. You are a warrior, and it would be unwise to be parted with your instruments of battle.”
“Instruments of battle?” I chuckled as I unhooked Thelma from my back, set her gingerly on the couch. “Can’t say I’ve heard that one before. It does have a ring.” I proceeded with the second whip at my hip before I removed my belt. I sat, removing my boots.
Seleema watched all this with an Other’s lack of self-consciousness. Frank had already disappeared into their bedroom, but she seemed to have no sense of personal space.
When I glanced up at her, I smiled. “You ever seen a whip?”
She shook her head. �
��In Heaven we had whips and chains for the pleasure of some of our more discerning members. But they were light and tended to have feathers at their ends. I have never seen one quite so … aggressive.”
I picked up Thelma and felt a momentary possessiveness before I passed it to her. No one but me had touched this whip in five years. “This one I’ve had since I was a girl. My first, actually. She gave me this scar right here.” I pointed to a spot near my hairline. “She was a harsh mistress back when.”
Seleema held Thelma like the whip might bite her. “Why would this Thelma do such a thing?”
I chuckled; I kept forgetting how literally most Others communicated. “I didn’t handle her very well, and she told me as much. But I got better, and now she’s my best girl.”
And she’s next to all I have left of my family, I thought but didn’t say. As soon as I’d thought it, my brain shoved it right back into the dark recesses.
Seleema handed Thelma back. “You have an interesting soul, Tara Drake.”
I set the whip by my side. “Interesting’s better than evil, I suppose.”
The houri stood over me, unmoving. “I think you are good. But darkness swirls amidst your light like oil on water.”
“Oil on water makes a rainbow,” I said with a grin.
If Seleema caught my humor, she made no sign of it. “It does … but not all colors of the rainbow are benevolent. Some have the harshest intent coursing through their hues.”
This conversation was getting way deeper than I could handle right now. I mean, we were talking about friggin’ rainbows. Next she was going to tell me that unicorns were evil monsters of destruction.
Straddle me in a peachtree, I just needed sleep, which meant getting away from sweet, weird Seleema. I reached for my braid, pulled out the tie. I ran my fingers through my hair, stood up and faced the houri. “Can I use your bathroom?”
She gazed at me, dark eyes probing mine. One finger rose to point past my shoulder. “Down the hall. Second door on the left.”
I forced my smile to crinkle my eyes. “Appreciate it.”
