Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel

by Deborah Cooke

  “Not instantly,” Sloane said. “A major injury like that would take some time. I’ll guess he’s hidden somewhere, healing, or eaten.” The others nodded agreement.

  “I wonder how many more clones Jorge has in the works,” Kristofer said.

  “If Erik’s dream is right, we’ll find out on the next eclipse, when the blood moon ripens the eggs,” Theo concluded. “Whatever that means.”

  That it was the obvious conclusion didn’t make it any more palatable. If nothing else, it renewed Sloane’s sense of urgency. “I need to get home,” he said. “If any of you can think of a way to get me the corpse of one of these clones or a sample of the Seattle virus, it might provide a clue. In the meantime, I need to restore my lab.”

  But it was the prospect of paying a visit to Sam that made him want to hurry back to California.

  * * *

  For once, Timmy didn’t want to watch a movie with Dashiell or play a game. He watched the video of the dragons at Seaview Hospital repeatedly and compulsively. The video image was grainy and the quality was poor. The camera shook a lot and it had been filmed at night in the rain. Still, it held the answers to so many questions.

  First, there was his mom. And she was okay, just like Drake said. Scared and unhappy, but alive. That was good.

  Second, there was a dragon trying to save her. A big dark dragon who was even more awesome than the ones he’d seen in other videos. That was cool. He looked like his scales were made of black pearls but were thorny at their edges. Timmy hadn’t realized that his mom knew dragons and hoped he had a chance to ask her about them soon.

  Third, there was a dragon fight. That wasn’t so awesome because the dragon carrying his mom got beaten up. Even after watching the video a hundred times, Timmy winced in sympathy with every blow the grey dragon endured. The red and gold dragon practically ripped his wings off, and the gold one did something nasty that hurt the grey dragon a lot. It must be magic or invisible, but the grey dragon’s pain was real. Timmy’s heart leapt when his mom fell, and he wanted the fight to end differently.

  But the fourth thing was the coolest part. His mom called her dark dragon ‘Drake,’ which explained everything. Drake was one of the Pyr, one of the dragon shape shifters in the videos Timmy watched over and over again. That was why Drake had been able to find Timmy’s dad, when no one else had been able to. Dragons unearthed the truth, no matter how deeply hidden it was, and they faced it, no matter how ugly it was. Dragons solved riddles, everyone knew that. Dragons were noble and honorable.

  The gold dragon that Drake was fighting in this new video looked exactly like the one in Seattle who had introduced the virus.

  Obviously, the gold one was an evil dragon. That Drake was fighting him meant that Drake was a good dragon. Timmy watched again, and noticed that the red and gold dragons seemed to be on the gold one’s side. There was a green one and an orangey red one who fought with Drake, as well as the smoky gold one that seemed to have been killed by the bad dragons.

  That the gold dragon snatched Mom out of the air and disappeared meant that he had big bad plans for her.

  It was just the way that reporter Melissa Smith said: there were Pyr and there were Slayers.

  Drake was Pyr, and that meant he’d save Mom. He wondered then at the identities of the other dragons who fought with Drake. Was it possible that they were his fellow warriors? Could one of them be Theo, who was keeping an eye on him? Kristofer and Arach hadn’t been around the night this fight had happened, but had introduced him to a couple of other guys. Were any of these dragons Kristofer or Arach?

  Who had died? He hoped it wasn’t one of the dragons he knew.

  One thing was for sure: Timmy really liked the idea of dragons keeping vigil over him and his mom. He was pretty much positive, though, that being Pyr was Drake’s big secret, as well as that of his comrades.

  Timmy wasn’t going to be the one to reveal them.

  He’d just have to wait for them to confide in him, or the chance to ask Drake.

  * * *

  There was no longer a clean mattress in Ronnie’s prison, much less a single blanket.

  There was no window, and the chamber pot had been replaced by a hole in the floor big enough only for a mouse. As time passed, it became clear that there would be no visits to a fancy apartment and no more board games. This cell was warmer than Ronnie’s other prison had been, but still claustrophobic. There was a faint light, just enough to keep it from complete blackness, but Ronnie never could figure out its exact source. It seemed that the hewn rock floor beneath her feet glowed slightly.

  She hoped it wasn’t radioactive.

  She had nothing to do and no one to talk to, nothing to watch and no way to tell the passing of the time with any accuracy. There was only the rhythm of her body.

  And Drake’s scale. That was what had come off in her hands when she’d grabbed at him that last time, then she’d fallen with only it in her grip. She’d hidden it from Jorge, which had to be some kind of miracle, and only removed it from under her sweatshirt when she knew she wasn’t going to be interrupted.

  The scale was a remarkable thing, all the more amazing because it was a part of Drake.

  Ronnie studied it often, seeing a thousand colors hidden in its hard surface, a surface that appeared to be dark grey until she looked closely. She pressed it between her palms, letting the thorny extrusions on the lower edge dig into her palm, proving to herself that it was all true.

  Her destined lover was a dragon shifter.

  As time passed, it became more evident that she would bear Drake’s child. Her body was softening and rounding, her breasts were heavier and the veins around her nipples were more visible. She felt moody, on the verge of tears sometimes, and angry others.

  Mostly, she felt alone.

  Time slid away, time she could only measure by the development of her pregnancy, and Ronnie feared the future. Would she be compelled to have the child in this prison? Would she be allowed to see him at all? What would happen to her after the baby was born? There were few good possibilities that she could anticipate.

  She fiercely wanted her future to be different, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. She had to keep her faith and keep up her strength. She did exercises in the cell and tried to force herself to remain positive. She tried to convince herself that Drake wasn’t dead, that he had tricked Jorge, that he was taking care of Timmy and that everything would be fine.

  She never really managed to believe it.

  There were no more hot meals for Ronnie, either. A yellow dragon claw appeared in mid-air each day with a bowl of some kind of gruel, a pink multi-vitamin perched atop it. She’d learned to snatch it quickly from Jorge’s claw because otherwise he dropped the bowl before his claw disappeared. It was barely warm and almost completely devoid of flavor. It was much worse eaten off the floor.

  But the gruel was all that was offered for her to eat. Ronnie ate it so her baby wouldn’t starve.

  It must have had something mixed into it, because after the dragonfight, no matter how much Ronnie slept, she no longer dreamed.

  * * *

  It did not promise to be easy, but Drake had to tell Veronica’s son what had happened. He would have to talk, and talk about feelings, with his mate’s son.

  He supposed it was time he mastered such feats.

  He waited until after school, at the time that Timothy and his friend Dashiell walked home from school together. Theo’s team knew their schedule well and had quietly ensured their safety.

  Drake did rest for one day, but no longer.

  The boys had just left the school yard and turned the corner when he joined them. He moved silently out of the shadows and matched his steps to theirs. To his pleasure, Timothy noticed his presence immediately and wasn’t surprised, while Dashiell jumped at the sudden sight of him.

  “Drake! Did you find my mom?” There was something in the boy’s eyes, as if he already knew how Drake would reply.


  “Yes and no,” Drake acknowledged heavily.

  “You spoke to her, though?”

  “I did. She is concerned for you.”

  “I’m more concerned for her.” The boy nodded with a confidence Drake didn’t quite feel. “You found her once, so you’ll do it again.”

  “Indeed. I shall not surrender this battle.”

  Timothy surveyed him, clearly unsurprised by Drake’s wounds. “You’re hurt.”

  “There was a fight.” Drake shook his head. “I was injured in your mother’s defense, and one of her captors was wounded, as well.”

  Again, the boy seemed unsurprised. “Excellent,” Timothy said with approval. “They should all die for even touching her.”

  There was little Drake could say to that, for he agreed heartily.

  He would like to do the honors himself.

  “I know you can’t tell me anything, because it’s probably a secret, but I’d do anything I could to help.” Timothy looked up and held Drake’s gaze so deliberately that Drake understood the truth.

  Timothy had discerned his secret. It made the conversation easier, in a way, because Drake didn’t like to deceive. He spared a glance at Dashiell, but Timmy shook his head. He nodded approval that the boy had not shared his conclusions, then smiled down at Veronica’s son. “You do all that is necessary in being strong and remaining vigilant.” Timothy walked a little taller beneath Drake’s approval and Drake wondered how it had influenced him to have been without his father.

  “Where do you live, Mr. Drake?” Dashiell asked after they had walked in silence for some moments.

  “It does not matter,” Drake said with care. He was watching Timothy and thinking of the boy’s home being destroyed. Timothy kept his gaze fixed on the sidewalk. Impulsively, Drake confessed his feelings. “The truth is that I have had no real home since the loss of my wife and son.”

  Timothy looked up at that.

  “But you have to live somewhere,” Dashiell insisted.

  Drake shrugged. “It is but a place to sleep. That is not the same as a home.”

  Timothy was shuffling his feet. “Mom said we lost our home when Dad died. We had to move from the base and find another place to live. We had a little apartment and no car because she went to college. She said we both had to go to school to make a better future.”

  “And so she is wise in that. There is no replacement for a good education.”

  “But you have to make a home, Drake,” Timothy insisted. “It doesn’t just happen. That’s what Mom said.”

  “In my time, it was the task of women to make homes.”

  The boys laughed at this. “Drake! That’s ancient history!” Timothy protested. “Even I can make supper, when Mom’s working late.”

  “He makes the best spaghetti,” Dashiell added. “I make the garlic bread.”

  “Indeed?” Drake said, amused by the pair of them. “Does your mother often work late?”

  “Sometimes. She has a job at the library doing research. She does some freelance research, too, and that’s usually in the evenings at home. I make dinner sometimes, when she has a deadline.”

  “That is teamwork of the best kind,” Drake said, admiring his mate’s work ethic, and the boy beamed. On impulse he said more. “Perhaps you could teach me to cook spaghetti. I would not like your mother to think me a relic of ancient history.”

  Timothy turned shining eyes upon him. “Then you’re staying?”

  “It was always my intent.”

  That this pleased Veronica’s son was evident, and Drake thought that perhaps there was much he could do, even while he remained vigilant. “Food alone does not make a home, though. There must be more.”

  “Like?”

  “Good company. Comfort.” Drake gestured vaguely. He thought of Veronica’s lost home and how he had been struck by its comfort and elegance. It had been uncluttered, but welcoming. He didn’t know how to create such an ambiance, but he recognized it when he saw it. “A home should be a place of refuge.”

  “Mom says a house is a home when it’s filled with love.” Timothy gave him a sidelong glance as Drake considered that. “Maybe you shouldn’t live alone, Drake.”

  “Maybe not.” Drake found himself thinking about homes, as he never had before. He had traveled constantly, resting where he needed to, carrying his belongings with him at all times. Now he looked at the town where Veronica had chosen to make her home and was tempted by permanence.

  Maybe he could learn more of his mate from her son.

  In a year, the Dragon’s Tail Wars would be over, one way or the other. If he survived, he might make a home with Veronica and Timothy. He liked the prospect of that, though he knew there was much stacked against him.

  “I do not share your mother’s skills in understanding how to make a home,” Drake acknowledged.

  “But you have other skills.”

  “Each to our own specialty,” he agreed with a smile. “Yet, there is no fault in learning new abilities. Perhaps, with your help, I can begin to make a home here.”

  “For when Mom comes back,” Timothy said with conviction. “We’ll need somewhere to live after you rescue her.”

  “That would be my goal.” Drake recognized that Timothy must have had concerns for the future. He resolved then and there that the best thing he could do for Veronica was to ensure not just the safety but the welfare of her son.

  “My abode is simple,” he said, when in fact he had yet to find one of his own. “Perhaps you might help me to make it more like a home.” He was aware of the concerns that humans might have of a man unrelated to Timothy taking the boy into even temporary custody. “Both of you.”

  “Do you have a television?” Dashiell asked. “A really big one?”

  “Alas, no. I shall endeavor to see that resolved before seeking your further assistance.”

  “You need a computer, too,” Timothy said. “A really hot box for playing games.”

  “I play no games.”

  “What do you do, Mr. Drake?” Dashiell asked. There was a light in the young boy’s eyes that made Drake wonder what Timothy had said to his friend. That Timothy caught his breath convinced Drake that he had to concoct a cover story.

  Drake said the first thing that came to mind, the last thing he had done that humans would understand. “I coached a soccer team. We traveled in Europe in a bus.”

  He referred, of course, to the Dragon’s Tooth Warriors and the disguise they had undertaken to seek out shreds of their lost past. Thanks to the darkfire crystal and its unpredictable sorcery, those Pyr had been scattered throughout time, each at the location of his mate, for his firestorm.

  Drake supposed that Veronica was the reason he alone had been returned to these times and felt frustration again that their destiny should be so challenged.

  “They call it football there,” Dashiell contributed. “That’s what my dad says.”

  “Mr. Patterson coaches our soccer team,” Timothy confided.

  “I see. Do you both play, then?”

  The boys nodded enthusiastically. “Dad says we might make the play-offs this year.”

  “Those guys you were with when I met you,” Timothy said. “Were they the players you coached?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Are you going back to Europe then?” Dashiell asked, to Timothy’s obvious consternation.

  Drake shook his head. “They have all ceased to play the sport,” he said, keeping matters simple. “In fact, I have not coached a team in a while.”

  “Then you should help coach ours,” Dashiell said. “Mr. Quigley had to quit coaching because he started to work afternoon shifts, and Dad was saying the other night that he could use some help.”

  “Indeed.” Drake nodded, liking the sound of this very much. “Then I shall speak to your father and ask if my aid would be welcome in this matter.”

  The way that Timothy looked up at him, his eyes shining, told Drake that he had made exactly the right choice.
r />   He would need an apartment, a place where he could begin to make a home to welcome his mate and her son. Drake felt a new surge of optimism, for he believed that the future promised by the firestorm might fall within reach, after all.

  * * *

  It was late in England when Melissa Smith’s cell phone rang.

  Or it was early, depending how she looked at it. The bedroom was dark, Rafferty was gone, and the bed was chilly. The phone rang again and she remembered that it was in her purse, which she’d left in the foyer. She got out of bed quickly, intending to run, but Rafferty walked into the bedroom with her purse.

  “I knew you’d want to get it,” he said and she dug into the bag.

  She answered on the fourth ring, which wasn’t all bad considering that it was 3:30 in the morning. “Hello?”

  “Are you seeing this?” Doug, her producer, demanded. His voice was hoarse, as if he’d been awakened from sleep, too. There was an edge of excitement to his voice, a sign that an interesting story was breaking.

  Rafferty must have heard that, because he took the stairs three at a time to hurry down to the office and boot up his computer. Melissa recognized Maeve O’Neil’s voice from the broadcast Doug was watching and cringed inwardly.

  What had that witch dug up on the Pyr this time?

  An older woman was talking by the time Melissa got to Rafferty’s office. She looked as if she were on Skype. “They were right there, right in front of us, Maeve,” she said, talking as if the reporter was her oldest friend. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Arthur and I always thought it would be wonderful to visit Easter Island and see its marvels, but we never imagined we’d see dragons hatching!”

  “What?” Rafferty murmured, his eyes glittering as he leaned closer.

  “It must have been terrifying for you,” Maeve said in her smooth Irish accent. “It’s just another sign of the gross indifference these creatures show to humans, the rightful residents of this planet…”

  Melissa stood behind Rafferty, her phone forgotten in her hand, and wanted to injure the journalist who’d apparently made it her mission to turn public opinion against the Pyr. She could hear the same broadcast coming through the phone, because Doug was watching it, too.