The Dragon Stone

by Paul Summerhayes

  Contents

  The Dragon Stone

  Author notes

  Books

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  The Dragon Stone

  By

  Paul Summerhayes

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Paul Summerhayes

  All rights reserved.

  Books by Paul Summerhayes:

  Books in The Sky Fire Chronicles:

  0.5. The Texan and the Egyptian (Prequel short story)

  1. Billie the Kid

  2. Doc Holliday, 2018

  Books in the Dragon Stone Chronicles

  1. The Dragon Stone

  Books in the Warden Saga:

  1. The King’s Warden

  2. The Warden’s Sword

  3. The Warden and the Shadow Queen

  Subscribe to Paul’s no spam newsletter and download a free book:

  http://www.paulsummerhayes.com/

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PWSummerhayes

  CHAPTER 1

  “Wahoo, I’ve kicked the Devils’ arse—”

  A black four-door sedan screeched to a halt, blocking the narrow alley and drowning out the rest of her brash statement. “There’s the little bitch,” shouted one of the car’s occupants. “Get her!”

  “Oh, shit!” Ryver quickly closed a black backpack and slung it over her slender shoulder. Turning, she bolted away from the gang-bangers toward a chain-link fence more than twice her height. It blocked the alley’s only other exit—she was trapped!

  Car doors squeaked open as the slender girl leapt at the tall fence, landing halfway to the top. Hand over hand she pulled herself up and over, dropping to the ground on the other side. She landed gracefully on her feet, her knees bent to absorb the impact, like her father showed her. Despite the four tattooed goons running at her, she couldn’t help herself and grinned—a crooked, lopsided smile that a few of the boys from her high school seemed to like.

  The thugs stared at her through the wire with disbelieving looks on their dumb faces. With hands on hips, Ryver stood triumphantly, noting their leader’s feral look. Bull was his nickname, but he looked more like a snarling dog. “Too slow, fat boys—”

  A black pistol appeared in Bull’s hand, he aimed at Ryver’s head.

  “Shit!” The girl darted around the alley’s corner, expecting to feel a bullet slam into her back at any second. Out of sight, she pressed herself against the brick wall, relieved to be alive.

  That was too close, thought Ryver.

  She needed to be more cautious to survive on these streets, especially now the 9th Street Devils had seen her. They didn’t know her name, but they would know her by sight. The Devils were the law in this part of the city and like most gangs, they ruled with a firm hand—and she lived on their turf.

  The chain-link fence rattled, and Ryver winced. The thugs were still there, just yards away from her. “We almost had that little bitch this time,” said a thug.

  “Yeah, but we don’t have her,” said a second man, probably Bull. “The boss will be pissed.”

  “We don’t have to tell him,” offered the first.

  “Fuck that. If he found out he would skin us, like he did those dealers trying to push into his turf.”

  Drug dealers! Ryver thought. They’re talking about the three pushers found near the river last week. Skinned, the internet said...what have I gotten myself into?

  Ryver forced herself off the wall, and skulked away from the alley and the armed men. The surrounding buildings’ shadows were long, stretching across the street. It was getting late. It was almost the time of the high lunar junction, and darkness would come fast. These city streets wouldn’t be safe for a young girl at night.

  Yeah, she thought, flicking her long black hair over her shoulder. But not this girl.

  “Hi, Jack.”

  “Piss off,” said the old homeless man. He stood at the top of a disused building’s basement stairwell, a weathered hand resting on the stair’s rusty rail. Jack had lived under cardboard boxes in that stairwell for as long as Ryver could remember.

  “You’re in a good mood this evening, I see.” She smiled her crooked smile, but she knew her charm was wasted on the old man—his sight was poor and he was more than a little deaf. Even though she saw him almost every day, he always pretended not to recognize her, and he always acted like a grumpy old man.

  She liked him.

  “Have you come here to sell your arse?” he said, rubbing his watery eyes. He often said abrupt things, but she was never offended. “Like the other young floozies.”

  “Floozy?” She scratched her head. “Doesn’t that mean prostitute?”

  He leant forward, straining to hear what she said. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing, Jack. Try to keep warm, it’s going to get cold tonight.”

  “The name’s not Jack.”

  “I know it’s not. What’s your real name?” she asked hopefully.

  “It’s…piss off!” He smiled, exposing his toothless gums.

  “Goodnight, Jack.”

  Ryver left Jack and weaved her way silently through the derelict building, climbing through large holes in the walls and up half-collapsed staircases to the fourth floor. She always came here to think…and inspect her stolen booty.

  The black backpack hit the floor, raising a small cloud of dust, when a siren sounded in the distance. The slender girl moved to a scattered glass window, gazing out over the city. Close by there were many dark buildings, but a block away the lights of an apartment building shone brightly in the early evening. She couldn’t see where the patrol car was or tell which direction it was headed.

  “It’s not close,” she muttered to herself. Ryver was known to a few of the local beat cops, as most of the street kids were. Technically she wasn’t homeless as she lived in a small apartment with her mom, Jessica, and their cat, Brutus. She hadn’t been to school for months and often found herself under the watchful eye of the local law. Her mom didn’t know. Working three part-time jobs meant her mom was either working or sleeping. She was always too tired to clean or cook, leaving Ryver in charge of all the household duties and food preparation. That meant hot dogs or beans most nights, with only the occasional pizza to break up the routine. Her mom never complained, she just smiled and ate in silence. Jessica looked so beautiful in their old family photos—when Ryver’s father was still alive—but now she looked old and worn out. She needed a rest.

  Ryver glanced over her shoulder at the black backpack sitting in the center of the room. She hadn’t noticed the rising moon shining through a hole in the external wall. The moonlight fell onto the bag, illuminating it and leaving the rest of the crumbling room in deep shadow.

  What goodies did I steal from those morons today?

  She knelt beside the bag and opened its flap. Reaching inside, she pulled out a small wooden box with an oriental design on the lid. It was the bag’s only contents. It looked like two coiled dragons fighting or fornicating—she couldn’t tell which.

  It’s just a kid’s jewelry box.

  Her shoulders slumped, she had struck out again. It wasn’t a bag of money, that’s what she really needed. With money, her mom could stop working all these crazy hours and they could finally spend more time together—like they did when her father was alive. />
  “Shit, it’s just junk.”

  Ryver dropped the small box into the bag and moved back to the broken window, more than just a little disappointed. She needed just one good heist, just one. Then they could be free of this city. They would buy a small farm down south and start all over again, just her and her mom. That was also their dream before her father’s untimely death.

  Hang on, Bull pulled a gun on me…over a kid’s jewelry box?

  Ryver glanced at the black backpack. What’s in that box? She moved to the bag, looking down at it suspiciously. Shit, maybe it’s full of drugs. I don’t want to get mixed up with that.

  Hesitantly, Ryver open the backpack and retrieved the small box again. It was light and wasn’t big enough to hold much. It looked like any cheap mass-produced junk, the type of thing found in any number of gift shops throughout the city.

  I wonder—

  “What ya got there?”

  “Shit!” Ryver fumbled, dropping the box. Luckily, she caught it with one hand before it hit the floor. Straightening, she looked around the dark room, searching for the speaker. “Come out, stalker,” she said calmly.

  A teenaged boy stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. It was Liam. He was a head shorter than her, and his blue hoodie couldn’t hide his painfully thin frame or his sickly pale complexion. Liam was a street kid and had been for most of his fifteen years. She felt sorry for him, and often stole food and clothing for him. He didn’t like to accept charity, but she suspected she was all he had in this cruel city.

  Liam had a crush on her, which she found annoying as she was a young woman and he was still a skinny little kid—she was two years older than him. Ryver was a loner, and he followed her around a little too much for her liking.

  “You scared the shit out of me,” she said.

  “Sorry.” He moved closer. “What’s that?”

  “My lunch box.”

  “Oh.”

  “No, dummy, I stole it from the Devils.”

  “What?! I wish you wouldn’t do that.” He was genuinely concerned for her. “They’ll kill you if they catch you.”

  “If. They catch me.”

  “There are too many people in this city that will rat you out for half a cigarette. The Devils find everyone eventually.”

  “Don’t worry, they won’t find me.” Ryver forgot herself and put a hand on Liam’s thin shoulder. Instantly, she could see the effect on Liam and he smiled. She rolled her eyes. “What’s the talk on the streets?” she asked, stepping back from him.

  “I haven’t heard anything,” he said. “Ryver, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  She hoped he wasn’t going to try to kiss her again. It was embarrassing the last time, and she was a little sorry she had to knock him on his arse. She warned him a few times not to try it again or the same would happen.

  “Liam.” She pushed him back gently. “When I get some money, me and my mom are leaving here. You know that, don’t you? Don’t grow attached to me. I’ll be leaving this dump soon.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He looked down at the ground. Being a street kid, he had mastered the sorrowful kid look.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” said Ryver, her attention back on the small box. “Let’s open this box and split what we find fifty, fifty. Your fifty percent is the outside and mine’s the inside.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  Ryver fumbled with the latch. It was locked. She tried prying the latch with her fingers, but it wouldn’t open.

  “Smash it open,” said Liam.

  “That’ll damage your half.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I can wait till I get home. Shit, what’s the time?”

  “Must be almost eight.”

  “Mom will be home from work soon. I better get going.” Ryver put the box in the backpack and then put it on her back.

  “See ya tomorrow, Ryver.”

  Ryver waved over her shoulder and disappeared into the shadows, moving toward the doorway and the building’s exit. Within seconds she had forgotten about the box and Liam and was more concerned in reaching her apartment before her mother came home from work.

  Not being seen by the Devils would also be a bonus.

  CHAPTER 2

  Ryver lay on her bed staring up at the off-white ceiling, when she heard the apartment door close with an audible click. Her mom was going to her night job and wouldn’t be home until 2am. The weariness of the day weighed heavy on Ryver, and she closed her eyelids.

  Soon, Mom, you won’t have to work…we’ll…be rich.

  With a final yawn, she drifted off to sleep.

  It was still dark when Ryver opened her eyes. She lay still, listening to the city outside. It was raining, and she could hear the cars on the nearby streets splashing through puddles. She enjoyed being under the blankets on cold nights and pulled the blanket up under her chin.

  What time is it? It didn’t feel like morning.

  Ryver listened, concentrating on the building. After a few moments, her hearing focused and she could hear Mister Dukakis’ slow rhythmic breathing in the next apartment, and downstairs, Missus Lucas’ small yappy dog growled at something. Ryver had always had good hearing, a family trait her mother said. She listened, but couldn’t hear her mother’s breathing.

  Ryver sat upright, the blanket slipping off her shoulder. She closed her eyes and concentrated again. Her mother definitely wasn’t in the apartment yet. That’s odd. She scooped up her watch from the bedside table and pressed the light button. 02:56.

  Strange. Where is she?

  Ryver rotated her legs out of bed and stood on the icy floor, but she hardly noticed the cold. Her thoughts were only on her mother. She crept along the corridor, pausing outside her mom’s bedroom door, leaning forward to listen. There was no sound. Cautiously, she turned the handle and pushed the door open, scanning the dark bedroom—her mother’s bed was empty, and it was still neatly made.

  Where is she?

  The tips of Ryver’s fingers started to tingle—which was never a good sign. She stepped into the bedroom, absorbing every detail at a glance. It was neat and tidy as always, and nothing seemed wrong or out of place.

  Mom hasn’t been home yet, so where is she?

  A faint sound outside drew her attention and she moved over to the window. The glass pane was locked, and like all windows in this neighborhood, the windows were barred.

  Ryver’s vision picked out details in the darkened street that no ‘normal’ human could. It had stopped raining and the moon was high in the night sky, casting a faint light over the wet street. Her mother always called her special abilities ‘gifts’, but Ryver wasn’t so sure. Her gifts had proven to be a curse on more than one occasion, and it was the reason she didn’t attend school. Her classmates noticed her differences, making her a target—she stood out, and no seventeen-year-old wanted that.

  Below, all was quiet. Nothing moved in the street except for a stray cat, which jumped out of a dumpster in an alley and scampered from view. Something had spooked the cat from its dry home…

  Shadows moved in the dark alley. Man-sized shadows—and there was more than one. Ryver couldn’t see her mother, but all her senses screamed that she was near. She feared the worst.

  Mom! She’s in trouble.

  Small arcs of blue energy crackled, leaping between her fingertips and causing a few strands of her black hair to rise up. The smell of ozone filled her senses. She was getting angry.

  “Like hell! No one’s going to hurt my mother!”

  Ryver turned and ran from the bedroom, heading for the front door. Throwing open the door, she sprinted outside and down the hallway toward the stairs. Without hesitating, she vaulted the iron handrail and plummeted through the air, flaying her arms as she fell. Dropping three floors in a blink of an eye, she landed on her feet cat-like and without pausing she ran toward the building’s entrance.

  At a charge, Ryver burst through the double doors and into the street. O
ne of the doors fell off in her wake and crashed onto the footpath, its glass panel shattered with a bang. Coming to a stop in the middle of the street, she surveyed her surroundings. Shadows moved in the alley. There were men there.

  Keep. Away. From my mother!

  Her eyes darkened, becoming two orbs of impenetrable blackness. The air became alive with static, raising her hair off her head like it had a mind of its own. Fine threads of intense blue lightning flowed up and down her bare arms, causing the air to crackle and pop.

  She stalked across the street toward the alley, her face in a grimace.

  She was angry.

  “Leave. Her. Alone!” Ryver’s voice boomed like rolling thunder, bouncing off the alley’s walls.

  Two hulking men spun around to face her, their prone victim forgotten in the alley’s filth. They staggered back, ill prepared for the sight they now faced. They saw a slender girl standing in the alley’s dark entrance, her hair wild and blue electricity dancing along her thin limbs, highlighting her face in an eerie blue light. To these thugs, she was a demon—a demon wearing white panties and a baggy Darth Vader t-shirt.

  “What the fuck?!” said one of the men, almost dropping the steel rod in his hand.

  “Let’s cut her,” said his companion, leaping forward without waiting for his companion. He took only a few steps before Ryver raised her arm. Strands of lightning arced from her fingertips through the air and struck him in the chest, blowing him off his feet. He was thrown several yards through the air to land heavily on his back—he didn’t get up.

  “Shit!” The remaining thug turned and ran down the alley, passing the rear of several shops before vanishing around a corner.

  Ryver’s body was tense as she tried to regain control of her emotions. She struggled, but eventually the lightning subsided and the air no longer crackled with electrical energy. Must relax. Her eyes slowly returned to normal and she gazed at the motionless person lying in the shadows.