Fire and Fantasy: a Limited Edition Collection of Epic and Urban Fantasy

by CK Dawn

  “Witnessing the phooka’s grief, I thought it best to let him cry himself to sleep,” Ch’in said, sketching a brief, indulgent smile at Quill’s snort of laughter.

  “He likes pain.” Jasper continued, ignoring Ch’in and pointing a finger at the lump on the recliner. “Likes it when they fight. That pug didn’t die quick, I can tell you that for sure. Slow and easy, with a few sham struggles thrown in for spice.”

  “No,” Quill said, revising her earlier opinion. “He couldn’t have eaten the pug. Their defense mechanism is twelve-inch thorns that protrude and retract like switchblades. I don’t care how sadistic that worthless cat is, he couldn’t have overruled a ball of razor-sharp thorns.”

  “Au contraire mon frère,” Jasper said. “Look at him.”

  They all did just in time to witness Buddha belch so long and loud he seemed to surprise himself, and gazed back at his audience with blinking eyes.

  “Any second now Mari will be here demanding reparation. I feel it.” Defeated, Quill opened the hidden latch on the coffee table and retrieved Jasper’s secret stash of single malt.

  “Hey!” Jasper said. “You’re not supposed to know—that’s mine!”

  “Perhaps you could take up a collection for a replacement pug at Tuesday’s neighborhood council meeting,” Ch’in suggested.

  “Enough.” Jasper plucked the bottle of Scotch from Quill’s hands and walked to the elaborate hutch that dominated one end of the oval. An enormous, complex weed petrified to Applewood by a disgruntled waiter during the restaurant's final days and further enchanted by a myriad of misunderstood—and therefore misspoken—spells, each jagged leaf of the hutch held a bit of crystal or porcelain and required some sign of fealty before it would relinquish any one of its vassals.

  When Jasper reached for a crystal tumbler, the leaf it rested upon, offended at his cavalier arrogance, curled protectively around the glass and withdrew into the recesses of the cabinet.

  “For the love of Christ,” Jasper said exasperatedly. “I pledge my life in service of you, O hutch, now give me the friggin’ glass!”

  The piece of furniture gave a disdainful shudder, but obligingly uncurled its delicate limb from around the tumbler.

  “Wilhelmina,” he said, focusing an artistic amount of attention on the task of filling his glass. “The urge to rail at you is nigh unto overwhelming. Before I indulge it, I would hear from you.”

  Dragon hated it when Jasper called her Wilhelmina; she was in big trouble for sure. She glanced at him quickly while she formulated an answer and frowned as the air around him seemed to stiffen its spine, raising him from clueless dad to celebrated CRA general who leapt into the fray alongside his men. When a few wispy tendrils of wind coalesced to form a simple, translucent crown on Jasper’s head, Dragon knew any prevarication on her part would be useless.

  “I can’t see him,” she said, staring at the floor.

  “Nothing?” Quill said.

  “What do you mean?” Ch’in asked.

  Jasper only sipped at his drink, eyes inscrutable.

  “There is nothing when I look at him,” Dragon explained. “You know what I mean,” she glared, silencing Ch’in’s questions. “No future, no potential. Just nothing.”

  “Surely that is not the only reason you sought to align yourself with a criminal,” Quill said.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” Dragon said with venomous resentment, remembering their humiliating recitation of the so-called gay parade.

  “Flannacán map Cinid ocus Barita seirbhíseach Mahb Tóisech is not some human,” Quill sneered then corrected, “some meanly disposed human out to siphon all he can before he’s caught and dealt with like a Salt River tick. He is a warrior of fae whose very name, even now, strikes fear in lesser immortals and causes all miscellus to bow in deference. The Sun queen herself has declared him contrary to all who adhere to the origins of magic and immortality.

  “He is by all definitions of power, and its accepted permutations as it pertains to existence or life, unacceptable.”

  “I,” Dragon said softly, grateful that Fel’s unsuitability in their eyes was caught up in his mythic criminality and not in his garden-variety faults (addiction and prostitution being more untenable), “didn’t know that.”

  “No,” Quill said. “I don’t suppose you would.” She sighed and fell against the settee’s backrest. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that the fact that he is a prostitute didn’t send you running for the hills.”

  Dragon’s eyes slid guiltily away. “I can’t see him, Quill. You have no idea how much of a relief that is.”

  “And his addiction?” Jasper said. “What weight does that take off your shoulders?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Don’t,” Jasper barked, piercing Dragon with an uncompromising stare. “Do not—” he broke off furiously and took a healthy swallow of his drink. “Even without your ability, you are as sharp as a tack. A natural-born intuitive,” he continued. “You knew he was fae, a whore and addict within minutes of meeting him, I reckon. The question is, why continue with him when you knew he was garbage to begin with?”

  “I told you—”

  “I don’t want to hear that, Wilhelmina. You don’t just make a whore your boyfriend because you can’t see him! What about honor and respect and integrity? At least your old boyfriends had enough sense to pretend to have a hint of those qualities running through their veins.”

  “It’s not just that I can’t see him,” she murmured, closing her eyes against Jasper’s furious gaze. “I—” she began, wondering how in the world you told the people who loved you most that you were profoundly unwell. “Lately, I’ve had to use pieces of myself to help people realize their potential. I don’t know how I do it or why it’s happening, but I can feel my soul break apart. It’s like bits of me are being chipped away to help glue someone else together. And it hurts. This last time with Ryan burned like being skinned, and the dizziness after was just…bad,” she finished.

  She couldn’t bear to reveal the bliss she received from fixing men or how the thought of experiencing that euphoria nearly sent her after Leyton. She couldn’t bear to tell them that she was an addict. “But with Fel there is nothing. No pain, no dizziness, no risk.” And no hunger. At least not for anyone else.

  “Except to your heart, Willita.” Quill moved to sit next to Dragon and began to examine her, peering into her eyes, instructing her to open her mouth and say ahh, checking her glands.

  “Did it ever occur to you, Little Sister, that losing your heart is just as much of a danger as giving away your soul?”

  No, it never had, Dragon thought. Once, seven boyfriends after her first kiss, but before she lost her virginity, she swore she came within spitting distance of love. A few more nudges in one direction and her knight in shining armor would finally be hers, so her crystal clear vision of him had predicted.

  A last-minute acceptance to a far-away college had been unexpected and Dragon had cried many tears when he left; coming so close to her dream only to lose it was unbearable. She never achieved the success of that time again. Oh, there were times when she could see light at the end of the tunnel, but something always prevented her from making it to the other side: a cold that ruined her focus and her balm’s potency or Saras’s insane course requirements that pushed her and her sight off their game.

  Experience had taught her that finding love meant seeing the road ahead of her, not leaping into the unknown. Not seeing Fel’s potential was a guarantee that she couldn’t fall for him.

  Like getting paid to do nothing, Dragon thought, but remained silent, knowing that boasting of her good fortune right now would just make the lecture last longer. She squirmed a little as Quill raised her shirt and probed her belly.

  “Sit still and let your ma look at ya,” Jasper commanded. “Everyone here has seen you without clothes on, or have you forgotten that once in, it used to take all three of us to get you out of the tub? Hell,
I even changed your diapers!”

  “You did not!”

  “Of course I did!” Jasper scratched his head. “Didn’t I?”

  “She was nine when she first met you,” Quill reminded, trying not to smile.

  “How could I forget that?” Jasper muttered.

  “The years have been full,” Ch’in answered, kneeling at Dragon’s feet and pulling off her heels to examine her body’s q’hi reflected in the soles of her feet. “You’ve neglected your balance, child,” he tutted, his frown deepening as his fingertips palpated the palms of her hands and tips of her ears.

  “Ch’in is right,” Jasper said, watching the dragon king’s hands hover over Dragon’s body, smoothing the energy that surrounded it like a potter might ease away minute imperfections with wet hands and a spinning wheel. “Flannacán may register as nothing to your soul, but your heart—anyone’s really—is a more sensitive instrument. Fill it up and it performs indefinitely. But break it and every other function, both physical and spiritual, slows like a wound-down clock until it stops.”

  “I don’t propose to fall in love with him, Father,” Dragon said dryly. She closed her eyes, relaxing under Ch’in’s ministrations. A private smile touched her mouth as she fantasized about how it would be to incorporate Fel into her life. Wake up, a little breakfast, see him and experience an orgasm as cataclysmic as the one induced by the foot massage in his rooms, put in a few hours at Elemental, perhaps a late lunch together and another walk as freeing and honest and enjoyable as the path that took them through Trash Bin, a little afternoon delight, a blissful episode that only required a physical response from her, two or three more clients at the salon, a quick bite to eat then an indulgent, joyful leap into a late night of sweaty, earthy play. Days of well-deserved luxury.

  “Whatever it is you’re thinking,” Jasper said, averting his eyes from her glowing face as if embarrassed, “you’re fooling yourself. Your feelings will be engaged, my love. Your ability notwithstanding, it is your nature to be caught and held by the beauty in folk.”

  “You should’ve been a goddess,” Quill murmured, cupping Dragon’s face tenderly. “Ever was I enchanted by the deepest, most secret hearts of my supplicants. Despite any outward behavior, their first instincts spoke a truth that one couldn’t help but find worthy. I gratefully sunk into their hopes like they were soothing waters.”

  “However, the Dragon’s boyfriends do not show their truest selves to her. It is she who must mine their intent for precious jewels,” Ch’in said. “It is her delight at each nugget found that must sustain her and apparently does not.”

  “Which makes her a bleeding sure thing,” Jasper groused. “At least a god can expect worship. Dragon pledges that same love and gets nothing in return. Flannacán,” he said, his eyes boring into Dragon’s, “will provide you with fewer nutrients than your other boyfriends have and yet, for various reasons, the least of which are that you are not a god and are therefore without the protections divinity naturally imposes, you will love him. You are a fool if you think otherwise. He is not a holiday from the everyday, daughter. He is a disaster that threatens your very life. I forbid you to see him.”

  Dragon couldn’t help but chuckle at that exaggerated edict. Her smiling eyes met Ch’in’s amused ones and she gave in to the urge to laugh.

  Jasper’s eyes narrowed in offense. “I’m not joking, God damn it. Quill, call someone. I’m having her institutionalized.”

  It was an unsmiling Quill who met Jasper’s frustrated gaze. The look that passed between them remained unbroken for at least a minute and sobered Dragon immediately, making her shift uncomfortably at the idea that her fate could be decided in a few unspoken seconds. Worse, their silent conservation broadened to encompass Ch’in who effortlessly switched to that hushed language indigenous to parents everywhere.

  Dragon watched Ch’in’s face closely as her parents “spoke,” looking for some clue to help understand their verdict.

  When Ch’in nodded and all three immortals trained their determined gazes on Dragon, her stomach clenched. Clearly they had agreed to enact some sort of parental doomsday protocol, which implied planning, which meant they knew this day was coming for some time.

  Unsure of whether to be embarrassed that she was so predictable or grateful that she had such thoughtful diligence on her side, Dragon got to her feet and awaited judgment like an anxious defendant.

  Jasper placed his half-full glass on the coffee table. “If you insist on pursuing this course,” he said in a voice she hardly recognized, “we will have no choice but to disown you.” He waited a beat to let that devastating pronouncement set. “Mark me, daughter,” he said, and Dragon fancied she could see the feral countenance of fae-born phooka on her father’s face. “Should you choose to defy us,” he said, motioning to Ch’in and Quill’s intractable stances, “and take up with an acknowledged criminal, our association ends here and now. All that has passed between us will not be recognized in this life nor any court or government as yet to be discovered. You would no longer be welcome in this house and any status or protections you have gained as a ward of the Wild Hunt, Eternal Moon and Water Divine,” he continued motioning to himself, Quill and Ch’in, “will be revoked.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Dragon shook her head a little wildly, more willing to believe that the sky wasn’t blue than this outlandish threat.

  “Willita,” Quill said, unbending a bit. “Your quest for love wastes you away like a chronic illness. With each new boyfriend, the lengths you will go to make them into true love have become more and more dangerous. And now you tell us that your behavior jeopardizes your very soul. Instead of refraining, instead of finding a way to repair the damage already sustained and enacting a strategy to keep your—your disease under control, you bid us—we who love you—watch while you dive headlong into certain failure. No,” she said, slashing a hand through the air. “We refuse.”

  “You have left us little choice, Little Sister,” Ch’in said. His black, faintly embroidered tunic and loose pants billowed as he moved to join the united front Quill and Jasper presented. “Demonstrate that you have a care for your welfare and your home will remain with us. That is what we want as well,” he assured her. “You here in this house, safe—as safe as we three can manage.”

  “But lonely. I can’t live at home forever,” Dragon pointed out logically.

  “Indeed no, but neither can you be allowed to make decisions that put your life in danger,” Ch’in said.

  “Excuse me?” Dragon asked, offended. She was not some foolish teenager caught up with drugs and an oily, leather-clad older man on the brink of disaster.

  “I speak the truth,” Ch’in said. “No matter how hard it is to hear.”

  “No,” Dragon grit out, fighting tears. “You don’t get to just abandon me after almost twenty years!”

  “You are killing yourself!” Quill cried.

  “No,” Dragon said her voice an unrecognizable growl. She raised her eyes to Jasper’s, the pain of her parents’ edict scalding her in an overwhelming rush until it bubbled out of her pores in a translucent dark light that painted her form with lush, monstrous color.

  A multitude of voices—the same ones from her earlier encounter with Ryan—whispered their encouragement and their craving for blood, which the human’s head wound had barely satisfied. But a phooka, ah a creature of the Shade, a darkened soul—the blood of life’s first born. Take him, the voices urged.

  “No,” she said again, the words echoing hollowly as her body flickered like an old watch-box, searching for a signal.

  “Yes,” the phooka insisted, his innate hunger for mayhem inflating to meet her body’s challenge. He encircled Dragon’s neck with one hand, his surprise evident when his hand became a claw, each tip, a ghostly, furred wisp, freezing superficial grooves upon her flesh like the burning strike of a whip. “Heed me,” he growled.

  “Phooka,” she gasped out, using strength she didn’t know she had to overcome
the crowd of whispers echoing through her head. “Don’t you love me anymore?”

  “My whole life I’ve never loved anything as I love you. Not even myself,” he said, his broken whisper at odds with his show of unexpected power. “I will mourn you the rest of my days when mortality finally comes for you, and beg for a chance, for just one more moment with you, even this one which must surely break my heart.”

  Dragon gazed into her father’s bestial eyes, the only aspect of the phooka’s true self that remotely resembled those familiar laughing blues. For blue they still were, pupil, iris and white, though a color closer to ice than sky. As ferociously inhuman as the sled hounds of Hell’s southernmost borders.

  It wasn’t heartlessness that Dragon saw in Jasper’s wicked old gaze. It was the heartbreak. Suddenly, it occurred to her that millennia of making mischief could not have prepared him for love or the ache of a ravaged heart.

  She was training ground for this two-thousand-year-old virgin and she was failing him. Her life would be over long before his, and instead of being a daughter he could be proud of, one whose life he could look back on and say without shame, “See? See that there? She got that from me,” her legacy to him would be a basket full of elegantly wrapped mistakes that, like any parent, he’d try to justify.

  She could not do that to him, not after all he’d done for her—the instincts he’d subdued, the domesticity he learned, the offers of comfort he had charmingly declined for fear they would be detrimental to his daughter.

  “I won’t see him,” she said, forcing a smile and silencing the last of the voices like they were roaches to be squashed. “I’ll be better, I promise, Daddy.”

  “Oh God,” Jasper breathed, the ghostly form of his beast disappearing, and hauled her into his arms.

  When Jasper finally released her Ch’in said, “I would have your word child,” and slid his arms about her shoulder in a bone crushing hug.

  “Yes, yes,” she said, burying her face in the curve of Ch’in’s neck, her body shaking from her interrupted metamorphosis. Her next words were muffled. “My promise, it’s yours. Take it.” Her heart gave a funny little hitch, like a padlock clicking closed and she realized that while she promised many things in the past—to never associate with bad men just this afternoon—the consequences of breaking those pledges had been hers alone to face or so she thought. Never had her activities and their repercussions been so keenly detailed and never had her choice been so simple. Not easy, but painfully obvious.