“Don’t worry, I think we’re already bound to each other for life too.” She pats her stomach. “Your daughter thinks so too. It’s just that, according to our tradition, you’re not officially wed until you’ve shared the potion.”
“Is this your family’s tradition or our people’s?”
“Didn’t your mother teach you anything about your heritage?”
I shake my head. “My mother was raised by humans. All that she knew about our people’s traditions, she learned from Father. I don’t think he taught her very much. He certainly didn’t teach me any of it.”
“Not even which castryll you’re from?”
“I don’t even know what that is,” I say.
Chloe turns on her side, looks at my face. “It’s sort of like a clan or a tribe. Mum taught me we’re all descended from one of the four castrylls — the Zal, the Thryll, the Pelk and the Undrae. According to Pa, we’re of the Undrae castryll but with Zal blood.”
“Which means what?”
“In the old days, it sometimes meant war. Do you know any of our history?”
“Only that our kind once ruled the world. Father said we only lost control after the humans outbred us. He said we couldn’t cope with their numbers.”
“You can thank the Undrae for that. They’re the ones who bred them into what they became.”
“And how’s that?” I smile at my bride. “Did they raise and breed humans like cattle?”
She nods. “After the great explosion — the same one, I think, that killed the dinosaurs. And only after they won the war.”
“Okay, I don’t know any of this.”
Chloe says, “Before the explosion there were no humans. Our kind, the People of the Blood, were free to hunt and feed as we wanted. We developed into four almost separate species. The Zal were the largest and most ferocious of our kind, the fire breathers. They hunted the big beasts, the tyrannosauruses and brontosauruses. The Thryll were the smallest. They spent most of their lives in the air, living in treetops, hunting whatever flew near them. The Pelk took to the sea, living in the oceans, hunting fish and whales. The Undrae chose to live on the ground and cultivate herds of beasts so they had no need to constantly hunt.”
“They sound like the smartest ones,” I say.
“Maybe too smart.” Chloe kisses my chest. “Something happened, a great explosion. The human scientists are saying now that it was caused by an asteroid. Whatever it was, it turned the sky dark, killed all the vegetation. Almost all the beasts died. There wasn’t enough to eat to take care of all the castrylls. Rather than starve, the four clans turned on each other.”
My bride sits up, holds up one hand showing three fingers. “The war lasted three hundred years. The Thryll were the first to go, most of them dying, the remaining few changing, merging with the Undrae. The few Pelk who survived either merged with the Undrae too or retreated to the sea and cut themselves off from the rest. Ma says some of them still exist. She told me they’re the ones who used to pose as mermaids to draw ships to their death.
“Toward the end, only the Zal and the Undrae were left. There were fewer of the Zal but they were huge, powerful beings. As much as the Undrae tried, they couldn’t kill any of them without receiving massive casualties, and while the Undrae could change shape, they were incapable of growing that big.”
“So how did they win?” I say.
“One of the Undrae women, of course,” Chloe says, grinning. “A potion maker named Lystra. She found a combination of herbs that enabled the Undrae to grow as large and as powerful as the Zal.” My bride shakes her head. “Only once the potion was taken, the Undrae warriors had just twelve hours to take an antidote. Otherwise, they were doomed to continue to grow until their hearts burst.
“By the end of the war only a pitiful few of either castrylls were left, but there were more Undrae than Zal. The remaining big beasts finally agreed to join with the Undrae. Mum says all of the People of the Blood can trace their roots back to to those mergers.”
I shrug. “Not me,” I say.
Chloe gives me a grin, puts her hand between my legs, stroking me until I respond. “From the size of it,” she says, “I’d say you have to have some Zal blood in you too.”
I want to sleep in late but Chloe seems determined to take in every experience the ship has to offer. Venturing forth as Marcia and Barry Liebman again, forgoing any shore trips to Cayman, we start with yoga on the top deck, followed by an aerobics class in the gym and massages after that. Later in the day, after an interlude in our cabin and a few hours in the pool, we return to the casino, taking advantage of the light late-afternoon crowd to try each game, losing equally as well at blackjack and roulette as at craps and the slot machines.
Through all of it, Chloe can’t seem to keep her hands off me, touching me absentmindedly, stroking my arm, holding my hand. Since I do the same to her, everyone takes us for newlyweds, teasing us and fussing over us.
We spend our evening much as we did the evening before, though this time we win in the casino, taking away the grand sum of thirty-three dollars after two hours of play. And this time, once we return to our room, we undress and shift into our natural forms, flying away from the ship as it cruises in the open sea, hunting together.
A Russian-made Cuban patrol boat, searching the dark waters off the island’s coast — looking for rafters, I presume — catches my attention. I explain their mission to Chloe, say, “Shall we?”
Chloe strikes first, swooping down on the bridge, slashing out at the captain and his mate while I descend on the gun crew on the bow. It takes only moments until all is quiet.
My bride insists on examining the bodies, choosing the most palatable ones for our meal. She carries them to the rear deck, waits for me to take the first bite, then feeds beside me. Afterwards we make love on the deck in our natural forms, growling and roaring as we couple, filling the night air with our sounds.
Before dawn, just before we leave, I go below and open all the seacocks. We take to the air as the ship begins to settle, circling above until it and its dead crew sink from sight. “Let the Cuban authorities try to figure out what happened,” I say as we veer away and fly back to our ship.
Once we return to our bed, Chloe insists on making love once more in our human forms. I give a mock groan and comply, thinking how relieved my aching body will be once we arrive in Key West and our mini-honeymoon ends.
We sleep in late the next morning, but then spend the rest of the day in much the same way as we had the day before. But because we are at sea, we also have the opportunity to shoot skeet off the stern of the ship and to drive golf balls into the sea. After a few missed tries, Chloe proves to be amazingly adept at both pursuits.
In the evening, my bride sees a notice that a movie will be shown in one of the ship’s auditoriums. “Can we?” she asks. “I’ve never seen one.”
I sit with Chloe, my arm around her, her hand on my leg, content to feel her warmth next to me as we both watch the movie. My bride enjoys every moment, gasping and laughing and crying along with most of the rest of the audience. I find I enjoy her reactions and enthusiasm more than I enjoy watching the screen. I’ve already seen my share of Hollywood movies. I know the handsome leading man will end up with the pretty leading woman — after some mutual misunderstanding and some manufactured crisis or chase. Besides, I’m aware the ship will soon be passing near Key West and my mind’s on what we must do.
We take to the air shortly after midnight, when the ship is closest to Key West. I’m tempted to fly all the way to Caya DelaSangre, but I have no way of knowing where Derek is or where he’s put my son.
Chloe follows me as I head for the glow of Key West’s lights, a small bag held in one of her foreclaws. I carry a similar bag, filled with a change of clothes, money and the cellular phone Claudia arranged for us.
“What are we going to do when we get there?” Chloe mindspeaks.
“We’ll find a place to rest until morning. Then we’
ll meet up with Claudia.”
“We only have the Liebmans’ clothes. I don’t want to stay in that woman’s shape any longer than I have to.”
I sigh. “In the morning, you’ll just have to shift into Marcia’s shape one more time. We’ll go shopping before we meet Claudia.”
“Good,” Chloe says. “I wouldn’t want her to think I’m that woman.”
25
The lack of motion wakes me. I sit up, momentarily confused, until I remember we’re no longer on a ship. Careful not to disturb Chloe, I get out of bed, look out the sliding glass doors, past the shutters I removed the night before, to the ocean behind the house. A few boats are cruising offshore, even though the sun sits barely a few degrees above the horizon.
I sigh, wish Chloe and I could have more time to play. But all the problems waiting for us in Miami flood my mind. Even though the distance may still be too much, I try mindspeaking to my son, masking my thoughts. {Henri! Henri! It’s me, Papa!}
No answer. I try again and get the same result. I sigh once more, go the the nightstand, pick up the cellular phone Claudia’s Jamaicans gave me and dial.
Claudia doesn’t answer until the fifth ring. “Yup,” she says.
“We’re here.” I say. “Where are you?” I whisper in the cellphone so as not to disturb Chloe. I don’t see any reason to explain that we broke into someone’s shuttered beach house and slept in their master bedroom.
“Land’s End Marina, slip four,” she says.
“Everything go okay?”
“Yeah, I had to burn up almost a whole gas tank to do it, but I got in last night.”
“Any word on the other Peter?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Your call just woke me up.” She pauses. “It’s only eight-thirty. No, I haven’t talked to any of our operatives yet. I didn’t know when I’d hear from you today.”
Chloe makes a contented sound, almost a purr and I turn, look at her, her eyes still closed, stretching under the covers, moving like a cat just waking up. So much for being quiet, I think. “We still need to get up here and get dressed,” I say in my regular voice.
“We need new clothes too,” Chloe says.
“And we need to go shopping for some clothes,” I say into the phone.
“Do you want me to get a cab and come for you?” Claudia says.
“No. We can get one ourselves. We’ll be a while yet. Why don’t you call Miami, see what’s happening?”
“Sure,” she says. “Have fun shopping.”
Chloe gets up, shifts one last time into Marcia Liebman’s form. Frowning I do the same, adopting the build, the balding head of her husband. We both dress as quickly as we can, leaving the house from its rear.
My bride takes the beach and surrounding hotels in stride. We go inland to the first road and walk on the sidewalk ten blocks south to Duvall Street. Once there, we head up the street, searching for a store that sells more than trinkets or T-shirts. She says, “It doesn’t look much different than Ocho Rios.”
Looking at the bars and restaurants, the souvenir and T-shirt joints, I nod agreement. “Pretty much one tacky tourist trap looks like another,” I say. I tell her about my unsuccessful attempts to reach Henri.
“Poor you.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “It’s too far yet. He’s too young to be able to hear from such a distance.”
“Poor Henri,” I say.
She nods, says, “That too.”
On a corner, a few blocks before we reach the end of the street, we come upon what looks like a small department store, its windows filled with fine clothes and gifts. I read the sign out loud, “Fastbuck Freddies.”
“Now this,” Chloe says as we enter, “is what I expected America to be like.”
I call a sales clerk over to show me some khaki shorts while Chloe takes some clothes into a changing room. After she emerges, newly dressed in shorts, sneakers and tank top, changed from Marcia Liebman into the brown beauty I love, I carry my new clothes into a different changing room and gladly shed Barry Liebman’s appearance and clothing.
We buy enough other clothing to last a few weeks. The sales clerk seems confused to have lost track of the Liebmans, but thrilled to make such a large sale so early in the day. She follows us out of the store, gushes, “Please come back soon,” as we leave.
I can see slip four and Arturo Gomez’s SeaRay from Land’s End Marina’s parking lot, the boat’s sleek white hull gleaming in the morning sun. “That boat can cruise at over twenty-five miles an hour,” I say to Chloe as we get out of the taxi and I pay the fare. “We’ll be in Miami before dark.”
“And then what?” Chloe says.
We walk toward the dock. “That depends on your brother and my son,” I say. “The first thing I’m concerned about is Henri. If we can find him and get him somewhere safe, then we can deal with Derek.”
“Are you sure we can deal with him? He’s larger than you, you know.”
“Not large enough to defeat the both of us. My hope is he’ll realize that before anything starts.”
“That’s a good hope to have,” Chloe says. “But I have to tell you it doesn’t sound anything like the way my brother would behave. Derek’s not quite that smart.”
“Then we’ll have to teach him, won’t we?” I say.
Claudia comes up from the cabin as soon as we step on board the SeaRay. “Peter!” she says, rushing forward, wrapping her arms around me. Chloe stands back, watches, no expression on her face.
I disengage, motion to my mate to come forward. “This is Chloe, my wife,” I say.
“She’s adorable!” Claudia extends her hand to Chloe. “Young of course, but Pop told me you like them that way.” Looking at my bride, she says, “Welcome to Key West.” Then she glances from Chloe to me and back. “Congratulations!”
My bride shakes her hand. “Thank you,” she says, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She eyes Claudia. “You’re adorable too.”
Claudia either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore Chloe’s tone. She takes our packages. “I’ve been straightening up the cabin, putting my stuff in the Vee berth in the bow. You guys are the newlyweds, so you can have the stateroom in the middle. I’ll put your gear there. But” — she laughs — “we do have to share the head.”
“How soon can we get underway?” I say.
“Maybe thirty minutes.” Claudia shrugs. “All we have to do is settle up at the marina office, take on some fuel and cast off.”
I take the wheel, guide us out of Key West Harbor, Chloe standing next to me, watching the boats as we pass them. When we go by a cruise ship docked at Mallory Pier, the massive ship towering above us, my bride presses against me, whispers, “I love the time we spent together on the Carribean Queen.”
Kissing her on her cheek, I say, “Me too.” As soon as we pass the cruise ship, I jam the throttles forward, the SeaRay’s twin Mercuries growling as they accelerate, our wake rising and spreading behind us.
Claudia joins us, grinning. “Couldn’t wait, huh? It’s good we’re going today. They say a storm may be coming tomorrow. The sea’s not too bad yet,” she says. “We should be able to run full speed all the way home.”
“Good.” I guide us out the channel, turn the boat so we can go around Key West on the ocean side. “What did your people report?”
“Wait a second.” Claudia goes below deck, returns with a small pad. “Peter left the island yesterday at about eleven. He spent most of the day at the office, returned to the island before dark and left about nine in the evening, carrying a large bundle. My man says, after Peter docked at Monty’s, he carried the bundle to a truck in the parking lot and put it in the truck’s back. After the truck drove away, Peter walked over to Grove House and spent the night.”
“What was in the bundle?” I say.
The girl shrugs.
“Didn’t any of your people follow the truck?”
“No. I had someone watching the island and a few others by the office, like you asked. They
did what I told them. They followed Peter. None of them thought to follow the truck.”
“Damn it!” I shake my head. “What else?”
“After ten this morning, a little after you called me, he left the hotel in your black Mercedes.” She grins. “A redhead, Rita Santiago they think, was driving. And yes, Peter, my people followed them. They drove to Miami International.”
“Who’d they meet?”
“No one yet,” Claudia says. “My people tell me they’re waiting by the Air Jamaica concourse. They’re supposed to call me as soon as they see who Peter meets. That is, of course, if we’re in cellphone range.”
“I’m thinking of running up on the Atlantic side. We can get back in range the quickest by coming in at Caesar’s Creek, off of Homestead, and running up the bay from there. Can you set the GPS for that?”
“Sure,” Claudia says.
“The bundle could have been Henri, you know,” Chloe says.
I know all too well. “He wouldn’t have killed him, would he have?”
“There would be no reason for that,” Chloe says. “Yet.”
It weighs on me. That and the mystery person or persons that Derek’s waiting for at the airport. I ignore the beauty of the day and the calm ocean around us. Even though we’re already going at full speed, I tap the throttles forward to see if the boat can go any faster. All I want is for the day to pass, for me to be close enough to reach Henri.
“Could your father be healed already?” I say.
Chloe pauses, thinks, before she says, “It’s been over forty-eight hours since you pushed him into the sinkhole. Don’t you think you could heal in that much time?”
I nod. “But without a phone or a car, what could he do?”
“That depends on Virgil Claypool,” Chloe says. “Maybe you were right. Maybe we should have killed him.”
26
Henri finally answers me, five hours after we leave Key West, just as we’re passing Key Largo, nearing Carrysfort Reef. {Papa?} he says. {Where are you?}
{Coming home soon, baby. Soon. Tell me where you are.}
Dragon Moon Page 21
