All but Human

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  Vivicus huffed. He’d have to get the names in order, for sure.

  Names. He watched Ladon-Human, his eyes narrow. Why did he call the beast Dragon, anyway? Why not Spot or Rover? He liked Maximus Poochimus. It fit their shared Roman heritage.

  But the beast might prefer something specific… and specifically colorful. Vivicus tapped his finger on the shingles. Yes, he needed to get his slug out of the cat. And, he suspected, into the Human.

  But when? Too many Dragons’ Legion members milled around in that pretty house. He needed to be careful.

  In front of the house, the Fate paced on the walk until she, too, felt the chill. She shuffled up the steps. After a moment, a slice of light lit the snow. She must have gone in.

  Vivicus stared out at the snow. It shinked down, a hail of tiny crystals of horrid cold, and he vowed that once he had his beast, he’d set fire to this entire city. Teach it how to be warm and cozy at the business end of a dragon’s breath.

  Turn on that burning world, once and for all.

  On the other side of the road, across from the house and in the blowing snow, a thin figure rubbed her hands together. She, like him, hid in the shadows, but Vivicus had good eyes. Not a lot got by him, so he noticed her steps and shuffles, her shakes and her staring, and the blonde hair drifting out from under her cap.

  Even down a house and on the street, he recognized her stance and her slightly jerky, slightly artificial movements.

  The last time he’d seen this Fate, she’d had raven black hair and multiple weapons under her jacket and sleeves. But unlike her scarred-up, present-seeing sister and her psychotic motherfucker of a future-seeing brother, this Fate could pass among the normals—if she had a toy like Vivicus’s shard.

  They’d talked in front of him when he allowed them to be around, helping rebuild his Abilene facility. Made comments about “the ring” and “testing its properties.” Then they vanished again. He’d hoped he’d never see them again.

  Yet the one named Fina watched the house in the same way he did.

  She glanced up, her dead gaze tracing the rooflines, until it focused on him.

  Fina Blake, the past-seer of Les Enfants du Monde Brûlant, stared at Vivicus’s location, a death’s head grin on her evil Fate face.

  He stiffened. Was she about to turn him in to the barbarian? Blow his cover and all his hard work? But she didn’t. She nodded once, then waved. Then she turned away, only to vanish into the storm.

  How the hell did she know he was on the roof? She was a past-seer. A woman of great ability, but still. They must have figured out a way to circumvent the shard.

  He growled, more pissed off than was warranted, since the idiots in the house hadn’t figured out he was out here, which was much more important. But those three scary fucks must be up to something, if they felt they needed to go through the effort of keying him in.

  They had to be planning something fun. Something big. And this moment was a signal to him. He, too, was to step out. Take care of business.

  Vivicus was not one to let an opportunity pass.

  Let hellfire rain down on the house of Daisy Pavlovich.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Andreas Sisto, the Second of the Dragons’ Legion, set his phone to the side of his dinner plate. The asparagus, though warm and savory, had lost the bright and inviting green of a vegetable prepared with artful care. The potato, though steaming, now looked like muddy snow. The steak, though richly scented and mouth-watering, now smelled like the dead animal it was.

  “Who was that?” Renee Silverton, his companion and the onsite manager of The Land of Milk and Honey, tapped her luscious finger against the tabletop. She too toyed with her food.

  The scowl she wore probably mirrored Andreas’s, muscle-pull for muscle-pull.

  The restaurant section of The Land bustled tonight with early holiday-season tourists. Dmitri’s people turned The Land and its surrounding territory into a winter wonderland between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day, and this year they went all out. Andreas suspected the level of employee jubilation had as much to do with their escape from Seraphim control as it did with playing while their boss spent his time in Portland. Dmitri’s main tasks these days involved digging through Fate dealings as well as handling the layers of lawyer bullshit encrusting the integration of his global corporate holdings and those of Praesagio Industries’.

  Andreas had waited to leave Portland until Rysa’s mother, Mira Torres, arrived. She and her Burnerized, past- and future-seeing sister were all that remained of the Jani Prime, the triad who, traditionally, chose the emperors of Rome.

  Like everyone else, he’d been surprised when she and Ismene stepped off the plane with the wounded Adrestia—the present-seer of the War Babies—in tow. And nothing short of flabbergasted when the three Jani Fates chose Dmitri Pavlovich Romanov to take on the ironic title of Praesagio’s new Caesar.

  The declaration had not gone over well with Trajan or the other Ulpi Fates. Yet they did not fight and instead seemed to accept the hand they’d been dealt. Ultimately, a merger with Dmitri’s holdings would increase their power, not limit it.

  No number of promises of treasures unknown could have kept Andreas in Portland. He did not have the stomach for the vampiric bullshit of modern, planet-smothering corporate entities. His time in long ago Rome cured him of any drive to be part of the “rat race.”

  So he’d returned to Renee and The Land. The employees welcomed him with open arms, as had Renee. And now everyone on the grounds reveled in the season’s festivities. Tonight, the kitchen had made them a nice steak dinner, and they were to enjoy their “date” in the somewhat peaceful “special patrons” corner of the restaurant.

  But it appeared the big and brooding of his two commanding officers had returned to his big, brooding ways.

  Andreas leaned back in his chair. It squeaked, as chairs often did under his bulk, but molded well to his back. At least the furnishings accommodated his life.

  “That was Gavin Bower, our hybrid bride’s ‘bestie of honor.’” A stupid title, but modern wedding traditions did not accommodate male bridesmaids.

  Renee chewed a bite of her steak. A smoothly round woman, she curved where Andreas liked curves.

  She swallowed her steak and grinned. “Checking in with the best man?”

  “If only it were that simple.” Ladon showed Andreas no more favor among the wedding party than he did anyone else, as was tradition. Andreas preferred it that way. Everyone was family. But modern traditions had their favoritism and so the kid held a place of honor.

  And, it appeared, a keen sense of when Ladon was on the edge of losing his shit. Again.

  “Aren’t they coming here next week? To take you away?” She frowned a little before taking a bite of her potato.

  The people allowed into Ladon and AnnaBelinda’s cave home for the ceremony were limited to the wedding party, so Renee was staying here, which made Andreas more upset than it did Renee. She seemed happy to plan the reception, which would be here, a few days after the event.

  “It appears plans have changed.” Because of Ladon and his pride. Andreas poked at his steak.

  “Will you be staying in Minneapolis then? Until the wedding?” His lovely companion looked genuinely upset that he’d be leaving a week early.

  After twenty centuries with women, he shouldn’t feel buoyed by a single look that said miss you, but he did. “Probably.”

  Renee nodded. “At least finish your meal before you go.”

  “Aye, beautiful, I will.” Andreas reached across the white tablecloth and squeezed her fingers.

  He picked up his fork but stared at his phone. Better to pack with a well-fed belly. The now necessary phone calls, though, would probably be better made on an empty stomach.

  “Are you going to call AnnaBelinda?” Now Renee sat back in her chair.

  He may need his small and surly commanding officer’s help in talking sense into Ladon. “Looks like it.”

&n
bsp; A sad smile held back a sigh, and Renee squeezed his fingers in return. “You’ll make it right,” she said, and took another bite of her meal.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Andreas met Daisy Pavlovich at Thanksgiving but not Rysa’s “bestie,” Gavin Bower. Daisy was in the final stretch of her veterinary residency, then she’d be deep in her Minnesota and Missouri board exams to gain her licenses to animal doctor in both states.

  Other than the one phone call, the young Mr. Bower was a mystery.

  Gavin had been peripherally involved in Rysa’s traumas from the beginning, having been saved by Ms. Pavlovich from that smartass Burner named Billy or Dilly or Willy. All Andreas remembered was the fiend running off with one of Praesagio’s multi-million dollar “midnight swords.”

  The weapons had a technical name. Something to do with the production of their metallic-ceramic hybrid glass blades. Andreas did not remember those details either, instead preferring to focus on recognizing the swords and understanding the full capacity of the danger they presented.

  Though somewhere deep in his brain, the blades seemed familiar, and a shiver crept up his back.

  He shook it off. Now was the time to deal with a more present and familiar problem: Ladon’s mood.

  Andreas had lost his taste for these interventions centuries ago. Yet here he was in his SUV parked across the street from young Ms. Pavlovich’s lovely home, the sun rising behind the house with a promise to warm the chill from the air.

  And Andreas, with his promise to enthrall away an overly-familiar chill from the brain of his best friend.

  The front door swung open before Andreas hit the treads up to the porch. Rysa stood in the light cascading out from the foyer’s overhead fixture, an active young female form in class-attending clothes and exasperation. “Andreas!”

  Two huge hounds bounded out from behind her, the first pushing her to the left and the second to the right. Both giving off an intense, protective canine vibe.

  “Whoa!” Andreas yelled as he instinctively raised his arms and pumped out a massive dose of ‘calm.’

  The dogs skidded along snow on the porch, both yipping, and stopped just as they reached the steps. He’d been warned about Radar and Ragnar but he hadn’t expected their size. Other than their distinctive shepherd heads and saddle patterns, they could pass for wolves.

  “Aren’t you two beauties?” Andreas extended his hand to the boys, to allow them to become accustomed to his scent.

  In the doorway, Rysa rubbed her arms. “Daisy and Gavin will be out in a second.” She nodded over her shoulder.

  Andreas walked up the steps and between the dogs, his arms wide and open. “How’s my favorite Fate?”

  She threw herself into his arms. “Why didn’t I see your visit? You have someone stitch it up for you so we’d be surprised?”

  “Were you asking your future-seer if I was going to visit?” He hadn’t planned on it until less than twelve hours ago. “It was spur of the moment.” At this point, not mentioning Mr. Bower’s part in this seemed like a good idea.

  She pulled him inside and the dogs ran by and into a hallway he suspected led to the kitchen. “I’ve been concentrating on watching for threats.” She bounced a little again, and her face took on the wide-eyed look that told him she felt upset. “So I wasn’t asking about good things. I don’t want to cheat on the future. Good things are better in the moment. And now you’re here!”

  She rubbed her face. Now that they were inside, he could clearly see her puffy eyes and lips, clear signs of emotional distress.

  “Did we forget something important with the wedding?” she asked. “My dress is back at the cave and we were going to collect you next week but you’re here and—”

  “Hey, hey, hey…” Andreas took her hands and bowed down enough she didn’t have to look up to see his face. “It’s gotten bad, hasn’t it?”

  Rysa nodded. “Dragon’s asleep. Ladon’s on the roof.”

  Andreas looked up at the ceiling. “I didn’t see him when I came in.”

  The dogs padded back into the foyer, Daisy between them. She pulled off her gloves and tossed them toward the pile under a set of coat hooks. “He’s on the back side of the house.”

  Andreas gave Daisy a quick hug.

  “He mostly stays in the back, now,” Rysa said.

  Ladon was spending nights outside? In the cold?

  Gavin appeared behind Daisy. “I told him you’re here.” He curled his arm around her waist and squeezed once before walking by.

  Andreas nodded and shook the young man’s hand. Gavin stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

  Andreas turned toward the front door. Time to make his way around to the back of Daisy’s house.

  The roads might have been bad, but someone had kept the walk clear and free of ice. Andreas walked carefully anyway. Rysa might be able to heal a sprain, but bruises would only delay his climb to Ladon and Dragon.

  The walk fell into shadow when he passed under the large tree on the property line. Rich, tannish-red leaves still clung to the branches, as they did with red oaks, and continued to shade the pinks and oranges the rising sun cast into the sky.

  The wind curled through the tree. The dry leaves rustled, hitting and clinking like frozen leather, and Andreas pulled his stocking cap lower on his forehead.

  He’d forgotten the chill of the northern climates in winter. The summers might be hotter than they once were, but the chaos of humans had pushed what should be confined to the pole into the heartland, and now Minnesota reminded him all too much of his few times near the Arctic Circle—or the particularly brutal Russian winter out of which he’d carried a young man who would one day become the husband of the Dracas.

  Andreas stopped at the corner of the house, not far from the mudroom bump-out, and let the weight of this moment settle.

  This was not the first time in his long life his duty to the Dracae included hauling Ladon’s ass out of a downward spiral. His friend was not suited to a life of war. Andreas knew it. Anna knew it. Hell, Ladon knew it. But up until a few generations ago, none of them had a choice, and Ladon the least of all.

  When one is a Progenitor, a man stronger than all other men and a person who lives with one of only two dragons on Earth, one is considered a godling of war and protection, and one had better live up to one’s obligations. Years, decades, centuries and civilizations, those obligations held tight to Ladon’s soul.

  How much of Ladon’s drive to shelter came from the man and how much of it came from the beast? Andreas had seen again and again from both the Dracos and the Dracas instincts that did not seem… human. They loved more deeply than most people. They nested, as well. The Dracae built worlds to protect their families, the cave being the most recent—and most elaborate—manifestation.

  So this, now, with Ladon on the roof, his village frantic, and his soon-to-be wife pacing as if the world was about to end, was not new.

  But its familiarity did not make it easier.

  Andreas grabbed the roof line and hauled himself up to the mudroom’s slippery roof. “How the hell have you not yet slid your ass off the shingles?” he called. Jumping up to the main roof looked more treacherous than he liked, but he’d do it, if he had to.

  “Why are you here, Andreas?” Ladon’s baritone rolled down the side of the house carrying the same swirling iciness as the breath swirling in front of Andreas’s face.

  “Because your village walked up the road to my manor home and asked for help with their lord.” Andreas ran his finger over an obviously Brother-Dragon-caused groove in the siding. “Are you going to pay Pavlovich to reside and reroof his daughter’s house?”

  “Modern building materials are not sturdy.”

  Andreas chuckled. Unless the building was constructed of well-placed stone and mortar stirred with Vesuvius’s ashes and the blood of a sacrificed ox, it would not stand up to the talons of a dragon.

  Or the boots of the dragon’s hu
man.

  “Come down. I do not wish to break my neck on the ice.”

  Sounds of clothes rubbing on ice flowed over the side of the house and Ladon’s head appeared. “No.”

  Andreas pressed the pad of his thumb against his forehead. “I will wait you out, Ladon. I’ve waited you out before. God knows I will need to again sometime in the near future. Your dragon will not tolerate you staying up there all winter and you’re going to want a beer sooner or later. You might as well come down now.”

  “Access to the property is easiest through the alley.”

  Andreas glanced toward the back of the lot. Yes, the alley did offer cover and ease of movement. The large outbuilding also blocked most of the view. He could see why Ladon preferred the roof for keeping watch. “It’s clear now.”

  “It’s been clear every night since we arrived.” More rustling came from above.

  “And yet here you are freezing both our asses off.” Because, as the young Mr. Bower said, Ladon exhibited “hypervigilance and quickness to anger.” And nightmares. No one had said anything about nightmares, but he knew the man he felt to be his brother well enough to guess.

  “I will rest next week, when we return to the cave for the wedding.”

  “And then what?” Andreas knew exactly what was going to happen: Ladon would sleep for twelve hours, clean up, marry a woman who would sacrifice her life for him, and then return here, so he could sacrifice his life to keep her safe. Not in a bloody, warlike way, but in the insidious, slow, freezing of his body on the roof and freezing of his mind with vigilance way.

  “Then she finishes her schooling.” More sounds of movement. This time, Ladon tapped his foot. “I will not be the cause of her abandoning her modern life. She has one remaining semester. I’m fine. When she’s done, I’ll rest.”

  “Do you honestly believe she will be able to study if she’s blinded by worry?” Because she was already blinded by her guilt telling her she should have this under control. Andreas had seen it in her movements. And he knew her well enough now to know exactly what ghosts would scream up out of her all-too-deep well of issues.