Speedo Down

by Winnie Winkle

  If a mist could roll its eyes, that occurred. Crud.

  “Nevermind, my mouth ran before my brain. Let me think.”

  Tipping is the problem, Patra.

  “Ares is the fucking balance! He’s the balance to you, but I bet he suspects it involves more than a simple quid pro quo.”

  A misty thumbs up greeted this bit of pondering, and I laughed.

  “Plus he doesn’t want to get blocked off, and if magicals attack the dragons in war, to the point we experience a tip, his butt’s on the line. Poof, he’s gone. As for the rest of us, we’ve got no ability to right wrongs and no healthy periods of peace and prosperity. Which isn’t much of a world.”

  Mist that grins is odd.

  “Paxizu is peace… in all things?”

  From the blank page, words, rather than symbols, rose. Made sense. In a deal as big as this one, why risk misunderstanding?

  Paxizu is the state of balance upon the Earth. When reached, growth comes for every race, and evolution sparks the way forward.

  “A second Renaissance. Dammit, I knew it! That’s why the Triune had to happen, and its advent drove the unleashing of each race from its shackles, whether real or self imposed. Together, we’re reaching critical mass.”

  The mist rose and reached for me, wrapping me in a hug. Except they didn’t float away, they floated inside my body. Deep in my core, absorbed and manifesting peace, the stand and stage grew clear. Confront and bring Drago into the magical world. His crossroads were the manifestation of the Earth as a whole. Peace must prevail.

  Or everybody burns.

  Dracena looked, if squinting, penitent. Chelsea strode across the balcony in a stomping loop, eyeing Ballard on the sectional with arms crossed over his chest. Daisy, sporting flat ears and tucked tail, sat between his knees, and Aegeus, stormy eyed, perched next to him. Behind them, Justice crouched, ear tips dragging along the ceiling, eyes pinned on Dracena.

  “What possessed you to upset this child? The kitterling is not an easy fight, even for the most talented,” her voice dragged across the descriptive with derision, “witch.”

  Chelsea stopped and whirled, anger radiating as her red hair whipped in the wind. “I’m dumbfounded you accepted a crucial assignment considering your unserious disposition. You chased the Keeper’s original love, and were brewing in order to interfere with him and the child? Sheer foolishness, expected from a novice, not a seasoned witch. What if Poseidon determines our coven lacks the discipline required for her training? Well? Your single-handed selfishness may disrupt a long-term opportunity for learning! Your stupid choices stand against our entire purpose.”

  Eyes gleaming with green, malevolent disappointment, Chelsea’s magic flowed from her core and seeped into the living room. Aegeus snuggled next to Ballard, eyes huge in her small face, watching Chelsea rage.

  “Forgive me,” Dracena began, but Chelsea cut across the apology.

  “Return to the sacred space and wait for me there. Do not, under any circumstances, engage with another of the coven. You are to study and write in solitude until you have a sufficient sense of this error in judgment and can articulate, to your mates, the root of your deviant choice. Our strength is compromised, and the fault lies at your feet. Go.”

  “Yes, High Priestess.” Dracena snapped and vanished.

  Chelsea waved a series of motions. One at a time, ten witches amassed on the balcony. They circled and cocked heads to the left, listening as Chelsea held forth. After a long speech, the entirety stepped back, faces shocked, and one by one, heads cocked to the right.

  “I wonder what that means,” Ballard said as the kitterling jumped on Aegeus’ lap.

  “Look, Ballard, Justice is small again.”

  “Yes, and I’m glad Justice protects you, sweetheart. She knocked Dracena onto the balcony and kept you safe.”

  “Mommy said that this dragon thing is messing up friendships.”

  “True, but not between us.”

  “Or me and Justice.”

  “Did you finish your book?”

  “I did.”

  “I have a rare treat for you,” Ballard reached behind and slid a leather clad volume from under a throw pillow. “Mommy says this is the best book about your dad she’s found to date. I know it’s not the same as seeing him, but I thought you’d enjoy having it with you.”

  Aegeus ran her fingers over the embossed figure of Poseidon on the cover, and a big tear splattered on the god’s face before she hugged it to her chest. “Thank you, Ballard. My heart feels fat and sad, both.”

  “I hear anchovy ice cream is the perfect remedy for fat, sad hearts. Let’s go get two gigantic bowls to celebrate Dracena leaving and your new book.”

  The walls rained, a continuous flow of water from the top of the bubble into the sand, and crabs scuttled, busy, between the sea and the gods.

  “Well, shit,” Nereus said, a forced push at cheerfulness. “She’s on a roll.”

  Under bushy silver blond brows, Poseidon raised narrowed eyes. “What did you order the Nereides to do?”

  “Me? I saw them for the first time when you did.”

  “I’m not a stickler for rules the way Apollo is,” Poseidon spun and lifted Nereus by his throat, “but I hate a liar.”

  He shook the older god like a sandy flip-flop as the tiny crabs rained, a sea of crunchy bits forming piles that covered Poseidon’s feet.

  “How many of these damned things do you carry?” Poseidon stared at the crab clinging to Nereus’ beard and plucked it with his free hand. “And why does this one have blue eyes? You know, I’m feeling peckish, guess I’ll have a snack.”

  “NO!” Nereus shouted as Poseidon flicked the protesting crab toward his open mouth. The crab transformed into a naked Nereid, falling from the air to the sandy floor with a thud.

  “A spy? Friend? Foe? What is your purpose here, Beauty?”

  “I’m trying to help Father.”

  “And what comfort, Old Man, did you ask for?”

  “Oh, nothing. Not much. Just…” his voice trailed to silence.

  Poseidon grabbed him and gave him another shake. “Say your piece, you walking crustacean resort!”

  Nereus landed on his feet, glowered, and shrugged. “I wanted to hedge my bet. As immortals, we stay in the creation regardless of what the Keeper does. In the long game, it matters little.”

  “Hedge? You mean fucking up everything? An imprisoned old fart yanking off to spite the world?” Poseidon glared at the Nereid as she backed toward the wall.

  “Er. Well.” Nereus blinked as Poseidon made a grab for her arm.

  “He wants Loboli dead,” she screeched and dove through the water wall, out of reach.

  “You crusty bastard. Patra will never agree to murder and her capacity to mitigate bullshit is impressive. Resourceful and sexy as hell. I’ve lost a ton of gold. ”

  “Still might work.” Nereus rubbed his throat. “Care to make it three?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  For the third time today, my butt was on the floor. Whatever happened to my knee wasn’t improving, and while in total Vapor hug mode, I felt peaceful about it, not being able to trust my body sucked.

  “Mommy?” Aegeus’ worried face stared down at mine. I grinned.

  “Just klutzy today, kiddo. Are you ready to swim?”

  What in Hades? I can’t fight a dragon with a bum leg. Well, if being realistic, fighting on two good legs wasn’t a substantial upgrade. It’s an odd sensation, but the Vapor calmed my thoughts. I may end up the main course at the upcoming barbeque, but I won’t care much.

  C’est la vie.

  “Dammit!” Drago cartwheeled into the cenote’s basin, the victim of a single sprouted wing, as Campe circled overhead.

  “It takes two,” he called to the dripping Drago.

  “Fuck you, Campe. I mean, Master Campe.” Drago snorted sparks. “Nobody thinks you’re funny. Why the hell can’t I get laid if I don’t figure out this initiating shit?”
>
  “She’d be dead before you made it in,” Campe replied. “You’re oblivious to the heat, but you contain an inferno.”

  “I’m not giving up,” Drago muttered. “I got one wing. I can get two.”

  “No guarantees.” Campe’s wings scooped air, and he dropped onto the path. “Your soul is dark; it’s hindering your path. Dragons are leaders, the oldest race. Darkness is weakness.”

  “If I had two shits, I wouldn’t waste a single one on that BS.” Drago hawked and spat, eyes slanting to pissy yellow slits.

  With a shrug, he turned and ran, racing from the track to the water. Scales lapped his emerging snout, elongating neck, body and tail, while his right wing lifted from his back. Claws shot out from both hands as the limbs twisted into forearms.

  “Come on,” Campe muttered. “Expand. Find the ultimate piece.”

  Arcing sideways into the death spiral, Drago roared with rage, a blast of soot, sparks, and fire lighting the cavern. Ten feet above the surface, the second wing emerged, and he plunged into the basin, the water smashing in violent waves against the cenote’s stone sides.

  Drago hit the bottom and slammed his hind feet against the stone in fury, propelling in a boiling surge toward the surface. As he shot through, his wings opened, flapping with awkward slaps, a tottery attempt to gain altitude.

  “Arrrgh,” screamed Drago, pain rocketing through his unsuspecting chest muscles.

  “Yes!” Campe shouted. “Focus! Stay aloft and fly; study your power.”

  Flitana, Queen of the fae herd, surveyed the assortment of shifters standing in the fairy ring, and sighed.

  “Not optimal,” her number two, Glissande murmured. “Other than squabbles over hens, I’ve never seen a pelican fight.”

  “They don’t have the right feet,” Flitana agreed. “Still, they can power dive better than any option we have.”

  Glissande stepped toward the gathering. “Greetings, fellow magicals, and thanksgiving for answering the call. Our Queen shall now address you.”

  Flitana fluttered her wings, rising above the group with a bright smile that eased no one.

  “The large forest shifters walk a doomed path; one the fae refuses to follow. I seek alliances with each of you. The Keeper’s effort to include the dragons, sharing space on Earth as an equal — not enslaved or a lord, is the best way forward. The fae knows the proposed war is not pure. We leverage our assistance toward the path to enlightenment.”

  A large owl hooted. “I, Wayho, lead the owls. The Queen speaks to our consensus. The lost stories of flight within the creation are at odds with the lore. We seek truth before bloodshed. The Keeper moved forest land under our wings. We support her.”

  “We pelicans do too,” Bingo added. “Although we aren’t fighters, Pook and I know the Keeper well. She works for peace and isn’t afraid to defend it for every race.”

  “I have seen this,” an elegant osprey shifter added. “The Keeper is genuine, unlike many other humans.”

  Flitana eyed the bald eagle standing in silence at the edge of the fairy circle. He shook his feathers and paced, his yellow feet placed in precise steps as he circled.

  “We’re unimpressed with Loboli’s offer, but we don’t want to engage in this war.”

  “But you’ll feast on the dead?” Flitana’s eyes narrowed.

  The eagle cocked his head. “We’ll not be damned for following our nature.”

  “Damned? Try shunned for landing on the wrong side of the balance. Loboli boxes his power; it lessens with every move and his irrelevancy rises. Are you seeking the same fate?”

  Flitana’s teeth bared, and in sizzling zip, she closed the space between them before the eagle unfolded his wings. At the point of contact she twisted away, while the eagle, braced for annihilation, flopped in an awkward flight attempt. Flitana gripped his wing joint, staring at the wide-eyed group.

  “The fae fight, and well. Those we trust,” she shook the eagle, “receive protection. Choose now and do not waiver. Traitors to the fae die.”

  “We are with you,” a chorus of voices answered.

  “Well?” Flitana cocked her head, eyes locked on the eagle.

  “We join the fae,” the eagle replied. “There’s food, regardless.”

  It’d been a long night of bouncing off rock walls and crashing, if lucky, into the water. Drago landed on the trail around the basin’s edge often enough that his human body was purple everywhere.

  “You’re trying to control with your arms instead of controlling your wings with your chest.” Campe reclined on the pathway, eating a quarter of the cow he’d stolen while Drago practiced. “Eat, you need to build muscle.”

  Drago grabbed a hind leg, biting and chewing through everything: bones, hide, meat, and hoof. Ravenous didn’t come close to the sense of driving hunger that coursed in his blood. He lay back and let sleep take him, exhaustion greater than he’d ever known.

  The sunlight gleamed through holes at the cenote’s domed top, and Drago woke, stretching. Campe, in human form, sat cross-legged, tending a small fire.

  “Now that you can initiate a full shift, it’s time to immerse in your lore, the code that binds every dragon without exception. Until you mastered your body, you weren’t worthy to receive your birthright, but I’m proud of your determination and success. The Thundra welcomes you, demi, and will teach you who you are, and the truth of your ancestry.”

  “Nope, I’m a loner. I don’t need no, what was it anyway? A Thunder?”

  “Thundra. Dragons collectively connect throughout the world. As I sit here, I feel the life force of every dragon on Earth. You’ll develop a sense of the others, and our interconnectedness is a strength.”

  “I’m strong on my own.” Drago stared at his chest, twice the size it was yesterday. “Look at me. I’m buff as hell.”

  “You perceive opportunities to inflict your will on the weak, but violence isn’t the Thundra’s way. We are powerful, but we are peacekeepers. Only in extreme times is aggression chosen.”

  “That’s stupid. Power is meant to be used. Terrorize everybody, then use them and their fear to get a fat life on deck.”

  “Those dreams are the antithesis of your lore. As you train, you’ll develop an innate sense of your true potential. We stand in a place of great upheaval, but the possibility of a seismic shift toward peace beckons.”

  “Look, thanks for helping me figure out the wings, but I ain’t learning no lore. Gotta bounce, fry up some shit, and get rich. The cow was great, but it’s fly time.”

  Campe rose, shifting and in flight in one fluid motion. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “The hell I’m not.” Drago ran across the water, gained air beneath his wings, banked and unleashed a fire font.

  “You can’t burn me,” Campe rolled his eyes. “What you don’t know could fill a library. Do you think you can fight me? Beat me? I encourage you to try.”

  Drago attacked behind a wall of fire. Campe folded his wings and dropped, hind feet grabbing Drago’s neck on the way, taking him to the bottom of the basin before releasing and resurfacing.

  Drago shot up from the surface, roaring, and Campe flapped in place, laughing.

  “You’ve got heart, Drago, but right now, you’re a punk with no sense, a ton of testosterone, and grandiose, unrealistic ideals. Stop being a dick.”

  Drago’s feet smashed against the walls of the cenote as his wings lifted him, shooting across the space at Campe, who spiraled left at the last moment. Drago crunched into the opposite wall with a sickening thud. He tumbled to the path, landing half in the water with a groan.

  “Take another shot,” Campe encouraged. “It’s good to understand how little you know.”

  Drago moaned and shifted to his human form, lying on the track, still.

  “I’m not falling for that, either,” Campe called. “Unlike you, I feel you as part of the Thundra, and your deceit radiates.”

  Drago rolled over and sat up, lifting a middle finger to th
e sky.

  “I’ve got a thousand years to train you, if that’s what it takes,” Campe landed, but did not shift. “But you might not. As a demi, you could live a few hundred years and never realize your full potential because you are a sum of your parentage. But, you will develop into whatever you can achieve before death.”

  “I may not what? Live to be a thousand?” Drago laughed. “What the hell are you saying?”

  Campe extended a curved claw toward the sulfur scented fire. “Pass your hand through the flames.”

  Drago eyed him, leaned forward, and moved his palm across the fire. A picture rose of dragons, dinosaurs, and eggs.

  “That’s how old I am. Do it again.”

  A human toddler stood next to a puke green Buick Estate station wagon.

  “Shit, I remember that car. Mom drove it for years.” Drago leaned back, thoughtful. “Alright, Master Campe, I’ll listen to your lore, but I want to keep flying. Teach me how to kill my food and get me the hell out of this cenote.”

  “We’ll work on those objectives. Balance in all things.”

  “So tell me, were dinosaurs a good lay?”

  “The best. Orgasms for hours. Plenty of eggs and no drama. Damned asteroid.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Poseidon stared at the streaming walls, chucking errant fish that swam through back into the ocean and glaring at Nereus.

  “What?” Nereus broke the silence. “The epitome of sea life is taking chances. Why expect anything different? It’s not as though you haven’t sunk a ship on a whim.”

  “You bilious, crab-riddled loggerhead! I never sink ships; I support the seas, both below and on the surface. A full-time job, something that you, lounging around in Tartarus, can’t fathom. My monsters maraud and sailors suffer, but never, ever, does a vessel struggle because I have a crap attitude. Your disregard for the balance is telling. You, Nereus, hold no sense of greater good.”