Tears of a Dragon

by Bryan Davis

  The angel whispered, “Drop to one knee when I address her.” He stepped in front of the woman and bowed his head, speaking in a deep, echoing voice. “I have found her, Morgan. Your hostiam has come.”

  Shelly lowered her body and planted one knee on the wood floor, her jeans slipping an inch on its wet surface. She noticed that the angel didn’t bow, and his gaze seemed fastened on her instead of Morgan, his eyes moving slowly as though surveying every inch of her body. She wished she had her sweatshirt to cover her bare arms.

  The old woman spoke again, croaking like a deep-throated bird. “Shelly, my dear, it’s so nice of you to come. I am Morgan, and I am acquainted with your brother, Walter.”

  The angel’s strong hand pulled Shelly back to her feet, his palm lingering in hers before he let go. She felt the angel’s gaze still locked on her. She didn’t know what else to do, so she gave Morgan a clumsy bow. “Uh, glad to meet you.”

  Morgan slowly turned her head, eyeing the angel carefully. “Did you find the genealogy?”

  “In an ancient vault in the Glastonbury abbey.” The angel’s deep voice sent a quiver through the floor and into Shelly’s legs, but she resisted the urge to look at him. “She is an heir, as you suspected,” the angel continued. “Though I doubt anyone in her family knows the truth. Those documents had not seen the light of day in centuries.”

  Morgan’s purple lips spread into a thin smile. “And who is her guardian?”

  “There is none. She has left her home and is of legal age, and she has already proven that she speaks for herself.”

  Morgan’s eyebrows lifted. “I see,” she said, stretching out her words. “And the candlestone?”

  “We could not find it.” The angel’s voice vibrated as it deepened to an angry tone. “I assume the father hid it elsewhere. I could have killed him, but I feared the secret would die with him.”

  Morgan glanced away, waving her hand. “Don’t worry. I have another candlestone that will help me capture the one we want.”

  “We did find the clothing you requested.”

  Morgan’s eyes jerked back toward the angel. “Shiloh’s dress? And the analysis?”

  The angel’s voice returned to normal. “Some interesting results, but not what you were hoping for. We found blood, skin, and hair samples that revealed an unusually high concentration of cyanide.”

  “Cyanide?” Morgan’s eyes narrowed to red slivers. “But that would kill her, not keep her alive.”

  “Exactly my thinking, but the secret to her youthfulness is unimportant now that you have a hostiam. You will live on.”

  “Indeed.” Morgan pushed out of her seat, her skeletal arms trembling. As she stabilized her body, her weak smile contracted. “Shelly, I assume Samyaza has told you about my offer.”

  Shelly nodded, now feeling a shiver in spite of the oven-like heat. “But how is it possible?” She watched Samyaza out of the corner of her eye. He was still looking at her. “I mean, I believe in angels and all that, but how can I bring peace to the world? I’m just a girl.” Samyaza’s continued stare sent prickles crawling across her exposed waist. She pulled the hem of her shirt down.

  Morgan reached up and set her hand on Samyaza’s cheek, turning his face away from Shelly. “Patience, my love. Our time will soon come.”

  Morgan moved her hand from Samyaza’s cheek to Shelly’s. “You are a blossoming flower, and, as you can see, I have angels who do what I ask.” Morgan spread out her hands, and her crystal ball materialized, hovering above her palms. Within the sphere, a battle scene appeared, two ancient armies clashing in a field, a young woman in the midst of the fray, mounted on a battle horse and shouting out commands. “Joan of Arc was younger than you,” Morgan continued, “yet she led an army and conquered a nation. She had the innocence of youth, a heavenly fairness of face, and the ability to converse with angels.”

  Morgan pressed her hands together, and the sphere vanished, instantly reappearing on the pedestal. “You lack only the last of these, and with my indwelling presence, you will learn to command the most powerful angels in the universe.” She extended her arm and let the steady drip from the ceiling collect in her palm. “The difference is that you will not have to go to war to assert your will. With angels standing all around you, the media will fall all over themselves to hail you as a world leader, Joan of Arc reborn, finally receiving the accolades she deserves.” Morgan tilted her hand, spilling the water, now thick and red. “When all nations rally to our cause, we will establish peace in the world without spilling a single drop of blood.” She took Shelly’s hand in hers. “Are you willing?”

  Shelly recoiled at first, wondering about the bloody liquid on the old woman’s skin, but Morgan held firm. Her touch sent a calming warmth throughout Shelly’s body. Her shivers vanished. The incense now smelled pleasing. No, better than that. Heavenly. She looked up at Samyaza again. His eyes met hers. She no longer cared that his gaze lingered. In fact, she wanted him to keep looking. How often did a girl get this kind of opportunity, to be eyed by an angel?

  As long as she could remember, she’d dreamed of angels, wanting more than anything to see one, and now, with just one word, she could have them always at her side. And not only that, she could realize her desire to bring peace to a world of conflict and turmoil. The new Joan of Arc? Why not? Nothing made more sense.

  Still, nagging thoughts scraped her conscience. She pulled away from Morgan and crossed her arms over her chest. “How do we know the governments will go along? I mean, they’ve never agreed on much of anything before.”

  “An excellent question, my dear.” Morgan rubbed her hands together, creating a thin layer of red powder on one palm. She swept her hand through the air as if to toss the particles away, and a line of red flew toward the fire, igniting a flashing green flame. Clapping her hands together, she let the remaining residue fall to the floor. “Samyaza, is the president on board with our plan?”

  The odor of incense grew stronger, even sweeter than before. The angel’s voice seemed more commanding, like the greatest hero in a conquering army.

  “Without question. He has already implemented the first step. The skies and roads will soon be clear.”

  “And Congress?” Morgan continued.

  The angel smirked. “It seems that there’s a fire sale on souls in Washington. I’ve never seen so many bargains.”

  The room grew hotter, and now Shelly was glad to have bare arms and shoulders. She felt unashamed and free, ready to do anything Morgan and Samyaza asked.

  Morgan took Shelly’s hand again and pulled her close, almost nose to nose. Morgan’s breath smelled much like the incense, except older somehow. “You see, Shelly?” Morgan whispered, laying her palm over Shelly’s heart, just above the V in Harvard. “Everything is in place. All that is left to do is to allow me to enter your body. When I enter, you will feel a sudden surge of cold, then a warming sensation as my presence begins coursing through your veins. Then my mind will enter yours, and we will cohabit as twin sisters in a common womb, speaking to each other mind to mind. Other than the first wave of cold, the process is simple and painless. I just need your permission.”

  Shelly’s gaze locked onto Morgan’s crackling red eyes. What would it feel like to have another person, someone this powerful, living inside? “Will you take complete control of me,” she asked, “or will I be able to think my own thoughts?”

  Morgan’s smile widened, seeming to crack her wrinkled face into two pieces. “As long as you follow my plan, I will allow you complete control. I will be able to read your thoughts, and you will hear me speak to your mind whenever you need instructions.” Morgan spread out her fingers, pressing her palm more firmly. “It will take a great amount of courage for you to allow this invasion of your soul, but your passion for world peace and security, I’m sure, will overcome your fears.”

  Morgan’s touch sent a surge of new warmth into Shelly’s bones. If Morgan lived within her, would she always feel like this? She looked
up again at Samyaza’s beautiful, wondrous face, an ageless face that radiated wisdom, strength, and courage. Surely he had the power to do whatever Morgan might bid him to do. After all, he was an angel, so the plan had to work! There could be no other answer! Finally, she let out a long sigh and nodded. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

  The professor kept one hand on the steering wheel while using the other to hold his phone. “Yes, William. The Watchers probably know the campsite’s location, so there’s no use returning to it and risking an unnecessary confrontation. . . . Yes. I think you should try to get to the airstrip before your mother arrives. She and her passengers may need you there to protect them.” The professor turned the windshield wipers to the fastest setting. “Flooding? Yes. The roads may not be passable, but we’ll figure out a way to join you even if we have to build an ark. . . . No. No news from the dragons. I expect that our winged friends will arrive at night to maintain secrecy. . . . Good point. With clouds covering most of the world, they might come at any time. . . . Why am I repeating your words? Because Barlow’s mustache is tickling my neck at this very moment. He’s trying to listen, and I want him to relax.”

  Barlow leaned back in his seat. “Terribly sorry.”

  A crack of thunder rattled the car. “I had better concentrate on my driving, William. Traffic is practically nonexistent, but the wind is whipping us around. Yet, if all goes well, I expect to be at camp by nightfall.” He set the phone on a dashboard clip and checked the clock. “Ten minutes after.” He tapped the radio button. “The president’s address has probably already started.”

  Static crackled from the speakers, but a voice managed to overcome the noise. “—given the crisis at hand. Therefore, Congress has voted to give me emergency powers to temporarily limit selected privileges in order to track down the source of this disaster and ensure security for all citizens. Our scientists have assured me that this weather phenomenon is not of natural origin, and we are tracing a line of evidence that will soon pinpoint the culprit.” There was a long, static-filled pause, followed by the sound of shuffling papers. “Because of the need to clear the already flooded highways for emergency transports, I am ordering all nonemergency vehicles off public roads. All private transportation is suspended on ground and in the air. I am sorry for having to take such drastic action, but we must maintain the safety and security of our people.”

  Professor Hamilton turned off the radio. “Very interesting.”

  “Does that mean we’re illegal?” Barlow asked. “I mean, we’re on public roads, correct?”

  “Technically, I suppose we are driving illegally, but I doubt that a police officer would fine us for violating an order that was implemented less than a minute ago.”

  Woodrow, sitting in the front passenger’s seat, pointed ahead. “By Jove! Is that a hitchhiker? In this weather?”

  Barlow leaned forward again. “It’s a young woman! Not much older than a teenager, I would guess.”

  Professor Hamilton passed the hitchhiker and pulled the car to the side of the road. He opened the window and leaned out into the driving rain. The girl kept her head down as she approached, her pace slowing. “Excuse me!” he yelled. “Would you like a ride?”

  The girl lifted her head, then jogged up to the car, but she stayed a few steps away from the window. Her voice sounded weak and faraway in the downpour. “A ride?” She peered into the back window at the four men, wrapped her arms around herself, and shivered. “I . . . I don’t think so.”

  Barlow opened his window, and the girl stepped farther away. He pushed his head through the opening and looked back. “I assure you,” he said, water already dripping from his mustache, “on my honor as Sir Barlow, Lord of Hickling Manor, no harm will befall you.”

  The girl laughed. “I’ve heard pretty speeches like that before, Sir Whatever. Lord or no lord, I’m not getting in a car with a bunch of strange men.”

  The professor opened his door and stepped out into the swirling sheets of rain. The girl stepped back again. “Please don’t run,” he said, holding up his hand. “I’ll stand right here.” The rain quickly matted down his wild hair and streamed down his face as he studied the girl. Dressed only in blue jeans and a thin, wet tank top, she had to be cold in this cruel late-autumn storm. “You look very familiar to me,” he went on. “Miss Foley?”

  The girl rubbed her bare arms, hesitating for a moment. “The professor guy?”

  “Yes!” he said, “please come in out of the rain. We were just on our way to meet Walter.”

  Shelly jumped into the car, slid to the middle of the front bench, and clenched her fists. “I couldn’t believe that Christopher creep! He just dropped me off in the middle of nowhere!”

  The professor sat beside her and mopped back his wet hair. “I called your father, and he said he never hired a limousine service.”

  Shelly rubbed the goose bumps on her upper arms. “I figured that out a little too late. Apparently he was working for someone named Morgan, and I said, ‘Either take me home to my father, or you’ll wish you had.’ So he said something about me giving my permission to host someone, and I said, ‘No way!’ even though I didn’t understand a word of it. Then, he got real mad and just dropped me off.” She scooted closer to Professor Hamilton, pulling her wet, stringy hair away from Woodrow. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get you wet.”

  “Quite all right, Miss.” Woodrow pulled his sweatshirt over his head and draped it over Shelly’s shoulders. “I am Sir Woodrow, at your service.”

  The professor rolled his window back up and shifted the car into gear. “And we have Sirs Barlow, Fiske, and Standish in the backseat. Has Walter told you about our knights?”

  “Yeah. I remember Barlow’s name now.” She deepened her voice. “Death to all who dare enter heaven naked.” She winked at the burly knight. “Right, Sir Barlow?”

  Barlow’s face turned pink. “Yes, yes. I did say that. I was hoping to frighten one of the traitors.”

  The professor eased the car back onto the highway and accelerated slowly. “If you know that much, then I assume you heard about the dragons and what happened in England.”

  “You bet! And Billy’s fire breathing and Bonnie’s wings. After Bonnie got plastered all over the news, Walter decided to tell me everything.”

  The professor slowed the car at the bottom of a hill, easing the wheels into a stream that crossed the highway. “You mentioned the word ‘host.’ Did the driver say something about a hostiam?”

  “Yeah!” Shelly raised a finger. “That was the word!”

  “And since you didn’t give your permission,” the professor continued, “Morgan couldn’t use you.”

  Shelly wrapped the arms of the sweatshirt around her. “Sounds like you were listening in. How’d you know all that?”

  With the water rushing as high as the tops of the tires, the professor gunned the engine and plowed through the stream. “It’s part of the England story. I suppose it was too esoteric for Walter to tell you about it.”

  “I guess so.” She patted a cell phone on her belt. “Anyway, I couldn’t get a signal out here in the boonies to call Dad, so I started hoofing it. I figured I’d find a place to call from eventually.”

  “We must be out of range now.” The professor checked his own phone. No signal. “Well, I think it’s providential that we found you, but with the rivers rising it may take another measure of supernatural help to get us where we’re going, especially since we don’t know our destination. Finding the airstrip may be easy enough, but we cannot stay there, nor can we safely return to our old campsite.”

  Shelly kept her gaze down as she drummed her fingers on the knees of her soaked jeans. “Oh, I think we’ll get all the help we need.”

  “You do?” The professor turned the defroster up a notch. “I take it, then, that you are a believer?”

  “Well . . .” Her eyes stayed low for a moment before finally looking up at him, her eyelashes batting. “I do believe in supernatural intervention.”
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  “Good. William’s mother and her passengers are flying through this storm, so they’ll need all the help from above they can get.”

  Shelly patted the professor’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll get it.”

  Chapter 4

  BATTLE IN THE SKY

  Merlin II’s propeller droned a lullaby in Bonnie’s ears, a peaceful, soothing hum that seemed to weigh down her eyelids. Although she wanted to obey the hypnotizing buzz and drift off to sleep, the plane kept bucking in the storm-swept air, jolting her body. During the hour since takeoff from Baltimore, the passengers had remained fairly quiet. From time to time, Marilyn announced an update from her pilot’s seat—altitude, weather conditions, and best of all, estimated minutes to arrival at the mountain airstrip in West Virginia. Ashley, seated in the copilot’s chair, also interrupted the silence, asking frequent questions about the instrument panel and talking to Larry, her supercomputer, through her tooth transmitter.

  Giving up on the idea of curling up into a little ball and snoozing in the back of the plane, Bonnie busied herself with a new variation of Cat’s Cradle with her cousin, Shiloh. A few more minutes of forcing herself to stay awake wouldn’t matter too much. She planned to take a long nap at their wilderness camp. With the constant rain beating down, it would be cold and wet, but at least the solid ground wouldn’t shake her out of a snooze.

  She pushed her fingers into the string pattern, a patchwork of triangles stretching from one of Shiloh’s hands to the other. “Like this?” Bonnie asked, twisting in her aisle seat to get more comfortable.

  Shiloh, seated next to the window, kept the string taut. As she answered, her gentle British accent sounded like a melody. “You got it. Now push up and spread your hands apart.” A gust buffeted the plane, making Shiloh’s hands bounce.

  Bonnie took the string “cradle” into her hands but kept her eyes on Shiloh, her virtual twin. Although she was actually a fifty-five-year-old woman, she looked and acted like a teenager, as if her imprisonment in the circles of seven had frozen her in time. But her youthful manner wasn’t really a surprise. She had wandered for forty years in a deserted town, seeing only silent ghosts wandering from place to place, ignoring her as she begged them to play games of marbles or hide and seek to pass the time. Since she had no one to interact with, she couldn’t really grow up. It was a miracle she hadn’t gone stark raving mad!