Black Moon Dragon

by Shelley Munro

  “I’m working an extra shift at the fish shop.”

  “What time do you finish?”

  “I won’t make the pub. I promised Gerry I’d close for him.”

  Danny leaned closer and ran his finger down her cheek. “There’s a party at Martin’s place afterward.”

  Jessalyn froze before she pulled from the contact. “Oh, no. I’m not going partying. Everyone will be stupid drunk while I’ll be sober. I’m going straight home after work. I’m tired, and I haven’t been sleeping.”

  Danny’s eyes glowed with a strange light as he leaned closer. “Come to the party. Blow off your shift.”

  “No,” Jessalyn said, incredulous at his suggestion. Gerry was counting on her. “I promised Gerry I’d work tonight. Besides, I need the money.”

  Danny shrugged. “You have your dad’s house and business. You have more money than me.”

  Jessalyn gaped at him. Something was off with Danny lately, and she couldn’t fathom the cause. “I—”

  Mrs. Merryford arrived with their drinks.

  Just as well. She loathed disagreements with Danny. He was her best friend—even if he did disappear with his cousins when it suited him. Yet given his recent behavior, she hated to confide her problems.

  Instead, Jessalyn turned the conversation to juicy local gossip. The affair between the fire brigade chief and a summer visitor who stayed in one of the vacation homes lining the coast. Danny’s cousins and the constant parade of women through their lives. The upcoming paddling competition.

  Normally, Jessalyn entered with Danny as her partner, but this year he’d chosen to team up with a cousin. Yep, his recent behavior rankled her. This selfish side of Danny wasn’t one she appreciated, and he’d hurt her with his rejection of a tradition they’d established as ten-year-old kids.

  She hadn’t spoken to him for three days.

  That had been before her father’s death, and when they’d discussed the matter, her father had told her sometimes young men didn’t think. Instead of letting Danny boss her around, she could follow her inclinations. Her father’s words had made her examine their friendship. Danny tended to lead their activities, but usually, they wanted the same path.

  This year, she’d taken on more shifts with Gerry to save for a car. A depressing thought since her meager savings wouldn’t come close to paying her father’s debts.

  Their meals arrived, and they ate them, in charity because they kept to their casual conversation and avoided contentious topics.

  Jessalyn finished the last fry and set her knife and fork across her plate. She checked her watch. “I’d better leave or I’ll be late.” She opened her wallet and pulled out two twenties. “That should cover my share.”

  Danny picked up the notes and handed them back, a broad beam wreathing his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

  She stared at him, a combination of shock and what-the-what bouncing around her brain. Money melted through Danny’s fingers like a hokey-pokey ice cream on a summer’s day. Often, she ended up paying their way.

  She pressed her lips together and accepted back the money. “Thanks.”

  “Wait. Let me pay, and I’ll walk you to work.”

  He bounded up and disappeared inside the café before her beleaguered brain snapped into gear. He what? She’d half expected him to join Hika Waaka, his older cousin, and the Johnson twins who’d sashayed into the café five minutes earlier.

  Jessalyn rose, willing to wait for exactly two minutes, even though she couldn’t believe Danny wanted to walk her to work rather than score a date with Elise Johnson.

  She was wrong.

  Danny jogged from the café, his brow wrinkled. On spotting her, he beamed his trademark broad grin, easing away from his worry and leaving her puzzled. Weird. What was wrong with Danny lately? His predictable behavior had turned on its head, and Jessalyn loathed the off-balance sensation.

  She’d always counted on Danny and his predictability. The last three months—not so much.

  He fell into step beside her. Jessalyn slid him a glance and caught him studying her. Was that calculation in his expression? No, this wasn’t bizarre at all.

  Jessalyn cleared her throat and tried to think of something to say, a problem she’d never experienced with Danny. She came up blank. Heck, they’d covered the local gossip. Thank goodness Piha was small, and they’d almost reached Gerry’s fish and chip shop.

  The blast of the frying food fragrance wafting from the open door had never been so opportune. At the end of her shift, her clothes, and hair would stink but right now she welcomed an escape from Danny and his peculiar behavior.

  “Are you sure you don’t need me to pick you up after work?”

  “What? No! Thank you,” she added when his dark brows squeezed together in displeasure. The pain in her back had returned, but it had risen until it resided between her shoulder blades. All she wanted was to get through this shift and return home. She turned to face him properly, ready to demand an explanation and repeat her point of view on joining a party of drunken people.

  But moving faster than his norm, Danny gripped her shoulders, drew her close with his masculine strength and mashed his lips to hers.

  Shock held her immobile for several seconds before anger gave her extra strength. She shoved him away and scrubbed the back of her hand over her mouth. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I thought we were friends.” Now he projected sullenness as if this was her fault.

  “Not that kind of friend,” Jessalyn snapped. “Go to your party. I’ve got work.” She pushed past the red plastic strips guarding the door against swarms of flies.

  “Hi, Jessalyn,” Gerry said from his station behind the counter. His jet-black hair lay flat and limp against his head—a product of the steamy atmosphere—but his brown eyes held a curiosity that nudged into nosiness. “Did I see you and Danny kissing?”

  “Yeah.” She wrinkled her nose. “A brain fart or something. He’s a friend. A brother. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

  “Ouch.” Gerry chuckled, his rich and throaty laughter pulling a wry grin from her.

  Deciding she’d had enough of the topic, she retrieved her apron. “Do you want me to cook?”

  “Please. Are you still okay to close for me tonight? I thought I’d leave after nine. Things should be manageable enough for one by then.”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Jessalyn said, attempting to ignore the nagging pain between her shoulders. Somehow, she’d make it through her shift. The wages would come in handy to pay the bills. So many outstanding bills. Her father had fallen behind on the household accounts—the electricity and the water rates.

  Two teenagers pushed past the plastic ribbons hanging from the door and strode to the counter. Jessalyn tied the apron around her waist and waited for the order. A family group entered minutes later, and she slid into her routine of battering fish and cooking burgers, toasting buns and toting boxes of fries from the walk-in freezer.

  The steady stream of customers kept her busy enough to forget her problems and Gerry surprised her when he told her it was nine-thirty.

  “You go,” she said when a lifeguard entered the shop. “I can cope now that the worst of the rush is over.”

  “I appreciate this, Jessalyn. It’ll score points if I spend a few quiet hours with the wife.”

  “No problem. I’ll take as many shifts as you can give me.”

  Gerry left, his amble ungainly because of his excess weight—he ate too much of his product—and she changed her routine, taking orders and payments plus working the fryers and grill.

  The shop remained busy, and it was almost midnight before she cooked her final order and her stream of customers dwindled to nil. Exhausted, she closed the external door and turned the open sign to closed. The nagging pain between her shoulder blades had intensified, twinges darting up and down her spine. Waves of nausea spun through her belly.

  Jessalyn trudged to the kitchen. She’d tidied as she
worked, which made her final clean-up for the evening easier. She switched off the fryers and grills and placed the unused product in fridges. By the time she’d almost finished the evening routine, the nausea swirling through her belly had become worse. She leaned against the central steel counter, her hands gripping the edges as she attempted to control her urge to vomit.

  She swallowed her croak of distress. For a moment, she thought she’d be okay. She eased out a shuddering breath and drew in a fresh one. The layers of grease and lingering cooking smells caught in her throat. Her stomach convulsed and acid roared up her gullet. A gagging sound escaped her, and she hung her head, barely able to stand let alone make the journey to the restroom out the back.

  The fish she’d eaten earlier…

  She groaned and managed two shambling steps toward the restroom before the contents of her stomach rose up in a gush. Heat burned her throat, her mouth as she hunched in misery. Her stomach heaved and a spurt of flames exited her mouth. Shocked to the core, she cried out and surged to her feet. Her head struck the corner of the workbench and pain reverberated through her skull. She fell and hit the floor.

  She came to, groggy. Something trickled down her cheek and she pushed herself to her hands and knees. Yellow and orange sparks danced over the fryers and the far wall. Smoke clogged the air.

  Fire! The place was on fire.

  If Jessalyn’s body hadn’t revolted, leaving her so wretched and weak, she might have shrieked. Instead, she gaped at the flames as they crawled over a patch of the oily counter. She gasped, light-headed, her stomach hardening. Clenching. The fire ran along the counter and expanded.

  Nausea swept from her belly and up, up, up. She swallowed rapidly. Once. Twice. Three times. But it didn’t stop. The heat built and built and built until nothing could contain it. Her mouth opened, and with a pained croak, another stream of flames spewed from her throat.

  She fell back, the act leaving her drained. The blaze licked across the floor toward her, bright and capricious.

  “Oh. Oh!” Jessalyn pushed upright with shaky limbs and teetered to the extinguisher. She pulled the pin and aimed the trigger at the growing conflagration. But the fire had reached the deep fryers. The orange blaze crackled and popped, exploding and growing. Smoke poured upward and the alarms wailed. The stream of foam from the extinguisher died to nothing.

  The temperature from the fire grew as did the flames. She backed up and fumbled for her phone. Shaky fingers pushed the emergency number.

  “Fire, police, or ambulance,” a confident male voice asked.

  “Fire!” Jessalyn cried. She rattled off the address and hung up. Retreat. It was the only option now. What had she done? How had this happened? She stumbled from the shop, her fingers trembling as she struggled with the lock on the door.

  Outside, she dragged in huge drafts of air, reaction and shock racking her body.

  The wail of a fire engine sounded in the distance, becoming steadily louder. The truck pulled up with a squeak of brakes and men piled out. Jessalyn huddled in misery while they dragged out hoses and attempted to tame the inferno. Smoke scented each breath while embers lifted into the air, the flames swelling with the evening breeze and engulfing the building.

  The fire chief approached her. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Jessalyn wailed, aghast at the damage. “Something exploded while I was cleaning up after closing. I grabbed the extinguisher, but the fire spread so fast.”

  “Is that blood on your head? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

  “No. I’m fine. I’d better ring Gerry.” Her throat worked, the lining tender from her vomiting. Flames. They had come from her. That’s what her confused mind was telling her.

  But no. That couldn’t be right.

  Every logical part of her brain told her breathing fire was impossible.

  Her fingers shook so much she took three attempts to ring Gerry. “Gerry, it’s Jessalyn. I’m sorry, but you’d better come back to work. The shop caught on fire.”

  2 – Time For Plain Talking

  One month later

  The warehouse in Onehunga was the one place Manu Taniwha found privacy, away from the nagging concerns of his tribe. A place to escape the petty squabbles between the different families. A place to escape the brutal insults from his father who craved death and wanted Manu to execute him with the tribal sword. A place to escape the calls for him to resign as the leader.

  A knot formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard to shift it. Tightness in his chest stuttered his breathing, then his lungs screamed for air and his traitorous body kicked back into gear. In his mind, his taniwha sighed. His dragon had been doing that recently—tutting in disappointment and making Manu feel like an inadequate child. They no longer functioned together, his mother’s death the impetus for pulling them apart.

  But what sort of son kills his mother?

  Manu shook his head hard, attempting to will aside the memories of his father’s contempt. Samuel Taniwha refused to listen to Manu or Manu’s two younger brothers Tane and Kahurangi.

  The sole reason he’d used the sacred sword to behead his mother was because she’d been out of control and intent on murder. He’d had no choice. She’d accused Cassie of betraying Manu, then shifted to dragon and tried to slaughter his cousin Hone and Cassie who was Hone’s girlfriend, along with their friends Jack Sullivan and his mate Emma. Innocents. In doing so, the fallout would’ve created ripples for his entire tribe and the taniwha species.

  He’d tried to talk to his mother, attempted to tell her he and Cassie were nothing more than friends who enjoyed each other’s company. A waste of breath. Nothing he’d said had softened her or changed her mind. According to June Taniwha, those who deceived her son threatened her dynasty.

  Then the unforgiveable had happened. The sacred sword—the one given by the gods to each tribal leader—had wrenched from his mother’s dragon and burned into Manu’s back. What should have been a week-long ceremony of happiness and celebration had occurred in the space of a blink.

  This, combined with learning Hone was dating Cassie, had pushed his mother off the edge of sanity.

  “And in breaking news, there is yet another fire burning in the bush above Piha Beach. A police spokesman confirmed this is the third fire to break out in the area. Although conditions are dry due to the lack of recent rain, Detective Webster stated they believe this most recent fire and the preceding ones are the work of an arsonist. He said—”

  Again, Manu attempted to focus on the plans laying on the desk.

  “Manu! Are you here?”

  Manu turned at Hone’s shout. Hone’s friend and fellow private detective Jack stood with him. They were the only two people, apart from his brothers, he trusted with the location of his warehouse. Desperately requiring privacy, Manu had started spending nights here after his father and other tribal members had tracked him down to Hone’s property in Red Hill, Papakura. Their goal: harassment.

  No—they’d wanted to provoke him into losing his temper.

  Manu issued a heavy sigh and tossed his pen aside. “Over here.” It wasn’t as if he was getting much design work done these days and not after his father’s latest tirade this morning.

  “How is the testing going on the stealth gadget?” Hone asked, setting a cooler bag on Manu’s desk. His recent haircut had put a dent in his curls, and he gave off a contented vibe after his marriage to Cassie.

  “It’s not. What with all the stuff to do with the tribe and Dad’s shenanigans, I’m not getting time to do anything for myself, let alone work on my inventions.” Manu sighed inwardly. Hone and Jack were lucky. They’d both found true mates to stand at their sides. Not every taniwha was so blessed.

  Jack placed a smaller cooler bag down beside Hone’s. This one clinked.

  “Cassie and Emma ordered us to track you down and make sure you eat dinner,” Hone said. “They told us not to come home until we found you.”

  Manu frowned, sweep
ing his irritating, in-need-of-a-cut black hair away from his face. “I thought Emma is due to pop any day.”

  Jack shifted his broad shoulders in a shrug. “Emma pushed me out the door and informed me my hovering was making her nervous. She couldn’t breathe, let alone think with me around. She informed me Cassie was coming over, and they both had me on speed dial if they required my presence.”

  Hone chuckled at Jack’s uneasiness. “While we were searching for you, we discussed borrowing your stealth gadgets so Jack could hover over Emma in peace. Cassie sent food and a few beers. I think she is trying to placate everyone.” As he spoke, he unzipped the smaller chiller bag and handed Manu a cold beer. After offering one to Jack, he opened the large bag.

  This one held a bacon and egg pie—at least that’s what Manu’s taniwha senses told him—and filled rolls. Manu’s stomach gurgled loudly enough for Hone and Jack to hear.

  Hone tossed Manu a ham roll and his taste buds kicked into a feed-me chant, echoing his stomach’s complaints before Manu peeled away the plastic covering.

  “There’s a picnic table out the back,” Manu said, indicating a door. “Might as well enjoy this food in comfort.”

  The men settled at the table with their food and beers. The faint tang of the sea floated to Manu, and he released his tense muscles, knowing with Hone and Jack, he could be himself.

  Hone glanced at Jack before centering his gaze on Manu. “We’re worried about you.”

  Manu didn’t offer any empty words of pretense. “Taking over as the leader has been hell. I always knew this was what Mum wanted—to keep the tribal leadership in the family—but secretly I’d intended to continue with my inventions. I guess, I hoped the sacred sword would pick Tane or Kahurangi or even Haurahi, although I doubt he’d ever return to Auckland. Hell, the sword could’ve picked anyone in the tribe.”

  “It chose you,” Jack said, his mien serious.

  Manu laughed, the dark growl of amusement underscored with bitterness and frustration and every other black emotion roiling inside him. “I’ve tried to get rid of the bloody thing. I put on the stealth gadget, flew over the West Coast beaches, and dropped the sword in the Tasman Sea. Once I returned here and shifted back to human, I could feel my taniwha grasping the sword’s hilt. This morning I tossed it into the crater lake on Mount Ruapehu. My sword didn’t take to Lake Taupo or the Pacific Ocean either.” Manu swallowed the last of his beer and set the bottle on the wooden tabletop with a thump. He stood and whipped off his trademark black T-shirt. With a fashion model swagger, he turned to present his back and show Hone and Jack his taniwha tattoo. “The sword is resting in my dragon’s hand, right?”