Sparks Fly: A Novel of the Light Dragons

by Katie MacAlister

  “Problems?” Ludovic asked when I examined myself for signs of imminent slothdom.

  “Just the normal—my life going to hell in a sloth’s handbasket.”

  After that failed attempt at garnering help, my chat with Ludovic while driving into London was confined to unextraordinary subjects, since Baltic’s trust—like that of Bastian—went only so far. It had been an uphill battle to get Baltic to accept the offer of Ludovic’s services, due to Baltic’s steadfast insistence that the day would never dawn when a light dragon would need help from another sept. He gave in only when I pointed out that Pavel and he were the only adult males in the sept.

  The Merchant of Venus wasn’t what I thought of as a sex shop (small, dark, and filled with both unidentifiable stains and sleazy men in trench coats) and instead could have passed for any brightly lit, clean, modern boutique in a trendy part of SoHo.

  “Wow,” I said to no one in particular as I entered the store. Facing me was a freestanding wall with black-and-white arty photographs, and a half-moon table bearing a reproduction of The Lovers statue. I peered closer at the photos, blinking when I realized the couples and groups in them were not all human.

  “Welcome to the Merchant of Venus,” a soft, cultured voice said. “I’m Dido. Can I be of assistance?”

  The woman who stood at the end of the barrier wall looked perfectly ordinary; she had short blond hair and was wearing a pair of black pants, a red shirt, and a black leather waist cincher.

  I realized I was staring and made an embarrassed gesture of apology. “I’m…sorry. You look so normal.”

  She smiled and inclined her head toward the pictures. “Are you interested in poltergeist erotica? If so, we have a large collection of both books and videos.”

  “That’s…uh…what’s in the pictures?” I fought the urge to look closer, feeling it was better if I didn’t know. “Thank you, but I’m here for some…er…toys.”

  “Ah.” Dido gestured toward the wall. “Perhaps you will come into the shop proper, and I can help you select something that would be suitable for”—she touched my shoulder, rubbing her fingers together—“someone who has relations with a dragon.”

  I followed her around the wall, blinking slightly at the bright overhead track lighting, the shelves full of colorful packages, a row of mannequins modeling a number of risqué leather outfits, and the number of people strolling up and down the aisles with shopping baskets on their arms.

  “Toys for him, toys for her, toys for the ethereal, or toys for shape-shifters?” Dido asked politely.

  “Ethereal?” I asked, surprised. “You mean like ghosts and such?”

  “Of course,” she said with a little shrug of her thin shoulders. “Spirits have sexual needs, too, you know.”

  “How do they—no, never mind. It’s not important. Why don’t we start with leather wrist cuffs? A couple of them, and if you have the ones with sheep skin on the inside, that would be awesome.”

  “Restraints are in aisle D,” she said, leading me to the correct aisle, and giving me a basket before leaving me with a murmur promising more help if I needed it. I spent a fascinating ten minutes picking out a pair of over-the-door wrist restraints to use on Baltic, adding two more sets of regular cuffs to replace Pavel’s, which had been destroyed with the house, and after a few moments’ thought, tossed one of the under-the-bed restraint systems into the basket for Pavel, as well. “I have no idea if he had one, but he’ll probably like it,” I murmured to myself. The next forty-five minutes were eye-opening, if not fascinating, as I strolled up and down the aisles, my brain boggling at all the items available. I had stopped to consider something called a vibrating nipple teaser, wondering if Baltic would enjoy it, when I heard a familiar-sounding voice asking where the spectral whips were kept.

  I put the nipple teaser back and moved cautiously to the end of the aisle, but I didn’t see anyone in this section of the store but a sales clerk.

  “Ethereal items can be found in the blue room,” the clerk said, gesturing to a blue door at the back of the store. “A demonstration model is available. Do you need assistance with it?”

  “Do I look like the sort who doesn’t know how to use a spectral whip?” a voice asked out of nowhere.

  “You are incorporeal, sir, so I can’t say what you look like at all,” the clerk pointed out.

  “Faugh. I’m just saving my energy. Tell Marsella I’ll be in the blue room, if she’s looking for me.”

  “Constantine?” I said, my eyes narrowing as I searched in vain for any sign of him.

  His form shimmered into view, a surprised expression on his face that swiftly changed to joy. “Ysolde! My beloved!”

  “I thought that was you. Spectral whips, Constantine?”

  He looked abashed for a moment before grinning. “You have no idea how stimulating they can be. But what are you doing here? Trying to spice up a boring sex life, eh?”

  “My sex life is anything but boring, not that it’s the slightest concern of yours,” I said with dignity.

  “Is that so?” He poked at the items in my basket, pulling out an object made of plastic, shaped like the letter C, with knobs on either end. “The Ultimate Man Button Massager. Man Button?”

  “I think that’s…You know….” I waved vaguely toward my behind.

  “Prostate?” Constantine asked, his face screwing up in thought. “Really? I had no idea Baltic liked it up the—”

  “That’s not for Baltic,” I said quickly, snatching it back and burying it under the oral stimulator. “It’s for Pavel.”

  His eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “You mean that you—”

  “No!” I took a deep breath, wondering why I was always called upon to explain the obvious. “Pavel had a variety of toys that were destroyed when Thala sang the dirge and exploded our house. I felt bad that he should lose them, so I am trying to replace them with things I think he might like. ‘He’ being Pavel, not Baltic. Baltic doesn’t like toys. At least, I don’t think…” I glanced at the male G-spot stimulator that poked out from beneath the vibrating pleasure wand. “No, he wouldn’t like it.”

  “The things you learn,” Constantine murmured before taking me by the arm and moving me out of the way of a couple strolling down the aisle. “My darling, when are you going to let me rescue you from that monster?”

  “He is not a monster, and we’ve been over this before. I love him. I do not love you. End of story.”

  “You’ve been brainwashed, that’s what it is. You’ve been taught to believe that he’s what you want, and you don’t know any better. If you would just place yourself in my hands—”

  “Give it a rest, Constantine,” I said, suddenly tired from all the stress and strain that had been my constant companion for the last twelve days.

  Constantine looked about to argue, but stopped, squinting at me, instead. “You look exhausted. What has that monster done to make you look that way?”

  “He left me.” Constantine’s eyes lit. I hurriedly continued. “Baltic was gone for almost two weeks trying to track down his lieutenant. Former lieutenant.”

  “Former…ah, the archimage’s daughter? The necromancer who raised him?” Constantine looked puzzled. “She was with you last month in Dauva. Why is he pursuing her now?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said, rubbing my neck.

  He watched the movement avidly. “Are you in pain?”

  “Not really. The muscles in my neck and shoulders are a bit tight, is all, and they’re giving me a headache.”

  “Ah. Here. Try this.”

  He extricated something from a package tucked into his basket.

  “It’s a hummingbird. How cute. Although that’s an awfully long proboscis, isn’t it?”

  “Allow me,” he said, switching it on so that the entire hummingbird vibrated with a dull throbbing hum.

  “Thanks.”

  “Continue. You were telling me about the necromancer.”

  I absently rubbed th
e hummingbird massager on a particularly tight tendon on the back of my neck. “There’s not a whole lot to tell. Thala betrayed Baltic, tried to kill us—that’s why we were in Gabriel’s house that day you stormed in and tried to take the sept from him—and is up to who knows what with her tribe of ouroboros dragons. And lucky me, I get to try to persuade a very unpersuadable Dr. Kostich to change his mind and help us with her.”

  “I do not know this Kostich,” he said, repeating the name a few times.

  “He’s the head of the Otherworld, and a very powerful archimage. He’s the only one who can handle such a dangerous necromancer.”

  “Pfft,” Constantine said with a dismissive gesture. “Necromancers are nothing. They draw their power from dark sources.”

  I moved the hummingbird to another tight spot on my neck, wondering if the headache that had been threatening for the last hour was going to blossom into a full-blown migraine or not. “I don’t follow what it is you’re trying to say. What does her source of power have to do with how dangerous she is?”

  “I am a shade,” he said, touching his chest.

  “Yeees,” I said slowly, still not seeing what it was he was implying.

  “I am made up of dark power, sweetling. That’s what a shade is, and why when we run out of it, we dissipate into nothing until such time as our consciousnesses have gathered up enough power to return to the mortal plane.”

  “So you’re saying that Thala could, what, suck up all your energy and destroy you for good?” I asked, giving the hummingbird vibrator to Constantine when he gestured for it. I moaned softly when he rubbed it along the top of my shoulder line, working it gently into the tight muscles there.

  “The opposite, my heavenly body. Exactly the opposite. Necromancers have power over liches; their abilities have little effect on spirits, bound or unbound. I’ve heard it said that necromancers avoid shades because they simply have no way to control us.”

  I spun around, staring at him. “They don’t? None whatsoever?”

  He shrugged and turned off the hummingbird, putting it back in the box before replacing it in his basket. I caught a view on the box of just in what manner the long proboscis was meant to be used, and hurriedly averted my gaze. “Shades are Risen, Ysolde. Necromancers deal with spirits who are not, and it is that from them that they make liches. So no, they have no power against us. Why does this amaze you?”

  “Because it means…” I bit my lip for a moment, weighing Baltic’s anger with Constantine to his overpowering dislike of Dr. Kostich. “Constantine, if I asked you to help us, would you do it? Without telling me every five minutes how much you love me and that I should leave Baltic for you?”

  “But I do love you, and you should leave that murdering—”

  “Without that, would you help us? If I asked you to?”

  His expression turned thoughtful, then canny. “With the necromancer?”

  “Yes. The animosity between you and Baltic notwithstanding, I think he would prefer to have you deal with Thala than Dr. Kostich. He still hasn’t forgiven Dr. Kostich for that incident that resulted in my dying. Again.”

  “I will not help Baltic,” Constantine said firmly. I opened my mouth to try to persuade him, but stopped when he took my free hand and continued. “But I will do anything that you ask me, my ripe little plum. Assuming you will reciprocate, naturally.”

  “Reciprocate how?” I asked, amused that even dead, dragons still enjoyed bargaining. “I’m not going to do anything against Baltic.”

  He made a face. “Unfortunately, I begin to believe your protestations regarding him are true. The help from you that I seek has nothing to do with him.”

  “Or Gabriel,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him to let him know I wasn’t going to budge on that point, either.

  “The silver dragons—”

  “Are happy with Gabriel.”

  “I started—”

  “No,” I said, pulling my hand from his to hold it up. “I won’t do it. If that means you won’t help me, then so be it, but I will not help you try to take the silver sept from Gabriel.”

  He pouted for a moment, then said with ill grace, “I love you, as I have said many times. You have requested my aid. By the code of chivalry that binds me to your side, I have no choice but to honor your wishes, and I will do as you ask.”

  “And in return, what do you want me to do for you?” I asked with no little wariness, knowing better than to fall for that chivalric-code crap. There wasn’t a dragon born who didn’t try to bargain for every favor done.

  He was silent a moment, his dark eyes searching mine. “I do not know when I will need your help, but I feel that time is very near. I ask simply that if I request your help, and you feel morally able to provide it, that you do so in recognition of any assistance I give you with the necromancer.”

  I bit my lip again as I thought furiously. Baltic wouldn’t like my promising to help Constantine any more than he’d like Constantine’s helping us with Thala…but the needs must when the devil drives. “I agree. So long as it’s nothing I’m morally opposed to, I’ll help you.”

  Smiling, he made a move as if he was going to kiss my hand, but a voice stopped him.

  “Constantine Norka?” A tall, elegant woman of Indian ethnicity approached us. “I am Marsella.”

  “Yes, I am Constantine. This is Ysolde de Bouchier, my mate.”

  “I am not your mate. I am Baltic’s mate,” I said wearily, smiling politely at the woman as she gave me a quick once-over. “I’m not with Constantine at all, as a matter of fact. I’m just here shopping for a few things.”

  “Ah.” She touched one of the packages in my basket. “The Octopus. An excellent choice. I have heard many good things about it from gentlemen customers.”

  “Yes, well…” I shot a glance at Constantine, and cleared my throat. “That’s not for my wyvern. It’s for another dragon. I’m just replacing his toys.”

  “Indeed,” she said without the slightest hint of curiosity. She turned to Constantine, saying, “I understand you were desirous of engaging my services. I regret to tell you I am unable to resurrect shades, and even if you were in a form conducive to resurrection, I would be unable to do as you desire. The resurrection of dragons is a difficult feat, one that only a master necromancer can accomplish. I can think of only three such people in existence today, and even then, the materials required to do so are beyond the means of most individuals.”

  “Quintessence,” I said, nodding as I remembered hearing that Thala had stolen Dr. Kostich’s priceless quintessence to resurrect Baltic.

  “Just so.” She gave me a long look. “Do you have knowledge of the resurrection of dragons?”

  “You could say that. I’ve been resurrected twice, now.”

  She stared at me in disbelief for a moment. “Twice?”

  “I sacrificed myself for her the first time,” Constantine said, putting his arm around me. I elbowed him sharply in the side and slid away from him. “I don’t know how she was resurrected a second time.”

  “Yes, twice, and it’s not something I recommend.” I gave Constantine a firm look. “Don’t even try to pretend you don’t intend to be resurrected simply so you can harass poor Gabriel.”

  “I am wyvern, not him,” Constantine said, obviously ready to go into the familiar diatribe about the silver sept belonging to him by rights.

  Marsella murmured something about seeing to another customer, then glided off to another section of the shop.

  “I’ve already told you I’m not listening to any more of that, Constantine. You can’t go messing with the septs that way, and that is that.”

  “Messing with the septs?”

  I froze at the mild voice behind me, the world seeming to stop as slowly, I turned around to behold a man who wasn’t a man.

  It was the First Dragon, right there in the middle of a London sex shop.

  And he didn’t look happy.

  Chapter Three

  “Um,”
I said, not knowing how to greet the more-or-less god who was effectively my father-in-law, and wishing for the hundredth time that I had my memories back so I knew how I had addressed him in my former life. “Hello. I didn’t summon you inadvertently again, did I?”

  “No,” the first dragon said, his all-knowing gaze drifting over to Constantine for a moment.

  “I’ll just…er…get back to what I was doing.” Constantine gave a deprecating cough before he suddenly busied himself by examining the nearest item at hand, which turned out to be an exercise ball with some odd attachments. He hastily shoved that back and grabbed the item next to it, bending his head over it as he pretended to be engrossed with it.

  I considered the First Dragon for a moment or two. “Since I assume you don’t normally visit chic London sex shops, I’m going to assume you’re here to speak to me? Or is it Constantine you want?”

  We both looked at Constantine. He was absently fondling the betasseled teat of a lifelike blow-up sheep in fishnet stockings. Constantine reddened and shoved the sheep behind him, but he must have flipped on some sort of switch, because the sheep began to vibrate with a loud hum.

  The First Dragon turned back to me and opened his mouth to speak, pausing when Constantine’s sheep started baaing in what I can only imagine its creators thought was a seductive manner.

  Constantine muttered to himself as he beat the vibrating, baaing blow-up doll against the wall in an attempt to shut it up.

  “I gather it’s me you wish to see.” I cleared my throat and tried to look relaxed and not at all worried about that fact. The First Dragon’s eyes were hooded, his face stern, causing my stomach to turn to lead.

  “You have failed me, daughter of light.”

  “Baaaagggg…”

  I turned an annoyed glare on the man behind me. “Constantine! We are trying to have a conversation here. Could you play with your sex sheep somewhere else, please?”

  “I’m not playing with it, and it’s not mine,” he said, shooting little looks at the First Dragon. “I’m just trying to shut the damned thing up, but it won’t die.”