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

by S. W. Clarke

  By the time I’d finished in the bathroom, Seleema had gone into the bedroom. That suited me; I had about as much soul talk as I could handle—now and maybe forever.

  What I was interested in was bedding down on their plush couch. Which was exactly what I did, tucking myself in with my boots set on the floor right by my head. In case anything happened, Bonnie and Clyde—my throwing knives—waited in secret.

  But nothing did happen that night.

  Nothing except for, of course, the nightmare.

  ↔

  The nightmare began five years ago—the night the gods left.

  It always started the same way: with me on my stomach in the shadows of the enormous circus tent, just a single throwing knife in my bloody grip. I couldn’t catch my breath no matter how I tried, my blood rushing in my ears so fast and hard white stars floated in my vision, and I thought I might pass out.

  Beyond, screams resounded through the night. And I was terrified—more than I’d ever been in my life. More than when I was four and my father got me up on the trapeze for the first time, pushed me out over the wide expanse of the ground below and over to the other platform.

  More than that. Far, far more.

  This wasn’t just terror. It was horror, and that inspired the most potent fear any man or woman could ever experience.

  A pair of black-booted feet appeared in the moonlight some six feet away, right at the tent’s entrance. My grip around the knife tightened, and I thought my heart would burst from my chest.

  Be brave, my father had said to me as he’d pushed me that first time on the trapeze and I’d held on for dear life.

  His voice resounded in my head and heart as I held the knife, my whole body pressed to the ground and my eyes unable to move from the sight of those black boots now standing immobile at the entrance to the tent.

  Those weren’t my father’s feet. They weren’t anyone’s I knew.

  I would have to fight him. I would have to fight for my life.

  The boots began their approach, and I readied to strike out with the knife, to bring him down at the ankle. But before I could, someone called out my name. A small voice—a girl’s voice.

  Hands gripped me hard. A voice said my name. “Tara?”

  My eyes shot open in the dark, and I found myself breathing so hard my voice came hoarse and hoary out of my throat. In the semidarkness, Seleema and Frank’s faces stared down at me.

  Brooklyn. I was in New York, and I was safe.

  “Tara,” Seleema said, her eyes trailing to my hands. “What happened?”

  I was suddenly aware of my own body. I followed Seleema’s gaze, realized I’d managed to get Bonnie and Clyde out of my boots. I held them in both hands before my chest, their grips cool and familiar and safe.

  Frank had a cellphone in his hand like he was ready to call the police. And I didn’t blame him; I was probably the loosest cannon they’d ever welcomed into their home.

  I forced my hands to loosen around the knives. “I’m real sorry about that.” I sat up, sliding them back into the interior sheaths in each boot.

  “Are you all right, Tara?” Frank looked wary, the phone still held up.

  Seleema set a hand over his, took the phone from him. “I believe she had a nightmare. You can return to bed—I will stay with her a few minutes.”

  I waved a hand. “Oh, you don’t need to do that.” But I didn’t think either of them heard me.

  The two exchanged a silent look, and Frank kissed the houri on the cheek. “Let me know if you need me.”

  “I will.”

  I averted my gaze. It felt like I’d stumbled onto something private here in the living room. Like I’d interrupted a peace that pervaded the whole apartment. Beside me, my tea sat cold and untouched on the end-table. I grabbed it anyway, took a long sip as Frank padded in his slippers down the hallway.

  Seleema sat down on the couch next to me, her hip pressing against my body through the blanket. It was an oddly intimate gesture; she didn’t really know me at all, and I’d just been holding two knives.

  I set the mug back on the table, turned toward her. “Sorry if you heard any noise.”

  Her face, outlined in silver from the moonlight shining through the doors leading onto their patio, observed me with the same curiosity as earlier. “You do not need to apologize for a dream.”

  “I woke you both. I’m apologizing for that.”

  She clasped her hands in her lap. “May I ask what happened in your dream?”

  I sighed. She was making me want to flee to the bathroom again. “I can’t remember.”

  She tilted her head. “You called for someone. Do you remember that?”

  My gaze shot up to her, and I felt suddenly exposed. “You heard me calling for someone?”

  She nodded. “I could not make out the words, but you were quite …” She paused. “Quite distraught.”

  A shot of relief entered my veins. “I’m all right now. Thank you. I won’t wake you again.”

  She didn’t move. “I sense you want me to leave. You soul expresses this desire like it did earlier. Only now it is more intense.”

  I cleared my throat. If all houris were as earnest and open as Seleema, I’d need to stay far away from their kind. “I didn’t want to keep you from your sleep.”

  “Do you want me to go?”

  Hell yes I do. “I wouldn’t mind getting a few more hours of sleep before the sun comes up. Perce and I have a show in the morning.”

  Seleema stood. “Of course. And just so you are aware, you are welcome to stay here for as many nights as you would like, Tara Drake.”

  My skin was itching from all the sweetness. I nodded once up at her. “You’re a peach.”

  A faint smile crossed her face. “Good night.”

  When Seleema had left, I sank back into the couch and stared up at the ceiling. “Get a grip, girl,” I whispered. Texas was over a thousand miles away and five years back. I wasn’t fourteen anymore, and I wasn’t hiding in the dark with a knife in my hand.

  I was safe. But my subconscious wouldn’t hear it.

  I was jonesing to be in motion; movement always distracted me from the nightmare. Unfortunately, this wasn’t really the time or place. So instead, I focused my mind on a certain couple, analyzing everything I’d seen and heard in the bar.

  In the morning, I had a house call to make.

  Chapter 5

  I lied—I didn’t wait until the sun came up. Then again, I never let the sun beat me to the punch.

  The sky was still gray when I dressed, pulled on my boots and jacket and redid my braid in the pretty circular hallway mirror at the entrance to Frank and Seleema’s apartment.

  So this is normal living, I thought, my eyes wandering to the flower arrangement set below the mirror, the shoe rack pressed up against the wall.

  Organized. Clean. Predictable.

  Even before I lost my family, I’d never known a life like this. And now I knew for certain it wasn’t for me.

  Nothing about my life was predictable.

  When I came into the parking garage, I gave a soft, toothy whistle. In his parking spot, Percy shifted under the plastic and velcro.

  “How’s it going, big boy?”

  “I have to urinate,” he growled.

  I leaned over, pulled up the cover until his beautiful blue-scaled face came revealed. His eyes were lidded with sleep and annoyance.

  I held out a container of chicken with a grin. “Breakfast.”

  He eyed it. “Did you steal that from the houri and her human?”

  “I borrowed it, and fully intend to replace it.” I set it down on the concrete in mock-offense. “You know how I feel about stealing.”

  “ ‘Only when necessary,’ ” he recited.

  “Or when it’s a Scarred. Then you’re free to steal the tablecloth from their dining room and their best candlestick holders.”

  He chuckled, a small rumble in his throat and exhalation of air through his nos
trils. “Not likely to happen. We’ve encountered, what, a dozen Scarred in five years?”

  I folded my arms. “We were in the wrong places, Perce. Street performing in Kansas City isn’t going to turn up much in the way of evildoers.”

  “So why were we in Kansas City, then?”

  Because when you’re desperately poor, you do whatever you have to do, I thought but didn’t say. At fifteen years old with a young dragon, I didn’t know the first thing about proper survival.

  I’d winged it—no pun intended—until I’d gotten over my grief. Until we’d developed a reputation as Tara Drake and her Dragon. Until we had savings.

  Until we were ready.

  I skipped over his question and lifted the collar, which I attached around his neck. “All right, do your business. You’re free during the day as long as the city of New York thinks I’ve got you on a leash.”

  “A leash.” His nostrils widened as I buckled the collar. “Other rights are atrocious.”

  “Why Percival.” I set a finger on his nose. “You have been reading the dictionary.”

  I pulled the car cover off his back, and he rustled his wings free, expanding them until they brushed against the cars at either side. His spine stretched up like a cat, and he yawned until I could see every pointed tooth in his mouth and all the way back to the fire-spitter beyond his tongue.

  I smiled at him. “Be good, all right? I’ve got some errands this morning.”

  “Errands? But you promised before we came to New York that we’d spend time together.”

  I nodded, snapping my fingers. “That’s right—I did promise, didn’t I?”

  He didn’t answer; his yellow eyes disappeared briefly as he blinked, then reappeared in silent judgment.

  “I need to see about this couple is all,” I explained. “Last night, the girlfriend was talking to a Scarred. I’ve got a feeling she’s in trouble, Perce.”

  If there was one thing I could count on, it was my dragon’s code of honor. He really was a creature from medieval mythology. “Trouble?” His head tilted. “Is this it, then?”

  “Not yet, but we’re close. That tip about The Singing Angel was on the money. They sent someone to that bar to talk to Annabelle, that deaf gal—I just don’t know why. Yet.”

  His nose lowered, one claw scraping across the asphalt. “You need me?”

  “I’ll be good. Just doing a little recon. Do your business before the sun’s up and then keep yourself out of sight, all right?”

  I left Percy in the above-ground parking garage. As I turned away, I heard the crack of his wings as he took off into the gray sky.

  Well, that’s going to incur a fine.

  But what could I do to stop a dragon from flying? He’d gotten to where he didn’t like me watching over his every move. And I, being his family, had to oblige by his boundaries. It wasn’t easy, but that dragon was turning out devilishly smart and independent. If I tried to control him, he’d fly off one day and not come back.

  Which was equally true of me—Percy and I were like two cats who’d come to each other only when we were ready, the two of us easily smothered.

  After a quick trip to the local coffee shop, I took the stairs to the apartment building’s third floor, pressed the stray hair behind my ears before I knocked on the young couple’s door. If he’s out, I thought, she wouldn’t know I was knocking.

  But he wasn’t out. A few seconds later, footsteps sounded over the creaking wood, and the door opened to reveal a very sleepy and squinting Paul the singer in his boxers.

  I put on my biggest grin and offered up my tray of three coffees. “Morning.”

  His eyes opened a degree wider. “You’re that madwoman who fought the minotaurs last night.”

  I nodded with raised eyebrows. “The one and only.”

  Paul brought me into the couple’s shared apartment, which wasn’t dissimilar from Frank and Seleema’s—except far less kempt, more like an artist’s loft. A strange, two-stringed instrument hung on one wall. Their coffee table was a simple plank of driftwood with a messy pile of mail and various other papers atop it.

  We sat together at the kitchen table as I tried not to make eyes around the place.

  After a minute’s small talk, I cleared my throat. “Is Annabelle up? I wanted to have a word with her.”

  “Oh, she’s already out, actually. Went to the doctor’s.”

  I took a quick sip of my coffee. “That’s early.”

  “Right? But you know, last-minute appointments and all.”

  “Oh sure,” I said, though I hadn’t seen a doctor in most of a decade. I set my cup down. “Listen, Paul—last night at the bar, I came across Annabelle talking to an ogre.”

  “An ogre?”

  I nodded slow and purposeful. “A very dangerous one, at that. Did she mention him to you at all?”

  He rubbed sleep from one eye. “She didn’t mention an ogre.”

  I tried not to make a face. “Ah.”

  He stared down at his coffee. “Though after you found her, she came to me signing so fast I could hardly follow.”

  “Signing fast?”

  His brow furrowed. “Someone told her about a nonsurgical procedure to restore her hearing. They gave her a referral to this doctor she’s gone to see this morning.” His eyes flicked to the coffee table, then up to me. “It’s all been kind of a blur since the bar last night. I’ve had maybe three hours of sleep.”

  A miraculous procedure to restore a deaf girl’s hearing. Sounded like a game the Scarred would run.

  I just didn’t know why.

  I sat forward. “Where is this doctor?”

  He was eyeing me now. “I can’t believe you fought three minotaurs. I don’t even see a scratch on you.”

  Focus, Paul. “Is the doctor in Brooklyn?”

  He rubbed a hand through his hair. “Ah, yeah. Langone.”

  Langone. That was what I needed to know.

  “Huh, would you look at the time.” I stood, retrieving the tray with the remaining coffee still on it. “Mind if I take this for my hosts?”

  Paul blinked up at me like he was just settling into our conversation. “You’re leaving?”

  I flicked my eyes toward the window, where the sun shone a pretty pink light through the clouds. Then to the coffee table, where I’d seen Paul glance when he mentioned the doctor. I surveyed the papers once, then returned my gaze to the singer. “Morning’s getting on, and I promised a houri a coffee.”

  ↔

  Back at Frank and Seleema’s, breakfast was cooking. The whole apartment smelled of bacon and eggs, and the houri accepted my coffee like I was offering her Ambrosia.

  “Oh, you are kind.” She popped the lid right off, stared into the drink like she was contemplating a painting. Then her eyes turned up to me. “How did you know the latte is my favored caffeinated drink?”

  I had to admit—she was endearing. I set my hand over hers at the kitchen table. “A hunch.”

  At the stove, Frank turned around. “You eat meat, Tara?”

  “I eat what Percy eats, most times.” I winked at him. “Keeps things simple.”

  The houri’s eyes widened. “Frank, we must get her a chicken also. Do we have another chicken?”

  I laughed, and Frank did, too. “Honey, she’s joking.”

  The houri shot me a mollified glance. “This GoneGod World is sometimes challenging for me.”

  I leaned toward her. “Me too, Souls. Me too.”

  “Souls?” She blinked.

  “I give everyone nicknames. It’s a habit I picked up in my circus days.”

  Frank pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. “Join us for breakfast?”

  Well, I’d never turned down home cooking, and I wasn’t about to change that streak. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

  Seleema took a seat at the table. “Tara, Frank and I talked. We would like you to stay for as long as you would like. And your dragon as well—both of you are welcome while you are i
n New York.”

  Frank set a plateful of bacon, eggs and baked beans at the spot where I’d be sitting. Then he set one hand on Seleema’s shoulder.

  I placed both palms over my heart, genuinely touched. “That’s more than I could possibly ask.”

  “It is not simply out of goodwill.” The houri found Frank’s hand, and her fingers threaded between his as he sat down beside her. “It is not often I encounter a soul that draws me in, Tara Drake. Frank’s is more beautiful to me than any I have encountered, but yours also contains a rare and interesting beauty of its own.”

  Last night she’d compared my soul to oil and water, swirling with darkness and light. I still didn’t know how to feel about the analogy. “So you want to study me?” Or fix me? I thought but didn’t say.

  The houri shook her head with a soft smile. “No. I simply wish to enjoy your presence for as long as you choose to remain.”

  The strange thing about sincerity: it rankled me as much as it drew me in. I had a fraught relationship with it. But I couldn’t help being touched by the houri’s bright, honest eyes.

  GoneGodDamn, I hated having to spill the beans.

  “Thank you,” I said. “But the truth is, I’m a danger to you both. I’m not just here as a street performer. There’s a reason you saw my soul swirling with darkness.”

  Frank shot the houri a look, but she only squeezed his hand harder and kept gazing up at me. “Please, sit. Eat. And, if you would, explain to us why your soul seethes with both righteousness and the burning desire to kill.”

  Chapter 6

  What else could I do in the face of a single houri requesting that I sit?

  I damn well sat.

  But I didn’t like it.

  I picked up the knife and fork and cut right into a rasher of bacon. Frank eyed me as I did so, and as I speared it on my fork, I raised it between us and whispered to him, “My momma taught me to be polite with meat.”

  Frank’s eyes widened, and he leaned back as though we were two repelling magnets. “We wouldn’t mind if you ate it with your fingers.”

  I pressed the half-rasher into my mouth. “But I would. I respect my momma, may her soul rest well wherever it’s flown to in this GoneGod World.”