Heart of a Dragon

by David Niall Wilson

  "That powerful?"

  "Powerful enough to tattoo the preventive ritual on a man's back, and to create amulets that are – at the most basic level – pacts with demons to prevent it from happening. I'd say it came close at least once in the past, and someone stopped it. Let's just hope that what they left us is enough that we can do it again."

  He shut down the computer and rose, downing his cognac.

  "Sorry, Cleo," Amethyst said, giving the cat a final scratch on the ears. "I guess you're on guard duty again. I'll try to bring him back in one piece."

  Cleo meowed once, then curled up on Donovan's now warm and vacant chair and laid her head on her paws as if in resignation.

  Moments later they were out the door and on their way, the printout rolled and tucked into a deep fold of Donovan's jacket. When they hit the street, the sun was low in the sky, dropping toward evening.

  "I think we'd better split up for a while," Donovan said. "We need to know when Anya will hold that next ceremony, and where. You think you could track that down?"

  "Of course," Amethyst said. "What are you doing?"

  "I'm going to see Martinez. The more I think about this, the more I believe he knows exactly what Anya is up to. You saw those jackets, and how the men wearing them moved. They were holding their own, maybe a little better. I noticed something about their dragons."

  "What?"

  "There was no red in either one. The paint was blue and green on Jake's jacket, and the dead man's was ice blue. The paint that Martinez wanted to create so badly – it was Rojo Fuego. Fire red. If his boy Salvatore could create the kind of power he did without that color…what's going to happen when he paints a red dragon?"

  "Let's hope we never find out. I'll find you later, as soon as I know something.

  They split, and Donovan disappeared down the side street behind his building. Amethyst stepped out onto the street and disappeared into the crowds.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Word had spread throughout the city. The Dragons had been founded in the Barrio, but there were other chapters. There was a group in Lavender, as well as groups as far off as Los Angeles and San Diego. Most of them weren't going to make it into San Valencez for the meeting, but there were more than the small clubhouse had seen in many years.

  Snake set several of the younger members to work out in back. They had a large yard circled by a seven foot wooden fence. The center was a fire pit they used for barbecues. This night, it would just hold a fire. There were torches lined up around the outer edge of the yard as well.

  "I don't want this to be cramped," Snake said. "I want plenty of room. The fresh air will be good."

  Bikes rolled in all afternoon, and into the evening. There were a lot of questions, and not many answers. Those who came from outside the Barrio were filled in, but even those telling the tales knew how crazy they sounded. The only thing everyone understood was that Los Escorpiones were making a bid to rule the Barrio, and that there was a battle coming. There were also stories of the last confrontation. Vasquez had been well known, and the stories of his death were already reaching legendary status.

  Snake stood in the doorway, drinking a beer and watching the preparations. He glanced over at the jacket on the wall. Even from where he stood, the bloodstains were visible. They haunted him. The dragon, limp and lifeless as the leather, seemed to accuse him. No matter where he stood in the room, he was certain those eyes followed.

  Jake stepped up beside him.

  "Did you find Martinez?" Snake asked.

  "He'll be here. I'd swear he was standing on his front porch waiting for me, like he already knew I was coming."

  Snake nodded. "Makes sense. If anyone knows what's going on, and how it's likely to end, it's that crazy old man."

  "I've got scouts out," Jake said. "We're trying to locate Los Escorpiones. Delaporte is quiet, and there hasn't been a sign of Hector, or any of the others, since that night. Anya Cabrera's shop is closed. No one is out on the street, and the few people we've been able to find are either not talking, or they really don't know."

  "She'll make her move soon enough," Snake said. "We just have to make sure we're ready. In about an hour, I want you to get the club organized and get them into that yard. Light a fire, hand out some beer, keep them quiet. Try to keep them from working themselves up too soon – try to keep them from getting scared.

  "I'm going to meet with Martinez first. I want to be able to tell them all that we know, and I want to have some options to offer – some hope."

  Jake nodded. "They'll follow you into hell, you know? All of them. I'll be right at the front."

  "I know that, man," Snake said. "I only hope it's not misplaced trust, you know? I've never seen anything like this, and I don't know how we're going to face it."

  "Yeah, you know," Jake said. His voice was rough with emotion, but he worked through it. "We'll face it like men. Like Dragons. What else is there?"

  Snake turned and stared at him, and then – slowly – the old familiar smile slid over his face. He lifted his beer, saluted Jake with it, and drained the bottle.

  "I might keep you around," he said.

  Jake turned away then. Snake watched the big man walk out into the yard, then turned and dropped the empty bottle in the trash. He wanted another, but he knew he had to wait. There was a lot to do and maybe not enough time left to do it. The sun was low on the skyline. He turned, crossed the main room of the clubhouse, and walked into the back room – where he kept his things. Several of the Dragons lived at the clubhouse, and there were two rooms for those sleeping over when their old ladies kicked them to the curve, or they needed a place to crash and recover. Snake had the only private room. He closed the door and flopped back on his old leather couch. From where he sat he could watch the activities out back through a tinted window, mirrored on the outside. He ignored the Dragons and watched the growing, lapping flames as they danced.

  ~ * ~

  Martinez arrived at the Dragons clubhouse just as the last of the sun's rays disappeared. Streetlights hummed to life around him. The street and the driveway were lined with motorcycles, Harleys, Indians, a few Triumphs and some others. They glittered in the dim light, their colors muted. The old man approached the doorway. Jake stepped out to greet him.

  "Snake's been waiting for you," he said.

  Martinez followed the big man inside. He saw that Jake still wore the leather jacket, and the dragon stared out at him from that dark surface. He felt its power, and its anger. He felt the coming storm so clearly in that instant that he nearly stopped in his tracks, turned, and disappeared. What he was doing was dangerous – not in the same way that what Anya Cabrera was doing, but it crossed lines he should not cross and brought danger to those he cared about.

  Jake knocked on a door, opened it and stepped aside. Martinez entered a small, dimly lit room. The space was neat and organized. There was a small desk in one corner with a lamp and a laptop computer. The bed rested against the back wall, a cot like men used in the army. Snake sat on a low-slung couch directly across from the door. He rose when Martinez entered, and held out his hand.

  "Thanks for coming," he said. "I guess I don't need to tell you why we're all gathered here."

  "She is crazy, you know that?" Martinez said. "Anya Cabrera believes that she can control this – this darkness – that she is unleashing. It will eat her alive, and when it is done, it will come for the rest of us."

  "I was afraid you'd say something like that," Snake said. "We have to fight them again, don't we?"

  Martinez nodded. "Someone must stop her. We are here."

  "How?" It was a simple, one word question, but it encompassed so much.

  "It won't be easy," Martinez said. "You will have to trust me."

  "Enrique trusted you," Snake said. There was bitterness in his tone, but not accusation.

  "I did not send Enrique to Salvatore," Martinez said. "I sent Jake. If I had known another would come to the boy so quickly, I would hav
e prevented it."

  "You couldn't have prevented that with a steamroller," Snake sighed. "You didn't see the way Enrique's eyes lit up when Jake came in, flashing that dragon around and suddenly lit up with power like some kind of comic book superhero. Don't think I didn't see that. Most of the time, he just looks like Jake, but I know there's more to it. Hell, if there wasn't why would they do it at all?"

  "You must call the boy," Martinez said. "You must call him to paint a final dragon. It is the only way. It is the only thing that I have to offer that can help – that can stand against this darkness. He has a gift – a power in his hands, and his dreams. He can bring your dragon."

  "My club has colors," Snake said, turning away. "Every member wears them – exactly the same. They are a sign of strength, and brotherhood. They are a sign that though we ride many roads and live many separate lives, but we are equal.

  "Those new dragons, the painted ones; I didn't like them from the start. I don't like the way they set us apart. I don't like the way they make one person stand out among many. Everything that I stand for, everything that I have worked to build here, is in danger. Some of that danger comes from Los Escorpiones, and from Anya Cabrera. Some of it, though, comes from closer to home. Some of it comes from a young man with chalk and pencils and paint . So what am I to do?"

  "You must save them," Martinez said. "At all cost – at any cost – it is yours to do."

  There was a knock on the door. Both men turned as Jake opened the door a crack.

  "Martinez, there is someone here for you."

  Snake turned and looked at Martinez curiously. The old man shrugged.

  "Who is it?" Snake asked.

  "That guy Donovan – the one who brought Enrique and I back. He's alone."

  "I must speak with him," Martinez said. "He may have news of Anya Cabrera's plans. He is a good man – a strong ally. It is very good that he is on our side."

  "You talk to him, and you find out what you can," Snake said. "I'm going to go out and speak to the others. I'm going to keep them busy for a while with what's happened already. Before I finish, come to me, and tell me what comes next. Tell me how we will beat this, and get our lives back. Tell me how we will win, and return to riding in the mountains, drinking beer and telling stories. Help me make this into one of those stories. That is what I want from you. If you give that to me, if you bring us peace, you will have my friendship for the rest of my life. I would say for the rest of yours – you are an old man – but I have the feeling that when I am dead and buried, you will be here, looking over those who come next."

  Martinez nodded. There was nothing to say. He slipped out into the main room, and Snake watched him go. Then he stepped through with Jake and they headed for the yard in back, and the fire.

  ~ * ~

  Donovan waited out front by the bikes. When Martinez stepped outside, he climbed the single step to the porch.

  "We have to talk," Donovan said.

  "There isn't much time,"Martinez replied. "They will be calling for me shortly."

  "You're right to say there isn't much time. We found out some things about Anya's ritual. She isn't finished, but she's close. If she manages to complete the binding again – to complete that ritual, it might be all that it takes to seal the spirits she's summoning into their hosts. If that happens…"

  "I am aware of the consequences," Martinez said softly. "That is why I am doing everything in my power to prevent it."

  "With the Dragons?"

  Martinez hesitated, but didn't answer at first. Then he nodded, as if making some very difficult decision.

  "Yes," he said at last. "Of course with the Dragons."

  "Fighting the type of power Anya Cabrera is trying to unleash with another uncontrolled power is not a solution. You know that."

  "I must do what I can," Martinez said. "I don't have the same resources available to me that you do – or that others do – but I have lived a very long life. There are things that I do know, and those are what I count on in times of danger. The boy has a gift – a gift that I discovered and nurtured. This is his time. It would be wrong to stop what I have started before it has run its course. There is danger in disruption, as well."

  "One more ritual, and Anya will command an army of dark warriors. Can your artist paint so many so fast? Can he arm all of these and keep them safe?"

  Donovan waved his arm in a wide arc that took in the clubhouse and all the bikes, the streets beyond and the Barrio, filled with innocent people uninvolved in the conflict raging in their streets. Martinez followed the motion of Donovan's arm, and then shook his head.

  "You don't understand," he said. "There is not time for me to explain, but you must trust me when I tell you that the answer is yes. If he is allowed to, Salvatore will protect them all."

  "And if you're wrong?" Donovan asked. "Or if he isn't given that chance? What's your fallback plan? Martinez, you came to me offering peace, but you walked in and out of my home without sharing the truth. Why did you need that formula, and the crystals? What are you planning to do with that paint?"

  "I can't answer that," Martinez said. "I don't fully know. If I told you what I think, you might agree and help me, and you might try to stop me. If you chose the latter, we'd both end up losers because Anya would certainly have her way with the Barrio, and possibly the city itself if the two of us were out of the picture.

  "I have my plans, and you have yours. I trust that you will do all that you can to stop Anya from completing her ritual. I intend to make sure that, should you fail, we aren't without protection."

  "If you lose control," Donovan said, "who will protect us from you?"

  They stood and stared at one another. For just a second, it seemed as if Martinez might look away, as if he might speak. Then the front door of the clubhouse opened, and Jake stood in silhouetted in the light from the room beyond.

  "Snake wants you out there," the big man said softly.

  "Tell him I'll be right there," Martinez said. He turned back to Donovan.

  "You must do what you can," he said, " and I will do the same. We seek the same thing, I believe, but we follow different roads to our goals."

  "When this is over," Donovan said, "if we are both standing … we will talk. If we cannot do that, there will be new problems."

  Martinez held his gaze, and then nodded. "It is long overdue," he said. "Perhaps…you would like to meet my son…"

  Without another word, or waiting to see that Donovan would answer, the old man turned and entered the Dragons' clubhouse. Donovan watched him go, cursed softly under his breath, and then turned away. He needed to find Amethyst, and they needed to get moving, or all of what they'd learned and done would be a waste of time.

  ~ * ~

  Martinez walked slowly into the center of the yard, where Snake stood beside the fire pit. All around them faces stared out from shadows. They watched him approach with a combination of fear and awe. He knew they didn't understand him, or trust him. He also knew that they were frightened. Snake stood tall and silent, waiting. Jake had returned to stand beside him.

  "I'm ready," Snake said, not wasting any time or words on preliminaries. "Bring your boy – your artist – to me. Bring his paints, and his magic. Bring him to me, and we will put an end to all of this once and for all."

  Whispers sounded around the clearing. Words were spoken too low to be heard. Hushed questions were stilled by nervous coughs. No one dared to voice opposition, or to question what Snake said. The time for debate had apparently passed.

  "I will return within the hour," Martinez said.

  Snake nodded, held his gaze for a moment, and then turned his back, staring off across the fence sealing them from the world. As solid as the wood seemed, the darkness encroached, and though the fire flickered and blazed, it seemed lost and empty in that greater void.

  Martinez turned, and returned the way he'd come.

  Snake turned to Jake and spoke softly.

  "You'd better be right," he
said. "For all our sakes…you'd better be fucking right."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Donovan was halfway down the dark tunnel toward home when a shadow flickered across the floor. He froze. He'd never encountered another living thing in the tunnels. There might be things trapped inside. There might be others with the knowledge and power to walk those hidden roads. He hadn't survived by ignoring danger, and he had no time for confrontation. When a soft growl that rose to an almost inquisitive yowl floated from the shadows he could only stare in amazement. He hurried forward.

  "Cleo?"

  The cat stepped from the shadows, hunkered low, and then leaped. Donovan caught her and held her up, staring in consternation. The two were connected in ways that sometimes amazed him, but he hadn't dreamed that she could walk the portals.

  "What is it?" he asked. "What are you doing out?"

  Cleo emitted another low yowling sound. Donovan closed his eyes, concentrated on releasing his thoughts, and sought the link. If Cleo had something to tell him, they wouldn't be chatting about it. If she'd found her way out of his home and into this dark place to find him, something was very, very wrong.

  His mind blanked, just for a moment, and then filled with a series of images that were hard to follow. He concentrated and made the shift from human to feline perception. Everything was larger, and his line of sight was very low to the ground. The world was a chiaroscuro wash of gray-scales and shadow. He gritted his teeth and focused.

  After a moment, he recognized the Barrio, but not any of the areas they'd visited recently. This was a park on the far side of Anya Cabrera's shop, several streets over and nearer to the city proper. He saw shadows moving, and at first thought it was just traffic on the street. It was difficult to interface with Cleo's thoughts. The world shifted, and he nearly broke the connection as she leaped to a fence, changing the perspective with sickening swiftness.

  Donovan felt Cleo's anger grow, felt a shiver as the hairs on her back rose, and the world shimmered back into focus. He saw the entrance to a park. The park was drenched in heavy mist. Figures moved in and out along the edge of that mist. Then everything faded, and another image rose.