The Dragon's Hunt

by Jane Kindred

  “I’m good, too.” Phoebe paused a little too long; Rhea should have seen it coming. “But Rhe’s very good. Or so I’ve heard.” She was too far away for Rhea to kick her.

  Leo laughed awkwardly, pulling on his hat, and let himself out. A blast of cold air was sucked in before he shut the door behind him.

  Phoebe was smiling smugly.

  “You suck, Phoebe.”

  “You and Theia always take such pleasure in tormenting me about my sex life, and I never could figure out what was so damn appealing. But, you know, this is actually pretty fun. I get it now.” She beamed. “I like it.”

  Rhea gave her a murderous glare. For once, she was completely without a comeback. She’d created a monster. At least Leo hadn’t overheard anything crucial.

  Phoebe took a sip of her cocoa. “So have you seen any more ghost riders?”

  “They’re not ghost riders. They’re riders and they happen to look like ghosts. And I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it may incriminate me.”

  Phoebe grinned. “I’ve taught you well. Guess all that law school I wasted money on paid off. Anyway, Rafe agrees.”

  “With what?”

  “They’re shades, in a manner of speaking, but not ghosts. Not the spirits of the dead. More like wraiths. Especially given the presence of that fox you mentioned. He says it sounds like you encountered a fylgja. It’s an aspect of the Norse concept of the self. Apparently, there are several aspects that can act independently of one another, projecting outside the physical body. The fylgja is a sort of familiar spirit projection. It can also appear as a warning.”

  It fit with Leo’s talk last night about the munr and hugr being separate parts of himself. But if Vixen’s appearance had been a warning...what was it a warning of?

  Chapter 8

  Leo had heard every word of Rhea’s conversation with her sister. He’d tried not to, but the sound in the little shop carried extremely well and they were unbelievably terrible at keeping their voices down.

  At least he knew now why Rhea had left last night. He’d never heard it put quite so colorfully before, but “riding him like a Brahma bull” painted a vivid picture. He was going to have to find out more about this “reading” skill of hers. It explained the images he’d seen while she was working on his tattoo. And if he was going to have her do more work, he’d have to find some way to shield himself from being read—or straight-up admit he knew about her ability.

  As he walked in the brisk air, he tried not to dwell on the image she’d conjured and instead pondered her talk of “shifters.” It had followed the discussion of the Midgard Serpent. Rhea apparently knew more about that than she’d let on. Could she have lied about what his alter ego knew? It was frustrating having only part of the story of his own life, and knowing the other Leo might have information he didn’t was infuriating. As if they were two separate people competing with each other. And now they were competing for a woman’s attention.

  Not that Leo was pursuing Rhea, or that he could even afford to pursue anyone, but she’d had the vision while reading the other him, not Leo himself. Which, coupled with the propositioning he’d reportedly done, meant the other him already had detailed images of being with Rhea in his mind. Or were her readings premonitions? Heat rushed to his face with a surge of anger at the thought of the other Leo occupying his skin while being intimate with Rhea—without him.

  Gods, he was losing his mind. And he was not going to think about Rhea in that fashion. It was getting him nowhere. He concentrated once more on the idea of shape-shifting. Did Rhea actually know shape-shifters—this Rafe and Dev her sister had mentioned? And if she did, what would his tattoo have to do with it? Rhea didn’t seem to think Leo was a shifter. But the fact that her sister had even asked was just weird. Like it was common enough that she’d expect it. Could that be why he’d always been so determined not to let his alter ego get free? Would Leo shift?

  Deep in thought about the terrifying prospect of actually becoming Jörmungandr, he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, and he nearly ran smack into someone coming from the opposite direction.

  Slipping precariously on the icy sidewalk, he grabbed for the other man’s arm to steady them both. “I am so sorry.” Leo let go and took a step back. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

  “I can see that. You really ought to... Leo? Leo Ström, right?”

  Leo pushed up his glasses, trying to place the face. Early thirties, fairly nondescript brown hair and eyes—he looked vaguely familiar, but—shit, what if this was someone he should know but had forgotten along with so much else?

  “Brock Dressler.” Dressler held out his hand. “We met at a conference at NAU a few months ago. Genetic Imperatives in Biotechnology. We talked briefly about eugenics while we were waiting for the elevator.”

  Leo shook his hand and nodded. Maybe he’d forgotten him because he hadn’t made much of an impression. “Right, right. Of course. Brock. How have you been?”

  “Can’t complain.” Dressler turned up his collar against the wind. “What brings you to Sedona?”

  “Oh, just the scenery. I hadn’t been down here before. I’m taking a break from my studies.”

  “You picked a great time. Sedona’s beautiful any time of year, but there’s something special about snow in the desert. We don’t usually get it this early. Looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas.” He winked conspiratorially. “I’m allowed to say that now, right?” Dressler laughed like he’d said something clever.

  Leo thought about ignoring it, but he was feeling contrary, still riled up by the thought of the other Leo being with Rhea. “Why wouldn’t you be allowed to say that?”

  “White and Christmas.” Dressler grinned. “Thank God we don’t have to tiptoe around trying not to offend the elites pushing their agenda anymore.”

  Leo folded his arms, perhaps subconsciously aware of their intentions. “What ‘elites’ would those be?”

  “You know, the liberal Zionist media.”

  He took a deep breath, trying to be the better man, trying to think of what the better man would say to such an appalling expression of idiocy.

  Dressler’s smile faltered. “Don’t tell me you’re one of them? Not with those tattoos.”

  Leo glanced down. The sleeves of his coat had ridden up when he’d crossed his arms, revealing the gauntlets.

  “Why else would you have the allrune and Thor’s hammer tattooed on your arms? I know a brother when I see one.”

  In retrospect, coldcocking a virtual stranger on the street probably wasn’t his finest hour. But it felt like it was as his fist impacted with Dressler’s jaw.

  Dressler’s head snapped back, his eyes wide with surprise, and he stumbled backward, ducking belatedly. “What the hell, Leo?”

  Leo stepped in close before Dressler could back away farther. “I’m not your goddamn brother. Don’t you ever mistake me for one of yours. And if you want my advice, I wouldn’t throw away your toe shoes just yet either, because you’re going to need to go back to tiptoeing. There are still plenty of people who find your kind of talk disgusting. Thank the gods.” He turned on his heel, grateful he didn’t slip on the ice again and make a fool of himself after his outburst.

  “I ought to press charges, you maniac!” Dressler called after him. “That was assault!”

  Your face is an assault. He choked back laughter at the childishness of the thought and waited until he’d rounded the corner before shaking out his hand and flexing his bloodied knuckles. He wasn’t sure if it was Dressler’s blood or his own. He’d hit the guy pretty good. At least he’d made his position clear. And maybe the little worm would think twice about assuming his bigotry was somehow acceptable now. Leo would be just fine with his kind going back into the closet for fear of public ridicule. Or fa
ce punching.

  He remembered the conversation at the conference now. The panel they’d come out of was on balancing the strengths and weaknesses of inherited traits, and Dressler had spouted some drivel about the ethics of breeding out inferior genes. Leo hadn’t taken his words as hinting at racial purity at the time, but in retrospect, Dressler’s agenda seemed fairly transparent. He remembered hoping the elevator would hurry up and come. He’d been about to meet Theia for drinks—they’d gone out only once before—and he’d brushed off Dressler without paying him much mind. Combined with the graffiti at Rhea’s place, what Leo had dismissed as xenophobic wing nut babble took on greater significance. Maybe there was something bigger going on here.

  * * *

  By the time he got back to the shop, Rhea’s sister was gone. He’d forgotten to get his sandwich, but then that hadn’t really been the purpose of his walk. Rhea stood behind the counter, absently twisting a pastel multicolored spike of hair, the tablet’s screen asleep in front of her.

  He smiled and tried for nonchalance as he closed the door against the cold air. “So how many of you are there?”

  Rhea paused with the strand around her index finger. “Me? I’m not the one with a split personality.”

  “No, I meant sisters.” He grinned. “I want to be on the lookout in case I stumble across another one.”

  Rhea pushed the hair back from her forehead with a look of annoyance. She’d probably heard that one more than once. “There are four.” She scrunched up her nose. “Or seven, depending on whom you ask.”

  Leo dropped onto the leather couch, realizing it wasn’t quite made for his weight as it creaked beneath him. “Sounds intriguing.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No, that’s okay.” Rhea folded her arms and leaned against the counter. “It’s just kind of a sore spot with me right now. It’s not a secret or anything. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. But it might be nice to talk to someone other than my sisters about it.”

  Leo leaned back, stretching his arms across the couch back. “I’m all ears.”

  “Theia was doing this genealogy thing a while back. Genetic research is kind of her hobby. She was interested in plotting various traits throughout our lineage, and with our parents dead and no living grandparents, there was no one to ask.” Rhea looked up at the ceiling as if carefully choosing her words. “And she stumbled upon this other Carlisle family. It turns out our father was a secret bigamist, and there are three half sisters out there we’ve never met. Well, except one, who’s a nutjob and left roadkill on our doorsteps after she found out about us.”

  Leo’s hat was slipping into his eyes and he pushed it back on his head, as if he needed to see better to process the story. “Damn.”

  “Yeah. Damn.”

  For once, he didn’t have that nagging desire to know where he’d come from. There were certain benefits to not having a family. No one to totally betray you and leave you feeling stabbed in the gut.

  “But you and your sisters are pretty close, I take it? The ones you grew up with. It must be cool to have a twin.”

  “Usually.” The dark rings around the gray of Rhea’s eyes seemed especially vivid. He decided not to pry further, but apparently Rhea didn’t need any more encouragement now that she’d gotten started. “I thought I could trust Theia, but she never told me about any of this. I had to find out when the nutjob was trying to kill Phoebe.”

  He wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. “She literally tried to kill her?”

  “She got taken in by this asshole my older sister Ione used to date, and he kind of...recruited her to do his dirty work while he’s in prison.”

  Leo shifted on the couch. He’d had to ask.

  “Too much information, right?” Rhea laughed and picked up the tablet, studying the spreadsheet. “Anyway, that’s why Theia’s not exactly my favorite person right now.”

  A funny little pang of disappointment accompanied the realization that jealousy over his involvement with Theia had nothing to do with it, and he spoke, as usual, before he thought. “That’s why?”

  Rhea eyed him over the top of the tablet. “Why else?”

  “I don’t know.” Think fast, Ström. “I guess if I had a twin, I wouldn’t let that come between us.”

  Rhea looked at him pointedly. “You can’t even get along with your own id.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve got me there.” He scratched at his knit cap. “Id. That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”

  “Well, he said the term was munr. I mean, you said.” The word had a sharp zing of familiarity, but he couldn’t place it. It was like trying to read something in a dream.

  “Munr?”

  “I think it’s Old Norse. He said it was the self of will and desire.”

  “The self.” He scratched at the hat again.

  “He claims your soul goes off on some business of its own, which is why he’s in charge of the skin.”

  “My soul?”

  “He called it the hugr. The self of conscious thought. You really didn’t know any of this?”

  The hat was bugging him, and he pulled it off his head. “I...did not.” Leo combed his fingers through his hair. The idea that parts of him were engaged in activities and conversations he knew nothing about was unnerving. “You said he—my munr—thinks I got the Midgard Serpent tattoo to keep him in line. I think that’s true. I’ve had the idea since I got the tattoo that the serpent is a symbol for his destructive energy, and, that if he were to escape, he could use that energy to cause a great deal of harm.”

  He’d been pondering how to broach the subject of shifters without letting on that he’d heard her entire conversation with Phoebe, but he lucked out, and she did it for him.

  “Do you think that energy could be literal?”

  “Literal?”

  Rhea’s unruly strand of hair slid back into her face as she looked down at the counter, pondering the answer. “Like...do you think he has any unusual abilities? Maybe the ability to actually...change the form he’s in? I mean, he talks about being in control of the ‘skin,’ which I think he sees as another aspect of self. What if he could manipulate it?”

  “You think my munr could turn into a snake.”

  “Well, maybe not a snake exactly, but...something physically different from the form you’re in now.” She was dancing around it. Maybe he was going to have to say it after all. But Rhea straightened and put her hands in her pockets. “Do you believe in magic?”

  He took his time answering. “Well, since so much of what I know about my life is somewhat murky, I can’t say that I definitively don’t believe in magic.”

  That crooked half smile, half smirk that drew undue attention to her lips slid into place. “So you’re not not licking toads.”

  Leo pulled his gaze away from her mouth. “I... What?”

  “It’s from an episode of The Simpsons. Bart asks Homer if he’s licking toads and he says he’s not not licking toads.”

  “What’s The Simpsons?”

  Rhea’s mouth dropped open in exaggerated horror. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen The Simpsons. It’s only been on television for nearly thirty years. They must have had it in Sweden.”

  Leo lifted his shoulders, giving her a helpless smile. “I don’t really watch television.” The truth was, he might have watched hundreds of television shows, but that sort of thing didn’t seem to stick.

  Rhea shook her head. “I’m starting to worry about you, Leo. I may have to do an intervention. Lock you up at my place instead of here some night and force you to watch The Simpsons best-of. Maybe some ‘Treehouse of Horror’ episodes—the Halloween specials.”

  Something inside him did a little flip-flop at the idea of Rhea locking
him up. He moved his hat into his lap. “You realize you’d be showing the Lucid Ass your House of Horrors and I still wouldn’t have seen it. In fact, why don’t you ask him? He’s probably already seen some. I often leave the television on in the motel to give him something to do at night.”

  “It’s Treehouse of Horror, and I suppose you’re probably right.” She shrugged. “Maybe I will ask him.”

  “So you plan to stay again this evening? That is, if you’re going to allow me to stay again this evening?”

  Rhea studied him, her expression giving away nothing. “Yes, I’m going to let you stay. I don’t know if I will. We’ll see.” She drummed her fingers against the counter. “In the meantime, you’re here to work, remember?”

  “Right.” Leo jumped up, making a strategic wardrobe adjustment. “Sorry. I got a little too cozy, huh? So what’s next?”

  Rhea took a stack of flyers from behind the counter and set them on it with a heavy plop. “I’ve been setting up digital ads and working on the website, but I figured some old-school advertising couldn’t hurt. I need these posted around the Uptown area.” She brought out a staple gun along with a heavy-duty roll of cellophane tape and set them next to the stack. “Use whatever method works. Staples for telephone poles, tape for the sides of newsstands. Whatever. Just don’t get arrested.”

  Leo smiled, putting his coat back on. “I think I can handle it.” As he put on his hat, Rhea came out from around the counter and surprised him by grabbing his hand.

  “What the heck is this?” She held up his bloodied knuckles. He’d forgotten all about Dressler and the ill-conceived but immensely satisfying action he’d taken in response to the man’s bigotry.

  “I, uh...” Oh, hell, just say it. “I punched a Nazi.”

  “You what?”

  “This asshole I ran into while I was out. I’d met him at a genetics in biotech conference a few weeks ago, and he assumed my attendance at a panel on selecting for beneficial genetic mutations meant I was sympathetic to his cause. Well, that, and my tattoos.”