All but Human

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  The sheet rustled and lifted off Rysa’s body. The blanket flopped to the side, and a large, warm body moved across the inn’s comfy mattress.

  The night had been cool for late August, so she’d lit a low fire in the fireplace before curling up with her book. Reds and oranges still crackled with the heat, along with the soft spiraling circles and squiggles her dragon reflected onto the ceiling.

  “Hmmmm…” The smooth cotton of the sheet tickled her naked body, a gentle touch that sparked her skin. A new heat followed, one riding on the scent of fresh oranges and the dust of a good climb. “You’re back.”

  Ladon’s big arm snatched her waist and she was immediately, fully pressed against his equally naked body.

  His mouth covered hers before she could speak again.

  He’d been like this before—muscles worked to fatigue but still strong and hard. Skin textured with the extra salt of sweat and the sand of a conquered mountain. Dirt on his face and eyes that gleamed so bright they overpowered the fire’s meager flickering.

  Next to the bed, Dragon stretched and swayed, as alive as Ladon.

  His kisses tasted the way he should taste—of well-won hard work. He’d finished his difficult task and now every one of Rysa’s senses picked up his joy for his well-commanded day.

  He continued to command. In this moment, he commanded to share his satisfaction.

  Ladon rolled her onto her back and pulled her legs around his waist. He didn’t wait, didn’t ask if she felt ready or if she was wet enough. He knew by her sighs and her arches and how she returned his kisses where to grasp and to twist and to climb this mountain.

  Ladon rocked as he pressed into her. The bed groaned; she shuddered. She gripped the hard muscles of his back; he rumbled.

  He smiled, kissing her again and again, her godling with his black, black hair and his perfect body and his wonderful soul. Someday, she might understand how he loved so deeply. How it was that he could give so much of himself at the same time he commanded every single breath and touch and thought around him. How he and the beast could be the Dracos.

  Rysa closed her umbrella. Big Texas raindrops splattered on her cheeks and in her eyes. Thunder rolled over the high school’s fields and echoed between the bleachers. The sound magnified, lensed into something stronger than it should be, and bounced off the cobalt blue door she faced.

  The exterior wall of the auditorium curved away from her, a massive concrete memorial to that asshole Vivicus. Embedded in the wall next to this particular exit was a brass plate coated with a shiny epoxy that glistened under the raindrops.

  Carved into the plate’s surface, in an arrogant font composed of Roman-looking capitals, was exactly the dedication she’d expect from a psycho with more ego than brains: “The Victor D. Victor Magnet Auditorium” as if everyone on the Earth was compelled by invisible forces to stare up at a shitty little stage from which a shitty crazy fucker yelled.

  About thirty feet to her left, around the wall’s curve, was a second, red door. Another thirty feet to her right, a yellow door. The Victor D. Victor Magnet School for the Life Sciences sure did like its primary colors.

  But this door called to her. This blue door streaked with dust and rain opened into the part of the complex her seers told her she needed to enter: Vivicus’s Magnet Complex for Medical Terrors and the Life Ending Sciences.

  The son of a bitch thought that, because he managed to go undetected for six months, he could pile it on now and steal Dragon—steal Ladon from her.

  Idiot.

  Inside her mind, the figure in shimmering black flexed. Outside, her fingers tightened around the umbrella handle. She was done with the overwhelm. Done with the panic and done with the piling-on.

  She wouldn’t live that way anymore.

  Under her fingers, the door felt cool and sticky, not slick with the rain. The cobalt paint had a rubber tack to it, like a morpher’s skin. She pulled back her hand.

  Vivicus had been here. He’d touched this door. His stink curled off it into the rain and floated away into the what-was-is-will-be fog.

  She laid her hand on the door again straight out in front of her, at chest level. Phantom pain suddenly screamed up her arm and twisted unnaturally, phantom-breaking her inner forearm bone.

  When she first activated, before she had any control, her body manifested her mother’s wounds. Was it happening again? Did she need her healer to ask the right questions?

  She gulped and her arm burned but she didn’t yank back her fingers.

  She couldn’t. “Ladon…” she breathed. Maybe the call had been true. The burndust might flood her seers with chaos, but it didn’t affect her healer—or her energy connection to Ladon. Maybe he was here, too.

  Her soon-to-be husband had leaned against this door with his broken arm against the rubbery paint. She moved closer, peering at the blue. And there where her fingers touched—at the lower edge of where his ribcage would fall—a small, faint smear of blood.

  The rain hadn’t washed it away. Rysa pressed her cheek against the smear.

  I won’t lose you. In the vision flickering in her mind’s eye, he looked larger. Different.

  And Rysa felt physically old. Don’t say that. Please, Nathaniel, don’t—

  “Ladon?” Rysa jumped away from the door, her feet slapping in the mud. The rain worked through her hair, through her shirt to her bra and her skin. Chill curled around her chest but she felt Ladon.

  Her palm hurt. She gripped the hilt of the umbrella so tightly her fingers turned white. Rysa shook her hand. The water released from the umbrella’s fabric and sprayed through the rain, a hail of magic that should not be there.

  I’m going crazy, she thought. Crazier than I was when Ladon found me. Crazy like Vivicus.

  Why did she think she could kill Vivicus? All she wanted—all she truly wanted in her core—was peace. Not murder. Not violence. Just the peace of loving Ladon.

  She tugged on the door’s handle. It rattled, then clicked.

  The door opened as if someone was expecting her and had left it unlocked for her comfort and convenience.

  Rysa squatted on the small pad in front of the wide open door. Her umbrella leaned against the wall under Vivicus’s sign, a skinny, black line in a haze of rain and fog. Slowly, she scratched a circle into the wet concrete with the unmbrella’s metal tip, then two stylized, intertwined swoops.

  A modern world needed a modern Dragons’ Legion insignia.

  She set the umbrella against the wall again and pushed open the door.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Three months ago…

  Steam rose from their bath water and shimmered in the dragon-light. Their room in the little inn near Rushmore had a huge tub but a small bathroom, and Dragon rested in the doorway, his head on the mat and his back end next to the bed.

  Rysa rubbed salt scrub over Ladon’s arms. He flexed his neck and his shoulders, and the muscles of his upper back rippled. “This stuff is why you smell so good, isn’t it?” She kissed along his neck and nipped at his earlobe.

  She set the little container of homemade scrub on the lip of the tub. It didn’t have a strong odor, or one that smelled particularly herbal, or citrusy, or salty, for that matter. But once it hit Ladon’s or Dragon’s skin it blossomed into their sunny, masculine scent.

  “Do you distill it from fresh mountain air and morning dew?” Rysa curled her arms under his and leaned against his back, her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades.

  His eyes sparkled when he twisted around for a kiss. “We will never tell.”

  “Hard work and manly pheromones?” He did smell good, no matter how she joked. “It’s special dragon calling scents, isn’t it?”

  In the door, Dragon snorted.

  “Hmmm…” Rysa kissed Ladon’s shoulder. “It’s the tears of all the forlorn women you’ve left behind.”

  Ladon chuckled. The water splashed when he moved his legs. “Is that what your past-seer is telling you?” He laced his
fingers through hers.

  “I love how clueless you are when other women flirt with you.” She’d caught more than one woman at the park below Mount Rushmore biting their lips while staring at Ladon’s gorgeous backside.

  When he turned in her arms, one corner of his mouth was higher than the other. The shadow of a little furrow stood out between his eyes. And the muscles around his eyes tightened.

  “You look surprised,” she said. Surprised and a little sad.

  Dragon raised his head. Ladon blinked, his eyes doing his faraway dragon look, and, once again, he chuckled. “We love you, Rysa Torres.”

  She tucked herself against his chest. “Sometimes fate knows what it’s doing.”

  “Aye, beloved.” He kissed her temple. “Aye.”

  The auditorium smelled like old gym shoes, puberty, and the sweat of unhappy teachers. Rysa almost tripped over the nearest row of seats when she walked in.

  Rain thundered against the roof, filling the cavernous space with a low, hollow din. The only light other than what sliced in through her wide-open blue entrance glimmered from under doors opening into the hallway at the back of the auditorium, and from the small row of lights along the seat aisles.

  And from the back of the stage. She squinted, forcing her eyes to adjust. Curtains hung in a staggered pattern deep into the stage area, at least four stretching from both sides, all black, though not the same material.

  One sucked in what little light there was, like velvet. One reflected, like vinyl. Another looked like a shadow of burlap. They all siphoned off the world.

  She closed her eyes and listened. Her seers brought her here for a reason. Her healer felt Ladon’s presence. But she was alone in a black cavern with a psycho on the loose. She’d better pay attention.

  The rain drowned out everything, even her own breathing.

  “Ladon?” she called.

  The velvet curtain wiggled. A hand appeared, gripping the fabric. “Rysa?”

  She ran toward the front of the auditorium, around the pit, and to the steps up to the stage. The buzz in her seers sounded no different than the pounding of the rain, but she heard the warmth in his voice.

  She recognized the slight shifting of his shoulders when he staggered out between the curtains.

  She smelled the exact same mix of metallic notes and strange freshness that was his blood—the same mix she’d smelled when she fixed his gunshot wound.

  And she smelled sunshine.

  He held his left arm against his side. “I—” He straightened and his face turned hard. “I snapped him apart, love. I had no choice. He threatened the school and he threatened to…” He sucked in his breath as he reached for her.

  “Ladon.” She laid her hand over the wound in his side and fired in a bolt of undifferentiated healing. It wouldn’t completely fix it, but it would help. “Give me your arm.”

  “Where’s Dragon?” A ragged burst of energy identical to the call she’d felt when they arrived pulsed out from him and flailed around the stage. He held the end of a frayed, sparking livewire.

  “Near.” Up close, his energy felt right. All of him felt right. Maybe she could let go of the anger and the shimmering black Fate. Maybe set down her internal midnight blade and walk away with her soul intact because she didn’t need to cut.

  Ladon already fought that battle. Already ripped Vivicus to shreds so she wouldn’t have to. He protected, because that’s what Ladon did.

  Another burst flared outward, as if he’d just roared Dragon’s name and now waited for the beast to roar a response.

  “Is he safe?” Ladon leaned on her, but not too much, so as not to burden her with his weight.

  “We need to get you to him. I think I can heal the connection. Daisy’s here. She’ll help. We’ll get it fixed.”

  Ladon pulled her close. “Use your seers. Make sure it’s me, okay? Before we go out. They need to know their Draki Prime is sure.” He nodded toward the wide open blue exit door.

  “I can’t in here. There’s burndust in the walls. All I see is fog.”

  “Your present-seer? It’s me.” He placed her hand over his back pocket. “No Fate Progenitor shard. It’s not in my pockets and I didn’t swallow it.” He put her hand over her belly. “Check with your healer.”

  Rysa blinked. “He swallowed it?”

  “That’s what he said.” Ladon inched toward the steps.

  She curled her hand over his broken arm. “This will need to be set. The wound is too old for me to heal it straight away.”

  “I’ve had worse.” He limped toward the steps. “Dragon can look at my spleen. See if I show scars from when Vivicus shot me.” He grinned. “Do I have scars?”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  Rysa threw her arms around his chest and buried her face against his dusty, blood-smelling shirt. His eyes glimmered the correct golden-brown. He moved with the correct cadence. Even damaged, his energy flowed around her correctly.

  “I’m installing a trapeze apparatus in the cave when this is done,” he whispered. “We’ll get married under the moon of the solstice with Andreas as my best man and Gavin as your bestie of honor, and then we’ll honeymoon on the bars.”

  She couldn’t hold the tears any longer. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen! I should have known you were right.” A sob burst from her throat. “Maybe I should drop out of—”

  “Quitting doesn’t get you what you want.” He watched the door, not her. “Is my beast close by? I don’t hear him.”

  “Rysa?”

  She turned in Ladon’s arms. She blinked away tears and wiped at her face and knew immediately who the two people sharing an umbrella and standing in the door were. Both tall, both athletic, the woman leaned into the auditorium and inhaled deeply.

  Rysa smelled only Ladon’s sunshine and the Texas rain outside. She heard only the din of storm and the odd, surreal tones to Gavin’s voice when he called her name.

  In the door, he lifted his hand to his ear as if putting in his hearing aid.

  Daisy and Gavin were going to wait for help, yet here they were. They were supposed to help Dragon back into the van. Did they follow out of a sense of duty? Because they thought she was incapable of handling the situation?

  “It’s him,” Rysa said. “He got away.”

  Gavin shook his umbrella. It somehow continued to shadow his face, and blocked much of the gray storm behind him. Slowly, he closed it, but he didn’t set it down. He held it in front of him like a weapon.

  “The rain is loud in here.” When he turned his head, the aid in Gavin’s ear—the one he just put in—glinted brighter than she remembered. He kept his gaze on Ladon.

  “Ladon?” Daisy stepped between Gavin and Ladon and Rysa. She sniffed again but stayed back. “What did you do to Vivicus?”

  Ladon closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. “I left him… divided. We will need to retrieve his remains.” He opened his eyes again. “I cannot fight again without my dragon.”

  Daisy nodded. “You smell correct.”

  Gavin frowned and twisted his head again, listening.

  Rysa glanced up at Ladon’s face. The dark of the auditorium sucked in the blackness of his clothes and his physicality, leaving only his face and arms floating against the wall. He stared around Daisy, at Gavin, his face flat and strangely serene, as if all the pain had dissipated from his body.

  “Did Dragon come with you?” Ladon called.

  Gavin took one step into the auditorium, then stopped. “He’s here. He heard you calling to him.” He pointed out the door. “So did Derek. They’re bringing the vehicle around so we can get this fixed.”

  Ladon staggered toward the door. “Thank all the old gods.”

  Daisy didn’t move. “Derek and Brother-Dragon suggested we ask you a few questions first.”

  Gavin stepped into the threshold between the auditorium and the storm. “To make sure.”

  Ask the correct question, Rysa’s seers chorused. Yes, she thought. The correc
t question so they could get Ladon out of here.

  Ladon stopped a few feet from Daisy, Rysa by his side. “Ask then.”

  Gavin looked up at the auditorium roof. “After we emptied my room, what did we talk about in the van?”

  “If you needed a class B license to drive the vehicle.” Ladon humphed and leaned against the wall again but waved a finger in Gavin’s direction. “Do not drive my van.”

  The surreal nature of the moment flickered around Daisy and Gavin. Neither of her friends grinned at Ladon’s unfunny joke. Neither moved.

  Gavin listened and Daisy sniffed and Rysa’s seers whispered. Or maybe it was her healer. But something nagged and got through the fog: Do you trust your senses?

  Did she trust the tactile feel of Ladon’s skin? The taste of his lips? The past moments he pulled up as if they were passwords to their collective cloud-stored memories? What about the scent of his blood or the sound of his voice?

  But the real question was how much she trusted herself. Misdirection often relied on the willingness of the misdirected. Where was the line between wanting what she saw and verifying the truth of what she wanted?

  Ask the correct question.

  Daisy stood perfectly still. “What happened when we met?”

  “Tornado.” Ladon rubbed his broken arm.

  Gavin nodded again. He glanced at Daisy and she glanced at him, as if they shared a secret. “What did I name the kittens?”

  “Astro, Retro, Booster, and Soyuz, for the Tsar.” Ladon waved at the door. “I need my dragon.”

  “Ladon,” Rysa whispered, “what did Gavin name the kittens?”

  Why this question? He knew the answers. He remembered. He verified through their shared past, and the surreal overlay, the slight flickering she felt, had to be her heartbeat.

  Not indecision. Not her inability to pay attention or her need to bounce and squirm.

  Just her fear that she might be wrong, or that the man standing next to her wasn’t who he said he was, or she might yet have to release the dark part of her Fate heritage.

  But she needed to ask.