Rise of the Poison Moon

by MaryJanice Davidson

  The exit door to the stairwell was more than ten yards from them, and they did not notice it open enough to let a stubborn patient slip through.

  This stairwell opened up onto the roof, not far from the stairwell and fortification they used for spotting Ember’s gang. Jennifer was relieved to see the rain, which, combined with the twilit gloom, would make her escape virtually impossible to detect. Whoever was standing guard in the rebuilt fortification would be looking up, not over.

  She spent some time breathing in the fresh air and looking over the parking lot. The wide swath of concrete lined in yellow was broken only by an occasional grass- lined curb and splintered tree . . . and a volleyball net. Last spring, a few EMTs had stuck the net up to establish some small measure of normalcy. A small league had formed, which had lasted two months before a brutal attack by creepers in Ember’s gang convinced them that “normal” and dead was not as good as stressed and alive.

  Even with that specific threat gone, no one felt much like playing volleyball. Even several rains later, there were still deep bloodstains and scorch marks on the asphalt.

  “Knock it off,” she heard.

  Flinching at her father’s voice, she thought she was busted until she heard her mother’s response.

  “I’ll do no such thing. You need something.”

  “Save your drugs for someone with an actual medical condition.”

  They were inside the fortification, Jennifer realized. It was their watch.

  “Fine, I’ll hold on to the meds. How about a shot to the snout instead?”

  He snorted without much humor. “Go ahead and try. I can handle whatever you dish out.”

  “Such bravery! I’m all atwitter. Seriously, Jonathan. You should take something to keep you awake. Caffeine, if nothing else.”

  “Coffee? Are you serious?”

  “Yes, coffee.”

  “I don’t drink coffee.”

  “Tea, then.”

  “Coffee, tea. What’s with the fucking breakfast drinks?”

  “Jonathan, I don’t have a lot of pharmaceuticals to offer. We need you sharp, now more than ever.”

  He sighed. “You don’t need me at all.”

  The doctor’s voice remained patient. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, I don’t see the point. Gautierre was right. Attrition will take care of Ember. She’s not the problem. The problem is, we’re not getting out of this dome, not without a breakthrough. And Liz—I ain’t the breakthrough.”

  Elizabeth actually chuckled. “Is this what all the irritability is about? You’re not feeling useful enough? Jonathan, you’re being foolish. You and I are part of a team. We need everyone—”

  “Don’t give me that team-spirit-crap pep talk. I’m your husband, not some janitor you promoted to medicine scout.”

  “Great. So as my husband, you should already know that I need you. Jennifer needs you. There are others, of course. But you could start there. You two are the irreplaceable ones. The others, as fond as I am of them . . . they’re teammates. That’s all.”

  “You’re kidding. You haven’t needed me for years. And this past year, you’ve become a leader of this town with no assistance from me whatsoever—you’re a surgeon, people need a hospital, they trust you because Glory raised you, and they hate Hank in any event. No one looks at you, and says, ‘Eh, I’ll follow her because of that Jonathan chap.’ ”

  “Jonathan, this is beyond silly—”

  “No, it’s not. Nowadays, I’m way more of a hindrance than a help—your beaststalker allies don’t trust me, and the dragons still with us are following Jennifer because of who she is. Heck, there are one or two elders out there in those woods who’d be a heck of a lot friendlier if I weren’t around.”

  “They’re fools. Jennifer is who she is because she’s your daughter!”

  “Your daughter.”

  “Okay . . . our daughter. What’s the difference?”

  “You’ve met my other daughter, remember?”

  Jennifer let out a low hiss. Evangelina Scales, Jonathan’s daughter by his first wife Dianna, was a murderous psychopath (was there any other kind?) with powerful and dark gifts. They had all barely survived her in a fight to the death.

  Then, for extra fun, Dianna Wilson (aka Mrs. Scales the First) had managed to manipulate the universe so she could reunite with Evangelina and disappear with her daughter into no-one-knew-what dimension.

  “You must feel brave, to bring that subject up.”

  “I’m only pointing out, Jennifer is the way she is because of you. Not me.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous. If you’re going to act like this, go off shift and send someone else up. Someone unmired in self-pity.”

  “See, like I said: you’d be fine without me.”

  “Ugh. Never mind: I’ll go downstairs. I’ll send someone else up. Someone I dislike intensely enough to inflict you upon.”

  “Have them bring a cup of coffee, that’ll solve everything!” he called after her, as the stairwell door inside the fortification slammed shut.

  Some things, Jennifer mused as she slinked back to her own roof door and down the stairs, don’t change, no matter what. She couldn’t help smiling at the thought.

  CHAPTER 6

  Susan

  “Welcome to another edition of Under Big Blue, with Susan Elmsmith. I’m Susan Elmsmith. It’s Day 301, and we’re broadcasting from the mayor’s office in Winoka City Hall, which is currently occupied by today’s Under Big Blue guest, Mr. Hank Blacktooth—”

  “Mayor Hank Blacktooth.”

  “Mr. Blacktooth, as you know, yesterday rogue dragons attacked Winoka Hospital. Two died as a result of that conflict, and the famous and beloved Jennifer Scales almost died as well. You claim a leadership role in town—”

  “Again, I’m the mayor.”

  “What are you doing to resolve the crisis?”

  “Susan, we’re working as quickly as we can to eliminate the threat to this town’s innocent residents—people like yourself whose families came here for protection. We take our responsibility seriously, and I can guarantee you that by the end of the upcoming winter, Winoka will be dragon-free.”

  “Dragon-free?” Susan looked nervously at the camera, balanced on a tripod between two of Winoka’s peace officers.

  Hank leaned forward and repeated quietly and calmly, “Dragon-free.”

  Unsure of how much this man knew about her personal relationships, Susan returned her focus to the questions she had prepared. “What is the status of your peacemaking efforts—”

  “Spare me your mouthpiece questions.”

  “Um, okay.”

  “I know the chief of surgery at Winoka Hospital has written most of them for you. I did not agree to have you here so I could waste time answering them. I agreed so I could broadcast a statement, using your web log as a vehicle.”

  “My web log?”

  “Yes. Inexplicably, it gets regular coverage.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Gallingly, it is the only dependable way to get my message to the outside world.”

  “Okay, well. Thanks again. Prob’ly.”

  “Here’s how this will work. I will momentarily give a statement. My assistants here will then take temporary possession of your camera and edit our session using city-hall equipment. They will post the result to your web log, using log-in information you will give them. They will then erase all source information from your camera and return it to you. You will then go back to your friends at the hospital and pretend however much you like to be in charge of your destinies.”

  Once upon a time, Susan would have found this vastly intimidating. All right, she still did. But still: she was a journalist. “And I’ll give you my log- in information because . . . ?”

  One of the peace officers drew his sword. Hank motioned him to lower it.

  “Susan. This doesn’t have to be confrontational.”

  “Just surreal and creepy.”<
br />
  “I know your father—he serves in the National Guard, right? Commands a cavalry battalion. He’s a good man. He moved here to protect you.”

  “My mother actually was the one who moved us.”

  “But he agreed. Surely, he wants what is best for you. He wants you to be safe. And now, by accident of fate, here you are in this dome. He is outside, if I’ve heard correctly?”

  Another threat? Susan nodded. “He was on shift when it happened.”

  “I’m sure he’s worried about you.”

  “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, Mr. Blacktooth. If your goons are going to hurt me, have them get started. I’m not giving you shit.”

  Hank sighed. “May I please record the statement, and then you can decide how intransigent you’d like to be?”

  Susan shrugged.

  He turned to the still-running camera and tried to smile. “Good evening. I am Mayor Hank Blacktooth. I’ve asked Susan Elmsmith, a local reporter for this town, to come to city hall and transmit this statement in her web log, and she’s graciously agreed to do so. I have two announcements.

  “First, in two days this town will have a noon rally on the Mississippi bridge, where our valiant Mayor Glorianna Seabright died over three hundred days ago. Our activities should be visible from beyond the dome, including by press helicopter. I encourage everyone to attend.

  “Second, as some of you know, I have a son named Edward. When the dome appeared, he was trapped on the other side. It has been some time since I have heard from him, and like any father . . . I am worried for him. Here is a recent photo of him.” He held up a school photo of Eddie. “If anyone has news of my boy, I’d appreciate hearing it. Susan regularly posts contact points for the city—it’s been a long time since anyone used them. We’d love to hear from you.

  “I know this crisis has the town, and the outside world, worried. Please know that we are doing all we can to keep the good people of Winoka safe. Thank you all for your prayers and thoughts. Take care.”

  Once done, he looked at the camera for an edit-ready three or four seconds and then turned to Susan. “Well?”

  Susan pursed her lips. She thought of Eddie, alone in the forests surrounding the town. “Edit the statement. Put it on my equipment. I’ll go back to the hospital, log in myself, and broadcast it.” Pause. “So, what’s going to happen at the rally?”

  An infuriating smirk was the only response.

  CHAPTER 7

  Susan

  “You what?”

  Susan attempted nonchalance as she uploaded the edited blog entry. “Your hearing’s fine, and you’re only standing three feet away, so I know you caught that. Dr. Georges-Scales suggested it, and I’ve wanted to do this interview for a while, so I said yes.”

  “He could have killed you!”

  “Only with his breath. I guess there are no Tic Tacs here under Big Blue anymore.”

  “Sooo-zen!”

  “Don’t yowl; it’s not at all sexy. Besides, he wasn’t going to kill me. He needed me.” She was trying to sound impatient at Gautierre’s overprotectiveness, but it was hard. She adored him beyond all reason. She adored his soft cobalt and lavender scales in dragon form, she adored his triple-braided hair in human form, she adored the piercing golden eyes he had in both. She had no idea if first love was this intense, or trapped-in-a-dome love, or he-saved-my-life love. Or a weird-yet-cool combo.

  Because she did love him, she was trapped beneath a dome, and he had saved her life. He had walked through fire for her. Literally! It was all she could do to keep from darting across the room and falling on his face and kissing said face for several hours.

  Instead, she finished filing the report and squinted outside. “It actually looks decent out there. We should go for a picnic.”

  “A picnic? Susan, Ember’s gang attacked yesterday. You’re not going outside. You’re not going anywhere!”

  “Thanks, Fred Flintstone.” It became slightly easier to be irritated now. “I don’t recall asking your opinion.”

  “You want to die? Is that it?”

  Hmm. Lots o’ drama, even for teens in love trapped beneath a dome. “Gautierre, I’m a reporter. You get why I’m doing this, right? To . . . what’s the word? Oh. Right. Report. To tell the truth. I want the whole world to know what we’re going through. I do not want the world to Area 51 us.”

  “Area 51 is a verb?”

  “Winter’s coming,” she continued, not cracking a grin. “People will starve. To death, okay?”

  He straightened his back, which gained him two inches. He tossed his braid gently; a moon elm leaf was woven into the strands. It was the weredragon equivalent of wolfs-bane . . . as long as he was in physical contact with it, Gautierre had control over when and where he became a dragon. Without it, he would be tied to the crescent moon. “I love what you’re doing.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Okay, I don’t. I know it’s important. I hate that you risk yourself almost every day.”

  “Risk? Jennifer’s taking risks. Her mom is taking risks, and her dad. The goddamned medical secretaries are taking risks, okay? Me? I’m babbling into a camera and making out with my boyfriend.”

  “You’re not doing either of those right now,” he pointed out with a smile.

  “Keep it up,” she muttered, “and see how much and how often and how long I don’t do either of those. Or one of those.” Wait. What? Oh, hell. He knew what she meant.

  She took a steadying breath. Keep cool. Start over. “Getting back to it, it does look pretty nice. Want to take a walk?”

  “No.”

  “What, no?”

  “Forget it, Susan. It’s too dangerous.”

  “For me, you mean.”

  Gautierre snorted. “No, for your pet geese.”

  “I don’t own a single—”

  “Look, keeping you from getting roasted or skewered is turning into a full-time job. Not that I mind,” he added hastily upon seeing her scowl, “but let’s not go looking for trouble, okay?”

  She slapped her hands onto her hips so hard she almost knocked herself over. “Wait a minute, hose bag! You’re not really pulling that chauvinistic garbage on me, are you? What century are you living in? Cute little Susan has to be protected by her boyfriend? Because you can stuff those misconceptions right down your gullet!”

  “Susan, pardon the obvious, but I’m a dragon!”

  “You are not!” She looked again at the leaf. “Well. Not all the time.”

  “Yes, Susan, even when I’m walking around on two legs, I’m a weredragon, I was born one and will die one and will always be one, forever and ever, amen. I fly and breathe fire and eat sheep.”

  “Charming.”

  “You, on the other hand, have only one protection: you’re gorgeous. You don’t have scales or a nose horn or wings or enhanced strength or enhanced speed. It’s not chauvinism; it’s reality. You can’t protect yourself the way I can. And you not facing up to that? Pretending it’s fine for you to hop out the door whenever you want, you are woman, hear you roar? It’s not feminism. It’s idiocy.”

  Susan’s eyes widened, and she could actually feel her eyeballs bulge inside her skull. She was so upset her brain was going into put-down overload. Where to start? With the idiocy thing? With the pseudofeminist analysis? Hear her roar? Had he really said that?

  “You—you—I—arrggle—mmph—”

  “Hmmm.” Gautierre put his hands out, as if to catch her. “Are you having an aneurysm? You look really weird.”

  “—gnnh—mmeh?”

  “Here, siddown.” He steered her to a wheelchair and plopped her into it. “Look, I hate the thought of you getting hurt, okay? I’d rather stay under a roof with you and never fly again if it meant you’d come out of all this okay. You expose yourself enough by going outside and doing all those reports.”

  “Did you just say I expose myself?”

  He sighed. “Grow up.”

  “I love that y
ou look out for me,” she began and, when he looked pleased, added, “in your own horrible, smothering way. But there are plenty of other ‘normies’ in town who are risking their safety to go out. Even if I didn’t have to do my reports—”

  “You don’t have to do your reports.”

  “—I wouldn’t spend the day cowering in this hospital, peeking outside, and wishing I could see the sky.”

  “On that one”—Gautierre sighed—“I think we can both agree. But I think your real reason is, you love seeing yourself on CNN.”

  “Oh, well.” She shrugged modestly. If he only knew, the poor sucker. Loved seeing herself? She loved chocolate. She loved oatmeal. She loved the way towels smelled when they dried on a clothesline.

  She lived to see herself on CNN. She would wither and die if she had to go back to her old life. The supporting role. The plucky best friend.

  No thanks. Tried that the first fifteen years.

  “Besides, I’m bigger and stronger than you, and I vote we stay inside for a couple of more hours at least.” He ducked, and her hair clip—which she’d yanked out of her ponytail and hurled at him—sailed over his head. “So if we can’t go outside, let’s put our heads together and see what can we—oooommmpph!”

  She had successfully landed on his lips. Touchdown! “The crowd goes wild,” she said, smirking.

  “Argh, my back,” he groaned.

  “At least it wasn’t a knee in your balls.” With that tender thought, she snuggled into his chest.

  Dome? What dome?