by Mina Khan
“Yeah, really.”
“Ya’ know…”
Jack’s eyes popped open as he sat up straight. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Tavistock stared at him, then nodded. “What do you want to talk about?”
Placing his hat on his knees, Jack leaned forward. “The old days.”
Raising a gnarled finger, Tavistock tapped his temple. “Everything’s in there. What do you want to know?”
“You knew my great-grandfather and grandfather, right?”
“Yeah, I knew ‘em.”
“I want your take on them.”
“You’ve heard stories.”
Jack nodded. “I want to know what you thought of them. The good and the bad.”
“The good and the bad.” Tavistock leaned back into his pillows and steepled his fingers. “You’ve heard most of the bad, so I won’t repeat things needlessly.”
Jack’s knees jitterbugged with his hat. He forced himself to still.
“To tell the truth, I was kinda jealous of them for a long while.”
The hat flew to the floor as Jack jerked in surprise. He picked it up and dusted it off. “Jealous? Of what? Their money?”
“Nah, my dear old dad had plenty of that.” He chortled. “The Callaghan men had something else. Just something special about them.”
Jack’s throat grew as bone-dry as West Texas dust. “What do you mean?”
“Confidence. Pure one hundred percent proof confidence.” Tavistock shook his head. “To a young tadpole like me back then, ungainly and unsure of myself, that was a thing of envy.”
“Confidence?”
“Oh yeah, they’d walk into a room and you’d feel their energy like the sun beating down on us mere humans. For a long time I wanted to be just like a Callaghan.”
A bitter laugh burst out of Jack. “Then you found out what villains they were.”
The old man regarded him with laughter in his eyes. “No, then I found Elsie.”
The change in topics left Jack floundering to follow. “Elsie?”
In reply, Tavistock shrugged with his palms held up. “I figured if I’d won Elsie, I couldn’t be that lacking. The right woman does wonders for a man’s confidence.”
Heat invaded Jack’s skin. “Oh.”
“Ya’ know…” Tavistock held up his hands at Jack’s glare. “Don’t worry. I’m just talkin’ about the old days.”
Jack’s shoulder’s climbed down as he settled into the chair to listen.
“This town’s always been full of gossips,” Tavistock said. “Just like they talked about the Callaghans, they talked about anyone else given half the chance.” He cleared his throat. “Did you ever hear about how Elsie and I met?”
He laughed at Jack’s sheepish look. “I guess you have. Well, it’s true.”
The hat landed on the floor again. According to rumors, Elsie had been a lady of the night when she’d met Tavistock. “True? I always chalked it up to meanness.” He cleared his throat. “We might be talking about two different things.”
“I may never have been a Callaghan, but then again given the stories almost everybody in Paradise Valley might be some part Callaghan.” Laughter shook his shoulders. “Anyways, I caused my share of trouble.”
Infected by Tavistock’s glee in the story, Jack couldn’t help grinning back. “What kind of trouble? Wait, I thought your father introduced the two of you. At least that’s what you said in the paper.”
“So he did! He took me to Miss Hattie’s bordello for my eighteenth birthday for some manly experience, if you get my drift,” Tavistock said. “Elsie was my teacher that night.”
“Whoa, too much information there pal.”
“Stop blushing, I’m not giving you any details,” Tavistock shook his head. “Anyhow, I became a regular and eventually proposed.”
A low whistle escaped Jack. “That must have been interesting.”
“You can’t imagine the hoopla!” Tavistock wiped at his eyes. “On one hand was my father, the respectable banker, and on the other hand was this very stubborn woman. Imagine how pissed they were to find themselves on the same side.”
“On the same side?”
“Yeah, neither wanted me to go ahead with my crazy idea of marriage.”
“So, you actually had to work to win her love.”
“Oh no, I’d won her love all right. But at first she said no.”
“Why?”Jack asked, intrigued despite himself.
Tavistock shook his head. “I came from a prestigious family. She didn’t. She was worried about all that, her job and her not being good enough.”
Jack nodded. “Well, there were a lot of differences between you two,” he said. “Different backgrounds, ages, and marital status. And her, um, job.”
Tavistock waved his hands dismissively. “Those differences don’t matter,” he said. “I mean, I didn’t ask to be born into my family but I was. And she didn’t ask for hard times and a room in the brothel. Those things just happened. And we certainly had no control over which years we were born in.”
He paused and swallowed. “What really matters is the feelings,” he said. “If two people feel differently about each other, than there’s not much to work with. Luckily, Elsie and I loved each other.”
Jack’s thoughts swam as if Tavistock had banged him on the head with a frying pan. Lynn hadn’t asked to be born a dragon, just as he’d never asked to be born a Callaghan. God, he’d been a shithead.
He needed to think. He scuttled out of the chair. “I gotta go.”
“Jack.”
Fighting his need to rush home, Jack turned at the door.
“Ya’ know, you’ve got some of that Callaghan confidence,” he said. “Now go find that girl and get the rest.”
He left Tavistock cackling in his room. The sly old fox.
Jack’s heart gladdened as he pulled up to the house. Bright, cheery light blazed from the windows, welcoming him home. Light streamed out into the night, carving out the nearest trees and shrubs. Moths fluttered and fawned in that yellow spill. Wait….He’d never leave so many lights on. His fingers froze on the pickup’s door handle. In fact, he hadn’t.
Jack flung the door open and flew out of the truck. Crouching low, he ran under the cover of shadows close to the house. Of course, all those damn lights would make it impossible to hide for long. He stepped into the brightness and swung the back door open. As he slipped inside, he cursed himself for not locking up. Until today, he’d never felt the need to. Where was Cannon? Usually, the dog greeted him at the door wagging his whole body in excitement. Goddammit. The intruder had better not have hurt Cannon. Anger and worry torched the blood in his veins. He strode through the house, calling and whistling for the dog.
Something between a whimper and a whine answered him from the kitchen.
Jack broke into a run.
He skidded to a stop right inside the kitchen. Cannon cowered underneath the kitchen table, low to the ground, face nudged between his front paws. His tail swished in a halfhearted wave.
What the hell had scared the dog this bad?
Jack grabbed a doggy treat from one of the counter cabinets and approached the table with soft steps, then crouched down to be closer to Cannon. Holding the treat out, he called the dog in friendly, happy tones. “Here, boy. Look what I got you? It’s a treat. A treat! Come on, boy.”
With another whine, Cannon scooted forward on his belly.
Keeping the treat just beyond his reach, Jack was finally able to draw the dog out. He stood with the dried twist of beef held high.
Barking, Cannon bounded to his feet and lunged for it.
Jack fed him the treat and rubbed Cannon’s shaggy coat with both hands. Fear dissipated into the air. The dog didn’t seem to be hurt. After a careful once-over, Jack rewarded Cannon with an extra treat to make up for whatever fright he’d endured.
Even though his gut said the intruder was long gone, he locked the back door before checking out the house. He started
with the library.
“Holy Shit.”
Books, papers, knickknacks lay scattered all over the floor. Someone had attacked the chairs with something sharp. White stuffing and springs pushed out like entrails. Paintings and animal heads had been pulled off the walls and thrown willy-nilly.
“Shit. And double shit.”
He waded through the debris to the desk. No notebook.
Like a wild boar, he charged here and there, searching under different piles, stirring up the mess and reforming it, until at last he stood in the center of it all, panting to catch his breath.
No notebook.
As an afterthought he went over to the display cabinet. The scale, the antique gun and all the coins were missing. Gone, all gone.
His heart jumped and jived in his chest as he dashed out of the room, around the corner and down the hallway to his bedroom. Another mess greeted him there.
He ran to the bathroom. Wrenching open the lid of the laundry basket, he pulled out a handful of clothes. A grin spread his lips as he caught sight of the soiled shirt he’d been wearing earlier. One hand shot to the left breast pocket and encountered the stiffness of the envelope.
With a half strangled cry, he sat on the edge of the tub. His fingers trembled as he pulled the yellowed envelope out of the pocket. Blank on the outside with something inside. Sweat spiked his upper lip as he flipped it open, and found two pieces of paper. He unfolded the first to reveal a map of the old Callaghan property. An X marked a location that seemed to be on one of the hills on land that he still owned. That’s lucky. He squinted at the map. Or maybe not. His father and grandfather had sold away bits and pieces of land, but somehow always kept the hill and its surrounding areas in Callaghan hands.
Curiosity gnawed him and he unfolded the second paper. It turned out to be a letter to him. From his dad. Tears blurred the writing. Jack hurriedly swiped at his eyes. He remembered his dad rambling on his deathbed about family and dragons. He’d been half listening, squeezing his father’s hand, trying to say goodbye. He’d dismissed his dad’s words as nonsense, a fragment of something from one of his books. Worse, he’d resented those books.
Taking a deep breath, Jack gazed down at the letter. The missive was simple.
Dear Son,
I hope you find this letter and the notebook, for this story and all it reveals belongs to you. Also, to your sister. Though, she is more like her mother and less a Callaghan. In the ledgers I’ve kept meticulous accounts of all the lands sold at nominal cost to family. Anybody with a drop of Callaghan blood. Your grandfather and I tried to make amends for generations of wrongs. Now you must continue what we started. Almost everything is lost, but what remains can be found in the cave. It is now yours to protect.
God bless and good luck,
Your father.
Chapter 27
He’d have much rather spent his time watching Lynn, but stalking Jack had paid off. Henry flopped on his bed and cracked open the notebook.
This time he’d savor every word.
The story was told from a dragon’s point of view. A dragon who had barely escaped the crusades and St. George’s wrath, and made his way to Ireland, adopted the name Callaghan then moved on to the New World. A dragon who, in human form, experienced seasickness on a ship journey, survived the Indian wars and subsistence farming. Luckily, he had been able to bring at least part of his treasure horde. A dragon who’d taken a Native American woman as his mate and started the Callaghan dynasty.
He finished reading the story at three a.m. Laying the book on his belly, Henry folded his hands underneath his head and stared up at the stained popcorn ceiling. Weariness burned his eyes, but his thoughts ran on full battery.
An imaginative attempt to glorify the family? Or truth? Most people would chalk the tale up as fantasy, but he knew better. He knew the truth of dragons.
All these years, he’d dreamt of the black dragon. Imagined it breathing, pulsing, fuming inside his body. All his life, he’d heard its roars and whispers of fire, flame and destruction. Sometimes he’d thought he was crazy. Most other times, he imagined this beautiful, powerful creature had somehow been trapped inside his body. Cursed to serve him, and only him, forever. All this time, he’d considered himself the dragon master.
A giggle escaped into the night. Now it all made sense. The dragon wasn’t a separate being, but a part of him. Not the dragon master, but the dragon. If only he’d known this earlier, how much more powerful would he have been today? Rage sparked inside for all the wasted time. If only his father had done his duty and claimed him, shared the family secret….
He strode back and forth across the threadbare carpet. His foot sent an empty beer bottle rolling across the room. The old woman had tried to tell him. But he’d dismissed her words as more foolish ideas, just like her ideas about honor and responsibility. He thought she’d been trying to tempt him to give up his power and follow rules. Rules were for ordinary people. He’d played along, and then destroyed her.
He grabbed a fistful of hair, tight enough to pinch the skin on his skull, and closed his eyes enduring the pain as punishment for his own foolishness. If he’d only listened to the old woman….
No matter. The girl could change. His mind played back Lynn’s transformation from human to dragon. Beautiful. Powerful. Unreal.
A smile flickered to his face. But, of course, it was real.
At Jim Bob’s he’d acted a fool and fled screaming like a little girl. He tightened his fist and grimaced at the pain. He’d thought he’d been prepared. But he hadn’t expected interference from the Callaghan brat, he hadn’t expected Lynn to rise above the drugs and his control to turn dragon. His control had never failed before, but something about this godforsaken Paradise Valley affected him. When she’d started shooting flames, running away had seemed the safest option.
Henry sighed, dragged his fingers from his hair down his face. Next time, next time he’d make damn sure to be ready. There’d be no freaking surprises. Lynn would be his. And she would show him how to turn dragon, and come into his Callaghan heritage.
Hah, the old man left him a valuable inheritance after all. He rubbed his chin. But he wanted more, deserved more. He wanted it all.
Henry strode to the bed and threw himself on it, next to the notebook. He flipped through the pages until he found the bit about the dragon’s treasure.
Six thousand pieces of gold and ten thousand drachmas of silver, a handful of diamonds from India, golden amber and ocean colored turquoise from Egypt, rubies and emeralds and other precious stones from the land of Persia.
Treasure. The word created a frisson of excitement in his veins. The sound of it echoed and swirled in his mind like motes of gold dust. Thoughts of it filled his mouth with a golden sweetness, until saliva leaked from between his lips.
He swallowed as he wiped his chin. Of course, he’d searched the house and found nothing. But deep in his bones he knew there had to be treasure. Jack had probably hidden it somewhere.
Henry settled his head back onto the pillow. But what would make Jack lead him to it?
Fortified with a hearty breakfast, Jack gathered together some essential items— axe, hacksaw, trash bags, rope, first aid kit, flash light, protective glasses, pocket knife, bug repellent, cell phone, a flask of water, a box of crackers, the map. He surveyed the pile. “Come what may, I’m ready.”
He packed most everything into a backpack. The axe he decided to carry —handy to hack through brush, enemies, and, possibly, dragons. In case there was more than just Lynn. He dressed in a long sleeved shirt and thick jeans, then donned his fire suit. Next, he jammed his feet into hiking boots, shouldered the backpack, and slid his hands into heavy gloves. As a finishing touch, he slipped on the protective glasses and slammed his hat —the fire helmet seemed a bit of overkill— on his head.
With a sigh, he stomped toward the door and made the mistake of glancing into the hallway mirror. Sheesh, he looked like a cross between Indiana Jones a
nd an alien. Any dragon he came across would be too busy laughing its tail off to give chase. According to Jen, Lynn happened to be out of town. Small blessings.
Shaking his head, he stepped outside and climbed into his truck. Within moments, the engine rumbled to life. Jack headed for Fire Mountain.
After a fifteen minute bumpy ride, he stood at the foot of the craggy hill and stared toward the top. Somewhere up there was a hidden cave. What was in the cave? A man-eating monster? Treasure?
Whatever. Grasping the axe handle tighter, he began to climb.
Loose gravel skittered beneath his boots, rolling this way and that. He used the axe like a pole for extra leverage as he worked around boulders and pushed through thickets of overgrown scrub and cacti. From time to time, he hacked at particularly tough patches, careful not to create large noticeable gaps. Obviously his ancestors had wanted this place hidden for a reason. He’d give them the benefit of the doubt and discover the reason before telling the whole world.
While the thick fire suit protected him from the wicked cacti needles and rough branches, it was like an oven around his body. Sweat rolled down his face, and back, making the clothes stick to his skin. The suit was slow cooking him to death. Jack stumbled more and more often.
He missed his footing and lurched backwards, starting a small avalanche of debris. His arms flailed in front of him, his fingers wrapped around a gnarled cedar branch. For a moment, he remained at a hundred and thirty-five degree angle, swaying on the heels of his boot. “Freaking hell!”
If he’d rolled down the hillside and broken his neck, no one would have a clue. Maybe he should call his sister so she would at least know where to look for his body. The thought of Annie worrying killed that idea. No other option, but to survive.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself upright and onward. His gaze locked on the ground ahead, every step measured.
Once he reached more level ground, he stood panting a few moments, enjoying the feel of firm dirt under his feet. Then continued his journey.
At the halfway point, he stopped and leaned against a large rock. Taking off his hat, he swiped at the sweat on his brow and gazed again at the top. It still seemed far away, out of reach. Whatever was up there better be worth the trouble.
