Dancing with Dragons

by Lorenda Christensen

  He sighed. “I’m sorry, Carol. I just have a lot on my mind. Let me go see if I can find your doctor.” He didn’t quite make it out of the room before I caught him checking his watch.

  My head—my patchy, half-shaven head—was hurting again, so I said a mental good riddance to my irritating boyfriend, and drifted into a medically assisted nap.

  Chapter Three

  It seems I’d made an enemy. My nurse walked into the room and sniffed with disapproval when she saw I was awake. Her expression told me that after my mini-breakdown over the haircut, she’d done her best to be assigned elsewhere, and failed miserably.

  The nap had done enough good that I was embarrassed about my earlier rudeness, so I made a point to greet her properly this time around. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name, what with the freak-out over my hair and all. I’m Carol.” I held out my palm to shake her hand, doing my best to showcase my sanity. I didn’t need the entire hospital thinking I was a crazy American with a hair fetish.

  “Rosa.” She took my hand, but eyed me warily as she shook it, as if I might rip hers off and throw the twitching digits against the wall.

  Though my entire face seemed to ache with the effort, I tried to look pleasant, but it only made Rosa quickly back up a step. I realized that at this point, there was no way Rosa was going to become my new best friend, and a simple handshake wasn’t going to make her want to stay longer. Instead of wasting any more of her time, I pointed my chin in the direction of the heart monitor and asked the question all hospital patients want to know. “So. How am I doing? Any news on when they might let me out of here?”

  Rosa, still giving me the wide berth you’d give a caged tiger, walked cautiously to the foot of the bed and grabbed my chart. I was impressed with how she managed to keep one eye on me as she read. “Your head is better. You are having no issues with pain.” Her accent was thick, and it was a moment before I realized the last sentence wasn’t in the chart. She’d asked me a question.

  “Other than the injury to my vanity, and the occasional mirror tossing, I’m fine.” I chuckled a little at my attempt at a joke, but stopped when the movement jostled my sore knee.

  She stared at me in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time, and I had the strangest urge to tell her about the candy bar I stole from a convenience store when I was six.

  “You are American?”

  “Uh...” the question itself wasn’t odd, as my unusual accent telegraphed the fact that I was not from around here. But Rosa’s interest didn’t seem to stem from friendly curiosity. Instead, she looked as if she’d just solved a puzzle that had been worrying her for a while.

  Nevertheless, I answered her question. “Yes. I’m from the state of Oklahoma. Southern United States.”

  Her eyes widened slightly, and she looked once more at her chart. “I will speak with the doctor.” She dropped my file back into the plastic holder and hustled from the room, the set of her shoulders and the brisk squeak of her shoes broadcasting her haste.

  I wasn’t doing a very good job of making friends.

  Which would have been fine, except Richard had disappeared. I figured he was either still out looking for my doctor, or had left to go get some coffee. So when my door opened, I assumed it was him. Instead, a different sandy-haired man, around my age, entered the room and gave me a polite nod before settling himself comfortably in the chair beside my bed.

  Out for coffee it was. Apparently my surgeon was right here.

  “Nice to see you’re awake. Carol Jenski, correct?” Unlike Rosa, he was very easy to understand. In fact, his accent was almost non-existent. I found myself worrying once again about my appearance. Why is it that I could only meet a doctor this good-looking when I actually looked like I needed a doctor, and not in some cozy coffee shop where I could flirt with abandon?

  “That’s me.”

  His lips crinkled at my response, and I felt my heart flutter. This man was gorgeous. And more importantly, he was impeccably dressed. The shirt he wore was a crisp, pale green, and it complemented his skin tone perfectly. Not to mention it was the exact same color as his eyes. He’d combined it with a pair of dark khaki slacks and a brown leather jacket. The combination was a one-two punch to my libido. Nothing was sexier than a good looking man who knew how to dress himself.

  He stretched to shake my hand. I took the opportunity to peek at his third finger, and my heart did more than flutter. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  His grip was firm, and warm, and I gave myself a moment to be glad my boyfriend was occupied elsewhere. Just because I was off the dating market didn’t mean I couldn’t take a look at the local wares.

  “My name’s Daniel Wallent. Are you feeling up to answering a few questions?”

  I gave him an overly enthusiastic smile, mostly because the condition of my teeth was the only thing I was positive about. My upper lip was busted and still a little swollen, but at least the dragon hadn’t knocked loose any of my dentist-enhanced pearly whites. Smiling was all I had left. So long as he didn’t get close enough to smell my breath. Based on some quick mental math, I hadn’t brushed my teeth in over a week. “Sure.”

  Dr. Wallent settled back into his chair and pulled a notepad from the briefcase at his feet. “Tell me a little bit about yourself, Carol. What brings you to Budapest?”

  Odd question. But then again, I’d never had a serious head injury before. Maybe he just liked to make sure patients weren’t suffering from amnesia. Or loss of motor function. Heck, maybe my smile looked better than I thought, and Dr. Daniel was flirting with me.

  “I came with a friend. She had some business in China, and we stopped by Budapest on our way back to the U.S.” I wasn’t sure how much of DRACIM’s involvement in the China situation had been shared with the general public, so I did my best to keep my explanations generic until I could consult with Myrna about the DRACIM projects that were public domain—like the translation services at the trial—and the parts that weren’t—like DRACIM’s help with the relocation and employment of Hian-puo’s abused human servants.

  At the trial, Lord Relobu had publicly taken credit for most of the trip’s activities, so DRACIM might well prefer to remain safely in the role of facilitator instead of show runner.

  “And what were you doing in China?”

  My frown pulled at the wound on my scalp, and I had to make a conscious effort to smooth my expression. His question was a valid one, especially if he was checking to see whether I was mentally competent or not. International tourism hadn’t fared so well since the Third World War, partly because a lot of the touristy scenery had been severely damaged by the bombs lobbed back and forth across the oceans. When the dragons were discovered, many nations turned their military efforts toward the annihilation of the species worldwide. The dragons didn’t like this, obviously, and several more of our tourist hotspots had been destroyed by the reptiles’ fits of rage.

  China wasn’t exactly business or vacation friendly anymore. Hian-puo had been the dragon lord since the beginning of dragon rule, and he’d made it very clear that he wasn’t fond of visitors. It was rare to see a human deliberately book travel to that area of the world. In fact, most people spent a lot of time trying to leave China, not enter it. Unlike Relobu, Hian-puo had offered no protection from possible dragon attacks. More often than not, Hian-puo had been the one ordering the strikes.

  Still, I couldn’t give him specifics until I was certain DRACIM would approve. “I’m sorry, but if it’s okay with you, I’d rather skip that question until I can talk with my friend. She sometimes deals with...sensitive issues. I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to talk about.”

  Dr. Wallent studied me intently, and I stifled the urge to burrow further under the thin blanket. Maybe he wasn’t my surgeon. Maybe Rosa really had notified the psych ward, and he was a shrink. Or he was my surgeon, and he now assumed I actually did have amnesia and would never sign the discharge order. I made a conscious effort to stop my wil
dly spinning thoughts.

  “I can assure you, I remember the entire trip. And I’m not making it up, the trip was real.”

  I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. There’s nothing that makes a person sound crazier than insisting they aren’t crazy. He was silent for another few seconds. “Very well, Ms. Jenski. What do you do for a living?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. This was a question I could answer. “I’m a manager at the Tulsa branch of CreaTV Marketing. The company as a whole is involved in public relations and media pursuits across several industries. I head up the fashion department. We’re in charge of ads and magazine spreads, and recently, we’ve market-tested a few television commercials as well.”

  “Ms. Jenski, are you a dragonspeaker?”

  The tension had barely left my aching shoulders before my muscles were once again bunched in response to my renewed urge to flee. Outside of DRACIM, dragonspeakers are extremely rare. There were very few people who knew I understood the dragon language. I’d dabbled in it while I was at college, but learned pretty fast that I wouldn’t cut it as a full-time expert. The job required far too much time spent in stuffy old libraries hunched over barely legible scraps of paper. I was a people person; that much time alone would have killed me. So I contented myself with the occasional bit of home study.

  Later, when Myrna started bringing home paperwork full of the familiar language, I got curious. Within a few months, I was helping her decode some of the dragonscript in her contracts and such. Until recently, my interest hadn’t gone much further than that.

  It wasn’t exactly something to brag about. The general public did their best to ignore dragons entirely, so admitting you were one of the few who understood their language automatically labeled you a dragon lover, and society’s doors closed pretty quickly after that. If I knew anything, it was fashion, and it was not in fashion to be a friend of the dragons.

  In Tulsa, politicians paid lip service to the North American dragon lord, but they made sure it happened behind closed doors. With Hollywood coming back to life after the war, mostly due to dragon financial assistance, I expected that attitude to change somewhat—movie stars historically pandered to the moneymen, and the general public followed suit. But until then, interacting with dragons outside an official DRACIM capacity pretty much made you persona non grata in most human circles. Even with the protection of Myrna’s chosen career, some people still treated her as a traitor to her own race. As a public “dragon lover,” Myrna’d been very careful to keep her address under wraps after she moved in with me. It was safer that way.

  “Ms. Jenski? Did you hear my question? Do you understand the dragon language?” Dr. Wallent was waiting for my answer, his green eyes seemingly burning a hole in my head.

  “I—I don’t. I don’t understand. Why would you need to know that?”

  “Ms. Jenski, I’d appreciate it if you’d just answer the question.” The easygoing gentleman was gone and his attitude had become tense, driven. Almost angry as he leaned forward in his chair.

  I was getting that way myself. “I don’t see why that’s any of your business. If you’re asking whether I regularly hang out with dragons, the answer is no. And I’d appreciate it if you could tell me why you’re so interested in what I do in my free time. How exactly is this supposed to help me heal, Dr. Wallent?”

  His left eye twitched, and if I didn’t know any better, I would have said he was startled by my response. He settled back into his chair, steepling his hands under his chin.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Jenski. I’m just trying to figure out what happened. Can you tell me what were you doing at the Hotel Gellért a week ago?”

  I’ll admit it. My feathers were a little ruffled by his questions. My expectations for this conversation—a few easy medical questions interspersed with a lot of flirting—were obviously off target. That, coupled with my bald head, bruises, and severely deflated ego had made me a little cranky. I took a deep breath. The poor guy was just trying to do his job. And I’d always heard that the better the doctor was medically, the worse he was at achieving a pleasant bedside manner. If I had to choose, I’d take the medical expertise.

  “Like I said, I was there with a friend.”

  “Were there dragons present?”

  That fact was no secret. Lord Relobu had long attempted to foster goodwill between the two races, and had sponsored or hosted many parties in an attempt to calm the tensions among both species. But Hian-puo’s trial, oddly enough, had done more to bring humans and dragons together peacefully than all of Lord Relobu’s attempts put together. As soon as the trial had been announced, news of the accompanying gala had spread like wildfire through every major newspaper in the world.

  I wondered how the bomb at DRACIM had affected those budding attempts at a real peace.

  “Yes. My friend works for DRACIM. She was at the hotel on a translating assignment.” A lot more had been involved in the assignment than translation, including Myrna’s testimony against a power hungry, insane dragon lord, but it was as far as I could go without speaking with Myrna first. The public was used to DRACIM translating for dragons. What they weren’t used to was DRACIM tracking down bioweapons and taking point on international dragon political disasters.

  DRACIM, especially the Tulsa office, did their best to work closely with an area’s reigning dragon, and I didn’t want to damage the company’s relationship with Relobu by sharing details he hadn’t vetted for public consumption until I had a chance to find out what the two organizations were running with as an official story. Richard hadn’t exactly given me a detailed play-by-play on the current media environment, and I was nearly two weeks behind the rest of the world newswise.

  If I’d learned one thing in my years at CreaTV, it was that people talked, and turned tiny bits of information into full-blown panic-worthy explosions. I’d rather err on the side of caution than make a dragon lord angry. A DRACIM official working for Lord Relobu at a function, even an international one, was nothing out of the ordinary. So until Myrna told me different, that was the limit of DRACIM’s involvement.

  Dr. Wallent nodded. “Your friend. Is she available for a few questions?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Who was the man with you earlier? Is he also a DRACIM employee?” He must have seen Richard in my room while I’d been in a coma.

  I briefly wondered whether he thought I was making the whole DRACIM thing up, and wanted someone to corroborate my story. Someone without a head injury.

  DRACIM North America, operating under the purview of Earth’s most human-friendly dragon lord, was by far the largest branch of the company. Maybe the one here in Adelaida’s territory wasn’t as well-known as the one back home. Or maybe this doctor just needed to get out more.

  Either way, I wasn’t in the mood to be helpful.

  “That was my boyfriend. And no, he doesn’t work for DRACIM.” Which was the truth. Richard worked for Relobu. And as one of Relobu’s top human employees, anything Richard said would be taken as if it came directly from the dragon lord’s tongue. I didn’t want to accidentally set loose a rumor if I could help it.

  Where in the heck did Richard run off to?

  This conversation was making my head ache. Something just didn’t feel right. I wasn’t familiar with foreign medical routines, but even allowing for cultural differences, this conversation seemed a bit extreme. I felt more like a suspect accused of a crime than a medical patient. “Shouldn’t you be taking my blood pressure or something?”

  He ignored my question and circled back to my earlier explanation. “Would your boyfriend be Richard Green? CEO of Relobu Holdings?” The intent look in his eyes was back, and I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck.

  “I don’t understand how that’s—”

  Before he could answer, my door swung open and a woman dressed in a business suit and white jacket walked in, with Richard trailing a few steps behind.

  I smiled, grateful that
Richard was back to speak for himself in my conversation with Dr. Wallent. My gaze went back to the woman who’d entered before him, wondering how she fit into this increasingly confusing situation.

  “Carol, it is delightful to find you awake! I am your surgeon, Doctor Garay.” The woman walked to the bed and held out a hand.

  Mystified, I gave it a perfunctory squeeze. “Um, hi. Nice to meet you.” I looked to Richard, who was oblivious to my confusion. He was too busy frowning at Dr. Wallent, who currently watched our exchange with ill-concealed impatience.

  Dr. Garay was likewise ignoring my look of bewilderment. “Rosa tells me you are anxious to be discharged. I have been looking over your chart. I see no serious problems, but do you mind if I perform a quick examination?”

  The doctor finally met my eyes, and her chirpy demeanor dimmed slightly. “Is everything okay? Are you in pain?” She reached out as if to pull back the bandage on my head, but I waved her away, instead leaning forward so I could see “Dr. Wallent.”

  Daniel Wallent—the man who’d walked into my room like he owned the place, who was now lounging arrogantly in my chair, and who had spent the past several minutes grilling me like a cop—gave me a small shrug as if to say “so what if I’ve been found out? You’re the idiot who fell for it.”

  I wanted to send my scabby fist straight into his nose.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to kill you or anything.” He glanced at Richard, who stood frozen just inside my room with an expression of terror on his face. “The same can’t be said for your boyfriend. Word is, he has no issues with doing whatever it takes in the name of revenge. I wonder how Lord Relobu feels about his employee’s recent activities?”

  Richard went white, and I could practically hear his teeth grinding. Daniel’s comment had struck a nerve, but for the life of me I couldn’t catch the undercurrents. I looked at the doctor and was relieved to see that she seemed just as confused as I was.