Dragon Moon: Lia Stone: Demon Hunter - Episode One (Dragon-born Guardians Series Book 1)

by Austin Hackney

  “Grandma,” I breathed, fighting down panic. She’d been here alone, and they’d come for her. The circle told its own story. Grandma had tried to protect herself, but they – or more likely it – had gotten to her before she could finish the spell.

  As I said, being Dragon-born doesn’t come with a get-out clause. And there are no trigger warnings, either.

  Images of my parents’ abduction flashed across my mind. I was sixteen again: powerless, terrified, my parents’ blood splattered over my face; left alone, naked and sobbing in a mess of destruction. I pulled back from the lurching distress threatening to topple me over the precipice of fear and forced my mind back to the present.

  But my hands were shaking as I spread my fingers wide and searched through the layers of vibration. I sensed demonic dissonance still reverberating in the room, but it was fading fast.

  “They’ve taken Grandma,” I said aloud, too shocked for tears, my heart shutting down for its own survival.

  “Who has taken Grandma, Ms. Stone?” a deep, male voice said.

  I jumped to my feet, spinning on the spot, and snapped out a high kick. The heel of my boot met the speaker’s jaw with a satisfying crack. I sprang back into a defensive stance, fists raised, ready to fight.

  The man on the floor held his face in his hands and groaned. He pushed himself up on his haunches, leaning against the wall. He didn’t look like he was in a hurry to retaliate.

  “Sorry I asked,” he moaned, and dabbed at his bleeding lip with a handkerchief. “Ouch. Is that how you welcome all your house guests?”

  “Guests are invited,” I said, scowling.

  Weird thing was I hadn’t sensed his presence. But aside from the fact I hadn’t invited him in, he didn’t look like the undead.

  He was breathing for one thing, his face was flushed, and his blood flowed freely enough. He was no vampire. And, I realized now I’d had a chance to get a good look at him, with his rugged features and shock of sandy blond hair, he was far too good looking to be a zombie.

  “Who are you?” I said, keeping my fists at the ready. “And what’re you doing in my grandma’s house?”

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a wallet. He flipped it open, displaying his identification.

  “Detective Inspector Joseph Summers,” he said. “P.I.D.”

  “Pea-eye what?”

  “Paranormal Investigations Department.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I was. I assure you it’s not my job of choice. Friends call me Joe. You mind if I get up?”

  “You just broke into my house, Mr. Summers. And I’ve never heard of the P.I.D.”

  “Not many people have. It’s kind of a secret operation. And I didn’t break in. The place was like this when I got here. Your grandma’s in trouble, Ms. Stone.” He dabbed again at his lip, glanced at the bloodied handkerchief, and stuffed it back in his pocket. Then he held up his hands in surrender. “I’m here to help. Now if you let me get up, maybe we can talk. We’re the good guys. We don’t have time to waste fighting each other.”

  I hesitated.

  “Look,” he said. “I’m prepared to overlook the fact you just assaulted a police officer in the course of doing his duty, but I’m not prepared to lie around here while bad things get worse just because you’ve got trust issues.”

  “Ouch,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Now, may I get up?” he said, eyeing my right boot nervously.

  I took a step back and dropped my arms. “Sure,” I said. “But I ask the questions.”

  I put out my hand and helped him up. He brushed himself down, ran a hand over his jaw, which I guess must have been aching some. Then he looked at me with steel gray eyes, flecked with blue around the irises, and said, “Shoot.”

  I backed away, pulled the sash window shut and flipped the catch. “How come I couldn’t sense you?” I said. “You’re obviously alive, and I’m guessing you’re just a human.”

  “For my sins,” he said. “I’m just a plain old human.”

  He flipped open his jacket. Clipped to his inside pocket was a small device with a blinking red light. “This little baby’s called a VIBE, or a Vibrational Interference Biokinetic Equalizer. It neutralizes supernatural frequencies, rendering the wearer psychically invisible. Standard issue in my line of work.”

  “Okay,” I said, reaching for the shelves. I pulled out a street map of London and unfolded it on Grandma’s desk. Unclipping the moon-crystal from my neck, I dangled it over the map. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

  “I got this job because I fouled up on a previous case – not my fault, but that’s another story - and to be honest they don’t take the P.I.D. very seriously. It seemed a good place to dump me while things blow over. So now I sit in a dingy office in Soho watching a computer screen, keeping an eye on psychic activity. Most call-outs are a waste of time – infighting between werewolf clans, or some young vamp tired of City-issue donor blood, off on a rampage. Nothing law-abiding paranormal communities can’t deal with by themselves.”

  I focused my energies and channelled them down into the stone. The crystal began to swing and circle over the map. “Cut to the chase, Summers.”

  “This house raised all the alarms. It showed intense psychic activity commensurate with demonic attack. It was clearly more than things-that-go-bump-in-the-night. So I and my team of no-one else scrambled from base. And here we are. All one of us. At your service.”

  I followed the gentle pull of the crystal. Suddenly it tugged straight, like a magnet to iron, hitting the surface with a quiet thud. Old Compton Street.

  “It seriously doesn’t sound like you’ll be much help,” I said, clipping the silver chain back around my neck.

  I strode to a cabinet on the other side of the room and brushed my hand over it, muttering a word of power, and releasing the psychic lock. It clicked open. I lifted the lid, letting my eyes rest on the ancient sword nestled in its velvet bed.

  Excalibur. Sword of the Pendragon. Demon-Slayer.

  I closed my fingers around the hilt. But I could barely lift it. I’m not ready, I thought again, doubt and fear crowding my mind. I’m not initiated. I let go the sword and dropping the cabinet lid back into place, remade the psychic seal.

  My mouth was dry. My heart raced. I took slow, deep breaths. I have to try.

  “What’s in there?” said the detective, strolling over, hands in pockets.

  “Maybe you should head back to your dingy office and let me handle things,” I snapped, ignoring his question. Then I turned to him, “Wait a minute. I didn’t see a car. How’d you get here?”

  “I parked by the tennis court. I was trying to be discreet.”

  “And your office is in Soho?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “You can give me a ride.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Here,” I stabbed a finger at the map. “That’s where they’ve taken Grandma.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  DAWN BROKE JUST AS WE left the house. Purple light bruised angry clouds, the moon hiding behind a veil of desultory rain.

  I sat in Summers’ leather-upholstered X-type Jaguar and drummed my fingers on the walnut dashboard. The wipers scraped the windscreen in hypnotic arcs, allowing brief moments of visibility, as the car sped silently along the road.

  “So what did you do?” I said. “To be demoted to Spook Finder General.”

  “It’s a long story.” He drew in a sharp breath. “As I said, it was a misunderstanding.”

  If he didn’t want to talk about it, I wasn’t going to push him. I knew what it meant to have secrets. He had a swelling on his chin where I’d dealt him a blow, but his handsome face gave nothing away. He didn’t glance back at me; just kept his eyes on the road.

  “Are you armed?” I said.

  “I have a standard issue revolver and a handful of non-standard issue silver bullets. Never had to use them. Most werewolves are gentle, furry creatures so long as they take t
heir medicine and lock-down on the full moon. The other stuff I’m likely to encounter doesn’t give a damn about bullets, silver or not. I have a few stakes in the back, an iron horseshoe: the usual. You?”

  “No,” I said, drumming harder on the dash, thinking of the sword I couldn’t wield, abandoned back at the house. “Just me.”

  He flashed a smile in my direction. “And a mean high kick,” he said.

  I laughed despite myself. “I guess.”

  We were sweeping through the suburbs now. Dawn had surrendered to the dull, gray luminescence London called daylight. “Does it hurt?”

  He shook his head. “I know I’m only human, but I’m not just taxiing you to your doom, Ms. Stone. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together. It’s my duty. And anyway, I have to earn my salary, remember?”

  I wasn’t going to argue. To put a human in danger was against everything I’d been taught. But the way I figured it, those rules applied to a fully initiated Guardian; not a woman whose only powers were psychic sensitivity, martial arts, and the ability to go into denial when things got scary.

  “Okay, Mr. Summers,” I said. “I’m grateful for the company.”

  “Good. So if we’re partners, you’d better drop the mister crap and call me Joe.”

  “Okay, Joe,” I said. “I’m Lia.”

  He nodded. “I know who you are.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “There’s a file on your family,” Joe said. “You go back a long way. When Atlantis was destroyed, a bunch of the Dragon-born, known as The Thirteen, escaped destruction and survived to spread across the globe. Since the Human Age began, you’ve kindly taken it on yourselves to protect us poor apes from the demonic forces who would otherwise take over the world. Not sure why?”

  “It’s complicated. There’s a prophecy.”

  “Of course,” he grinned. “I knew it couldn’t just be because we’re so cute and likeable. And you are the latest in a long line of Guardians.”

  “Top marks. You did your homework. The only part I’m not sure about is us protecting you. Just lately, we’ve scored pretty low. Feels more like the demons are winning; picking us off one by one.”

  “Make you nervous?”

  “And some.”

  “Because you’re not initiated yet?”

  “An elder transfers power on the night of the Dragon Moon. With my parents still missing that elder should be Grandma. And the Dragon Moon is tonight.”

  We were in the city now, close to Soho. The streets were already busy: the last of the late night revelers staggering homeward, the first of the workers picking up a coffee and a paper on the way to the office.

  “We’re here,” Joe said, swinging the car off the road, braking in front of iron gates. Joe wound the window down and swiped his I.D. card over a panel in the brick wall. The gates swung open, and we rolled into a small courtyard. “My office is up there,” he said. “But we’d better head straight to the scene of the crime.”

  I got out the car. The rain was dismal and the air cold. “The first thing we do is find her,” I said, turning up my jacket collar. “Make sure she’s alive. Then we need to cook up a rescue operation. But that’ll depend on what we find.”

  “Agreed,” said Joe, whipping an umbrella from the back of the car. It sprang open like a giant bat. He held it up, and I slipped my arm through his, taking shelter.

  Was it just me, or did he feel a thrill of unexpected pleasure in that closeness, too? But now wasn’t the time to think about stuff like that. And I already had a boyfriend.

  “First things first,” he said, leading us through the side gate and onto the road. “Old Compton Street.”

  I reached under my leather jacket and pulled the crystal out from beneath my T-shirt, nestling it in a lightly closed fist. Joe seemed to guess this was no time for conversation, as I leaned into him to guide me and let my eyelids flutter closed, concentrating my powers on reading the surrounding frequencies.

  We walked on slowly. After a while, sensing a visceral impulse that twisted at my guts, I said, “Turn right.”

  Joe stopped. “Here? You sure?”

  I opened my eyes. We were at the mouth of a narrow alley. It was crooked and cobbled and looked like it led to a dead end. A red neon sign flashed in the dull light, advertising “Live Girls.” A young woman about my age, goose bumps prickling the bruised legs extending from her mini-dress, slouched in the doorway, smoking. The excessive make-up she’d plastered onto her face didn’t cover the dark shadows ringing her empty eyes.

  The woman watched us vacantly while she drew the last dregs from her cigarette, exhaling through her nose. She dropped the stub. It sizzled on the wet cobbles. She snuffed it out under her heel and disappeared back inside.

  “This is it,” I said. “Wherever Grandma is, it’s along here.”

  We stepped cautiously down the alley. Just before the neon sign was another door, long since boarded up. The heads of the nails had rusted away. I pulled Joe to a standstill, gazing up.

  The building must have been disused for a century or more. The windows were boarded up, too, and grass grew in the guttering. Above the entrance, faded paint declared it to be the Stage Door.

  “She’s in here,” I said. “But something’s wrong.”

  “Suitably grim hideout for demonic nasties, if you ask me,” said Joe, blinking up through the drizzle. “It’s the old Harcourt Theater. Must have closed down while Victoria was still on the throne.”

  “But she’s not here.”

  “Lia, you just told me she was here. Now she’s not?”

  “There’s no-one in there now. If we could get in, we’d be wasting our time. We’d find it empty.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Grandma’s in here in terms of place. I mean, this is where she is. But it’s not when.”

  “Whoosh,” said Joe, brushing his free hand over the top of his head.

  “This is a time loop.”

  Joe looked sideways at me. “You’re not serious,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

  I detached myself from him and stood in front of the door, fingers outstretched, running my hands over it, about an inch from the surface. My fingers tingled with energy. Images surfaced in my mind: images of the theater when it was a thriving venue; the excitement of the audience, the nervousness of the actors, the laughter, the despair; all the human stories psychically imprinted in the fabric of the building.

  “It’s a portal,” I said, dropping my hands and turning to Joe. “It’s a time portal.”

  “So what now? Call Doctor Who?”

  He was joking, but I knew just how dangerous this situation was getting. My heart hammered against my ribs as I forced the words out between my lips.

  “We open it.”

  “You can do that?”

  Having said it, I’d started to convince myself it might be possible.

  “I’ve read the manual. 100 per cent in my theory test. You can ask Grandma when we get her out of here. But if you want to bail, I’ll understand. It’s extremely dangerous.”

  “How dangerous?”

  “RIP Joe Summers dangerous.”

  He swallowed hard. I held his gaze. Don’t you freaking let me down now, Joe Summers.

  “But you can do it?” he said.

  “There’s a first time for everything, right?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “DO YOU HAVE A KNIFE? Or a razor blade?”

  “Er… for what?” Joe said, doubt in his eyes.

  “I’m not initiated yet, remember? I don’t have enough power to open a time portal unaided. I need blood.”

  “I’m not sure I should…”

  “Not anyone’s blood, Joe: my blood. Dragon blood carries an immense latent force. Just a small amount should work.”

  Joe reached to his lapel where he wore a pin badge. “This do?” he said, removing it and bending out the pin. He handed it to me.

  It was the size of a penny and showed a circle
of knotted rope around what looked like a chalice. “Curious,” I said.

  “It’s nothing. Just a club I belong to. So will a pin-prick be enough?”

  “It’s all we have. If you’re squeamish, look away now.”

  I pressed the end of my middle finger with my thumb until it reddened and then jabbed the pin into it. I drew a sharp breath. A pea-sized blob of blood, purple flecked with gold, oozed at the end of my finger.

  “Snazzy,” said Joe. “Mine’s just plain old Type O.”

  I wiped the pin clean and handed it back to him.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be in trance for a few seconds, so watch my back.”

  Joe glanced both ways along the alley. “No-one around,” he said. “Go for it.”

  I pressed more blood from my finger and smeared a little at each corner of the door, into the center of each of my palms, and finally on my eyelids.

  “All clear,” Joe said.

  Crouching down, I pointed at the first smudge of blood, linking to it psychically. A crackle of purple light sparked from my finger and leapt like an electrical current to the spot of blood. Standing, I drew the force up to the next spot; then across, back down, and across again.

  A line of energy flashed around the door. I snatched a breath and rested both my hands against it, magic sparking from my palms. I exhaled, willing the portal to open.

  Come on!

  My hands shook. My head ached with the strain.

  Open! Open up!

  I dropped back, the line of force faded, and Joe caught me just before I fell.

  “You okay?” he said, as I regained my balance, still dizzy and nauseous.

  “I failed,” I said, facing Joe, tears pricking my eyes. “I’m not powerful enough.” I leaned back against the boarded up door, drained of energy, and rubbed my face with my hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “Holy crap, Lia!”

  My eyes snapped open. Joe’s were wide with alarm.

  “What?”

  But it was too late for dumb questions. I felt the vortex swirling behind me, an intense force pulling me in. It’s freaking open. The portal’s freaking open!