Talon the Black

by Melissa Mitchell

  Her dad always told her: “Food is the way to a man’s heart—you remember that Claire Bear.” She plated a healthy portion of scrambled eggs with sausage, bell peppers, and onion. Two slices of toast popped up just in time. She buttered them and plopped them down beside the eggs.

  “I’m not crazy, am I?” she asked, handing him his food, half expecting him to tell her that he was the sole survivor of a plane crash.

  “Pardon me?”

  “I know what I saw last night.”

  “Which was?”

  “I saw a dragon fall from the sky. I know it. But all I found was you. Tell me I’m not crazy.”

  “No, you are not crazy.” He picked up his fork.

  “I knew it! So you can turn into a dragon!” What fantasy-loving book nerd didn’t grow up wishing dragons were real? Perhaps this dragon-man wasn’t an inconvenience after all. In fact, now he was the most interesting person in the world.

  He didn’t see it that way. He wasn’t enthusiastic at all. “May I eat now?”

  “Oh…fine.” She plopped down next to him with a cup of coffee and bowl of oatmeal. She always ate oatmeal for breakfast. It was her thing—old fashioned oats with two heaping teaspoons of brown sugar and a handful of blueberries.

  Cyrus inhaled his food like a vacuum cleaner. It was gone in minutes. On the other hand, she was only a few bites in when he asked, “Is there any more?”

  Her eyes bulged. “You’re still hungry?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She chewed on her lower lip, thinking up a plan. “Alright, Cyrus, how about this: I’ll give you more food, if you give me answers.”

  He stared at her for several moments before saying, “All right, as you wish.”

  The second and third time around, he didn’t eat nearly as quickly, nor as much. However, by the time he was finished, she had gone through the entire carton of eggs, five large sausages, two bell peppers, and six slices of toast. The man must have spent a fortune on food.

  After he set his fork down for good, he went to the kitchen window. She watched him with curiosity. He didn’t look at anything specific, he simply fixed his gaze on the yard outside. The longer he stood, the more impatient she grew. “You agreed,” she said at last. “Answers for food.”

  The curtains fell back into place and he turned to her. “Very well. Ask your questions.”

  Overcome with excitement, she gave him her biggest smile. Cyrus took up his seat and watched her. She returned his regard.

  His eyes were so pretty. They were dark brown with flecks of gold that sparkled when they caught the light. The longer she looked into them, the more inhuman they appeared. “What exactly are you? A shapeshifter?”

  “I am a Drengr.”

  “A—a what?”

  He wasn’t used to explaining his nature—she could tell by the way he humored her. “I am a Drengr,” he repeated. “A Drengr is a dragon who has been blessed with humanity. Those of my race possess the ability to shift into humans. Be not mistaken, we are more dragon than human.”

  “There are others like you?”

  “Yes, many.”

  Goosebumps prickled her skin. How could it be that dragon shapeshifters existed and no one knew about them? If a single person found out, wouldn’t it be all over social media? Facebook, Instagram, something? It seemed impossible to keep something this monumental quiet. “Where have you guys been hiding?”

  “Hide?” He laughed at the notion. “We do not hide. We rule.”

  “You—but…”

  “We Drengr are not from your world. That is why none of your people know about us. I live in the kingdom of Dragonwall. That is my home, not here, wherever this forsaken place is.” He looked around him, as if trying to gain clues.

  Meanwhile, her mouth hung wide open. “What the hell is Dragonwall?” she asked after regaining the ability to speak.

  “Dragonwall is the kingdom I come from, just as I said.”

  “Yes, yes. I got that.” It was difficult to believe him, but she saw the dragon, she saw it fall from the sky, she saw the trails of flame. If the dragon was real, Dragonwall was real. “Okay. Let’s just say for a moment that I believe you. If you’re from Dragonwall, which, presumably, is not anywhere on Earth, how did you get here?” She pointed aggressively downwards at the ground.

  “I came here through a portal known as the Gate.”

  “The Gate,” she repeated, still stunned. “A portal known as the Gate.”

  “Aye.” He nodded.

  She sat motionless, attempting to make sense of it all. Maybe they were both crazy. That was a possibility, right?

  “You came here from a portal known as the Gate,” she repeated yet again. If she said it over and over, would that make it real?

  “Yes, Claire. The Gate.” He was clearly growing impatient with her. “In Dragonwall, it is illegal to use any Gate, punishable by death.”

  “Any? There are more than one?” Before he could answer, she continued, “Let me guess, someone tried to kill you for using a portal. That’s why you’re hurt.”

  “No, Claire. I am hurt because I am being hunted.” His words made her eyes grow wide. “The portal was a last resort. A means to an end.” Absentmindedly, he grabbed the pouch around his neck. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I realize what folly it was.”

  Her stomach plummeted. She pointed an accusing finger at him, at the pouch around his neck. “You’re being hunted for those stone-things, aren’t you? Someone is after them.”

  “Yes, for the Stones. And it is not someone trying to kill me, rather, something. A number of somethings.”

  “Some-thing?” she whispered, as if the somethings might hear her. “Something is hunting you and you’re using my house as a hiding place?!” She began shaking her head. “Are you crazy? That will lead them here!”

  “A valid possibility.”

  “But…but…”

  “I thank you for your hospitality, my lady.” Reaching into his coin pouch, he placed several golden coins on the breakfast bar in a neat little stack. They were the size of half dollars, and twice the thickness.

  “Um,” she squeaked. “What are those for?” Was he trying to bribe her?

  “This is for your help and your silence. I trust that you will keep my identity, my being here, a secret—for your safety as well as mine.”

  Her forehead crinkled. “We don’t use money like that. What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Gold has no value?”

  “Gold, like real gold?” Could she toughen-up enough? Was it worth it?

  Cyrus nodded. “Eight gold dragons. Genuine. They are all I have to give.”

  She considered her large pile of student loans. University educations weren’t cheap. How much would this gold fetch?

  “What if the somethings come back?” she asked.

  “I hope they do not. If they do, I will protect you.” At this, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. While she appreciated his gallant offer of protection, she didn’t know him well enough to trust him.

  “Your silence?” he prompted, assessing her with his gaze. She swallowed. Silence wasn’t a problem. What would she say? Guess what world, dragons do exist because one fell out of the sky last night. And the real kicker? He’s a shapeshifter. No, silence wouldn’t be an issue at all.

  At last she sighed. “All right. I won’t say anything. You have my word.”

  4

  Battle Ground, Indiana

  Claire didn’t make promises often. She didn’t like the obligation that came along with them. In this instance, she knew she had to. How did she know? She couldn’t have said. It wasn’t the gold, though that was a perk. Instead, some unexplainable feeling drove her to it, just as it made her chase the dragon into her cornfield and rescue it thereafter.

  When she gave him her word, Cyrus visibly relaxed. In fact, he flashed her a charming smile. It disarmed her more than she cared to admit. Men weren’t supposed to make her jittery, not when she
was dealing with the fallout created by Jake.

  "Your reassurance, my lady, means a great deal. Now"—his brown eyes narrowed—"it is my turn to ask questions."

  She wasn’t expecting this. Giving up on her oatmeal, she pushed the bowl away. “What do you want to know?”

  “A few things. First, out of curiosity, do you live here alone? It does not seem so.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t. This is my parents’ house, actually. They are away on vacation.” Her parents went to Florida every year with their friends. “Since moving back home, this is the first alone time I’ve had.” She failed to hide the eagerness in her voice. It wasn’t easy living with her parents, especially after four years of college life. When she finished her degree and failed to find a career job right away, it seemed like wise a decision.

  “I see,” said Cyrus. “Perhaps you are luckier than you realize. My mother and father are no longer with me.”

  “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...”

  “Your apology is unnecessary. We all lose the ones we love sooner or later.” The depths of his eyes reflected sadness, but when he next spoke, his voice was back to its old self. “Earlier when I dressed, I looked at my wound.” He shifted in his chair, sitting up straighter. “I find myself impressed with your work.”

  She almost laughed. “Impressed? I did a sloppy job.”

  “Be that as it may, where I come from, women are not healers.”

  “You mean doctors?”

  He shook his head. “I mean healers, skilled in the art of setting a broken bone, or stitching a man together.”

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “Well, here, women are plenty capable of doing as good a job as any man.”

  He held up his hands. “That is not what I meant. I simply find it impressive. Lucky for me, you possessed the knowledge necessary to keep me from dying.” Cyrus was right, any other corn field and he probably would have died.

  “Lucky for you, my dad is a surgeon, or at least, he was.”

  “A surgeon?” The word rolled off his tongue with difficulty.

  “A healer,” she clarified. "Before Grandpa died and left him the farm, Dad was a surgeon. Now whenever anything happens, he’s the first person everyone calls.” It was true, their phone was known to ring at all hours.

  What she didn't say was how her grandpa's death was the best thing that happened to their family. She was nine at the time. She loved Gramps, but she never really knew her dad until he was forced to leave his position at Arnett Hospital and take over the family farm.

  Cyrus smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, but it was kind. “I can tell by the way you speak, your father must be a great man.”

  She nodded eagerly. “Yes. Yes, he is.”

  “And it explains a great deal about your abilities.” His warm gaze was full of admiration, though she didn’t feel deserving of such praise.

  “I did what I had to do, given the circumstances. You’re making it sound like I’m a big deal. I’m not.”

  Cyrus shook his head. “I beg to differ. After all, you chased away my assailants.”

  Her forehead crinkled until her eyebrows pulled together. “What assailants?”

  “The Vodar wraiths.” As he said it, her arms erupted in goosebumps. “How is it that you singlehandedly defeated them, Claire?”

  “You mean, the somethings?” she whispered, fearful once more.

  “Yes, Claire, the somethings that have hunted me for weeks.”

  “I thought you defeated them. I thought that was why…” She trailed off, trying to make sense of everything. Cyrus said there was a possibility that the somethings might return for the stones, and that he would try to protect her if they did.

  “After I was wounded, I lost consciousness and fell. That is when you found me. I assumed you chased them away to get to my body, or defeated them to save me.”

  She shook her head back and forth in disbelief. “I never defeated anything, Cyrus. How—how could I? I mean, the only thing I’m remotely capable of defeating are the zombies in Call of Duty, and even then, I die every time.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “You do not look dead to me.”

  “Oh, never mind! Look, when I found your body in the corn field, you were alone.”

  “What about when you saw me fall from the sky?”

  “There was nothing there, Cyrus.” She watched a newly forming scowl pull at his lips. “You were alone.”

  At last he nodded before turning his gaze away from her, where it settled on the breakfast bar. Then he muttered to himself, “It simply makes no sense. Where could they have gone? Vodar wraiths are relentless. They would not simply give up, unless...”

  "Cyrus?” His brown eyes returned to her face. “Uh, what exactly…" She swallowed. "What exactly is a Voda-thingy?"

  “Vodar,” Cyrus corrected.

  She nodded before repeating, “Vodar.” The strange word was heavy and harsh as it rolled off her tongue, as if it might cut her mouth on its way out. “What is it?”

  "The Vodar are demon wraiths summoned from Undirfold. They are assassins—dark hunters—who stop at nothing to kill their prey. One might consider them the harbingers of death, for they themselves embody death. They carry short swords infused with poison, and if stabbed, these weapons bring about a most painful death. Worst of all, they can never be killed, only temporarily banished. Once summoned, they will not rest until their work is done."

  She opened and closed her mouth several times, attempting to speak. At last she managed to stammer, “You…you’re…you’re only joking…right?”

  “If only.” He turned to her and she saw his fear. Any less emotion and she wouldn’t have believed him. But now she did, and that made it ten times worse.

  "Why are they after the stones? The…" She wanted to say their name, but she couldn't stomach it. "The demon things, why do they want the stones so badly?"

  He closed his eyes tightly. His whisper was full of pain, "Perhaps that is a story for another time. I must rest."

  When he finally opened his eyes, she saw how tired he really looked. His tanned face was paper white. He gripped his injured side then winced.

  Unyielding desire to care for him burned through her. It was a little strange, because she never felt this protective or nurturing towards anyone. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” She took his hand and led him from the kitchen. He didn’t protest.

  His skin was burning up, but she kept her lips sealed. Telling him how bad his condition was, though she wanted to, was unnecessary. He clearly understood what was happening. For now, he needed rest.

  "You can sleep here." They stood in the downstairs guestroom suite. Its plush bed was covered with way too many throw pillows. Her mom loved throw pillows the way she loved books.

  “Thank you, Claire.” He dropped her hand and immediately began surveying the room, lifting objects to study them, looking out of the windows, displaying obvious paranoia. He opened and shut the closet doors then checked inside closed dresser drawers. Then he got on his hands and knees and looked under the bed. Did he expect to find one of the wraiths hiding there?

  He popped back up, confused. "Where do you keep the chamber pot?"

  “The—what?” She must have given him the ugliest confused face she could muster, unintentionally of course.

  "I need to relieve myself."

  "Um...That's what the bathroom is for."

  "Perhaps you misunderstand me. I do not need to bathe. I am quite clean. I washed up this morning in the basin I found within the barn."

  "The water trough?" She was dumbstruck, though, she shouldn’t have expected anything less. "That was the cows' drinking water, you dummy!"

  "I see. I am sure the beasts did not mind."

  She resisted the urge to laugh at his peculiarities. Instead, she marched up to him, grabbed his arm, and led him to the small bathroom adjoining the room. Once there, she flipped on the light.

  He immediately gasped. "There is magic here! I had wondered. How d
id you do that?"

  "Do what?"

  "That magic. The light. I heard no incant from your lips."

  She shook her head in disbelief. When she showed him, he began flipping the light switch on and off, smiling gleefully. "Incredible," he whispered. "We have no magic like this."

  Cute as it was, she interrupted his surprise, pointing at the toilet. "There—that's the toilet."

  His eyes followed the direction of her finger. "Splendid! I am not accustomed to seeing pit toilets in common households. This one is most elegant, like a throne of ivory."

  "Are you kidding me?" Her nose began flaring; every time she held in laughter it betrayed her.

  If he didn’t know what a toilet was, he wasn’t going to know how to use one. She stepped forward to instruct him. "Make sure you lift the lid and the seat when you need to take a pee, and close the lid when you're done." She flushed the toilet.

  Again, he gasped. "But, where does the water go?"

  "Into the septic tank."

  "Sep-sep-tic-tank?"

  At that point she gave up, leaving him to do his business. When she found him later, he was fast asleep with an arm carelessly thrown over his face and his Sverak beside him on the bed.

  Standing in the doorway, she watched him sleep for a few minutes. She still had her doubts about him, but he was growing on her. Innocence worked in his favor, adding to his undeniable charm. Her regard slid over his face. He was almost too handsome. Looks like his should have been illegal.

  “Where does the water go?” she silently mouthed, mimicking him before rolling her eyes. Okay, his ignorance was pretty adorable.

  Once she'd hunted down more of her dad's old clothes, she left them at the foot of his bed. Then she closed his door, leaving it open a crack so that she could peek in on him.

  When she took note of the time, her heart jolted and reality came flooding back. Mail was delivered at 1:00 p.m. each afternoon. Now would be a perfect time to step out for some fresh air.

  Eagerly leaving the house, she went down the gravel lane to check the mailbox. She passed her car but ignored it. She was too intent on what lay ahead. Any day now, a very important letter was due to arrive. The suspense was unbearable.