Suddenly, they were gone. The whirling reds were replaced by a huge, cavernous space. Justin had always pictured it as the interior of some great stomach, like Jonah in the whale’s belly. The walls glowed red, glistened moistly. He floated in its exact center. Things were more solid at this stage of mirror travel, but no more reassuring. Being surrounded by a heaving, fleshy crimson sphere still gave one no steadying point. The violent, bloody, and roiled waters through which they had already passed were only a trifle next to the oppressive weight of this prison.
“Kalzar,” Justin spoke, picturing the Arabian thief. He knew he need not say Kalzar’s name. This space was sensitive to thoughts, not voices, but it helped Justin to speak the object of his desire aloud.
A blinding white light pierced the stomach’s wall, formed itself into a tall square. Justin floated toward the light. As he neared it, he could see through the opening into Kalzar’s Mirror Room.
From this place, Justin could spy on anyone he wished. At his thought alone, a mirror passageway would open up near to the person he sought. The function of the mirror world was travel, but disciples with strong willpower could prevent themselves from being forced through the doorway. They could hover for minutes, sometimes even hours, watching their prey. Such a wait was rarely worth it. The compulsion to go further, go through, to kill, hammered at the heart and the mind constantly. But Justin had stared at many of the models for his drawings from this place.
He had no desire to linger on this trip. He had business to tend to.
He stepped through the doorway.
Unlike Justin, Kalzar spent the greater part of his time in his Mirror Room. While Justin’s was a hidden vault, Kalzar’s sprawled in a high-ceilinged, palatial space. Fine divans and cushions dotted the white marble floor. Silk curtains fluttered in the tall windows with their pointed arches.
Cool air hit Justin’s skin. Entering the mirror was an assault on the eyes, not the skin. It did not seem as if he were stepping into a furnace, and so it always puzzled Justin why leaving the mirror world was like stepping into an icebox. The real world hit him with mind-clearing clarity, and only then did the mirror world seem to be a place of stifling heat.
Kalzar lounged on a great, overstuffed divan, reading a book. He looked up, his expression mildly curious, as Justin came through. His features quickly tightened in outrage when he saw Omar.
Justin tossed the lesser disciple to the floor in front of Kalzar, as effortlessly as if he discarded a used rag, but he kept the arm. Omar’s blood spattered on the pristine marble as he landed sprawling at Kalzar’s feet. He tried awkwardly to rise. He groaned, looked up at Justin with naked hatred, and then over to Kalzar for help.
Kalzar, his face flushed, didn’t spare a glance for Omar. He stood up, faced Justin.
“What is the meaning of this?” Kalzar hissed.
“I warned you,” Justin said. “I warned him. Did you think I was joking?”
“The Dragon will flay you for this,” Kalzar roared. He was on the verge of transformation. Justin’s muscles twitched in anticipation. He wanted a bloody free-for-all with someone like Kalzar. He lusted to rend and tear. If Kalzar transformed, there would be a fight.
“The Dragon would do much worse to you for your direct disobedience of his edicts,” Justin roared back. “What I’ve done to Omar is a mercy by comparison.”
“The detective needed death,” Kalzar said. “Do I have to remind you what happens to disciples who let personal interests override loyalty to the master?”
“The detective needs to be killed if I say so, when I say so, and most important, when the Dragon says so. Not when you say so, Kalzar, no matter how insane your pride has become. Stay in your own backyard, or you will suffer far worse than this. Do I need to remind you what the master does to those who discard the rules to serve their own ambition?” Justin paused. Kalzar shivered with the effort of keeping his rage muted. The tension mounted.
“Think on it, Kalzar,” Justin broke the silence. “And then follow me into the mirror, if you dare.”
He paused for one final, disdainful glance at Omar’s ruined form, spat once, then turned and stepped through the watery surface. He took Omar’s arm with him.
seventeen
It was close to eleven o’clock the next evening when the cab dropped Sandra off in front of her condo. She felt both fatigued and strung out at the same time.
She punched her code and started up the stairs. What she really needed was a hot shower. She put the key into her door, twisted. Just as it opened, she realized there was someone else in the apartment besides Benny. Benny was talking, and not to himself. Carefully she peeked around the door and saw who was sitting across the kitchen table from her brother.
Her smile disappeared and her knees felt unsteady.
“What are you doing here, Justin?” she asked. Her voice was low, emotionless and, thank God, steady.
She wasn’t ready for this. She was exhausted from jet lag, she felt like hell, and she had so many bruises from her battle with Omar that she looked like a war casualty.
If Justin had thought to pick a favorable time to talk with her, he’d just struck out.
Unshouldering her bags and tossing them onto the floor, she closed the door behind her, trying to think of something to say. Benny coughed, started to say something. Sandra cut him off.
“I’m sorry. I know I should have called. My flight was delayed,” she said. “That was the one lucky thing that happened to me; otherwise I might have missed it. I slept on a couch in the Fallbrook sheriff’s office last night.”
“I was worried,” Benny said. Then he got a good look at her as she stepped into the light. “What happened to your face?” he asked, rolling over to her. He gently touched the stitched-up cut on her chin where a piece of table glass had caught her, the bruises on her face and throat. She was grateful he couldn’t see the other, larger bruises hidden beneath her rumpled clothes.
Irritably she pulled away from his touch. “Hazard of the business.”
Justin was staring at the lacerations on her face. She was pleased to find that his aristocratic English code seemed to preclude him asking her any shocked male questions. Questions she certainly didn’t feel like answering.
So how in the hell had he found her condo? And why had he come here?
Giving her a slight smile, Justin stood up, attempting to break the awkward mood and almost succeeding through the sheer power of his presence. “Sandra, it looks as though—”
He’s standing, she thought. He’s going to come over here. He’s going to put his hands on me. Console me. Hug me. Something…
Memories of his hands on her body rose in her mind and she knew she couldn’t stand that. All of her resolutions to avoid him would crumble.
“I’m wondering just what the hell you’re doing here,” she said. He stopped, frozen between the chair and the table. Good, stay there, she thought, trying to convince herself that she meant it. Just stay there.
“I wanted to see you,” he said. “I couldn’t stay away any longer.”
For a moment, it was almost okay. Her heart wanted to believe it, but she balked.
“Sandra, please accept my apologies.” Justin’s sweet, low voice was soothing. Too soothing. “It was wrong of me to come here. But I was worried. However, since my presence offends you, I’ll leave.” He started toward the door.
“It’s all right. You don’t have to go,” she said tiredly, walking toward the hallway, trying not to look at him. “It seems you’ve made a friend. Benny invited you in. It’s not my place to tell you to leave.”
She heard Benny speaking quietly as she stepped into her own room and held the door a moment before shutting it softly behind her.
He was apologizing to Justin. Sandra snapped the hair clip out of her hair and tossed it onto the dresser, a gesture of barely controlled violence. The clip skittered across the wooden surface and fell into a pile of folded clothes on the other side. She leaned agains
t one wall, slumped, and ran her hands through her mass of curling hair, then closed her eyes and massaged her scalp with her fingertips.
Why didn’t I tell him to get the fuck out? What am I doing?
Somebody knocked at the door.
“Go away.”
Benny came in.
She glared at him.
“What’s wrong with you? What happened out there in California?”
“Is this an interrogation?” She pushed away from the wall. Crossing the room, she pulled the curtains and blinds open and looked out the window into the lighted city.
“I just want to know what your problem is.”
“My problem?” She snorted. “He shows up and says, ‘Hi, kid, I fucked your sister and it was great and I was hoping for a repeat, can I come in?’ And you just let him?”
“Of course, he didn’t say that.” Benny looked shocked. “You know he didn’t say anything like that. He told me his name and that you’d gone on a date. He said he really liked you and he thought you really liked him, but you hadn’t been returning his phone calls. He had no idea what he’d done wrong. I liked the look of him. So we got to talking. He’s interested in you, Sandra, and he seems like a great guy.”
“What the hell do you know about guys, great or otherwise?”
“I am a guy!”
“You know what I mean.” She turned around. “You’ve never been fucked over by—” She stopped, shook her head. “I take that back—I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m beat. I don’t need this right now. I don’t need him right now.”
“You’re not being fair to him.”
“To him!” she exclaimed. “What about me?”
“You’re not being fair to yourself, either,” Benny said. “I don’t believe this,” she muttered. “My head hurts. I want to lie down.”
“I don’t think it’s healthy, what you do. I think it’s time you stopped being Chuck’s ex-wife and started being a woman again. For God’s sake, Sandra, it’s been ten fucking years!”
“Damn it, Benny!” she snapped. “You’re in no position to talk. When was the last time you went on a date that wasn’t off in cyber-land?” As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t.
Benny flinched back as if she’d slapped him. Slowly he nodded, and his jaw set. He swallowed and his voice was husky when it came out. “Yeah, well, at least I talk to every woman I meet,” he said. “The ones that actually look me in the eye, I ask out. So far, no one has accepted.”
He had a terrible dignity at that moment.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
He brushed it aside. “Give him a chance.” He managed a smile. “Trust someone. Trust me. I’ll look out for you.”
Sandra deflated like a cheap balloon and collapsed limply on the bed. She stared up at him. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I like him. I do. That’s why I had to leave when…that night…”
“That night when you didn’t come home until dawn?”
“Yeah. It was some first date.”
“He told me.” Benny grinned.
Now she was the one who looked shocked.
“No, ya dingus,” Benny said. “Just the part where you chased down the guy in the trench coat. The other part I guessed. You know, you may be a good detective, but other people can add two and two. Even stupid little brothers.”
“All right. All right.”
“I invited him to dinner,” Benny said.
“You did, huh?”
“Yeah. Will you go? I promise to watch out for you.”
She grinned. “All right, I’ll go. But if it ends up in the dumper, I’m going to erase your hard drive.”
“Deal.” He reached out and rubbed her shoulder. “It’ll be fun. You can tell us all about your trip.”
“Yeah, right, there’s an incentive. But”—she paused—“before I go anywhere, I’m taking a shower, so you’ll have to entertain him until I get myself cleaned up.”
“Got it covered,” he said.
She grinned at him. “My brother, Mr. Cupid.”
His expression grew smug. “Got that covered, too.”
She threw a pillow at him, but he was gone.
Justin said he knew a little place that was open twenty-four hours a day. Sandra figured him for something more posh, but instead he led them to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant called Venicci’s, a tiny Italian joint with checked tablecloths and candles in red glass globes. The place was wedged between a dry cleaner and an appliance store in Wicker Park, a part of town she was surprised Justin even knew existed. The restaurant was dark, with wood-paneled walls, rough-hewn rafters, and wooden booths. Black, wrought-iron chandeliers hung low from the center rafter and the candle-lit tables gave the entire place a smoky, almost medieval feel. The food was marvelous. Sandra was surprised she’d never heard of it before. She thought cops knew all the good spots, but evidently she’d somehow missed this one.
The conversation started out slow, with Justin keeping a polite social distance from her and Benny, trying, she guessed, to ease the tension she felt. They began by discussing simple things, like the weather and the wine. Benny flirted good-naturedly with the waitress, but it seemed to make her uncomfortable, so he stopped after she brought their orders.
After the first bottle of wine, the meal turned into the mellow, glowing social event Sandra had half hoped for and half feared. Time slipped past quickly. Justin was a skilled conversationalist whether he was talking about the weather or about matters of the heart. He kept them both smiling.
“So why don’t you tell us what happened on your trip?” Benny said finally. “Mac called twice, by the way. Sounded worried.”
Sandra winced. “Oh, God. Mac. He’ll go nuts when he sees—” She gestured at her face.
“So what happened?”
Slowly at first, but then with growing intensity, Sandra told them. She edited her run-in with Omar a bit, making him a random mugger, and leaving out any mention of having met him before. She wished she could leave him out entirely, but her face was chopped up badly enough to make that idea ridiculous. Not to mention that her bruised muscles had gone so stiff she stifled tiny groans almost every time she moved.
Justin sat back, his blue eyes glinting thoughtfully. “This Dr. Simmins sounds like a strange man.” An amused smile played at the edges of his lips. “He has truly dedicated his life to this study? Of lizards, dinosaurs, even dragons?”
“Sure. If you believe in dragons.”
“Some people believe that dragons actually existed,” Justin said. “It is a much more common belief in England than here. There, a few scholars even maintain that some of the bones which are thought to be dinosaur bones are actually the bones of dragons.”
“Are they saying that maybe dinosaurs were actually dragons?” Sandra asked.
“Sort of, but it’s not that simple. Legends speak interchangeably of wyrms, dragons, behemoths, fell beasts, and so on. One has to read between the lines, consider the subtle difference between this word and that, as used by Benedictine monks writing in Latin hundreds of years ago. However, when I looked very hard at the forgotten stories, and sought out the oldest Welsh storytellers to ask them what their grandfathers said—” He paused, thoughtful. “When I truly come to live in the world of those moldy old books, then it all starts to become clear.”
“In other words,” Benny interrupted, a piece of bread still in his mouth—his words muffled as he chewed, “you’re pulling this out of your ass.”
Justin’s mouth twitched in amusement. He looked at Sandra. “As he says.”
“Well, pull away,” Benny encouraged.
“Not all the great fell beasts and behemoths of lore are dragons, in very much the same way that not all primates are humans,” Justin continued. “Dragons were simply a very intelligent variety of dinosaur.”
“Back up, here…” Sandra said. “If dragons are intelligent dinosaurs, then why don’t they have any wings on the
skeletons in the museums?”
“Ah.” Justin smiled. “Our ever alert detective asks the pertinent question.”
Sandra sat back, done with her meal. She crossed her arms and regarded Justin, feeling entertained by his fantasy. Benny twirled his pasta in marinara sauce, pleased that they were getting along so well.
“Ultimately the answer to your question lies in the tragic demise of dragons.” Justin paused again, staring directly into Sandra’s eyes. Sandra’s smile faded as she felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach. Those eyes of his…
“The deaths of the dragons were the single worst thing that has ever happened to our world. Dragons were magical beings. They held within themselves great wisdom and beauty, as well as terrible powers of destruction. They spoke to the wind and knew the oldest thoughts of the oldest stars. When they were around, anything could happen. Nothing was impossible. They were like the gods, but gods you could see and feel. Not gods of words and ideas and faith, but gods of flesh and bone. Gods that made love, gave birth, dreamed, fought, grew old, and died.” Justin sighed. “And they died mostly because we killed them. We killed them for their wings. You see, the power of a dragon is in its wings. Dragons were magical beings. Besides their intelligence, their skill in magic set them apart from their gigantic reptilian counterparts. The wings were the physical manifestation of this magic. Science tells us that nothing as massive as a human could ever fly by the force of its own muscles, let alone something the size of an elephant. And something the size of a castle? Ludicrous. Unless, of course, the rules of physics as we know them do not apply.”
“So what are you saying?” Benny asked. “That dragons had wings, but didn’t fly?”
“Not at all. Dragon flight was mystic. A dragon flies the way a painter captures an ironic smile with a few wisps of color. The way a great singer brings a tear to your eyes with a few words that, if merely spoken, would be bland, or even silly. Reality keeps us within a fence line, and dragons flew over that fence before it was even built.
“Dragons respected their own power and knowledge,” Justin continued quietly. “So when a dragon died, its children would always return to feast upon the wings. The wings were a final bequest, an act of love and hope.”
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