Speedo Down

by Winnie Winkle

  Rain pattered across Lake Okeechobee, mists rising in salutation to the circling dragons who swooped low, landing along the silent bank of the vast lake. Gators, eyeing the newcomers, slid under the surface, unwilling to either engage or be a snack.

  Campe ran out of the sky, turning eyes to the swirling mist. Under his gaze, it took the shape of an ethereal dragon. The Thundra continued arriving as the Vapors swirled and eddied in the downbeats of their massive wings.

  “Are any missing?” Campe gazed along the banks as majestic heads shook in the negative.

  “And our demis, Morgu?”

  “Reconnected,” an enormous, bluish green dragon replied. “I located every demi and weeded out the few who entertained darkness. My deepest commiseration to members of our Thundra whose children were dispatched. I was swift.”

  Several nodded.

  “We cannot be both light and dark, and we granted the pruning.” A red dragon called from the back.

  “One remains,” Campe said. “He is powerful.”

  “Young, and full of secrecy and anger. The path to peace shines with clarity.” Morgu agreed.

  “And his alliances?”

  “They must be free to choose. Each race controls its destiny.”

  “They will initiate action against us, a sign of disrespect. The past lies behind and the way forward beckons. How we chart history is today’s decision.”

  Loboli paced the patio, reaching the stone railing in long, loping steps before spinning to march to the opposite rail.

  “Why the agitation?” A second wolf, seated at the table, stared at Loboli.

  “I cannot shake this sensation of doom. The chosen path is wrong.”

  “Talk of withdrawing will get you killed.”

  “Death comes regardless.”

  “Not the inspirational language of a mighty force entering the fray for the glory of the pack, Loboli. Regroup and lead.”

  “I am leading,” Loboli snarled. “It’s my role to read the crisis, not yours. I see the moving pieces your hot temper blinds you from understanding. Leadership,” he paced across the patio, “is making the right choice, even if difficult.”

  “None will follow if you change the accord. The heat in their blood tells them otherwise.”

  “I have to try. Convene them.”

  “Damn cat pee,” I muttered, wiping the walls and corners with bleach to remove the blood.

  “I cast a diminishing spell.” Chelsea zoomed the wine from under the bar. “It’ll fade by the hour.”

  “Those bottles are coated in bear slobber.”

  “This used to be a quality place. It’s gone to the dogs.”

  “Wolves, but I’d be happy if I never saw another cat.” I wiped my eyes, the dual sting of bleach and piss doing a number on my tear ducts.

  “Take a break and have a drink. The groups massing to attack the Thundra stay in the forest, not on the line, yet Asclepius inferred the conflict happened here.” Chelsea raised an eyebrow and sipped.

  Hmm. Did something change?

  “Clep might have believed that it was Drago’s fight against me, instead of the larger Thundra battle. Instead, he’s staging in the woods with Dracena and the shifters. Dammit, I thought Loboli was smarter.”

  “So did I.” Chelsea leaned her cheek against her palm. “He’s brilliant, and his integration with the human world set a standard for others. I tried to talk to him; the old Loboli enjoyed engaging in the exchange of ideas.”

  “But not this time?”

  “Not that he’d admit to me. I confess, I’m concerned.”

  A faint smile crossed my lips.

  “I know. It’s so damn weird feeling these non-logical, um, impressions. Plus, they color my thinking in new ways.”

  “Yeah?”

  “If Loboli is the leader I’ve seen, despite the rising bloodlust, he may try to swing the shifting races to other options.” She shrugged. “Based on what I witnessed here, they won’t listen.”

  I rubbed my temples. “An enormous risk.”

  “Shifters choose leaders in battle and death, Patra.”

  With a crash, The Boogey’s door banged open. Two bears strode in, flinging Loboli’s body to the decking.

  “He’s a traitor to us. Bury your dead, Keeper. And prepare. You’re next.”

  A huge paw sliced the air. Growls filled the bar as they turned and left.

  Chelsea’s spell cracked across the door, sealing us in with the motionless Loboli. She knelt, hands running over his chest.

  “Faint, but still there.”

  Ten fingers splayed on either side of her nose, she blinked twice, and The Boogey filled with nine of her coven mates.

  “Glenna remains, healing the other Keeper,” said a witch with one green and one blue eye.

  “The wolf nears death, rejected for trying to turn the shifters from the war. If we can save him, we must try.” Chelsea laid her hand on Loboli’s chest as the others gathered around the sprawled figure on the floor.

  “While you work, I’m going to write in the record.”

  Focused, a few absentminded nods met my pronouncement; I grabbed my bourbon and palmed into my office.

  Show me Parker’s latest entries.

  Two brief paragraphs lifted through and displayed.

  My mind keeps returning to Apollo, and his apparent sabotage of Keeper Patra. He didn’t seem to care about her one way or another when they first met.

  Why offer to help? Was attempting to kill her for his purposes or another’s? What angle or motive explains his role?

  I know how smart Parker is. He’ll get there. Best to make sure he keeps it to himself, especially since Zeus, as far as I can tell, prefers us both dead. I dipped the quill and filled in the blanks.

  “Anything else?”

  The hairs raised on my arms. This entry was written in blood, for other Keeper’s eyes only.

  Glenna left to grab another potion, and I’m writing this in quick. Patra, I may lose my foot. If I do, I’m as good as toast. If it comes to it, sacrifice me to gain for the Triune. I mean it. If you see me going in, let me.

  The hell I will. Gloria would kill me and pick up her next order like nothing happened.

  A huge thud echoed throughout The Boogie and I stashed the book and grabbed my staff, sipping my drink as I walked through the empty restaurant and stepped through to the long fishing pier at the back. Bourbon on the railing and my free hand on a hip. I stared at my roof’s ridge.

  “Keeper.” Campe gripped the edge of the ridgepole, swung, and dropped to the deck. Naked again. The sheer percentage of smokin’ men in this job had its moments. This qualified.

  “Alone?” I eyed the roof. Drago was nowhere, nor were there any other mega hot nekkids.

  “The Thundra assembles. I’m here to request you to join us for a conversation.”

  “Um, I’ve kinda got a few balls in the air.”

  “Now.”

  I patted my waist. Journal, potion, plume. Check. With an air of casualness, I touched my neck. Charm for calling Chelsea, check. OK, Patra. Based on the knowledge you have, do it.

  I picked up my stick. “Let’s go.”

  Campe’s neck elongated, and he dipped a shoulder as the rest of him shifted. I stepped on his front leg, scrambling with zero elegance onto his back, and tucked my knees behind his wing joints.

  A toothy head inclined my way. “It’s not far, Keeper. Hang on tight.”

  A whooshing flap and we sailed off the end of the pier. The surf crashed below us, backlit by the occasional shrimper or fishing boat, and the moon, nearing full, lit the sea with sparkling motion.

  After twenty minutes, Campe banked to the right, following the St. Lucie River, and headed to the big lake. Okeechobee teemed with gators and pythons. I hoped to Hades I had a ride out of there.

  In a sweeping arc over the shoreline, I shuddered. Hundreds of gator eyeballs reflected the moonlight in the water. On the shore, dragons stared at Campe, enormous yellow
eyes never leaving me as he angled toward the bank, blasting a small puff of fire to light his landing.

  “So many,” I breathed, staring at the prehistoric swamp soiree.

  Campe landed in a bumpy trot and turned without shifting. I perched, gawking at the sea of scales and pops of glowing sparks before me.

  “Hello,” I managed.

  An immense head stretched toward me and sniffed. I’d fit in his mouth with room to spare. Yikes.

  “Interesting. How long have you held the symbiont?”

  Hoo boy, an intellectual exchange in a sea of predators from all millennia? Come on, Patra, find your guts. I’m sure they’re somewhere between this swamp fest and The Boogie.

  I blew out the fear and leaned forward. “How much insight do you have regarding the Keepers?”

  “Tell us what you know.” It was not a request, but also didn’t sound too grouchy. Bonus.

  “Since the beginning, the Vapors recorded the account of the line between the worlds. After their run in with Zeus, they imparted a trace of Vapor into a chosen human, and that person became the Keeper, continuing to record the line’s events. I confronted Zeus and freed the Vapors, creating the Triune.”

  “Speak of the Triune.”

  “The humans, oblivious to magic, created a society based on greed and manipulation, but they are capable of powerful, immersive love. The magical world, invested in knowledge and law, tolerated humanity but didn’t interact. And the gods did their thing.”

  I shrugged. “The Triune’s goal is to pull the races together to create a new balance. I believe this opens a period of intense learning, beauty, and discovery. An impetus for the creation.”

  The dragons swapped side eyes, and several nodded. A surreal scene, trust me.

  “And your symbiont?”

  “An additional Vapor joined me, offering peace and courage. No clue how long it plans to stay.”

  “Understood. Questions for us?”

  What?

  “Lots. First, I’m sensing discord within the various shifting races. Many don’t support this clash with the Thundra. Is en venterim a zero-sum game? If a few shifters or humans screw up, are they all, innocents included, doomed?”

  Here I am, gun toting rednecks, watching out for your asses.

  “Before, yes. Today, we concur that a remarkable shift looms. We’ll weigh the behaviors of the few over the entirety,” a pair of huge golden eyes blinked at me, “then decide.”

  OK, so it’s fluid. That’s better than absolute.

  “What’s your goal for this, er, situation?”

  Dragon laughter is loud, clattering, and smoky.

  “Peace, a place, and a voice. Our history, told as it happened and not a victor’s tale, shared throughout the world, and to thrive.”

  Pretty fucking reasonable.

  “And we will kill the demi, preserving our light.”

  “Um, that’s a problem. The Triune has places for everyone. It may not be a kumbaya house party, but each prospers in peace.”

  “This demi must die because he pollutes our law. We cull every demi who entertains darkness. To remain in the light, the sacrifice of a demi child is acceptable. We call this practice the pruning.”

  “The idea is that everybody lives.”

  “Fanciful and impractical.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t matter. Every world and race changes whether or not they want to, even dragons.”

  A blast of fire shot across the lake as a pile of gators submerged, a few thrashing their tails. Seated on Campe’s back, the sense of enormity verses tinyness sat on my heart.

  Fuck it. I know I’m right.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  In the stillness, the night noises returned to the Okeechobee’s black waters, and I sat, enduring the stares of a freaking plethora of monsters. Zero chance a nightmare will ever scare me again; I’m starring in a scene of terror dialed to twelve. But it’s also the job. With care, using my staff for balance, I rose, standing on Campe’s back. At least they’d have a clean shot if crispy edges were my destiny.

  “In a Triune led world, equal opportunity to thrive is paramount. The old world’s upheaval, caused by wars for domination and reliance on an antiquated alpha structure, must fall. It’s no longer a creation of benevolent alphas and simpletons. Within that change great opportunities for happiness and intellectual advancement wait. Nothing happens without peace between races.”

  Smoke and sparks greeted my opening foray.

  Ugh. Here I go; yapping is my superpower.

  “While Campe shared his reluctance to commit until he knew more, we’re at the point of choosing. The Triune wants peace; for humanity, the magical races, and to have the immortals become seen and known entities. The creation, tipping broadly to contain the disparities of the earth’s creatures, approaches an apex and the rare chance to tighten. When it does, we enter a place of advancement. The current teetering preserved our worlds, but this rocking back and forth, resembling contestants in an ouzo chugging contest, is a stopgap. Before, we needed time to coalesce. Now, the window of approaching opportunity inches open. Are you ready to step into next?”

  In her clearing, under the faint hoots of owls and calls of the soaring raptors, Dracena eyed her cauldron and nodded, satisfied. The final potion shimmered, iridescent colors expanding and contracting as she knocked the smoldering wood from under the pot with a brisk sweeping motion of her right hand. With care, she ladled the hot liquid into flasks, lining them up in a large, deep tray until full.

  “Finished?” Drago eyed the cooling vials while Dracena pushed stoppers into each.

  “Close. I still need to bottle the expansion batch.”

  “What does this one do?”

  “Boosts their wildness, enhancing their feral urge to fight. Add that to the ability to increase their size tenfold, and we have a suitable army. Behind your fire, battle tested brawn and bloodlust wait.”

  “Campe is soft.” Drago snorted. “All he cares about are his stupid rules and peacekeeping. What an idiot. Their time of patting everyone’s head like we’re children is going down like cougars on spring breakers.”

  “Perhaps.” Dracena eyed him with a skeptical look. “Underestimation is a poor battle strategy.”

  “Confidence in outcomes creates success.” Drago huffed sparks and glared. “I read that on a billboard in Orlando, and it stuck with me.”

  “Unpredictability drives achievement for magicals,” Dracena admonished. “A confused foe provides an advantage. Long range planning outstrips splashy overconfidence; the two are not interchangeable.”

  Drago gripped the back of her neck and yanked her into his chest. “Nor should you confuse your place in my world, Witch, child or no child.”

  Dracena held her tongue. He’d learn, too late, who was running this particular end of world scenario.

  “Of course, Drago. Forgive me.”

  The full moon’s light, cresting the far horizon, lit the evening skies. Ballard stared at the condo’s balcony as mermen scaled the building, flung legs over the railing and formed a lengthening line. Soon the space filled with sixty mer, shell blades held at their sides. One stepped forward.

  “We seek the Keeper.”

  “She’s not here. What is your business?” Ballard stood, framed in the light of the balcony’s magically sealed doors.

  The mer exchanged a glance, and Ballard knew they perceived a request from a mere human as an insult. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited, listening.

  “We owe him nothing. He killed a mer and stands as though an equal.”

  “We fight for the Triune, and humanity is now a part of the larger world.”

  “If the balance doesn’t restore, we lose the mer that lay sickened; the cost of inaction is too high.”

  “We have no Olympus ally, and none answer our petitions for healing.”

  A throat cleared, interrupting them.

  “You want the Keeper’s help to quell the sickness
. Why not tell me what you need?” Ballard raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

  “He understood our language?”

  “How can that be?”

  The full moon crept away from the horizon, and one mer gestured in irritation. “We talk, wasting the night. These attacks require action.”

  The leader nodded, turning to face Ballard. “I am Akura, the second mer. Qiton, our first, lies stricken with the water sickness. For the full, we fight alongside the Keeper to drive the fire back to its place, and heal the creatures aligned with water.”

  “Humans as well?” Ballard asked, tone neutral.

  “They suffer too? How? They do not live in water.”

  “Humans align with fire, earth, and water at the time of their birth. This imbalance sickens one-third of the humans. Another third is overwhelmed with fear, and the final one, the fire aligned, is in a frenzy. Human beings need this balance restored. Are you prepared to form a binding alliance for harmony between sea and land?”

  The mer huddled, then faced Ballard. “To discover humanity connects with the three prongs of the magical world is powerful information. We’ll fight for every being affected by the raging fire.”

  Teeth chattering, I hunkered on Campe as the Thundra flew across the high, chilly air above Central Florida toward the Ocala National Forest, following Drago’s scent. Behind me, the dragons branched out, flying in a loose formation that accelerated and flanked Campe and me until the entire group flew in a wide circle that spanned a mile or more. Numb hands gripped in panic as Campe’s low roar called them to drop, hurtling to the earth. The rushing wind ate my tiny scream.

  Don’t fall off, Patra. Roadkill is not a good look.

  The landings, as the gigantic beasts, claws splayed, pounded out of the sky, shook the forest.

  Campe turned his head. “I’m sticking you in a tree, Keeper. Watch and record.”

  Before I decided whether arguing or acquiescing was my go to, Campe gripped my body, without perforating, which was appreciated, and plopped my butt high in a huge Southern oak. The downdraft from his wings tipped me, but I clutched a higher branch and caught my balance.