Clep faded as Pook’s punch landed and I pinched my nose. Tonight had every appearance of an eternity punctuated with alcohol.
Where the hell was Poseidon? Immortals don’t vanish off the face of the Earth.
“I need to consult the record,” I announced, topping off their ales. “Can you manage not to break The Boogey while I’m in my office?”
Nothing bothers a pelican for long; they were deep into a mock fight with a fishing rod and the broom when I palmed the door and plunked into my chair.
For the past month, my studies revolved around the Vapors, a peaceful non-corporeal entity that rivaled Chaos in terms of age, meaning they were there from the beginning. Vapors created the record, and I discovered they had a language and made entries.
Keepers before me weren’t aware this knowledge lived in the book’s pages. I was pushing hard to study and understand what they recorded, making up for lost time, but it was a tough chew.
Tough, because the Vapors didn’t communicate in the same fashion as humans or magicals. Instead, they used emotions to convey entire lines of thought. Humanity had half a chance to learn this because human beings were messy, dramatic, and at their core, emotional.
Magicals, whose minds followed logic and order and bound themselves with a complex system of lore, law, and vows, were screwed. My bestie Chelsea, a High Priestess, over how many covens I wasn’t sure, attacked learning the Vapors language with a single-mindedness I admired, but she struggled. A lot.
Besting her at an intellectual task was rare and a definite perk, if I’m being honest. But it’s not meant in a bitchy way. Chels is demanding regarding mastery. Magicals value knowledge and it frustrated the crap out of her she couldn’t find the key to unlock their language.
I placed my palm on the cupboard; it swung open, and I pulled the book. Ancient, scented with sea and time, and filled with entries by centuries of Keepers, it was a chronological record of the line’s history, and a shared relationship of sorts. Flipped open to a set of blank pages, I chewed my thumb and pondered what to ask.
Has an immortal ever gone missing?
The entry rose, filling the page. From the penmanship, I’d guess late 1600s.
The line falters in the wake of yet another trial to end a witch. It pains the soul to see innocent humans killed, fodder for a hunt that can never yield an actual witch, whom disappear when sought. I begged an intervention in the timeline from Apollo, father of Asclepius, to prevent this senseless killing and pause the desire to expose magicals, but Apollo cannot be found. It is, to my knowledge, not within the immortal realm for them to lose sight of one another. Concern fills my heart. I’m compelled to share this musing, that the absence of gods acts as a balancer for attacks against the magical world.
A repositioning for balance? Crap. That’s a biggie. I stared at the book, thinking hard.
What happened to Apollo?
The wrong question and the page remained blank. It happened. Okay, think, Patra.
Show me entries where the line grew unbalanced.
Lines of script emerged. I recognized this handwriting as that of the feisty Keeper who grew old waiting for a replacement and then tangled with Gaia and won. Badass. Eager, my eyes deciphered the spidery writing.
In my time as Keeper, I recorded the activity of the line. Today, I write in my own blood an entry that will rise only for another Keeper. My supposition holds that the world is never in balance, but moves within a safe margin. As long as it sways between those boundaries, the worlds are well. Based on my studies, I believe this movement is necessary to allow each world to reach a point where they can exist in peace with full knowledge of the other. At that juncture either true balance occurs, or the degree of sway allowed for balance tightens. My time on Earth is short. The next Keeper arrived, and I faithfully train him, but this entry needed to be left for the Keeper, in a faraway time, to read and take action. By the gods, do your best to meet the task.
Holy shit, I had more questions than answers. And I knew who to ask.
Apollo.
It’s unfortunate when we last met he was a complete ass, but that’s kinda the job.
C’est la vie.
Chapter Three
Drago filled the hotel fridge with beer, Daisy’s bowl with water, and kicked his boots into the corner.
“Not shabby for now, old girl. Everything’s close and handy, and the expression on that banking lady’s face when I showed up, and she eyeballed that wire transfer—man, that was classic. Good to get respect for once.”
Walmart bags with tee shirts, boxers, and cargo shorts lay on the dresser, next to a pair of flip-flops and a bag of toiletries. He rubbed his fresh haircut and grinned.
“We’re living fat, Daisy. Ain’t owned all new stuff in a long damn time. Gonna grab a shower and head out for a steak.” Daisy thumped her tail, looking less itchy after her session at a groomer.
“Feels good to lose them damn bugs, don’t it, girl?”
Daisy rolled over, tongue lolling, and showed her belly. With a low laugh, Drago rubbed her tummy, drained his Bud and headed into the cleanest bathroom he’d been in for a long time.
Webber’s Steakhouse wasn’t fancy and smelled fantastic, his kind of place. He slid onto a barstool, ordered a beer and a slab of prime rib, and looked around, draining the bottle in three swallows.
“Just visiting?” The bartender slid a new Bud his way.
“Thinking of moving here. Sold my place in the forest to them damn wolves, and beach life sounds just ‘bout right.”
“The world got weird quick.” The bartender leaned on the bar. “A year ago, I knew everybody that came in here, any strangers were tourists. Could spot them by the sunburns. Now I can’t tell if I’m serving actual people or whatever the hell the others are.”
“Yeah,” Drago nodded. “Something felt strange in the forest, but I sure as hell didn’t think it was werewolves. A road too far if you catch what I’m saying.”
Which was a lie, but Drago enjoyed rolling with whatever people trusted him to hear. He learned without giving much in return.
The bartender leaned in and lowered his voice. “Couple of women here last week, and I was sure they were witches. Almost asked them to leave, but their money is green. Too bad they didn’t drown all them bitches in Salem, right?”
Drago nodded and cut into his meat. “Good prime rib.”
“It’s what we’re known for, been doing rib here for twenty-five years.”
The bartender moved to serve a new group of bikers, and Drago sopped his steak in the fragrant au jus, sniffing. All human. As a youngin’, if the blood was off by a smidge, Drago sensed it. When the big blowout on the beach happened a couple months back, he’d felt it coming. Big. Unusual. The forest was on edge, waiting. Those mer thingys came out of the water, and the forest emptied. It was the oddest sensation. First it was full of tension, then nothing.
In hindsight, Drago believed a witch grabbed the predators that shift and put them on the beach. What he didn’t get was why. What does helping humans, who are easy prey to those wolves, bears, and big cats, matter? Drago sucked down his beer and lifted a finger for another.
“You bet,” the bartender said, and the door opened.
“Hmm,” Drago replied, turning to see who, or what, just entered.
The man sat two stools beyond Drago, glanced his way and nodded.
“Visiting from the forest?” Drago asked, hand steady on the bottle.
Amber eyes flicked his way. “I know you. You had that yellow trailer north of Ocala.”
“Yup.”
The bikers shot the newcomer a side eye and moved their beers to the far end. Drago fished his wallet out and dropped two twenties next to his cleaned plate.
“Tasty meal, I’ll be back,” he told the bartender.
“Ever consider,” the wolf murmured low, “what you might have coursing through your veins?”
“All the damn time,” Drago replied, maintaining the wo
lf’s gaze.
“Talk to the Keeper, see if she can sort your blood.” The wolf cocked his head. “For a blend, you have more signature than you should. Could be an informative conversation.”
“Might just do that.” Drago eased past and headed to the end of the bar, where the bikers, pale but holding their own, were drinking fast.
One thing I never counted on was volume. Every freaking person on the planet, human or magical, treated the hours in my day as theirs. Keeper on call. My life ran at an insane pace pre-Triune, accelerating in the months since humanity received their wake-up call.
“Nothing’s changed in terms of my responsibilities to the line,” I groused to Chelsea, allowing myself a half glass of magical wine an hour before sunrise. “I gotta run The Boogie by day and The Boogey by night. Plus Ballard and Aegeus, where I’d prefer to allocate my time.”
“At least you’ve got a second Keeper in the wings, and the Vapors did you a favor by squaring your Zeus-sized issue for good. Haven’t heard a peep from him since.” Chelsea drained her wine. “Parker’s learning fast; he’ll be training on the magical side in no time.”
“He’s ready, or will be within a week or two. Parks is way better than me, Chels.”
“Pish, he had help. Regardless, having him able to cover a couple nights frees you up for Mommy detail.” Chelsea crooked a finger and the wine bottle zoomed over and refilled her glass. “It’s a rough juggle now, but the solution is imminent.”
“True.” I glanced toward the sound of the magical door opening, wolf sensors on high alert. “So late? That’s odd.”
Chelsea rested her hands on the bar top, ready. Wolves were unpredictable.
“Keeper, a Mooncraft.” The wolf settled on a stool as I slid the drink in front of him.
He drank off a third and eyed me. “I debated most of the night whether to visit you, but you’ve kept your vow to help cordon off a good chunk of the forest for shifters, so here I am.”
Huh.
“What’s on your mind?”
He drained the Mooncraft and tapped the bar. I passed its replacement across and, hard as it was, held his gaze. Humans struggle with predatory shifters; we’re hardwired for flight. The longer I maintained eye contact, the more my bladder let me know how ready it was to pee my pants. If I got old, and with Keepers that’s hardly a given, I’d be the poster child for Depends.
“Tonight I dined in the human world and met a signature you need to be aware of,” he began. “I have never encountered it, but it’s well known to magicals. I spoke with my pack, and we agreed I should share the discovery.”
Interested, Chelsea leaned forward and crossed her arms on the bar.
“This is a human, a blend, but powerful and unusual. He has no fear of shifters, unlike you, Keeper.”
I shrugged. To change that was beyond my skill set.
“I suggested he come see you; I believe he will. Curiosity drives him here either way because he’s missing a crucial piece of information. I’m here with a warning, Keeper, to prepare. If preparation is even possible.”
“Why so ominous?” Chelsea interrupted. “What is the signature?”
The wolf set the empty glass on the bar and flipped a twenty next to it. His canines dropped past his upper lip, and he rose, barking a howl. The echo bounced around in The Boogey, and I inhaled in slow breaths, maintaining.
“As improbable as it seems, High Priestess, he’s part shifter. I’m uncertain how that is possible, but the signature is there, and it’s strong.”
“What type of shifter?” I kept my voice steady, but the disquiet of dread sloshed with the magical wine in my gut.
Amber eyes swung toward mine, and I willed my knees not to knock. It worked. Sort of.
“Dragon.”
Chapter Four
The door snicked behind him as I gripped the bar’s edge in shock.
“How can that be? There are no American dragons, and the ones in Europe were recorded. Only Campe, locked in Tartarus, wasn’t in the original record of the lineage, and when freed, they added Campe once he descended into Russia.” I was babbling to myself, but it didn’t matter.
Chelsea paced, thinking, hands opening and closing; in the close confines of The Boogey, the magic heightening within her blood vibrated.
“How could a dragon and a human conceive? Those eggs aren’t similar.”
“A better question.” Chelsea resumed her seat. “But the one you haven’t asked matters more.”
I stared at her and swallowed. “Can he open the door?”
“That’s my worry, Patra. If he can, and figures out what he’s capable of and how to use it, the blend becomes a serious problem for humans and magicals alike. Could he shift? Fly? Breath fire? Grow claws? Is he lawful? Is he evil? You’ve got a pile of unanswered queries and not much time.”
Crap.
“Magical families raise children steeped in law and lore. We have a code that is unbreakable,” she continued. “The blend will not. Chances are he grew up in Florida, a latchkey kid in a boxy little house with a gaming fetish and no boundaries. He’s unknown, untaught, and an unpredictable entity that could display a ton of power. Dragons didn’t get their reputation by proxy.”
“Could he be taught? Brought into the fold and given his birthright as a magical?”
“I don’t know. It’s happened in the past for witch blends who demonstrate sufficient ability, but shifters never mated outside of magic, except, now one has with success.” Chelsea slugged her wine. “Time for us moves at a different pace, Patra. Three decades to you, a third of your life, equals childhood to a magical. Witches study for the first fifty years of their lives before working within the coven, then rise based on competence and dedication to craft. Shifting races have their own cultures.”
“I should meet with Loboli. Maybe he can help me understand.”
“Keep that alliance close. You’ll want it if this dragon craps on your Triune.”
“My Triune? That’s an interesting interpretation.”
Chelsea shrugged and the sky, lightening, encouraged her to throw a few bills on the bar.
“Thanks,” I said, surprised. She’d perfected drinking on the house.
“Talk to everybody, Patra. I can’t impress enough how unusual and upsetting this revelation will be. You’ll hear the magical world howl with fury. Shifter-human mating lies outside what we consider law, and the shifter in question is the alpha. Dragons live damn near forever and are hard as Hades to kill.”
How long was Campe in Tartarus? Shit. She’s one hundred percent right. Double shit.
“Let me get this straight.” Ballard eyed me over a platter of boiled shrimp as Aegeus grabbed seconds. “Going to Russia, specifically Chernobyl, to brain pick a dragon who may or may not have a favorable impression of you, is your best course of action?”
I shoveled my shrimp shells into the big bowl next to the platter in the middle of the kitchen island and loaded a dozen more onto my plate. A tiny paw, belonging to Aegeus’ kitterling, reached into the shells and flipped one to the counter. Eyes rolling, I scooped the micro protector and her smelly prize onto the floor.
“No kitties on the counters.” I peeled a shrimp. “Campe is the one source I have that even knows me. Dragons are so dangerous they’ve been isolated for a millennium. To talk to any other one will most certainly fry my, uh, chances.”
Aegeus stopped peeling. “You could take Justice, Mommy. My kitterling can keep you safe.”
“No, she can’t,” Ballard said, raising an eyebrow. “I promised your dad that Justice stays with you.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Besides, Mommy knows plenty of people to talk to and determine the best way to handle this situation.”
“You have lots of dragon books, Mommy.”
“I do, and I’ll be cracking those after lunch. Have you read any of them?”
“Oh yes, one about lore and another on recording dragons.”
“Good, we’ll rev
iew once I’m up to speed. It’s alway useful to discuss a book with someone who’s read the same story.”
“In that case,” Ballard interrupted, “I’ll be reading right alongside you.”
I mouthed, “I love you,” and he grinned.
“Family reading day, complete with an anchovy ice cream break.”
I laughed. Aegeus, raised on a sea life diet, became a project for Ballard, and his sweet and savory anchovy ice cream sounds awful, but it’s pretty amazing.
“Yes!” Aegeus scrambled off her stool, running for the bookcases.
“Stop!”
She skidded and peeked over her shoulder at Ballard.
“Wash your hands, sweetie. No shrimp juice allowed in the library.”
“OK!”
Her bare feet smacked around the corner and into her bath as I leaned in and gave him a deliberate and un-librarian-like kiss.
“Have I mentioned how much you and this little life we’re building fill my heart?”
“Every day, Patra. You got anything scheduled for the next twenty minutes? I could fill them.” He tickled my nipple through my tee shirt and laid an intentional look that made my pelvis squish.
I grinned. “Hold that thought.”
Feet silent on the tile, I walked to the shelves and pulled three books, setting one on Aegeus’ favorite chair.
“I set a book out for you,” I called. “I’m taking a quick shower, Aegeus.”
“OK, Mommy!”
With a sexy smirk, I smoothed my palms down my body and blew Ballard a kiss before walking toward the bath. I didn’t make it before he scooped me up, wrapped his hands across my cheeks, barreled toward the shower, and locked the door.
I love every freakin’ inch of this man, and the shower’s pounding matched Ballards. Pinned and grinning at my gasps, his gorgeous green eyes held mine with deliberate intent, setting my pelvis on fire while causing the best kind of heart attack.
Clean and satisfied, I kissed him and cocked my head.
“Are you still understanding, in real time, most of what’s going on in the worlds?”
Speedo Down Page 2
