Broken Dragon (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 3)

by D. W. Moneypenny

  “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Haden. It will be just another ten minutes, and your pumpkin pies will be ready to go. They just need a few more minutes to cool and set up. If you’ll have a seat, we’ll bring them out to you,” Ping said.

  “But you told me on the phone they would be ready this morning,” the woman whined.

  Ping nodded and said, “I know. I underestimated how many orders I would get this morning and came up a little short.”

  “So you are saying you baked my pies, but you gave them to other customers earlier this morning? That is completely unacceptable!” The woman’s voice built to some sort of crescendo, as she tapped the counter with a fingernail.

  The muscles in Ping’s jaw flexed, as he gritted his teeth. A red haze passed over his eyes, and Mara gasped. He leaned forward, clearly getting into the woman’s personal space. He opened his mouth to say something, when Mara cut in and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Mr. Ping, why don’t you go see about those pies, and I’ll get this lady a cup of coffee while she’s waiting, on the house. Would that be okay?” Mara nodded at the lady until she too nodded, an old customer-service trick. “Excellent. I’ll be right back with a cup.”

  As the woman worked her way out of the cluster of people toward the tables, Mara smiled at an elderly man who appeared to be next in line. “I’ll be right with you. Let me run into the back and grab an apron.” She stared at Ping and tilted her head toward the rear of the store. Taking him by the elbow, she pushed him through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Warm air and spice assaulted them.

  “Thanks for helping out,” Ping said, although it sounded more like a snarl than an expression of gratitude. “I’ve got a bakery full of pastries and cakes, and everybody wants pumpkin pies, nothing but pumpkin pies. I’ve already baked four dozen this morning, and I probably should have done twice as many.” He waved his arm at a dozen pies cooling on the counter. The large mixer’s bowl was filled with brown goo and another dozen empty pie shells waited on the table next to it.

  “Can’t you just order some from a vendor?” Mara said, grabbing an apron from a hook next to the swinging doors. After slipping it over her head, she tied it around her waist, then walked up to Ping, making a point of looking into his eyes, while she tied his loose apron strings. “There, now you don’t look like you’re flying apart.”

  He adjusted the apron straps over his shoulders and said, “These are people who bought pumpkin pies I baked for Thanksgiving. Now they are back for Christmas parties and dinners, and they want my pumpkin pies.”

  “Whatever. Are you okay? You seem a little stressed to me. It looked like you were about to take a bite out of that woman.”

  “I have yet to maul a customer, but, in this case, it would not have been completely unwarranted,” he said with no hint of humor.

  “Okay. Why don’t you stay back here, box up the pies that are ready and make some more? I’ll take care of things out front,” she said. She turned to push through the door, remembered the coffee she had promised and jogged over to the coffee machine. Grabbing a full pot and a sleeve of paper cups from a nearby shelf, she returned to the door and pushed it out of the way with a hip. Over her shoulder, she yelled, “Put on another pot of coffee!”

  Behind the counter she called to the crowd, “Okay, how many of you are waiting for pumpkin pies?”

  All but two people raised their hands.

  “Okay. Pumpkin-pie people, take a seat at a table, and I will bring you some coffee. Mr. Ping is working on your orders and will be out in a few minutes.”

  The crowd of customers at the counter disbanded and shuffled toward the tables, setting off a momentary clatter as they slid chairs around and talked among themselves. Mara raised the pot to the two remaining stragglers at the counter and said, “I’ll be right with you after I get this coffee distributed.”

  Almost on cue, immediately after she had served the coffee and bagged up a few pastries for the customers at the counter, Ping pushed his way through the doors with three stacked boxes. He sat them on the counter next to the register and handed Mara a slip of paper, an order for three pumpkin pies for Mrs. Haden.

  “I’ll ring her up, and you keep bringing them on,” Mara said. “Will that work?”

  Ping nodded and went back to the kitchen.

  In ten more minutes all the orders were caught up, and the bakery was empty, except for a couple taking their time with their coffee. Ping walked out with one more boxed pie and sat it on the counter. “That’s the last one that’s ready. I’ll have a dozen more in about an hour.”

  “Looks like we’re covered for the time being,” Mara said. “Why don’t you go out back and take a break for a few minutes? Maybe grab some lunch? I can keep an eye on things out here.”

  “I really appreciate you helping out. It was remarkable how well you handled all those people.”

  Mara shrugged. “No biggie. If you have to keep customers waiting, you have to keep them busy, so they don’t turn on you. In a bakery, that should be a piece of cake—no pun intended—just give them some coffee or some free samples.”

  The phone rang on the wall next to the kitchen doors. Ping moved to answer it, but Mara cut him off and grabbed the receiver. She smiled at him and pointed to the back of the bakery. “Break. I’ll take a message, if I can’t handle it.” Lifting the phone to her ear, she said, “Ping’s Bakery.”

  Ping walked through the swinging doors.

  On the phone, a woman asked for Mr. Ping.

  “I’m sorry. Mr. Ping is not available right now. May I take a message?” Mara asked.

  “Well, it’s sort of an emergency. Do you have a number where he can be reached?”

  “I can get ahold of him quickly if necessary. What kind of emergency?”

  “I’m Tamara Salinas, and my husband owns a building across from Mr. Ping’s warehouse just off Hawthorne. We’ve met him out there a couple times. Anyway it appears that a portion of the roof to his warehouse has either collapsed or blown off. A large piece of sheet metal flew into the road, and, when we went on our roof to check it, we could see the damage to Mr. Ping’s building. We’re not sure when it occurred, but I’m certain he would like to get it repaired and make sure whatever he’s storing doesn’t get damaged by the weather,” she said.

  “Oh, absolutely. I’ll let him know right away. Thanks for calling, Mrs. Salinas,” Mara said.

  After hanging up, she glanced at the couple at the table, determined that they would not be needing attention any time soon and walked into the kitchen. Ping sat at the small break table, biting into a croissant ham sandwich.

  “Your warehouse roof still has a big gaping hole in it from where the dragon broke loose the other night,” she said. “I can go by with you tonight and take a look, if you want.”

  With his mouth full, Ping rolled his eyes and nodded.

  CHAPTER 49

  Twilight was about to turn to darkness as Mara stepped from her car after pulling up to the right of Ping’s Camry behind the warehouse. A plume of steam billowed in front of her face as she exhaled and looked up into the night sky, amazed to see the stars so clearly. The usual layer of clouds had rolled away late in the afternoon, and the evening was getting chilly with no insulation in the sky.

  Ping popped up between the cars, slammed his door closed without comment and walked toward the back of the warehouse. He’d spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen making pumpkin pies, while Mara worked the front of the bakery until closing time at six, so they’d hardly spoken. Whenever they had interacted, Mara had made a point of staring into his face to see if she could detect any strangeness, any hint of the dragon awakening in him. She saw nothing obvious, but Ping did seem subdued. What little he had said, he had said in clipped phrases, not in his usual professorial wordiness.

  When Sam showed up after being at Mrs. Zimmerman’s all day, he volunteered to clean up the kitchen, while they checked on things at the warehouse. Ping informed Mara that she s
hould take her own car, since he would need to go directly home afterward. He didn’t volunteer an explanation.

  Mara caught up with Ping, as he jostled with the keys in the back door next to the loading dock. Standing behind him, rubbing her hands together and sort of jogging in place to generate a little heat, she said, “Are you in a hurry? I was hoping we might have some time to sit and talk for a few minutes, you know, in our little classroom. It seems like forever since we’ve just conceptualized, and I kind of miss it. Frankly, with everything that’s going on, I could use some downtime, just to think things through.”

  He pushed open the door and stepped inside. Reaching up, he moved the lever on the control box next to the door frame, and the rows of industrial fluorescents suspended above clattered on in rapid sequence, revealing the empty warehouse, a quarter of which remained shrouded in darkness.

  Mara followed him in and closed the door behind her, setting off a hollow thud that echoed. Her gaze immediately went to the large hole in the ceiling over the dark portion of the warehouse. Wires, pipes, ductwork and scraps of metal hung down along the periphery of the opening. She could see the stars again. Water dripped from jagged edges, landing with rhythmic tinkling sounds in a large inky puddle on the concrete floor.

  “We can talk,” Ping said. “We’ll need to straighten the classroom.” He pointed to the center of the warehouse. The whiteboard had skittered out of place by several yards, and the metal cabinet lay on its side. Their floor mats were piled up next to the cabinet.

  “Why don’t we do that first, and then I’ll see what I can do about repairing the roof,” Mara said.

  Ping looked at her blankly. “Repairing the roof?”

  Mara frowned. “Yes, if we still have that bytownite crystal around here somewhere, I’ll use it to focus on repairing the damage to the roof. Remember, like I repaired the floor before?”

  “Bytownite what?” Ping asked.

  “Are you all right? You seem to be having trouble keeping up today.” She pointed to the hole in the roof. “We came here to do something about the sunroof your dragon friend installed in the ceiling. Are you following me?”

  Ping shook his head, seemed to snap himself awake. “Of course, the roof. You wish to use the yellow crystal as a talisman to focus your abilities, like you did previously. Yes, I’m following you.”

  Without further comment, he headed for the makeshift classroom area. When he got there, he grabbed the corner of the metal cabinet with one hand and heaved it up to a standing position effortlessly, setting off a loud rumble as its contents settled. Mara jogged up beside him and stopped. Looking at the top of the cabinet, which stood several inches taller than Ping, she said, “You been working out?”

  He walked over to the whiteboard and rolled it toward the cabinet. Mara shrugged, and picked up the three mats and placed them on the floor in a triangle in front of the board and the cabinet. Opening the cabinet, Ping rummaged around, straightening shelves for a second, and then turned around, holding the softball-size yellow crystal. “Here’s the one you want, correct?”

  Mara had taken her seat on a mat, facing slightly to the right in front of the whiteboard. She patted the one to her left and said, “Take a seat.”

  He walked over and sat on the floor mat, crossing his legs. “You wanted to talk?” He handed the crystal to her.

  Mara glared at him. “If you don’t want to do this, just say the word.”

  Ping shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be standoffish. How would you like to begin? Is there something specific you wanted to work through?”

  Mara stared down at the bytownite crystal, as she rolled it from one palm to the other, and said, “Maybe it would be a good idea for me to do something about the roof. Concentrating on something for a few minutes might help me focus a little better. Do you mind if we do that first?”

  “You mean, you’re going to attempt to fix the roof before we have our discussion, is that it?”

  Mara looked at him. “I think I’m moving beyond attempting these things. I still have my doubts about a lot of things, but I seem to be getting a handle on basic repairs. I guess I was just asking if you would be okay with sitting quietly for a few minutes while I do this, and then we can talk.”

  Ping waved an arm toward the hole in the roof. “By all means.” He lowered his head and closed his eyes. Mara supposed he was giving her some privacy in some strange way.

  She closed her own eyes and took a deep breath. Lifting the crystal on her right palm, she slowly opened her eyes and gazed into it. Wobbling, it stood up on a single point and slowly rotated, catching and throwing light as its facets sped by. Soon it quickened to a spin and emitted bands of light in every direction. Mara squinted into it, and the brilliance enveloped her.

  In her mind’s eye she saw the interior of the warehouse, now illuminated in a golden glow. She stood up and walked toward the large opening in the ceiling. She could still see the night sky outside, but the brilliant light around her rendered the stars almost imperceptible. Furrowing her brow, she focused on the damage, imagined it healing. The light intensified, gathered around the edges of the torn metal, which took on a molten quality, as if they were heated. The rift shrunk, knitting itself closed, as pipes and wires and ducts grew like ivy over the healing sheet metal. She could no longer see the stars.

  Metallic clicking filled the air, and Mara squinted upward, trying to see its source. Fixtures and mountings erupted from the ceiling, popping and screeching as they reached downward, blossoming into industrial light fixtures. A loud snap reverberated off the warehouse walls, and the newly grown fluorescent tubes ignited, and the golden glow of the bytownite crystal winked out.

  Mara’s head snapped up, and she opened her eyes. The yellow crystal, no longer spinning, flopped over in her palm. She remained seated on the floor mat across from Ping. As she looked up, she caught him staring back at her, smiling, his eyes glowing red like cinders.

  “It’s like magic,” he said, using the sandpaper voice of an old crone. “What power you have.” His head swayed; his eyelids were half-closed. He looked as if he were about to pass out.

  Mara leaned forward, grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Ping! Did you just say magic? Have you gone completely nuts?”

  For a moment, his head lolled about, but his eyes cleared and then a look of concern came over his face, as he tensed up. He raised his arms and pushed hers away. “Mara, I am perfectly fine. What are you doing?”

  She sat back on her mat. Jabbing a finger in his direction, she said, “What did you just say? Tell me! Repeat what you just said.”

  He looked taken aback at her tone and said, “I asked you what you were doing. Why were you shaking me like that?”

  “No, before that! What did you say right before I started shaking you?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t say anything. I had my eyes closed, while you were meditating over the crystal. When I heard those metallic sounds, I looked up, and the roof appeared to be repairing itself. I was amazed, but I did not say a word.”

  “Liar! That thing inside of you, she’s—it’s—got more control than you realize. You have no idea, none at all. I bet you don’t even remember nearly attacking that woman in the bakery this afternoon. Your eyes went red, like they did just now!” She turned and pointed to the newly replaced ceiling. “And you called it magic! Ping, the doctor of metaphysics, called something magic!”

  “Mara, just take a deep breath for a moment, and let’s walk through this one step at a time. That way I can understand what you are trying to convey,” he said.

  Red-faced, she leaned forward, about to say something, but she stopped when Ping raised his hand and said, “Continuing to yell at me isn’t going to help.”

  She closed her mouth and sat back, deflated. She took a visible breath to placate him and to calm herself down. He was right; saying it louder wasn’t going to get through to him, assuming it was even Ping sitting across from her. One thing was fo
r certain: even if it was Ping, that could change at any moment. She leaned back, placing her palms on the cold concrete floor and rolled her shoulders. After taking another deep breath, she pushed herself back into a sitting position and glared at him.

  “You don’t remember saying that fixing the ceiling was magic?” she asked.

  He snorted and said, “Of course not. We both know your abilities are metaphysical in nature, not supernatural.”

  “Of course. So I just had some kind of lapse here or what? What’s your theory on why I thought I heard something like that?”

  He shrugged. “I would surmise that you were a little disoriented after your intense bout of concentration. Using your abilities has been taxing for you in the past. Perhaps that was the cause of your confusion.”

  “That’s all you have to say? You have nothing to add?”

  “Of course I would like to say thank-you,” he said.

  “Thank you? For what?”

  He pointed to the ceiling and said, “For patching the hole in the roof.”

  Mara pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. As she was about to respond, her phone rang. She pulled it from her jacket pocket. It was her mother, using the video chat application. Mara tapped it, and her mother’s and Hannah’s faces filled the screen.

  “Video, I’m impressed,” Mara said.

  Diana looked down at her granddaughter and said, “The munchkin insisted. She wanted to see her father.”

  “Sorry, but Sam’s not here with us. He’s still working at the bakery, while Ping and I ran over to the warehouse to take care of some stuff. If it’s an emergency, you can call him on the bakery’s landline, but you won’t be able to see him,” Mara said.

  From the corner of her eye, she took a quick glance at Ping. For an instant, too quickly to even take in a gasp, she thought she saw the red haze pass over his eyes again, but he blinked, and she couldn’t be sure. It might have just been a trick of the light.