by Ann Gimpel
She narrowed her eyes in thought. “I think fifty-three. Nearly the entire coven, except for a handful who were out of town, else they’d be here too. How many other opportunities do you think we’ve gotten to lay eyes on a living, breathing dragon? It’s not something any witch worth their salt would want to miss.”
A male witch pressed forward, but stopped a respectful distance away. Good! At least this human understands deference. Kheladin studied him. The man was tall, about Lachlan’s height, with broad shoulders fading to slender hips. His coal-black braids wove together into an intricate pattern that reminded Kheladin of early Celtic warriors. The braids lay close to the man’s head and were gathered into a queue that spilled down his back. Arresting amber eyes radiated a sharp intelligence; at the moment, they were hooded in concentration. He clasped his hands behind his back, obviously waiting.
’Tis just like the old times. He is giving me an opportunity to acknowledge him afore speaking. The small concession pleased Kheladin. He inclined his head. “Your name, human.”
Mauvreen whipped around. Apparently, she hadn’t heard the man take up a position behind her. “Go ahead, Johnny, speak up.” She motioned with both hands.
The man rolled his eyes. “Just because you’ve known me since I was a child,” he hissed at Mauvreen, “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” He took a few steps nearer Kheladin. “Thank you for giving me leave to address you, er, sir. My name is Jonathan James Shea.” The faintest touch of an Irish lilt lay beneath the words.
The dragon inclined his head. “I am Kheladin.”
The man’s mouth twitched. “I know.”
Curiosity burned. Dragons were long gone from this world. Unlike Lachlan, who’d been born in the early thirteen hundreds, the man standing before him was young, maybe only thirty or forty years. “I am not surprised ye know about dragons, but how do ye know about me?”
Jonathan squared his shoulders. A rosy hue brightened tanned skin, setting off the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw. “I grew up steeped on dragon legends. When other lads put the fairytale books away, I kept reading them and just didn’t tell anyone. Some of the more ancient scrolls my da kept noted many of your names.”
Kheladin snorted, bathing Jonathan and Mauvreen in steam. “Ye’re a man fully grown now. What do ye do other than keep fable books hidden beneath your bed?”
“I do not—” Jonathan broke off. He looked abashed; the color in his face deepened. “You’re teasing.”
“Aye, but I would like to know.”
“I’m a software engineer. And a closet witch.”
’Tis English, but it may as well be a foreign tongue. Best take them one at a time. “Software engineer?”
Jonathan nodded. “That’s right. Probably didn’t make a bit of sense to you. I design programs that run in computers. Actually, I build gaming software for simulated war games. Kids love them. Grownups too.”
“This cell phone is like a miniature computer,” Mauvreen cut in helpfully. She drew a small, black oblong out of one of her pockets and waved it in the air.
“Aye.” The dragon nodded his understanding. “I’ve seen them. ’Twould be hard not to since every person in Inverness seems to have one.” Kheladin returned his attention to Jonathan. “What’s inside the wee black box?”
“Um, I don’t work on cell phones, but there are lots of different electronic parts and a miniature circuit board…” His voice trailed off. “It’s not important, not really.”
“I would like to understand.”
Jonathan looked appraisingly at the dragon. “What I thought I heard, when you were talking to the group of us earlier, was that you and Lachlan can still share a body.”
“Aye, we can, but we’re no longer forced to.” Kheladin watched Jonathan, wondering why he’d highlighted that particular point.
“The best thing, then, would be for you to be in Lachlan’s body, and I could bring you to my office—which is also my home—and show you.” Jonathan grinned crookedly. “There’s a saying: a picture is worth a thousand words.”
“Even I know that one. Now, what did ye mean by closet witch? Is there a particular variety of witch? Do ye meet in closets?”
Mauvreen threw her head back and laughed. After a moment, Jonathan joined her. Anger surged; fire roared from Kheladin’s mouth. How dare these puny humans laugh at him?
Mauvreen got herself under control quickly. She bowed and then straightened. “We mean no offense. I’m certain if we got dumped in the fifteen or sixteen hundreds, there’d be many a turn of phrase we wouldn’t understand. Johnny,” she motioned with a fluttery hand, “tell him what you had in mind.”
His arched, black brows drew together like raven’s wings. “Our coven is a bit unusual because we have nearly as many men as women. Male witches are still not particularly well-accepted. Now if I were a Druid, it would be an entirely different affair since they’re mostly men. At least now they are. In earlier times, the Celts were the only ones to give women close to equal rights.”
“Ye doona have to tell me, laddie. I was there. I still doona understand the term closet.”
“Sorry.” Jonathan smiled; his teeth were very white against his bronzed skin. “It just means I don’t tell anyone outside the coven about my mystic side—or my magic.”
Something about Jonathan’s power puzzled Kheladin; the witch was muting it, but it was hard to tell how much. “Stand verra still,” Kheladin instructed.
“Why?”
“I wish to test your power.”
“H-how?”
“Afore ye are finished interrogating me, we could have been done. ’Tis a courtesy I asked instead of simply looking for myself.” Kheladin reminded the witch of the enormous power differential between them.
“All right.” Jonathan shut his eyes. It looked as if he were bracing for an onslaught.
Kheladin bit back a snort. “It willna hurt.” He pushed his mind into the man before him, bypassing his wards easily, and drew back, amazed. Jonathan was still frozen in place. “Ye can move now.”
“That’s it?” Jonathan shook his head. “I didn’t feel a thing.”
The dragon did snort then. “And why would ye?” he inquired from behind a curtain of steam. “If I canna seek information without alerting humans to my presence within them, what good would my magic be?”
“Sorry. There’s a lot I don’t know.”
“Good ye realize it, witch.” Kheladin looked from Jonathan to Mauvreen. It was obvious the man had no idea how much power he held. Compared with Mauvreen, he could move worlds. The dragon’s gaze swept the assembled witches chatting in small groups. Did any of the others hold Jonathan’s level of ability? If they did, he and Lachlan could train them to help in the battles that were sure to come.
The black and red wyverns—Malik and Preki—and their mage bond mates—Rhukon and Connor—were still loose in the world, as was the Morrigan. From the looks of things, they were likely to remain so. He and Lachlan had had several narrow escapes, and Kheladin was certain the Morrigan wasn’t anywhere close to backing down. He shut his scaled lids for a moment. Lachlan’s mate, Maggie, wasn’t immortal, which complicated matters greatly because they needed to keep her safe.
Mauvreen turned to face the assemblage. She used magic to project her voice. “Kheladin has been a great host. Let’s help him set his cave to rights. It’s the least we can do to thank him for inviting us.”
“I’ll help,” a woman cried.
“Me too,” another said.
“Yes, just tell us what to do,” a third witch called out.
Kheladin considered her offer. Moving amongst them as they worked might be a good way to ascertain who had the most power. Mayhap this is also a perfect opportunity to tell them about what we face, just to get them used to the idea. “Excellent. Before you begin, would you like to know how my cave came to be littered with boulders?”
A rustling susurrus moved through the crowd. They surged closer, anxious to lis
ten. Kheladin took it as a good sign. “’Twas when Lachlan and I were still forced to occupy a single form. He and Maggie Hibbins, a witch like all of you, had just mated, which infuriated our enemies.”
“Why?” someone cried.
The dragon paused, considering which details were needed. “Maggie and Lachlan are linked through a verra old prophecy. The simple version is their combined energy, once mated, will be enough to defeat our enemies and return Earth to its former glory. Of course,” he preened, remembering his mating bite, “I was part of the mating too.”
Mauvreen spun back to face him and put her hands on her hips. “Not that I don’t want to believe you, but Earth’s pretty much on a one-way track to destruction. How could—?”
He puffed more steam to silence her. Kheladin spoke sternly. “Ye are a witch. It means ye believe in magic. Prophecies are applied magic. Magic ye can see and feel and get your talons into. When ye canna believe in the wonder of it anymore, mayhap ye should rethink yourself.” She looked down. Kheladin read shame in her mind, but didn’t soften his words by adding to them.
“It’s one of the problems with being alive today.” Jonathan spread his hands in front of him. “We live in an age that’s antithetical to magic. Obviously, I wasn’t there, but I’ll bet it’s a whole lot different than the time you came from. Everything is science-based now. Although,” he looked up, met, and held the dragon’s gaze, “listening to you explain applied magic, it sounded a lot like science to me.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s just my mindset.”
Few humans could tolerate a dragon’s gaze; fewer still sought it out. Kheladin was reluctantly impressed. “Come closer.” He crooked a curved talon toward Jonathan. “Ye can explain science to me while the others clear rocks and debris from my cave floor.”
I can seek out those who may have strong magic later. It doesna appear the witches are in any hurry to leave.
“You heard the dragon.” Mauvreen bolted toward the group, obviously anxious to put distance between herself and the one who’d embarrassed her by pointing out her lapse of faith.
“I dinna mean to humiliate you.” Kheladin used mind speech only she could hear.
“I know. It was just a shock having you peer into my innermost thoughts and pluck out what troubles me. Really,” she glanced over one shoulder, “I owe you a debt of thanks for making me examine what’s uncomfortable.”
“We can talk more later.”
“I’d like that.” Mauvreen bent, picked up a rock, and carted it off to one side.
“Over here.” A witch with long, blonde hair beckoned. “If a few of us concentrate our magic, this won’t take nearly as long.”
Kheladin grinned to himself. He could have cleared the cave in minutes with his own magic, but it was heady having all these humans falling over themselves to help him. Almost like the old days. Perhaps once they got through the worst of things, and the black and red wyverns and the Morrigan had been soundly defeated, he’d float the idea of resurrecting shrines—hell, maybe even temples—to dragon worship.
He focused his whirling eyes on Jonathan. The man didn’t look away. “Step closer still, witch. I doona bite.” He chuckled, blowing steam. “Unless it’s part of the mating ritual. Now, about this science…”
Jonathan strode next to Kheladin and craned his neck to glance up. “I thought it would be handy if we were looking at one another, but I’m not sure how to make it work.”
“How about this?” Kheladin bent and extended a foreleg. “Hop on.”
“Really?” Jonathan’s eyes widened.
“I wouldna have offered in jest.”
Jonathan positioned himself between Kheladin’s front limbs and body, stepped on the dragon’s bent knees, and levered himself up. Once he was seated on a foreleg, the dragon straightened. Jonathan’s forthright gaze swept over Kheladin. “Perfect. Forgive me for staring, but you’re incredible. I still can’t believe this is really happening—”
“Science,” Kheladin reminded him.
“Oh yes, right. Well, the Scientific Revolution actually began during your time. You’ll recall Newton, Copernicus, Descartes, and Galileo, to name a few.”
“Aye. They were regarded as charlatans.”
“Why am I not surprised they weren’t appreciated in their own time? In any event, by the seventeen and eighteen hundreds, which I guess you slept through, science was in full swing. If you couldn’t prove something in a lab, it didn’t exist. Talk about a death knell for magic and magic wielders. Somewhere around the sixteen-nineties, they started burning witches at the stake in the States and here too. I lost quite a few relatives…”
The air currents thickened. Magic. Strong magic that had nothing to do with the witches in his cave. The human sitting atop his foreleg stiffened. Apparently, he’d sensed it too. Kheladin bent forward; Jonathan scrambled to the ground and eyed the dragon. “I’ve never felt anything quite like that. What is it?” He raised his hands to call power.
“I doona know. We will stand ready but not deploy defensive magic until we know what it is we face.” He trumpeted. The sound rang off the cave walls, echoed, and amplified itself. When it faded, Kheladin spoke to everyone. “Something comes. Ready yourselves but doona fire yet.”
The oddness in the air intensified. It felt thick, syrupy, with a tinge of springtime. Kheladin chinked a hole in the warding he’d resurrected once the last witch was through. The minute he did, he knew what was outside his wards, but the answer was so fantastic, he had trouble believing it. Against all odds, another dragon shifter was close, one of the women. Who had tracked him down? And why?
I willna have to wait long to find out. “’Tis safe enough,” he announced. “Return to your work. Another dragon will be here verra soon.”
Another dragon, reverberated through the witches’ ranks, along with amazing, brilliant, incredible, and yesssss.
Good to know we’re still treasured.
“Drop your bloody wards, Kheladin. You recognized me. In the name of Dewi, let me in.”
His wards. Kheladin withdrew the magic powering them. “Sorry. Done.”
Power raged through multihued air. When it stopped pulsating, an iridescent green dragon stood before him. Golden eyes whirled menacingly. Fire shot from her mouth. “What the bloody fuck? Why did ye hesitate once ye knew ’twas me?”
Kheladin slammed his wards shut and inclined his head. “I dinna realize ’twas you, Tarika. All I knew was another of us stood without. Besides, I havena seen you for over three hundred years. I thought ye’d gone to Fire Mountain with the rest of our kin.”
“Hmph.” Tarika’s gaze swept the cave. “Who are all these people?”
“Witches. They like me.”
“Pfft. Ye are so full of yourself.” More fire, mixed with steam. “Let us take our human forms. I would lay eyes on Lachlan again.”
“He is not here.”
“What?” she screeched in a shower of sparks. “Ye broke the bond?”
“Aye and resurrected it in a superior form that allows us each the pleasure of our own bodies.” He blew out a breath, aware the witches were fascinated and listening intently. “’Tis a verra long tale. I would start it at the beginning.”
“Do ye have food here?”
“Nay. For sustenance, ye must leave my cave in human form. This era doesna recognize those like us.”
“Fine.” The air turned molten gold, glistening and shimmery. When it cleared, Britta stood before him, naked as the day she was born. Red-blonde hair shrouded her nearly to her waist. Golden eyes glinted a challenge. “Which direction might I find food? Tarika and I searched long for you, and I am famished.”
Jonathan stepped forward, eyes averted, color high on his cheeks. “Hello. I’m Jonathan.” He bowed slightly. “I’d be glad to help any way I can. If you’re interested, I brought a couple of sandwiches with me, and I’m sure some of the other witches didn’t come empty-handed. We planned to be here for a while. Until Kheladin kicked us out, actually.
”
Britta eyed him speculatively. “A witch who knows his place. I prefer them that way. My name is Britta Kilkerran, Countess of Cumbria. Lead out.” She made shooing motions with both hands. “If ye have mead to go with the food, I would take drink as well.”
Chapter Two
Jonathan tried not to stare, but it was a losing battle. The woman—no, the dragon shifter—was the most perfect, the most alluring, creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Tall, with high, rounded breasts, a slender waist, and curvy hips, she looked like a goddess. Who knew? Maybe she was. The Celts had had many deities. He fumbled with his rucksack, pulled out a turkey sandwich on rye bread, and handed it to her.
She yanked the wrappings aside, dropped them onto the floor, and stuffed food into her mouth, chewing quickly. “Ye said there were two of these meat and bread things.” Britta surveyed him, golden eyes alight with interest.
“Yes, I did. If I give you both, I’ll be hungry.”
She shrugged. “Not my problem. Also, I requested mead.”
Jonathan’s lips twitched. He corralled the smile that wanted out. Britta was an imperious bitch, yet there was something so undeniably appealing about her straightforward nature, it was impossible to feel offended. “No mead. At least I don’t have any. We could ask the other witches, or if we found you some clothes, we could go into the city and buy a proper meal, and as much to drink as you wanted.”
She cocked her head to one side and popped the last bite of sandwich into her mouth. “I can go as I am. Shall we walk or use magic, witch?”
“Um, no, you can’t. You’d be arrested.”
She tilted her chin up. “Why? I can see where I might freeze to death, but who would give a jolly fuck whether I’m dressed or not?”
Before he could craft an explanation, Kheladin stalked over, trailed by three female witches stroking the scales on his lower body. “Lachlan kept a clothes chest against the far wall.” He pointed with a talon. “I am certain some of his shirts and tights would work, though there’s little to be done by way of shoes.”
