The Dragon King and I

by Adrianne Brooks

  “You should come sit down. Maybe get some rest while you can. I can bring you something to eat.”

  Conric’s voice made me jump, and suddenly, I had an outlet for everything. All the fear of the last year, all the frustration, and yes, all the worry. I turned on him, and, voice low and dangerous enough to make my Godmother proud, hissed;

  “Who gave you permission to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do?”

  “I’m just trying-”

  “To help?” I laughed derisively and turned so that I could lean my back against the door. It seared my skin, and for the first time I realized that I still didn’t have on a shirt. Mine had been left in the sink and I hadn’t had the time to grab it before I’d been forced from the bathroom. Afterwards I’d been so focused on worrying about what was happening to Sam that I hadn’t thought of it.

  Well, too late for modesty now.

  “What is it that you want from me, Conric?”

  His brows furrowed and he came to sit cross-legged in front of me. “I don’t want anything from you. I just want to help. I’m your knight. Isn’t that my duty?”

  “Everyone wants to help me.” I told him, voice without inflection, and my gaze growing unkind. “I’m tired of being helped. I find myself tripping over knights with no armor, and I meet prince charming a dozen times a day. So color me unimpressed.”

  Drawing my knees up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around my legs and buried my face in the cocoon I formed there while my stomach twisted in on itself in hunger.

  “I’ve outgrown fairytales, Conric. I don’t need a knight to save me. I don’t need a hero on a white steed. I need a man. Plain and simple.”

  “Whatever my-lady desires—”

  “How long?” I interrupted abruptly, tired finally of the charade.

  “Excuse me?”

  “How long has the curse been playing you like a puppet? How. Long?”

  His voice grew stiff. Lovely, I’d finally succeeded in offending him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Come off it already,” this was exasperating. This self-denial. “I can tell when a man’s succumbed to the curse. I can always tell. The ones who have it bad usually get stuck in this medieval hero mentality. Talking to me like I’m their maiden fair and they just can’t wait to go out and slaughter something in my honor.”

  I looked at him over the tops of my arms and scowled, “You sort of fit all the requirements of a man smitten.”

  “Maybe I just like you.” And the smile he gave me then was tinged in sadness.

  “Doubtful.” I snapped.

  “Is is so hard to believe that someone would without the aid of magic?”

  The conversation was taking a turn I didn’t like, so I did the grown up thing and buried my head back in my arms and ignored him.

  “Look,” he said after a long pause, his voice distinctly less syrupy and obnoxious. “I’m new to all this. I’ve never had to be someone’s hero, so when I realized that I had the chance to be your Prince Charming…I…I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  I found myself peeking at him through a space in my arms and saw him duck his head in amused embarrassment. “I think I may have laid it on a little thick.”

  “You think?”

  He chuckled and I found myself smiling at him. He really was handsome. Not my usual type, but he had a face that had probably broken its own share of hearts.

  “So the curse hasn’t affected you?”

  The idea of completing the rest of this Quest with him if it had was terrifying.

  He shook his head and there was an ease to his manner that made me believe him.

  “I’m sort of like your large friend in there. The curse can’t affect me in the slightest.”

  Curious. “Why is that?”

  He nodded towards the bathroom door, “Well, I don’t know about him, but I’m a Piper.”

  “You’re in a band?” my nose wrinkled and I looked him up and down real slow, making my doubt about that rudely obvious. He snorted.

  “No. And thanks to your vote of confidence, I never will be.”

  I felt heat rush to my cheeks. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” he said, chuckling at the sight of my discomfort. “I’m not that type of musician. In our realm, I work my own brand of enchantment. With my music I can…manipulate people. Make them see or feel things that aren’t real. Someone ensnared by my music would happily follow me into hell and back. They call my people Pipers.”

  “So you’re like the Pied Piper who led all of those rats out of that city.”

  “Yes.” He seemed pleased that I could reference one of his ‘people’.

  I almost hated to burst his bubble.

  “If I remember the legend correctly, the town refused to pay the Piper for his services, and not long afterwards he played his lute to lure all the children from their beds. Some say he killed them, some say he did…other things. Either way, they were never seen or heard from again.”

  Conric cleared his throat uneasily, “We can’t always choose who shares our gifts. There are always going to be a few bad apples mixed in with the good.”

  “Uh-huh.” I said, not completely ready to trust his easy explanation but willing to let it go until he proved my ever-present suspicions either true or false.

  I sighed, despondent, and let my head thud against the door at my back.

  “Sam was hoping we could cross off the next two things on our list.”

  Conric cocked his head to one side, puzzled. “List? What list?”

  Surprised that no one had bothered to fill him in, I told him about the list, the quest, and what it was all meant to accomplish. It took a lot longer than I expected, and I realized that ever since talking to Flo, I hadn’t had to explain any of this to anyone. They’d all just understood. As if looking at me was enough to understand my story. I tried hearing it from a third party’s perspective and realized how crazy it all sounded. That more than anything, kept me from revealing what I’d found out about Seraphim actually being Maleficent the witch. Since he wasn’t from this world he probably wouldn’t get the significance of my life being turned upside down by a Disney villain.

  Though that made me question; what sort of street cred was she sporting in her world to earn a television spot in mine?

  I decided to leave that disturbing thought process for later.

  “Well if he was hoping to visit the market tonight then he’s out of luck.”

  “Why?” I’d forgotten we’d been talking, and his voice came as a surprise yet again.

  “The Goblin Market is a strange place. It’s on its own plane. Different even from the one I hail from. The only way to get there is if you’re traveling twixt and twain.”

  “I don’t know what those words mean.” It felt good to finally admit that to someone.

  “Sorry. It means a between time when the veils are at their thinnest. Sunset and sunrise, or noon and midnight. It’s already past midnight and it doesn’t look like your friend, I’m sorry, Sam, is going to be coming out any time soon. Then there’s the little issue of finding out where to cross over.”

  He was right. There was no way Sam was going to be able to make a trip like that tonight. And if it was even half as scary as our visit to the cemetery, I wanted him at the top of his game. When I closed my eyes I could still see the spider web of cracks running across his features and I shuddered, imagining him shattering like glass at my feet.

  No. All was silent in the room behind me and I had to trust that that was a good thing. Sam was a big boy. Tough. He’d come out when he was ready.

  “I know.” Conric exclaimed. “I can take you to the market and we’ll just handle buying the Mirror ourselves.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that at all. I couldn’t explain why. I just didn’t.

  “I’d rather wait and go with Sam.”

  Conric laughed as if he couldn’t believe my naiveté. “Why? You said yourself that he was only filling in un
til all the players came together.” he spread his arms, “Well, here I am. Unless I miss my guess, you and I are it as far as cast.”

  Don’t get me wrong. What he said made a lot of sense. In all the stories I’d read there had only ever been the knight/prince and the damsel. Unless you were dealing with a Frodo Baggins type situation and that sort of quest was in a completely different genre with a completely different set of archetypal characters.

  For all intents and purposes, Conric and I should have been all she wrote, but at the same time, I wasn’t leaving this apartment without Sam to back me up in case something went wrong.

  I just didn’t feel safe enough otherwise. It was why I’d had to send Conric to talk to the super, because without the solid mass that was Sam mucking up my personal space, the world and its dangers seemed all too evident.

  It was shameful really, and desperate, latching onto what amounted as a virtual stranger this way. Making him solely responsible for sense of bravery. I knew it was weird, and because I knew I kept it to myself. Instead, all I said was, “I wouldn’t feel right leaving him here. Once I know for sure that he’s all right, we can leave.”

  Conric stared at me for a long moment and I watched, nervous now, as a muscle in his jaw began to jump. I know he’d said that he wasn’t affected by my curse, but people lied all the time. Especially men.

  “You don’t think I can protect you?”

  No.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He got to his feet so he could glare down at me and I found myself huddling into a smaller and smaller ball, instinctively making myself a harder target. The knowledge that I had no way to fight him off and that the only man who could was currently out of commission made me feel even more exposed than my woeful lack of clothes.

  “I protected you well enough back in the cemetery.” he was saying, and my mind whirled as I began to connect some of the dots.

  “That noise. That was you?” I vaguely remembered a high pitched shrill, like a whistle. It had caught the attention of the spirit fae on more than one occasion and given Sam the time and opportunity to save not only me, but himself.

  He nodded, smug. But rather than the praise I’m sure he was expecting, my eyes narrowed. I got to my feet as well, and crossed my arms over my chest in hopes of preserving some form of dignity.

  “Did you decide to help us before or after you woke her up in the first place?”

  He paled, “I didn’t-”

  I stepped into his personal bubble and suddenly I couldn’t care less about how vulnerable I was. I shoved him.

  “You did. You were the one playing in the graveyard. You woke her up. Did you send her after us too, or did you just lose control of your ‘enchantment’?”

  “I would never hurt you. It was just a misunderstanding.”

  “Misunderstanding my ass.” I said, and shoved him again, grunting with the effort. This time he grabbed my wrists before I could pull away, and there was a hardness to his face that had warning bells ringing in my head.

  “Seraphim sent me there to kill your little friend. Now I’m sorry that things got out of hand, but I didn’t expect the spirit Fae to hone in on you like she did.”

  All the fight drained out of me and my struggles to get away became weak, broken things.

  “You’re lying. Why would Seraphim want him dead? She sent him to save me. He protects me. You saw. Why would she—”

  “Because it needed to be done.” and suddenly his face was twisting. Not with magic, but with determination. With anger. “Because he can’t be trusted. You saw him in there.” he indicated the bathroom with a toss of his head and I shivered as his words began to sink in. “I said that we were it for the cast, but I was lying. The damsel and the hero aren’t the only ones that make a good fairytale. We’re missing our villain.” he looked over the top of my head and his eyes glinted with bloodlust. “And I think I know just where to find him.”

  Chapter Six

  Rats!

  They fought the dogs and killed the cats,

  And bit the babies in the cradles,

  And ate the cheeses out of the vats,

  And licked the soup from the cooks’ own ladles,

  Split open the kegs of salted sprats,

  Made nests inside men’s Sunday hats,

  And even spoiled the women’s chats

  By drowning their speaking

  With shrieking and squeaking

  In fifty different sharps and flats.

  - ‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin’ (1842) st. 2

  “Get out! Get Out of my house!” my voice felt raw, and breathing felt like someone was dragging barbed wire across my lungs. But he wasn’t listening.

  No one ever listened.

  Stop it, stopit, stopit, please stop. It was a chant in my mind as I shoved at his chest. But he was so heavy. So fixated on breaking down the door, that it was all I could do not to be crushed in the intervening space.

  “Get out of my way.”

  “No.” and my voice was just as hard, just as uncompromising, as his.

  It was funny really, a week ago, I wouldn’t have been able to picture myself fighting this hard for something, but here I was. Engaged in an impromptu shoving match with a supernatural who could probably sing me into an early grave.

  Hell, he could probably just Piper me out of the way and be done with it.

  Crap.

  There are moments where two people will have the exact same thought. It isn’t through any sort of psychic connection. It’s just timing really. Sometimes it’s cool, like when it happens between best friends.

  In this instant?

  It was just really inconvenient.

  I expected him to sort of pull the instrument of mid-air, and in a sense, that’s exactly what he did. Lifting both hands as if playing an imaginary flute, his eyes began to glow with a dark, eerie, light. I saw something shimmer to life there in the air between his fingers. Coalescing not into a solid shape but into a shade that pulsed with magic.

  Dark magic.

  I felt it in the menace that began to fill the air like heavy, roiling, fog. He pursed his lips, eyes still trained on me, but before he could produce a single note I rabbit punched him in the face.

  Pow! Right in the kisser.

  It was the first time I’d ever socked someone on purpose and I felt a little electric thrill run through me. Granted the punch wasn’t very hard, and I hurt my hand, but none of that diminished my satisfaction when Conric grabbed his nose with both hands, and exclaimed in a voice thick with both affront, and pain, “Ow!”

  I put my fists up, indicating silently that I was prepared to do him bodily harm again, if he tried anything else. Muttering to himself and cursing a blue streak, he walked in circles for a few minutes until the initial sting wore off. Then he shook himself like a wet dog, put his hands up by his shoulders where I could see them clearly, and smiled as if trying to calm a wild animal.

  “Granted, that was out of line. But will you just humor me for five minutes? Five minutes, that’s all I ask, and then I’ll drop it”

  “Why should I ‘humor you’ when I can just beat your ass and get my way anyway?”

  Oooh, cocky, cocky, girl.

  Note to self: I take entirely too much pleasure in causing bodily harm to others.

  “Because if you do I’ll talk to Seraphim on Sam’s behalf.”

  There was that to consider. Even if I deterred Conric, who’s to say Maleficent wouldn’t just send someone else to do the job? In Disney, witches were notorious for having multiple contingency plans and I had to work under the assumption that that was true for real life ones as well.

  I lowered my fists, but stayed tense. “I’m listening.”

  “If you’re right, if Sam is really an ally, then I have a way to prove it.”

  My eyes narrowed.

  “How.”

  “There’s a spell—”

  “No.”

  “—it forces a person to reveal thei
r true nature. If Sam is as trustworthy as you claim, then there shouldn’t be a problem.”

  I swallowed, “And if he is hiding something?”

  “Then I kill him.”

  No pressure or anything.

  “Everyone has secrets.” I didn’t sound all that convincing, but hey. I was under a lot of stress.

  “If we’re going to be heading to the Goblin realm I’d like to know who it is I have at my back. There was nothing normal about what I saw in there.” he pointed at the door, but his eyes were all for me.

  My lips twisted, “Who are you to judge what’s normal.”

  The snide comment took him aback and I had to squash a surge of sympathy at the hurt that crossed his face.

  “I’ll put it like this.” Conric said, face carefully blank. “I come from a world of magic, of dreams, and unreality. It is the very definition of abnormal. Even so, I have never,” he stressed the word to be sure that I got the point, “seen or heard of anything like this. Your friend is a freak among freaks.”

  “And if history has taught us anything it’s that it’s ok to persecute those who are different.”

  “Damnit, Alexandria.” this was the first time he’d called me by name and I flinched at the sound of it. “This isn’t about morals or diplomacy. You may trust him with your life, but I damn sure don’t. So either you can cooperate, or I can make sure that I give your little Samuel a not-so-glowing review when next I see Seraphim.”

  The movement was stiff with rage, but I did it.

  I nodded.

  * * * *

  ‘Spell’ in Piper speak, meant song. I had guessed as much, hence my initial (and continued) reluctance to participate. Almost as soon as I had agreed to the entire farce I began to wonder how I was supposed to trust Conric. Unlike a normal spell, his music didn’t have lyrics to it. Which meant that I couldn’t garner the intent behind a ‘spell’ just by listening. He was the only who could tell if his music was doing what he said it was.

  My thought process was pure paranoia.

  Probably.

  But just in case I decided to cover all of my bases.

  Conric sat in front of the bathroom door, his back to me as he began to play. The notes warbling with all the sweetness of any nightingale’s lament. Beneath my breath I began to chant: