Steel Dragon (Steel Dragons Series Book 1)

by Kevin McLaughlin

  For a moment, no one said anything, and only the sound of silverware clinking on ceramic plates could be heard.

  But Kristen couldn’t stay silent forever. “But that could have happened to anyone.”

  “Of course it could, Krissy. I’m not saying it couldn’t. I’m only saying that if he had followed procedures or listened to his partner for five seconds, he’d still be around.”

  “Dad, I can turn to steel. It’s a little different.”

  “No, it’s really not. Look, I know you think you’re hot shit—”

  “Frank!”

  “Damnit, Marty, this is important. Krissy, I know you think you’re hot…uh, manure, and you are, but you’ve allowed yourself to become arrogant. As long as you’re part of a team, everyone needs to watch each other’s back. If you continue to take unnecessary risks, you’ll either make a mistake or someone on your team will.”

  “But even if they make a mistake, I’ll be fine. I can protect myself.”

  “You need to protect each other. Everyone on the team is safest when the entire team works together in concert. You can’t let your team rely on you because they’ll become complacent and make a mistake that might cost a life. They all have more experience, and even though you’re…uh, the Lost Dragon or whatever, they’re still SWAT.”

  “I merely think the situation is different. I am literally bulletproof.”

  “Don’t forget rocket-activated,” Brian added.

  “I know you are, Krissy, I really do, and I’ve never worried about you, not even when you were still merely a puny mortal like us.” Frank chuckled at his own joke and tried to lighten the mood, but no one else joined him. “But you’ve also talked to Dragon SWAT, right? They said as your powers develop, they’ll want you on their team. I don’t see why they’d make you wait unless the threat level is that much higher there. It’s never really been a part of my world but damn, Krissy, what if you find yourself in a standoff with a dragon? I would think dragon fire could melt steel.”

  The thought was sobering. When Kristen had met Dragon SWAT, they’d basically spelled out how they could stop her if they needed to. Even though she was faster, stronger, and in better control of her steel skin, she still couldn’t transform into a dragon.

  Her dad seemed to sense his words were finally getting through to her because he leaned back as he continued speaking—that was basically Frank for “thanks for listening.”

  “I don’t want you to become careless. As soon as people start acting like they always know what to do, people make mistakes. That’s simply how it goes. I know losing your partner was hard on you—it’d be hard on anybody—and I don’t want that to happen again.”

  “But I can protect them.”

  He shook his head. “Not by taking away their ability to protect themselves. Think about it. There’s no way you can protect every person in this city. Maybe if you could, I dunno—”

  “Teleport? Fly? Make copies of yourself? Psychically control the entire city?” Brian held a finger up as he listed each impossibility.

  “Right, yeah, one of those. But that’s not your power, and even if it was, you couldn’t protect the whole state or the whole country. The fact is that you’ll need help. This city needs help, and I for one will sleep better when I know people are helping to protect it.”

  “Dad, I’m still a person.”

  “I know you are. I wouldn’t eat lasagna with you if you weren’t, but your team is people too. And if you treat them like they’re children, they gonna start acting like children and they’ll make a mistake and there won’t be anything you can do about it.”

  “He’s right, sweetheart.” Her mom nodded sagely. “Look at Brian. We treat him like a man-child and look where it’s gotten us.”

  Brian stuck his tongue out, put a single olive from the salad on it, then snapped it out of the air like a dog performing a trick.

  “Point taken,” Kristen said, which drew a sneer from her brother and appreciative nods from her parents. “I’ll do my best to keep all that in mind. I wouldn’t want my team to get sloppy.”

  Frank looked like he wanted to protest further—like maybe that wasn’t his point—but instead, he asked for more pesto bread and began to complain about the Pistons not playing as a team either.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Kristen very much enjoyed having dinner with her family. The sense of familiarity and comfort she felt was even more obvious when, twenty-four hours later, she arrived at the Renaissance Center with her team.

  Everyone was dressed up. Well, almost everyone. Drew and Beanpole looked good. They both wore tuxedos that fit, anyway. Butters wore a seersucker suit with suspenders. He joked about wanting everyone to know he was from the South, but he looked nervous and more than a little uncomfortable. Keith wore jeans, a blazer, and a button-up, and was pissed that no one had told him to rent a tux. Hernandez, however, shocked everyone the most.

  Her white high-collar dress sparkled with sequins. She had teamed it with gloves and white hose. Not a single tattoo was visible.

  “Wow, Hernandez…er, Lyn. You look amazing,” Drew said.

  “Can we calm down and not talk about it? I’ve never seen a tattoo on a dragon, and I wore this atrocity to my Quinceanera so I assumed it’d cover all the ink. Red looks pretty fucking hot too.”

  “Hell yeah, you do,” Keith said as they walked through the parking lot toward the ground floor of the Renaissance Center. “Red looks great on you, obviously, and that necklace is…well…” He grinned, looked at her boobs, then realized that she looked at him looking at her boobs, so shifted his gaze to her legs. “Your legs look good too. Uh…healthy.”

  Butters put a hand on the man’s back. “Do yourself a favor, Rookie, and stop talking.”

  “Right, er, of course. Yeah, good plan,” he mumbled.

  They entered the ground floor of the building and were greeted by a dark-skinned man with an elaborate pattern shaved into his short hair. He wore red robes trimmed in gold and a symbol around his neck that Kristen didn’t recognize.

  “Lady Hall, I presume,” he said. His deep, rich voice held a touch of an accent that seemed to indicate that he had at least studied overseas.

  “Yes, um, how did you know?” She couldn’t sense an aura coming from him so she didn’t think he was a dragon.

  “Your face is all over the news, Lady Hall. Everyone in this city knows you, even those not working the door at the most prestigious party in the Midwest.”

  Right. Of course. Kristen made a note not to ask any more stupid questions. Fortunately, Keith had that covered.

  As they stepped into the elevator, he pointed at the whirls and lines shaved into the man’s head. “So, are you a dragon, then? Is that why you have those swirls?”

  “Lady Hall is a dragon, and her hair has not fallen out in the pattern of runic spells,” the man pointed out dryly.

  “So…you’re not a dragon?” the Rookie continued and his idiocy made every floor they rose to seem twice as awkward as the one below them.

  “I am a mage.” The man bowed toward Kristen, not toward Keith. “You may refer to me as Enfuegus.”

  “Wow, holy shit, Enfuegus, that’s quite a name. Did your mom give that to you when you were born or did you choose it later or what?” Keith grinned but no one else did.

  “Dammit, kid, my real name’s Daryl,” Enfuegus said and his accent slipped away so he sounded exactly like any other Detroiter. “That breaks the feel of the night, though, which is something the dragons hate, so I use my mage name. You are way underdressed, by the way.”

  “Aw, dammit, I knew it!” Keith protested.

  “If you knew it, why didn’t you dress up?” Beanpole adjusted his cufflinks.

  “Don’t worry about it. Consider this the blessing from Enfuegus,” the mage said and used his deeper, slightly accented voice once more. He looked at Keith, raised a finger heavy with jeweled rings, spoke an incantation, and suddenly, the Rookie wore a bow tie
, slacks, and cummerbund under his jacket.

  “Hot damn! Would you look at that.” He appraised his new digs.

  “Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about interjections such as that,” Enfuegus said. “Please, be on your very best behavior. Remember, the guests of this party have practiced speaking correctly for centuries. Some leniency might be given to the dragon, but humans—especially rude ones—are not tolerated.”

  “Are you saying we’re in danger?” Drew’s posture changed as the elevator came to a stop.

  “I don’t know, man,” the mage replied. “It’s not like they’ve ever thrown anyone from the roof who can’t fly. They might remember to call me to escort your ass out first, but don’t count on it. Be cool. They never tip as well when someone causes a scene.”

  “All right.” Drew nodded and slipped into SWAT mode. “Remember to watch each other’s backs. I’ll take the open bar with Beanpole. Butters and Hernandez, you’re on food. I want to know if we have tapas, if it’s serve yourself, or what. Keith, you’re with Hall—scratch that. Keith, you’re a damn liability. You stick with Butters. Hernandez, you’re with Red. The two of you look…uh, well, the Kevlar doesn’t do you justice.”

  Everyone saluted.

  Enfuegus rolled his eyes. “Good luck,” he said as the doors to the elevator opened onto the roof of the hotel.

  They stepped out into the most decadent and elaborate party Kristen had ever seen. Obviously, their guide was not the only mage working that night. Golden globes floated above the roof, remaining stubbornly in place despite the breeze and the fact that nothing anchored them to anything.

  Between these, strings of flames danced and threw bright sparks while they followed some invisible pattern she couldn’t quite identify.

  Below this heady atmosphere were the guests and—despite wearing the most expensive dress she could find—she immediately felt out of place. Her clothes fit well enough but compared to those at the party, she might as well have worn a burlap sack.

  Every woman on the roof had a form-fitting dress in fabrics and styles from through the centuries. Kristen wondered if the clothes were real or if they were simply projections of the dragons’ own bodies, that was how good everyone looked.

  The men mostly wore tuxedos but few opted for a standard black jacket with a white shirt. Instead, they wore fabric in sparkling silvers, radiant golds, garish purples, fiery reds, and a dozen other colors. The cut of their clothing was unusual as well. Rather than simple collars, many of the men had fancy, elaborate additions that, to her, seemed very much like the tuxedo’s equivalent of horns and spines.

  Other mages moved between the guests and levitated trays of food and drinks. When a dragon wanted refreshment, they didn’t have to glance at a server, only the drink. Kristen tried not to let her eyes bug out when a dragon gestured at a glass and it simply floated off the tray and landed in his hand without spilling a drop.

  The pixies surprised her a little. She had seen them before but they were still a sight to behold—aside from the fact that she somehow hadn’t expected them there. They were short—the height of kindergarteners—with big eyes and huge black pupils that caught the light. Despite the range of skin tones, most were heavily freckled, and they all had long pointy ears and extremely long hair. They wore light, flowing clothing that did little to hide their skinny arms or legs and did nothing to conceal their wings.

  For a moment, she simply stared at their wings. She was at a party with creatures with wings. It seemed almost incomprehensible. The pixie’s wings were all vaguely insectile. Some tended more toward butterfly and others were more translucent like a beetle’s. As she stared, one of the pixies fluttered their wings fast enough to make them appear as nothing more than a blur. It—she? Kristen couldn’t tell—elevated sharply and bellowed, “New guests.”

  An instant silence descended and everyone on the rooftop—every mage, every pixie, and every dragon—turned to stare at the team.

  All in all, it was the most overwhelmed Kristen had ever felt on stepping from an elevator.

  “Uh… Hi, I’m Kristen,” she managed to say.

  The pixies laughed, the mages returned to work, and the dragons turned to their conversations, which was both simultaneously depressing and a huge relief.

  “All right, stick to the plan,” Drew said. He and Beanpole wandered away. Keith and Butters went in pursuit of a swarm of levitating shrimp, which left Hernandez and Kristen to mingle.

  Almost immediately, a woman approached them. Her black hair had been arranged in elaborate braids and a purple dress with all its fabric sewn into the train left little to cover her chest. She smiled—and exposed perfect teeth with the exception of her canines, which were perhaps a little too sharp—and extended a hand gloved in black satin to Kristen.

  “Well, if it isn’t the Lost Dragon. I am Marliana Seasdeep. Charmed.”

  She took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. The woman barely grasped hers at all and she realized she’d probably made her first faux pas. Apparently, one didn’t try to crush someone’s hand during a handshake at elegant dinner parties.

  “Tell me, how does it feel to still have to cram into human clothes?”

  “Probably about as comfortable as it feels to cram your scaly dragon hide into whatever century you’re currently inhabiting,” Hernandez said with a smile.

  Marliana hissed strangely through her nose. It took them a moment to realize that she was laughing. “Clever girl. Clever, clever. I didn’t expect humans to be so…sharp. Perhaps you’re right, though. It is time for an update.”

  She grasped her hair, undid it, and shook it loose. Kristen was glad Keith wasn’t there. He would probably have fainted. Hernandez gasped audibly as the purple dress transformed into a more modern, form-fitting variation. It barely covered her thighs and had a window cut into the front that—despite showing less skin—even further accented her impressive cleavage.

  “Is this more to your liking?” she all but purred.

  Hernandez nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Lyn, you’re drooling,” Kristen whispered.

  The demolitions expert snapped her mouth shut so fast her teeth clacked.

  “It is a pleasure to have you join us. I know you’re new to the community but do let me know if there’s anything I can do to either of you.”

  “Do to us?” Hernandez mumbled and sounded hopeful.

  “For you. Pardon, a slip of the tongue.” Marliana winked at the woman, then excused herself.

  “They have auras, remember. You need to keep your head,” Kristen said to her teammate as they pushed deeper into the party.

  “It’s easy for you to say. You’re immune or whatever. She was… I normally don’t go for chicks, but damn, she made me happy to be bi.” She shook her head and tried to clear the dragon from her mind.

  “Ah! I hoped you’d come to the party,” said Vincent Goldenrod, the dragon who’d invited her.

  “Why’s that? Because otherwise, everyone here is a senior citizen?” That was Keith, who’d appeared through the crowd and currently crammed a floating deviled egg into his mouth.

  “What? Of course not,” Goldenrod replied. “What would even make you say such a thing?”

  “Well, isn’t Kristen here the youngest dragon in the room by a few hundred years or something?”

  The dragon looked a little nonplussed. “We… Sir Trevor Lance won’t make his first century for another few years…and there…ah, are a few others, I’m sure. But by dragon standards, many of us are still quite young. Most of the room is less than five hundred years old.”

  “Not really selling it, Grandpa,” Keith replied, which earned a giggle from Hernandez that was the most out of character thing Kristen had ever seen her do—besides wear a Quinceanera dress. The night was full of firsts.

  “Keith,” Butters chided, “this gentleman is our elder. Some respect is owed.” The sniper gave Goldenrod his friendliest smile, but the dragon continued to look
a little aggrieved. He blinked a few times and studied them as if to make sense of them. He was saved from having to comment when another dragon entered the conversation.

  “It is as I said, Goldenrod, she has been with the humans too long.” The man who spoke wore a green suit that fit perfectly. Beneath it was a silver shirt with a rather elaborate waterfall of frills down his chest. He had a thin mustache that lent him an imperious demeanor.

  “She hasn’t lived with people as long as you have, because…you know, she’s not a dinosaur,” Hernandez said to the man and earned her first scowl of the evening. She looked proud to have received it.

  “She’s right,” Butters declared cheerfully. “After all, you’ve been with people far longer than she has.”

  “And yet I have retained a degree of separation that your dragon has not,” the mustachioed man replied.

  “She’s not ours,” Drew said as he stepped into their little circle, two drinks in each hand. He gave one each to Kristen and Hernandez, and one to Butters. Beanpole—tall and silent behind the team leader—had one for Keith. “People don’t think of each other that way.”

  “Oh, they most certainly do.” The green dragon sneered. “After all, slavery was your invention.”

  “And these mages you have here are free to do whatever they please?” He didn’t break eye contact with the man.

  “And tell me, human, is that what you want? Magic to run unchecked? The powers these humans wield is far more formidable than even your most devastating weapons of war. Without dragons, you would beg at their knee for scraps.”

  “How is living in a world serving dragons different?” Kristen asked, not sure if that would elicit an answer or get her chucked off the top of the building.

  “It is precisely because of our longevity that we are fit to advise your leaders,” the dragon said. “We are able to see trends in your species—the invention and implications of electricity, or the political will to end slavery—and help you along those paths. We are not interested in despotic rule because we live long enough to achieve any freedom we need.”