Yasmine Galenorn - Chintz 'n China 02

by Legend of the Jade Dragon

  “You’re sure about that?” One more log to throw on the fire.

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. I saw her check it. She never forgets. I just… I dunno, I’m kinda scared. There was a lot of blood.”

  I ruffled his hair and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “I know, sweetie. Our heads and hands always bleed more than other parts of our bodies, so it does seem scarier. Come on, let’s get the groceries inside and make dinner.” Kip started to grab one of the bags, but I stopped him, handing him the package with the paper towels in it. “Here, you can carry this one-handed, it’s light enough.”

  Miranda was sitting at the table, her nose in a book and a glass of milk in her hand. She looked up when we came through. “Mom, you’re home early!”

  “Kip had an accident at school, and we ended up at the hospital.” I handed her a bag and she set it on the counter. As I shrugged out of my jacket, she started unloading the groceries. Kip flopped in a chair and leaned back, pale and drawn.

  I foraged through the pantry shelves. There! The bottle of tonic I’d made last year. A mixture of herbs, spices, and liquid vitamins, it tasted like plant food but strengthened the blood. Kip grimaced when he saw it but didn’t argue; this was a battle he knew he couldn’t win.

  “One tablespoon,” I told him. “Then you can have an Oreo.”

  He grumbled under his breath but accepted the dark green liquid, wincing as he slurped it down. I handed him a cookie. Randa blanched when I popped a spoonful in her mouth, too. She grabbed a cookie and bit into the dark chocolate, wincing. “Mom, did we ever tell you how rancid that stuff tastes?”

  “Many times, and do you think that’s going to make me change my mind? This is good stuff, guys; it’ll build up your blood—”

  “Curl our hair—”

  “Give us the strength of Hercules—”

  I glared at them, then cracked a smile and laughed. “I know, I know … but seriously, it’s good for you, so don’t complain, okay?”

  Randa clutched her hands to her chest and melodramatically swooned to the floor. “We understand, Mother Dear. You give it to us because you love us.”

  “Smart-ass,” I said, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet.

  In an all-too-rare gesture now that she was a teenager, she threw her arms around my shoulders and gave me a quick peck on the cheek before turning to Kip. “Lemme see your hand.” She examined the bandage. “What happened?” He told her the story and, for once she was sympathetic, even going so far as to pour him a glass of milk.

  I glanced at her, a gentle smile playing on my lips. ‘Thanks, Randa. That was sweet of you.”

  She shrugged. “No biggie.”

  As I filled the stockpot with water for the noodles, there was a knock on the kitchen door. Oliver slinked in, wearing blue jeans and a work shirt. His hair was thick with dust. He eyed the bustle in the kitchen. “Sony to interrupt your dinner preparations, but I wondered if you might know anybody who has a pickup? I’ve got a lot of old boards and stuff to haul to the dump.”

  I jotted down the name and number of the guy I called when I needed an all-around handyman. “David’s done some hauling for me before; he’s reasonable.”

  Oliver pocketed the paper and sat down near Kip. “Hey bud, what’s with the bandages?” Kip proceeded to go through his story again, and I could tell he was getting tired. Oliver snorted. “Fell on a paper cutter? That takes talent. They call you Missy Graceful at school now?”

  Kip blushed and stared at the floor. Thoroughly pissed at Oliver’s callous tone of voice, I wiped my hands on a dish towel, then guided Kip into the hallway. “You look tired. Why don’t you go lie down until dinner? I’ll call you when it’s ready.” I smoothed back his hair and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. Kip flashed me a grateful smile and took off for his bedroom.

  I returned to the kitchen and leaned across the table, staring directly into Oliver’s face. “Listen to me; I don’t care if you’re Ida’s nephew or the Pope. Don’t ever embarrass one of my kids again. Ida won’t put up with that behavior when she gets back, so you’d better knock it off. Got it?”

  A subtle shift in energy drifted through the kitchen, as if Jthe temperature had just plunged. Oliver hung his head. “I’m really sorry, Emerald. I didn’t mean to offend your son,” he said. “I’m sorry; please tell Kip that I meant no harm. I’d better be going.” Before I could say a word, he vanished out the door.

  Mkanda gave me a long look. “Mom, Kip said Oliver was in jail.”

  I rinsed my hands and went back to preparing dinner.

  “He spent three years in prison. It wasn’t a violent crime; I’d never let a dangerous criminal in the house, so don’t worry about that.”

  She squinted, thinking. “I don’t really like him. He doesn’t act very much like Ida,” she said, glancing nervously at the back door.

  I reached over and locked the dead bolt. “Is there something wrong that you’re not telling me, Randa?”

  After a pause, she shook her head. “Nah … just a funny feeling, I guess. Want me to make the salad?”

  Salad, she could handle, especially when the greens were precut and washed. I made certain to thank her. Randa was considerably more helpful than she’d been a year ago. While she pulled out the greens and tomatoes, I set about grating cheese for sauce. While waiting for the water to boil, I checked for phone messages. Joe had called.

  “Em, this is Joe. I’ve got to work this weekend after all, so guess Friday night is a complete rain check for both of us. Miss you. Say hi to the kids. Call me at work if there’s any trouble.” Click.

  I stared at the pile of parmesan on the cutting board. Joe was busy, and yet he went out of his way to ask how we were, to let me know I could call him any time I was in trouble. Tears pricked the back of my eyelids. Damn it. Why hadn’t Andrew phoned me since that first call? Was he so caught up by all the starlets down there that he’d forgotten about me? He knew how upset I was. Didn’t he even care? Or was he just tired of my “whining,” as he called it? Well, if that’s the way he wanted it—

  “Mom? Mom?” Miranda poked me in the side and, startled, I dropped the bag of fettuccine noodles. They spilled all over the counter. “Jeez, you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just daydreaming.” I gathered up the noodles and slid them into the boiling water.

  “Looked more like you were having a daymare to me,” she muttered, raising her brow. She went back to chopping tomatoes and slicing the cucumbers.

  I had to get hold of myself. With a long, slow breath, I grated the last of the cheese. Finished with the salad, Miranda set the table while I stirred the noodles and whisked the Alfredo sauce, trying to push the dark thoughts out of my mind long enough to focus on what I was doing. They lingered, though, nagging whispers that wouldn’t shut up. When dinner was ready, I called Kip from upstairs.

  Within minutes, he groggily stumbled into the room, rubbing his eyes. He stuffed his face with a dinner roll before he even slid into his chair. Miranda and I took our places, and we silently dug into our dinner. Nobody seemed to feel like talking. Not a problem, I thought. It wouldn’t hurt us to eat in a companionable silence.

  After dinner, we checked out the camping gear and rolled sleeping bags. The kids packed their backpacks, while I hit the cupboards, filling a box with enough food to last us a week. Tomorrow, I’d fill the ice chest, then swing by and pick the kids up right after school.

  “Can I run over to Lori’s?” Miranda asked.

  I glanced out the window. Jimbo was out there somewhere, and my name was on the top of his list. That made the kids potential targets. “I don’t want you walking or taking your bike, but I’ll drive you there in a few minutes. Call her to make sure it’s okay if you come over.”

  Delighted at the prospect of a free ride, she put in a call to Lori and received an invitation to stay the night, so I sent her upstairs to pack up her pajamas and her toothbrush. We drove the ten blocks to Lori’s house. L
ori’s parents, a bland, relatively nice couple, seemed thoroughly blas6 to anything but their dual careers as lawyers. They promised to drive the girls to school in the morning.

  Kip and I stopped at the station house on the way home.

  While Bobby, a Mend of Joe’s, let Kip clamber around in the driver’s seat of the fire engine, Joe and I sat outside on a bench in front of the station. I told him about Norma Roberts.

  “So Jimbo’s prints were on the brick that came through your window? If I find him before the cops do, he’ll never throw another rock at anybody’s house.” The look on his face was volcanic. “He’s probably the one who tore up your shop, the slimeball.”

  “Don’t you go getting yourself in trouble because of me,” I said.

  “If you’re going to worry about anybody, worry about Jimbo.” Joe noticed I was shivering. The nights were still chilly, and rain was on the way again. He wrapped his jacket around my shoulders.

  Touched, I leaned my head against his shoulder for a moment. He slid his arm around me, and we sat there quietly, staring at the indigo ink that stained the evening sky. Finally, I sighed and gently pulled away. “I wonder if Jimbo really conked Norma Roberts on the head. He sure didn’t want to take no for an answer when I rejected him, but I chalked it up to boorish, drunken behavior. Now I’m not sure.”

  “Have you seen him since then?”

  “Nope.” I shook my head. “I’m hoping by the time this camping trip is over that he’ll be in jail and that the police will have figured out the Roberts case.”

  Joe took my hand and held it between his own. “Call me day or night when you get scared. I’ll always come to help you. Even if you and Andrew get married, even if you decide you want to live the rest of your life in seclusion, I’ll be your friend, Em.” He lifted my hand to his lips.

  Trembling from more than the cold, I grazed his cheek with my fingers. “You are a good man, Joe Files. And I’ve got to round up Kip and get home.”

  As we drove away from the station house, Kip casually mentioned mat he liked Joe. “Andrew’s nice, but Joe understands kids better,” he said. And I knew, without a doubt, that he was right.

  ONCE WE GOT home, I finished loading the dishwasher while Kip played computer games. I was folding the dish towel when Kip yelled for me. Thinking he’d hurt his hand again, I raced into the living room.

  He was standing in front of the etagere, and I joined him. “What’s going on, kiddo? You see a ghost?” My question wasn’t entirely rhetorical; Kip was exceptionally psychic, and we’d had quite a few experiences with spirits.

  He shook his head, but his eyes were trained on the dragon. “Mom, something’s weird about that statue. I saw the dragon turning by itself. I was at the computer, and it turned and looked at me.”

  Hell. Not again. If Kip saw it, too, that meant I wasn’t imagining things. Not that our lives were exceptionally normal to begin with, but moving statues brought up images of bad B-grade horror flicks. I leaned in to get a closer look. Yep, it had changed position again. I darted over to the desk and flipped open my steno book. Sure enough, it had moved, and nobody else had access to my key.

  “Did I say the eyes were glowing?” Kip’s voice trembled.

  “No, you didn’t. What color did they change to?” I already knew the answer.

  “Bright red. I’m kind of afraid,” he said. “Statues aren’t supposed to do that.”

  “No, statues aren’t supposed to do that, are they?” I laid my hand on his shoulder. “It’s ok to be afraid sometimes, too. Our fear helps us know when it’s time to be careful. Now, you step back over by the computer.” When he had moved aside, I unlocked the door to the etagere and cautiously reached in to pick up the dragon. The statue felt bone cold as I lifted it out of the case and closed the cabinet.

  Settling down on the sofa, I cradled the jade in my hands. “Kip, do me a favor. Run upstairs to my jewelry box and get my crystal pendulum.” I had a quartz crystal necklace that doubled as my divining pendulum. Kip raced off; after a moment, he breathlessly galloped down the stairs and handed me the necklace. I set the dragon on the table.

  “I want you to feed the cats while I do some work here.” He hesitated; I could see the interest sparking in his eyes. “Kip—” I warned. With a nod, he was off to the kitchen, a chorus of meows following him.

  Squinting, I tilted my head and examined the dragon. The fact that an inanimate object was doing the cakewalk in my china cabinet was, on its own, enough to worry me, but those glowing red eyes … Yep, they were a bad sign all right, be the bearer human, animal, or dragon statue. For some reason, red eyes usually equaled mean beasties in the astral realm, and I’d been there, done that, wasn’t thrilled about a replay.

  “So you can move on your own, huh? Okay, let’s see what you’re made of.” I propped my wrist firmly on the arm of the sofa so that the necklace hung over the edge of the table and set the dragon beneath the crystal. Gingerly, I let the necklace swing from the chain until it slowed and then stopped. “Show time. What’ve you got, big boy?”

  As usual, the pendulum started slow, barely moving, but then the chain jerked in my hand and began to swing from side to side as if some invisible force had taken hold of it and was twisting it in circles. Startled, I tightened my grasp as the pendulum speeded up until it was By ing in counter-dockwise circles.

  Gasping, I found myself catapulted into a secluded courtyard. I could see nothing beyond this small enclosure, but the smell of white ginger filled the air, and jasmine flowers peeked from behind the thick hedgerow of vines that bordered the tiled patio. In the center of the patio rested a marble block. A young man of Chinese descent bent over the pedestal, his hands bound, his neck stretched across the marble. He looked to be about twenty years of age. A tall, lean figure shrouded in a black robe loomed over the youth; he carried a long, narrow sword.

  To the left, on a gleaming throne, an emperor watched over the scene in the courtyard. He wore a yellow robe decorated with brilliant Mandarin patches, and embroidered on the patches were gilded celestial dragons. The dragons stretched across the back of the robe and down the sleeves. In one hand, he cupped the statue of the jade dragon. With the other, he motioned to the shrouded figure. The executioner swung his sword high. I cringed as the blade hovered over the young man, who cried out in a shrill voice, words I couldn’t understand. His eyes raged and as the sword descended, a swirl of smoke appeared in the courtyard, a bloodred mist that seeped into the jade dragon. The young man smiled as the executioner’s blade kissed his neck.

  Boom. The vision disappeared, and I was still on the sofa, breathless and disoriented. The pendulum was spinning faster now, burning my hand. I reached for the crystal, hoping to put a halt to the crazy carousel ride it was on, but before I could do so, a snap sent the quartz cabochon flying across the room. It landed against the opposing wall with a thud. Shocked, I stared at the limp fourteen-karat gold chain that dangled from my hand. The ends had melted, like wax. It was only then that I became aware of a stinging sensation in my palm; the skin had been rubbed raw by the whipping force exerted by the metal. I set the statue on the table and cautiously retrieved the pendant. The quartz cabochon was fractured in a dozen places.

  “Damn it! That was my favorite necklace!” A little light-headed from the sudden rush of energy, I leaned forward to observe the statue. What in hell was going on? And had I really just witnessed an execution? I felt queasy; the vision had ended just as the blade touched the young man’s neck, but my imagination filled in the blanks all too easily. What was going on? This was the second vision I’d had in two days. Were they images out of the past, giving me a glimpse of the history of the jade dragon? Or were they products of my overactive mind, created in a desperate attempt to bring some understanding to the situation?

  Whatever the case, the dragon was harboring some pretty powerful energy. I picked up the figurine again and ran my fingers over it, checking it thoroughly. No wires, no hidden compartments whe
re a motor might be placed, no breaks, no hinges. Preoccupied, I locked it back in the cabinet as Kip returned to the living room.

  He looked at me expectantly. “Did it really move?”

  I gave him a wary look. “Yeah, it moved. Kip, did you notice anything in particular right before or right after? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  He scrunched up his face and finally shook his head. “I just felt like I was being watched.” He looked at my pendant. “What happened? Your necklace got broke.”

  “Broke is right.” I sighed. “I don’t know why it snapped. Maybe the chain was just getting old.” My explanation seemed to calm him down, but in my heart, I knew that wasn’t the truth. Whatever energy made my necklace break was connected to the dragon. Where on earth had Daniel Barrington gotten the thing?

  I had to find out what I could about its history, and one of the best ways to do that would be to consult the expert in Glacier. Time to give her a call and hope she’d be home this weekend. I found the list Mr. Hodges had given me and picked up the phone to call Mary Sanders. As I introduced myself, it was clear that Harl had called ahead like she said she would. I asked if I could bring the dragon by on Saturday, and Mary agreed to meet me at two p.m. I took down her address and glanced at the clock.