Old Evil (The Last Dragon Lord Book 2)

by Michael La Ronn

  Martina was the CEO for the channel. Frog was in charge, but she ran the operations. They had never gotten along, and every waking day seemed to be some assault on his freedom, to which he would respond with threats to sit on her, or claw her eyes out, or destroy the whole damned building until it was a heap of rubble on Balm Street. God knows he could have done it with his size. So she stayed out of his way and he got what he wanted.

  “You’re part of a syndicate,” Martina said. “What you do here has effects on our other networks, Frog.”

  “Then my ripple must pond.”

  “What?”

  “It means ya don’t understand my simple bog ways. And it means, as a manner of speaking, to shut the hell up.”

  “You think you can just start talking about ancients and Old Dark without any consequences?”

  “Yes. I’m a guardian in this dear city, and I’ve’ll do whatever I want.”

  “You’re not a god!” Martina cried, sticking a finger in his face.

  Frog chomped at her finger and she pulled it back. He didn’t intend to bite her, but it was convincing enough. “If ya want an apology, write one up yourself and deliver it on the evenin’ news. I ain’t apologizin’ and if ya think ya can make me you’ve’ll got a dragon brick what’s gonna be flyin’ at you from the other end of me. What I said was a thousand and seven percent true to how I was feelin’.”

  “That’s your problem,” Martina said. Frog pushed past her, and she followed him, raising her voice. “You’re unlike any dragon I’ve ever met. I work with dragons all the time, and they have filters. They’re distinguished. They might be arrogant and they might be strong-headed, but they understand the unwritten rules of this society.”

  “And what are those?” Frog asked. He stopped and closed his eyes.

  “This is a new world,” Martina said. “And whether you like it or not, we’ve moved on from your silly little stories of the past.”

  “So what I’m hearin’ is that I ought to just convert myself to an elven man and live in a deluded reality. I have dignity.”

  “Oh? Speaking everything that crosses your mind is not dignity! It’s idiocy! And it’s making my life difficult!”

  Frog whipped around and roared in her face. “What’ve’er you know about a difficult life, you elven bastardette?”

  Martina fell backward as Frog stomped toward her. Her hair was a tangled mess in front of her face and she put her hands up in surrender. Crew members gathered in front of her.

  “Hey, Frog,” Edmond said, “Take five and calm down.”

  With a webbed claw, Frog pushed the men aside, knocking them into the pond nearby. He put his face in front of Martina’s and growled. “Try growin’ up a river dragon with a speech impediment. See your own flesh and blood murdered to peat in front of your eyes when you’ve’is just five hundred and two years old. See if you can handle it when you’re a laughingstock of the dragon race. Then you can talk to me about hardship.” He raised his claws to strike. “Unless you want three thousand pounds of hardship right this moment.”

  “Your temper is insufferable,” Martina said.

  “You’ven’t seen insufferable.” Frog rolled himself into a ball and bounced on the ground, shaking it. The world spun underfoot and round and round as he bounced into the air again and aimed himself for the studio. Everyone screamed as he propelled himself into the air, crashing into lights and cameras. Sparks flew. Metal clanged to the floor. Everything bounced off his skin and didn’t hurt him. Frog yelled as he bounced on the ground again in a double bump. The ground shook like a quake.

  “This is half the insufferable you’ll get if all of you don’t get out of my sight!!”

  He landed on all fours and then pounded the ground as hard as he could, knocking everyone off their feet. He screamed at the top of his lungs and threw his desk at Martina. The woman rolled out of the way as the desk broke and sent splinters everywhere.

  “You’ve’ll try to censor me, but you can’t,” he yelled. “I quit!”

  The words hit Martina as if they were the desk.

  “You can’t quit,” she shouted. “You’re under contract.”

  “And what’ll ya do?” Frog asked. “I won’t show up in your elven courts. Woe on the man what tries to make me submit to you. We dragons have our own laws.”

  Martina stood and smoothed out her dress. “After all I’ve done for you—”

  “And it’s enough. Get out.”

  “We’ll destroy this place.”

  “I’ll gladly destroy it myself before you do.”

  “And destroy yourself?” Martina asked.

  “There’re plenty of Abstractions I can switch to if needed. I don’t need you or this stupid arrangement!”

  Frog spread his small wings and lifted himself into the air. Then he landed on the ground with another boom. “Cancel my network and pay me what I’m owed. Find another poor dragon to read your goddamned weather reports.”

  Martina ran into a covered stairwell, and the rest of the crew ran with her.

  Frog closed his eyes and imagined himself drifting downward, sliding into the skyscraper himself. Before he knew it he was everywhere at once; in the gardens, in the cafeteria, in the offices filled with a thousand clustered cubicles where elves worked diligently. The whole building revolved in front of his mind’s eye like a giant flywheel, with everywhere visible all at once.

  He spoke, and heard his voice amplified a thousand times in the building’s intercom system.

  “This is Frog. I’m in a destructive mood today, so unless you live in the condo sector, get the hell out if you know what’s good for you.”

  An alarm sounded, and everyone in the building began to file out as if it were a normal fire drill. Frog watched as they left, chattering amongst themselves.

  “Frog’s at it again, huh?”

  “Boy did we pick the wrong place to work.”

  “Has the dragon ever heard of meditation? Good God.”

  Frog seethed as the evacuation proceeded. When it was over—when quiet stillness swept across his skyscraper—he exhaled and returned his consciousness to the roof.

  His legs were weak and he stumbled toward the bog. The gentle waters seemed to call him as he waded into them. He thought about his father, the old days, and how they really were gone for good.

  He crawled upon a lily pad and wept.

  VII

  “Really, Doc, I’m fine,” Lucan said, trying to climb off a hospital bed. His arm was in a sling and he was hooked up to an IV. He tugged at the IV, but a proximity spell glowed around his elbow and kept the needle in place.

  His shoulder ached, but morphine coursed through his veins and dulled the pain somewhat. He felt a rosy, easygoing feeling, the kind that came over him when was about to go on a date. He tasted saline solution in his mouth, even though he hadn’t drunk anything. It was wet, cold, and briny.

  He was in a hospital suite, surrounded by couches and plush chairs. It was a maternity room but because it was on the top floor of the hospital, the doctors had put him here because of his celebrity status, and the maternity wing was protected from the press since visitors had to have guard permission to enter.

  One of his bodyguards stood next to the bed with a brand new navy blue suit and tie in plastic wrap.

  Outside the hospital room window, he saw the helicopters circling Skyscraper Park. Their mechanical fluttering filled the blue sky, and only now did he realize how much time had passed since his midnight encounter.

  He blinked several times, trying to focus. The last few hours had been a blur.

  Gunshots. Adrenaline. Combat. Grimoires exploding like fireworks.

  He’d had a few hours to rest while nurses waited on him, checking his vitals every hour. His phone had cracked in the fight and he didn’t have the guts to call Celesse yet.

  Not until he knew what was wrong with him physically.

  For the first time in a long time he had some time to himself. When he tho
ught about the fight and how close to death he was, his chest tightened and he wanted to destroy something, anything.

  His heart rate monitor beeped.

  Despite the mix of emotions he was feeling, his heart rate was normal with a slight uptick every now and again on the dark green cardiograph.

  “God,” he whispered to himself. “This is a big fucking mess.”

  He had been waiting an hour for the doctor to come and tell him the news. It was the longest hour of his life. He had asked for Madelaide, but his guards couldn’t find her. He knew she was okay, but he wanted to see her with his own eyes.

  All the while he thought about Bartholomew. The anger in the man’s eyes. His bitter words. His refusal to surrender. How he would have kept fighting until the police killed him.

  And he claimed that Lucan blackmailed him.

  Lucan harrumphed in the middle of his thoughts as he imagined Bartholomew’s bearded face screaming insults at him.

  That sonofabitch tried to blackmail ME! Why was HE acting like the victim?

  Lucan couldn’t wait to put the bastard in jail until the end of time. Bartholomew was going to pay for this. Big time. And good luck to his good-for-nothing son.

  Lucan cycled through his contacts at the university. Surely he could use his influence with the Dean to get Tony expelled for some bullshit reason. Tony didn’t “look” like the studious type. He was a small town, backwater elf who was about to get expelled like a diarrhea from a flaming asshole.

  That would show him. Lucan would make sure the kid couldn’t do anything but wash dishes while his dad deteriorated in jail.

  He was a man of influence. No employer would deny him if he told them not to hire the boy. No one! All he’d have to do was stroll into their office and schmooze them, promise them something, and they’d turn down Tony’s application like he was an ex-con. Unless they wanted to face Lucan’s wrath. All billion dollars of it.

  He was going to crush anyone who tried to interfere with this family’s demise. Physically. Economically. Emotionally.

  God yes.

  One day, when the biographies about his life came out, this was going to be one of those anecdotes that people talked about.

  ‘Did you read that part about what Lucan did to the kid whose dad tried to shoot him?’

  ‘What a dick!’

  Was he being irrational?

  Any emotion less than what he was feeling was irrational.

  What would Celesse say? She’d be appalled, probably.

  But he didn’t care. When you were sitting in a hospital with your arm in a sling and the realization that your daughter could’ve been killed for no reason other than some crazy man’s self-vanity, there was no such thing as the law.

  The doctor, an elven man in scrubs with a stethoscope around his neck, entered the room and clipped an x-ray to the wall. “You were lucky, Mr. Grimoire.”

  Lucan puffed and waved his hand dismissively.

  “Just give me the verdict, will you?”

  The doctor frowned and pointed to the x-ray, which was of Lucan’s shoulder. “The bullet struck your shoulder. Fortunately it was just a soft tissue wound. Our fear was that it might have broken your collarbone, but as I said, you were lucky. We got the bullet out with little trouble.”

  “So what now?” Lucan asked.

  “You’ll live.”

  “No metal poisoning or any of that bullshit?”

  The doctor ordered a nurse in and she disconnected Lucan’s IV.

  “No, but I’m prescribing you several antibiotics. You’ll need to take them several times a day.”

  “That I can do,” Lucan said, swinging himself off the bed. He shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank God for my deflection spell. That bullet would’ve hit me straight in the heart.”

  He motioned to the bodyguard. “Let’s get the hell out of here before the police show up.”

  The door opened and Madelaide ran through and hugged him. She was still wearing her purple dress, and a white bandage covered her thigh.

  “What happened to your leg?” Lucan asked.

  “I scraped it when we were running away,” Madelaide said.

  “Why didn’t I notice that?”

  “You got shot, remember?”

  “Heh heh.”

  “I’m fine, Daddy.”

  A blond-haired woman appeared in the door. She had long, curly hair and she wore jeans and a tank top. Her arms were folded and her gray eyes raged. Even if he didn’t see her face, he knew the hourglass shape of his ex-wife anywhere. Still as gorgeous as ever with legs for days and a “the gods are going to rain fire on you” look in her eyes.

  “Great,” Lucan said, “You had to go and bring her, didn’t you? I thought we kept each other’s secrets.”

  “The hospital called her, Daddy.”

  “Right. Forgot. Parental crap.”

  “What the hell is your problem?” the woman asked. “You have some nerve.”

  “Thank God I have nerve. Otherwise I’d be heartless like you.”

  “You could’ve gotten Madelaide killed!”

  “Nice to see you, too, Maisy.”

  Maisy looked at the x-ray and shook her head. “You get hurt, and now you’re a hero.”

  “What?”

  “You obviously haven’t seen the news.”

  “I don’t have time for you right now. Don’t you have a photo shoot that you’re supposed to be modeling in?”

  Maisy had been a supermodel. Their marriage was a media sensation. It was even more sensational when they found out that Madelaide had been conceived out of wedlock.

  He’d cared for Maisy. Not like a wife. But a friend.

  Their marriage didn’t last a year. Not when she discovered that he had been sleeping with other women. She’d tried to sue him for half his estate, but Lucan had been careful … that was back when he and his uncle were still on good terms. His uncle, a skilled attorney, taught him how to structure his assets so that she wouldn’t get anything at all, except for the several million that belonged to Madelaide. Oh, Maisy was liiiivid.

  But you had to do what you had to do.

  “It all turned out fine, by the way,” Lucan said, patting his shoulder.

  “Tell that to the judge. You’re unfit to be a father. I’m suing again for full custody.”

  “In the middle of the election? Fine.”

  “You’ve said and done worse. If it’s anything like the past, it’s not like it’s going to stick anyway. But you obviously don’t care. We’re leaving, Madelaide.”

  “Got it. Thanks for the threat. Maybe some flowers and a ‘I’m glad you’re okay’ would have gone great with it?”

  Madelaide hugged Lucan and he bent down and gave her a kiss.

  “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said.

  “When are you coming next?”

  “Don’t know, sweetie. This is a pretty big deal. Gonna take a lot of my time. But you’re sure you’re okay?”

  Madelaide nodded as she walked to her mother. Maisy took her and left the room without looking at Lucan.

  “Gentlemen, that is why I got a prenup,” Lucan said.

  His guards helped him change into his suit, and as he adjusted his tie, Celesse entered.

  “Hey,” Lucan said. He gave her a weak smile.

  She scowled at him and held up her phone. “When were you planning on telling me?”

  “Soon. I just got released.”

  Celesse stomped over to him, and he fully expected her to slap him. But instead she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight.

  He wasn’t ready for that. He almost stumbled back from her weight. He hugged her back, kissed her hair and said, “I’m fine, babe.”

  “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

  “Only if we let them believe we are,” he whispered.

  She pushed him away and composed herself. Her demeanor changed back to her strict, campaign manager self.

  “I called ahead to your atto
rney. She’ll be here soon. In the meantime, be quiet.”

  “Wha…?”

  Lucan’s eyes wandered to the door, where a man in a black suit knocked on the doorway. He had a severe air about him, as if he had never heard a joke in his life. On his suit lapel was a golden pin of a spiraled pentagram, with the letters MCU beneath.

  “Ah, crap,” Lucan said under his breath.

  So much for privacy and security.

  “Mr. Grimoire, I’m with the Magical Crimes Unit, and we need to talk.”

  Intermezzo

  In the beginning, all existence was an egg. Time, space, and feeling swelled inside of it like a raging ocean. The ocean roared against the inside of the shell, around and around until it formed into the body of a great Crafter dragon who was wise and full-grown the moment it opened its eyes.

  The dragon’s name was Andor.

  As Andor floated in the egg, he dreamt of nothing.

  Andor simply was. His body was a storm in a void.

  When Andor opened his eyes, he knew the egg would not hold him and he did not want to be held. Using his long claws, he poked holes in the egg’s shell, breaking free.

  The gush of fluid from the egg escaped, and Andor flew into the void.

  Time stuck to him like embryonic fluid, but the sudden rush separated it from him and it filled the space in the nothingness, like a great loud and mighty river.

  Suddenly Andor became very aware of time in a way that he hadn’t before. It made an incessant ticking sound that he could not silence.

  At first he smashed the river with his tail.

  He tried to chew it in his mouth.

  He ripped at it with his claws.

  But the river kept ticking.

  The sound drove the dragon insane; no matter what he tried, the river kept ticking, and it kept flowing into the void until he was awash in its sparkling brilliance. Fear overswept him when he saw that the river ended in a great waterfall.

  Andor swam against the current, but it picked up speed and he lost his way.

  He drowned in the river of time.

  His body fell over the waterfall and became a great, glowing husk as it drifted downward. The force of the waves broke his body into four pieces.