Hank stared at me. I stared at Hank. We had a way of bantering that somehow made working with him more fun than it should be. I felt a countdown start up in my head as the bass thwup thwup of the chopper got closer.
Instinctively, I touched the dragon again and swore I could feel her heart pounding in fear beneath her thick hide.
I wanted to communicate to her that she was going to be OK. Better than OK, probably, with Hank, Bianca, Cristian, and myself watching her back.
The urge I felt to protect her decided it. I didn’t want to make a decision like that, but, things were spiraling out of control. This was one way I could get a step ahead and control the next outcomes, whatever they would be.
“Bianca. Hank and I are going to take her to the sanctuary. If Fua asks about it, play stupid. Think you can do that?” I hadn’t pulled my eyes away from Hank’s gaze.
I removed my hand and turned to study Bianca, to see whatever her face communicated that wasn’t in her voice.
“Oh yeah, Dred. I got your back on this. After all that? There’s no way I’m going to leave her to the whims of whatever’s going on right now.”
It was decided, then. To the sanctuary.
13
No doubt I would get in trouble for this later. Captain Fua would find out and tan my hide.
And not in a good way. If you’re into that, which I’m not.
I fully expected him to find out, but I sure as hell would attempt to keep it under wraps for as long as possible. That way, I could make decisions based on reason and logic and not the emotion of oh my god all hell is breaking loose on Earth.
Though that happened regularly and was one of the ways I got a paycheck, so it was kind of OK when it did happen.
Making that decision of taking the dragon to Dragon’s Mercy Sanctuary in central Utah was a no-brainer. But, not running it by Fua? I was going to get my ass kicked in the near future. And yet I was pretty sure it would work out for the best. I knew it was the right decision, because I knew what I was doing in terms of values—I was following my gut and protecting the Fabric, just like the Fates had told me to
What I was doing with Blue would preserve it in some way.
Hank and I followed along while the chopper flew overhead, carrying Blue in a sling that dangled beneath the large helicopter. It wasn’t like the channel-5 news chopper that would blow away in a stiff wind like tumbleweed. Our chopper was a Chinook, meant for hauling big ass shit like massive dragons. Later, I’d need to follow up with Dorothy and the chopper pilot, James, who we contracted with regularly. So, I had a lot of crap on my plate, but for now, I was going to enjoy the road trip.
Hank drove because I didn’t want the miles on my car, and we’d taken his vehicle up to Snowbird earlier in the day, so we already had it. The last thing I wanted was to run past the fortress to get my car or the Flameheart’s Sprinter van and run into Fua or someone else who might ask us what we were doing. At this point, only Bianca and Cristian knew.
So, that’s how we ended up traveling two hours south in the Karmann Ghia.
What better way to see Utah than from the window of his tiny Karmann Ghia? So far Hank hadn’t experienced the natural wonders of the state. This was our first road trip together.
“You know what they say,” I said, as I got back into the car. I’d just left the gas station oasis where we’d stopped to fuel up. My arms were full of Ding Dongs, beef jerky, chips, and a coconut water.
The car began to purr as Hank turned the engine over.
“No Dred, what do they say? Something about eating a balanced diet while on road trips leads to happiness?” he asked, eyeing the bag I placed on the floor between my feet.
“The smaller the vehicle, the bigger the dick.”
He chortled and shook his head. “As in, ‘what a dick move? You suck?’” Hank asked, starting the car and putting it in reverse.
It was my turn to laugh. Why was I into teasing him so much? I had no idea. Maybe because he kept such a straight face, rendering him the perfect target. “No, as in size. Keep up, Hank.”
He cleared his throat. “Are you trying to have a conversation with me about the size of my dick?”
He got back on the highway that would lead us through a winding canyon. We’d already lost the Chinook but I knew where we were going. Massive white windmills filled the mouth of Spanish Fork canyon as we approached, their blades spinning in the breeze like frozen giants.
“No need. I already know.” I opened the package of Ding Dongs and offered him one. “Ding Dong?”
He jerked the wheel and nearly took us off the road.
“Freya’s freckle.” I lurched to the side and smashed my shoulder into the window. “Was it something I said?”
“You’re so…” he growled, then cleared his throat. “For a second there I almost thought you said you knew the size of my—” he cleared his throat again— “er, Hank junior.”
“Yeah, I do,” I said. “Based on hand size. You have tiny hands.” I bit into the Hostess hockey puck of preservatives. I’d made the conversation so awkward. My specialty. It was time to get out of it before it got weird.
“Well, good news, I know your sizes as well. All of them. Plain as day.” Hank lifted a hand as though he was inspecting it.
I was being very cruel. His hands were not tiny, they were large and perfectly shaped, the classic surgeon’s hands.
“Insubordination. Drop and give me twenty.”
“While I’m driving? Hardy har har,” he said.
“Chill, chill, chill. I don’t care about your size, nor do I think about it, nor do I know it. It was a joke. I was teasing you about your tiny car.”
“This car is a classic. And it was the only one I could get on my budget last minute.”
“Let’s talk about what we’re going to tell Fua. I didn’t want to do this, necessarily, but you brought up the very good point back at Temple Square that we didn’t want to simply take her back. At least not till we know what’s going on.”
“I’m open to your bright ideas, Dred. You know Fua better than I do. Although I will say that I had to make up stuff on the reg in New York.”
“Then you’re good at it. Perfect. This is why we’ve made such a classic, archetypal partnership—like Bonnie and Clyde or Bones and Booth.”
His brow furrowed. “Bones and Booth? Who the hell—”
“TV show. Maybe, uh Buffy and Angel? You know them?”
“Again I’m at a loss. I read. No time for TV.”
I could hear the mirth in his voice as I gazed out the window at the mountains. Loafer mountain was up ahead. I catalogued all the supernaturals associated with different spots as we traveled, without even thinking about it. It happened in the background, like a soundtrack.
A clan of giants had claimed the valleys between Loafer mountain and Mount Nebo as their stronghold, but others viewed both of them as sacred peaks—dwarves and trolls visited them, and there was even a village on the eastern foothills of the two mountains, which we would be passing. Nebo itself was a pilgrimage site for some of the supernatural races as the tallest peak along the Wasatch Front—the mountain range that ran north and south in the state, where the majority of Utahns lived.
A thought occurred to me as the Karmann Ghia zipped around the winding road that took us through the sunken village of Thistle.
“What have we here? This is creepy as shit,” Hank observed as we approached rooftops poking out of swamps where the skeletal branches of trees clawed toward the highway. The roofless red brick walls of an old school were spray-painted with obscenities.
“Yeah, I know. Used to be a thriving—can I call it thriving?— tiny town here of three hundred. A massive landslide in the 80s destroyed it. Giants. Of course, the official story is that the hillside was just waterlogged. But it was really the giants. A bit of a war, maybe.”
Hank slowed as we passed the ruins and then punched the gas. The motion pushed me back into my seat.
�
��Let’s put this behind us. Too much despair. I didn’t even realize this state had the climate for a swamp.”
A thought occurred to me as we approached the foothills of Mount Nebo. With the pattern that seemed to be emerging, I was beginning to suspect there was more going on than just typical supernatural restlessness. It might be time to pay an old friend a visit.
After a few more twists and turns along the winding riverside highway, we came to a turn off—a road that climbed down through the floodplain before ascending the alluvial fans that flowered off the backside of the peak.
“Slow down, Hank. Take that road up there. I need to check something out.”
He glanced at me, a question on his face. “Didn’t you say this is giant country?”
“Giants and others. Don’t worry, I got your back.” I patted him on the shoulder.
14
“We need to name your car, Hank. I can’t constantly be saying ‘Karmann Ghia.’ I’m lazy, and that’s a mouthful.”
“That’s what—“
“He said.”
He chuckled. “Well-played.”
“Do you see it yet?” The village had already materialized for me, but I knew what I was looking for. An alpine style village, influenced by Bavarian aesthetics. Something like that. I’m not a student of architecture, I just knew that when I came to the little town of Oostsel the first time, I suddenly wanted to don some lederhosen and eat sausages covered in stoneground mustard and drink heavy beer.
Most of the giants here were—like their human counterparts—descendants from European clans. There were others as well, such as the dwarves the giants allowed to mine the mountain. Most of the shops were run by dwarves, with a few being run by rebellious elves, sprites, and gnomes.
In some cases I had gathered that the giants actually employed the dwarves to run the shops and paid wages to them, because most shops and the doorways into them were too small for the giants. There were a few enormous structures made expressly for the giants, clustered together at the highest elevation of the town. The road Hank and I traveled on to get to the town wound up, switchback style, to the foothills of between Nebo and Sugar Loaf.
“Oostsel, eh? What’s that mean?” Hank asked when we passed the wooden sign carved with the name and population, which was four-hundred and forty-four.
“Gingerbread, I think. Yeah, kind of adorable. I don’t think they even make gingerbread here but maybe they do. Census reports haven’t deemed that a demographic they care to track.” I chuckled to myself, squinting into the slanting evening light.
“What are we doing here, Dred? Don’t we need to get to the dragon sanctuary?”
“We do. But the pilot knows where he’s going, and I had an idea when we were passing Gingerbread. I don’t call it Oostsel. Too hard to say. So, there are two things here that could help us—an oracle, and one of my people, my eyes and ears.”
“So we’re getting some information here?”
“That’s the idea. Park along the street and we can walk the rest of the way.”
He obliged, pulling over at the edge of the road where the town proper began and we both got out, stretching our legs.
“Where to first?” Hank asked, taking off his sunglasses as we started walking up the sloping cobblestone street. His brown eyes surveyed the village’s structures looming up above us on the hillside—they looked like a stronghold or a fortress, which was a good way to think of it. The giants had fought to keep this territory, fending off wild trolls as well as troll clans that had claimed the mountains east of the area and were looking to expand their claim.
Nebo was sacred to several races of supernaturals. As far as I was concerned, the idea was ridiculous but I had to be diplomatic about it. Especially when a battle broke out over the peak. When that happened, we helped clean up the mess.
“Let’s hit up my agent. If he knows anything, we can use the information to help us ask the oracle the best questions for the most helpful answers.”
“Lead the way, boss,” Hank said, putting his sunglasses back on.
“I like the sound of that,” I remarked, starting up the hill. The village above us invited us toward it with the scent of cooking meats, baking breads, music, and laughter.
Soon, we were outside my agent’s shop. Occasionally the ground shook as a giant a few streets above us roared with laughter or did something drastic like knock over a companion. Even something small like taking a step had been known to cause the earth to quake. I was used to it, but apparently Hank wasn’t. He grabbed my arm once as he tried to keep his balance.
“You’ll get used to it,” I said. “Eventually.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s fine,” I answered, scanning the street. Supers of every kind bustled about, the liminal races pushed to the side by a world that valued sameness, I guess. Which was maybe why I didn’t fit in too much.
I saw nothing surprising, though I wasn’t looking for something specifically, so I turned and headed into the shop I’d paused in front of.
“Fine cheeses?” Hank asked, reading the subtitle beneath the name of the shop, Grygg’s: Fine Cheeses of the World.
“Yeah, clever name, right?” I muttered.
“No.”
I laughed. “I know. Grygg is great with cheese. Not so great with names. Typical food artisan, you know.”
A bell gonged as we entered, flooring me like it always did. Grygg was hard of hearing from years in the mines, so he needed a louder than normal tone to alert him to new customers.
I came face-to-face with a human girl as she sauntered out of the back room, which was partitioned off with a curtain featuring dwarven runes and symbols dedicated to their gods.
She stared at me. I stared back, closing my mouth so that it didn’t gape awkwardly. Her ears were gauged to an uncomfortable size—a size I had no idea how to determine. Fours? Double twos? I didn’t care to know facts like that.
A sharp, rebellious stud poked out of her bottom lip just above the bony part of her chin. Her hair was dyed fake red and cut in a pixie style, but messy, like someone had no idea how to use shears. The sleeves were cut off her black AC/DC T-shirt, and laced up Doc Martins that had seen better days hiked halfway up her calves.
“Where’s Grygg?” I asked, barely managing to get that out as my mind grappled with the incongruent nature of seeing a human girl in Gingerbread.
“He’s in the back, turning some cheese wheels,” she said in a firm, no-nonsense voice.
I nodded. Hank had paused beside me and I heard a breath of surprise at seeing the girl when he halted in his tracks.
“Who are you?” I asked, cocking my head.
“Oh, I’m Viv. Nice to meet you.” She held out a hand.
“Viv what?” I asked. “Like Vivian? Vivacious? Vivisected?” I could go on, spitting out vocabulary worlds like that all day. I stopped.
She withdrew her hand slowly when I didn’t take it. Hank stepped forward and took it before she could pull it entirely back.
“Hi. I’m Hank,” he said. “This is Dred.”
“Dred? Geez, that’s a wicked name.”
“Vivian, then?” I probed, hoping to annoy her into telling me more about herself. Obviously my name was cool, but I was on my guard, sorting through this anomaly.
“Vivian. But I’m making a new start here, so I went from Viviette and Vian, to Vivian.”
I nodded slowly, trying to sum her up. “How old are you?”
“Did you want to buy something?” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder to indicate the shop’s wares. “We have some new cheeses that just came out of the caves. Aged in there. Covered in the most amazing salt crystals that make the cheddar have a sort of, I don’t know, a piquant taste. Still learning all the cheese lingo, you know.”
Vivian’s eyes were outlined in dark eyeliner and smudged with eyeshadow. She’d worked hard to piss off someone with her appearance. I was formulating a list of who, and I was probably right, but I n
eeded to know more.
She was a curiosity and I was irritated. I’d fallen into the trap of reacting instead of keeping control and proceeding intentionally. She’d tripped me up. It was like being the only girl in a group of guys, getting all the best attention, having no other catty females to contend with, and then suddenly a new chick shows up—a prettier woman, who used her wiles to wrap all the men around her little finger—upsetting the equilibrium.
Except, in this case, I wasn’t competing with her. She was a human, living in Gingerbread. She could see Gingerbread. Who was she and how did she come to be here, and how did she not seem to grasp that she was unique? A stranger in a strange land.
Enigmas I needed to solve.
15
I took a breath to attempt a fresh start.
“It’s been lovely to meet you, Vivian. If you don’t mind, could you please grab Grygg? I need to discuss something with him.”
“No problem. Who shall I say is calling?” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.
She was a fighter. Willing to try to take me down a notch.
Hmm. Maybe I’d like her, after all.
“Like Hank said—Dred. Please tell Grygg that Dred is here.”
“Oh, no problem. Do you have a last name?”
Oh my. She was drilling me, like how I’d drilled her. My respect for her went up another notch as my irritation deepened. I was a walking paradox like that.
“I don’t think you need it. He’ll know who you mean by Dred.” My smile was painted on.
Vivian disappeared through the small, narrow door that led into the storage area of the shop.
I turned to stare at Hank. He folded his arms. I couldn’t see his eyes though, so it was only the lines around his mouth and the set of his lips that told me anything about what he was thinking.
“Odd,” he remarked. “Think she realizes that besides us, she’s one of the only humans in this place?”
“I definitely think she realizes it. My guess—she’s a runaway from up north. Didn’t intend to end up here but did, and finds some kind of fulfillment in living amongst the supers. But, you may be right that she doesn’t realize a few things about what’s going on. The one I think she’s overlooking is that she doesn’t know that not everyone can see what she’s seeing.”
Flames to Free (Dred Dixon Chronicles Book 1) Page 8
