Immortal Coil (A Dragon Spirit Novel, Book 1)

by Black, C. I.

  Grey grabbed the front of her coat, pulled her in until their chests touched and hissed back. Then he shoved her back and widened his stance. His tongue flicked out between his lips.

  She heard herself chuckle. “I thought you were giving up that habit.”

  Grey shrugged. “Where have you been?”

  Now it was her turn to shrug. Against her will.

  Damn it. She wanted her body back.

  Hey. Hunter. He didn’t answer and she could sense him determined not to let anyone know anything was wrong. But, damn it, it was her body and he’d promised not to take over. Well, if nice wasn’t going to work, maybe force would. She’d done it before, if only she could remember how. She pressed against his consciousness, but couldn’t break his hold on her.

  “I’ve been on assignment.”

  “Yeah, well, Regis has been trying to call you.”

  “Things got complicated.”

  “I can see that. You never struck me as a gender hopper.” Grey glanced over his shoulder at the archway. “Have you had the new digs long enough to connect to the earth’s magic?”

  Hunter’s emotions surged, and it felt like it had something to do with magic, but Anaea couldn’t place it.

  “If I’d been in this body long enough do you think I would have gone to Jade to enter Court?”

  “Shit.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “There’s been—”

  “Hunter,” a new voice called from down the same hall where Grey had come from. Hunter recognized the voice as his Prince’s, but his emotions about the man were mixed.

  Anaea thought about the primal, feral aspect to Hunter. Perhaps man wasn’t the right word. He’d said he was from a race of spirits. He hadn’t said what kind of spirits, although if he hadn’t been human, she had no idea what else he could be.

  A swarthy, heavyset man, Prince Regis stepped into the chamber dressed like Henry VIII. Or maybe it was his girth that made him seem like those pictures of the English king. Half a dozen men and women in a strange array of historical garb, all matched to Regis’s orange, beige, and gold, clustered behind him.

  Both Hunter and Grey dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.

  Anaea struggled to twitch a finger, blink her eyes, something, anything, that would get her back in control.

  “I see your hunting was complicated.” The Prince motioned for them to rise.

  Anaea put all her will into not standing, but Hunter remained in control.

  “To put it mildly,” Hunter said. “You’ll need a second body for the rebirth ceremony. Tell Pearl’s doyen the Major Green Coterie can have her hoard.”

  The image of a tall woman, a hooded cloak shadowing her face, flashed into Anaea’s mind.

  Regis narrowed his eyes, the only indication Hunter might have said something he didn’t like. “I see. But you got Saber?”

  “Yes. Would my Prince like a report?”

  Regis faked a yawn. Hunter had seen that too many times to count. “Not personally. You’ve been called to wasu tahazu.”

  A small, hunched man in an orange and black harlequin costume shoved through the crowd, clapping hooked, arthritic hands. “Goodie, goodie. A fight.”

  “I’ve what?” Indignation washed over Anaea and what little flashes she’d received of Hunter’s memories were cut off.

  “That’s what I was going to tell you,” Grey mumbled.

  The small man cackled.

  “Who?” Hunter’s fury boiled around her, and he clenched his hands, fighting to control it.

  Anaea unclenched her right hand. Strange, she’d have thought his emotions would have made his grip on her body stronger. She seized her chance and shoved him to the back of her mind.

  Not now! he growled.

  This is my body and you promised.

  I did, but—

  Are you kidding me? No!

  Grey shrugged as if the situation didn’t bother him like it did Hunter, but she could tell from the look in his eyes he was just as troubled.

  “Welkin,” Grey said.

  “Welkin. Welkin,” the harlequin giggled.

  Regis glared at him and he fell silent, shying away. “It’s his right to call for wasu tahazu.”

  Ask him when the wasu tahazu is. Maybe we’ll get lucky.

  “When’s the... wasu tahazu.” The words felt strange on her lips even to her who spoke nine languages.

  “He called for it last night, on the second day of the pahar, as is also his right.”

  Shit.

  Hunter’s thoughts whipped through her. No one had challenged him for his position in Court in six hundred years. It didn’t make any sense to start now, unless Zenobia was using the wasu tahazu as a backup plan. He wouldn’t put it past her.

  So what does all this mean? she asked, her head swimming at the thought that Hunter had been alive, more or less, for six hundred years. Of course Jade had referred to him as a Crusader. Perhaps she hadn’t just meant his outlook on life.

  It means we have to fight a duel to the death. Now.

  But you’re already a spirit.

  Trust me, death comes in many forms. And for me to die, you have to die.

  Death is kind of a moot point, Anaea said.

  It’s not to me.

  She couldn’t see how that worked since he was already dead.

  Give me control of your body.

  She bit her lip, about to refuse. A duel to the death wasn’t something she knew how to deal with. In the back of her mind she had the nagging feeling she knew how to fight, but that could only be because of Hunter. She was a linguist. Nothing more. For the last year she’d been her disease—and that kind of fight, while still involving death, had nothing to do with fists.

  Or magic, Hunter said.

  Stop eavesdropping.

  He sighed. Darling, I wish I could. But first I have a wasu tahazu to win.

  You mean we have a wasu tahazu to win. It’s still my body.

  “I trust you’ll be around to report to Tobias when this is done.” Regis chuckled. It held a strange joy, as if the thrill that Hunter might not be around to report excited him. The group around him matched the laugh with nervous titters. “You’re permitted to go to your room and change. Don’t tarry.” His voice darkened, a warning. Stalling would show weakness and the Prince’s Assassin could not be weak.

  Nod and take the hall to your left, Hunter said.

  Anaea obeyed. The hall was the same as the cold receiving chamber. The walls, floor, and ceiling were rough-hewn granite. There were no windows and she couldn’t tell where the light emanated from. Grey fell into step beside her.

  So I’m thinking now is the time to tell me a little more about my... our situation.

  “Welkin is young.” Grey ran a hand over his hair, doing nothing to tame it. “If you were in your old body the fight wouldn’t be much of a match.”

  But he wasn’t in his old body.

  And as soon as I find a new one you won’t have to worry about me.

  “The point is kind of moot,” Anaea said, hoping Grey wouldn’t continue the conversation. I think if we’re going to fight to the death, a girl should know what kind of trouble she’s gotten into.

  “Moot?” Grey asked.

  Damn, Anaea, I wouldn’t have said moot.

  “Do you have any earth magic?”

  Anaea shrugged. It seemed like a Hunter kind of thing to do. “Don’t know. Remember, had to use the Gatekeeper to get here.”

  They walked in silence until they reached another large empty chamber that could just as easily be the same one they’d left.

  Take the hall to your right, down the stairs at the end, sixth door on the left, Hunter said. And please. I know I promised, but give me control of your body.

  Fine. She tried to relax, while still walking and not revealing anything to Grey. If only she could stop for a moment. Sit, take a few long breaths. That might make it easier to let go. He slid around her thoughts, but that s
ense that she was trapped in her head never came. It was her walking, breathing, seeing.

  Just relax. I’ll give it back.

  She didn’t think that was the problem. Well, maybe it was. It was her body, after all.

  Perhaps if I sit.

  Fine. We’ll try again when we get to my suite.

  How fancy. The man had a suite.

  The stairs at the end of the hall were wide and wound both up and down, disappearing into dark shadows. She followed it down one level then counted doors and stopped at the sixth one.

  “I’ll wait outside.” Grey gave her an appraising look. “Better yet, I’ll find you clean clothes that fit. Maybe that will buy you enough time to find your new magic. If you have any... which I’m sure you do... because you’ve never not.”

  She considered saying thanks, but didn’t think Hunter was a thank you kind of guy. Instead, she nodded and gripped the door handle. A shiver of electricity raced up her arm and touched something in her mind. No, not something. Hunter. The door recognized Hunter. The lock clicked opened and she entered.

  The room was not what she expected. She wasn’t sure what she expected, or that she’d been expecting anything. Perhaps she’d been thinking his suite would be distinctly male. Sleek, modern, nothing overly sentimental. But the moment she walked into the room she was surrounded by sky: summer sky, stormy sky, sky with puffy clouds, sunset, sunrise, vast expanses of it on canvas, tapestry, and photographic paper. Even the ceiling was a sky mural. The art was crowded on the walls, covering every available square inch. More pieces sat on display on easels while others were piled in the corners and against the walls and furniture.

  On the left wall, framed by more art, sat a large bookshelf, half filled with books and half with mini skies. To her right was a conversation area with a worn leather couch and matching chair, a carved wooden trunk between them. Above the couch on the wall hung an enormous sword, the edge nicked and the leather grip worn down to the wood. A shield, almost as big as her, leaned against the couch. It looked like it had been used, with chunks hacked from its edges. The paint was faded, a green and yellow background with a black dragon dead center.

  Strangely, Hunter had been quiet. Not interrupting her thoughts or inserting some quip. He seemed... melancholy. Looking at all that sky made her ache. But it was an old pain. Whatever kept him silent was new, fresh, as if he missed the man he’d once been and was content with her making her own opinions.

  She supposed it didn’t matter any more since he was now at the bottom of the Allegheny River. That man was no more. And he had been that man for a very long time. If she ignored all rational thought, then perhaps the sword and shield had been his.

  Of course, could she even consider any logical thought? She had the spirit of a man, or something, stuck in her head. The sense that Hunter wasn’t quite man, but something else, something feral, made her shiver.

  Anaea turned her attention to the bookshelf. She didn’t want to think about what Hunter was or was not. There was an out-of-place collection of Louis L’Amour westerns on the top shelf, the paper covers creased and torn. The rest of the books were leather-bound hardcovers. She ran her fingers across the spines and stopped at a random book. She tipped it out of the shelf and opened the cover. The paper was dry and yellow with age.

  You should be careful with that.

  Her gaze fell to the inside cover. She gingerly eased the book back into place. A Gutenberg Bible? How did you manage to get your hands on that?

  She felt him hesitate. It’s kind of a long story.

  “Like the matching sword and shield over there?”

  Use your thoughts. Someone could be listening.

  She glanced about. The room was empty. The back wall had a dark hall and window-sized cut-out opening into an eat-in kitchen.

  “Who—” Who could be listening? She sighed. I think we’re at that point where I need a little more information. Duel to the death? Magic? Antiquated monarchy?

  We’re old. My... people have been in this spirit state for a long time and it’s difficult to change the old ways.

  So when you say old, you don’t just mean your race, you mean you?

  Yes. With that one word he suddenly sounded tired, as if the loss of who he’d once been weighed heavily on him. You’ve already figured out that I took my last vessel during the Crusades. The Fifth one to be precise.

  How old are you? She knew it shouldn’t surprise her, he was a talking spirit after all, but it was a lot to take in.

  I lost count.

  She had a feeling he hadn’t, that he knew exactly how old he was.

  A knock on the door made her jump.

  That’s probably Grey.

  She opened the door. Grey pushed past her into the room, a bulging laundry bag slung over his shoulder. He dropped the bag at her feet and plopped down on the couch.

  “You’re not very big. It was difficult to find armor. And no. I’m not going to ask Capri.”

  Anaea swallowed and resisted asking the obvious. She was about to fight a duel to the death. Why wouldn’t she have expected armor. Images of an ancient Roman gladiatorial brawl danced through her mind’s eye.

  You’re not that far off.

  This is so not civilized. Whatever happened to submitting a resume and making a better offer to get someone’s job?

  Trust me, this is civilized, Hunter said.

  Compared to what?

  Get the clothes.

  Compared to what? she repeated more insistently.

  But he didn’t answer. She grabbed the bag and headed down the hall in search of the bathroom.

  It lay on the other side of the kitchen, and was enormous with a separate glassed-in shower and a four-person Jacuzzi bathtub. The entire ceiling glowed with a gentle white light. The illumination around the mirror over the vanity was twice as bright and it showed her sallow face.

  She shrugged out of Pearl’s coat and let it drop to the floor, then kicked off her shoes. The marble floor was heated. She considered standing there until her toes warmed up, or perhaps lying down and letting the warmth seep into her body.

  After the fight, perhaps a shower, Hunter said.

  Perhaps? There are no ands, ifs, or buts about it. I’m filthy.

  She opened the laundry bag and pulled out what Grey had brought. It really did remind her of gladiator armor. There were leather bands that strapped around her arms and shins and something with metal studs that attached around her chest and neck, protecting half her torso and right shoulder. At the bottom of the bag were a pair of black jeans and a small black T-shirt.

  Whatever happened to Kevlar? It’s not the dark ages.

  Kevlar stops bullets. It won’t necessarily stop swords and it certainly won’t stop magic.

  There’s that word again.

  Yep.

  She stripped out of his oversized T-shirt and the tattered hospital pants and put on the jeans. They were tight and low slung. So much for protection.

  I’m good enough I won’t need it. The other stuff is also just a formality. Now hurry up so I can— So you can give me control.

  The clean T-shirt didn’t cover as much as she liked, either. It stopped just below her ribs and exposed an alarming amount of flesh at her midriff. At least her ribs were covered. Last time she looked she could count them. A sign, just like her hair, of her illness.

  She sat on the edge of the tub. All right. How do we do this?

  Just relax.

  His presence pressed against her mind as it had before. She sucked in a slow breath, feeling him ease over her, like oil on water. The pressure increased. She thought about the place in her mind where he’d kept her when he was in control. Really, that would be a better place to be while he fought this duel. Just for a moment. Not long. He would give control of her body back to her.

  Really?

  Really.

  And she knew that was the truth. He didn’t want her body. He wanted someone else’s. Actually he wanted his old b
ody back.

  Just relax.

  I am relaxing.

  Well, think about going to sleep.

  She thought about going to sleep. Spikes of pain shot through her temples. She gasped. The pressure stopped.

  She gasped again at the sudden release.

  This isn’t working, he said.

  “No, really?”

  In your head.

  Sorry.

  You need to relax.

  I am relaxing. She felt his disbelief. Well, I’m trying.

  Try some soothing breaths. His voice was calm, but she could sense his rising panic. They were running out of time to make the switch. Any time now someone would come to call them to the arena.

  “Hey, Hunter,” Grey said through the closed door.

  Anaea jumped.

  “I know you got yourself a sweet little body now. But Regis’s page has arrived with the summons. You can play with yourself later.”

  She felt Hunter grimace, but whether it was at Grey’s comments or the fact that they were out of time, she didn’t know.

  Pick up the armor and tell Grey to help.

  After that comment, I don’t know if I want him touching me.

  Maybe not, but you’re not going to get into it on your own, or at least by the time required.

  Fine. She opened the door and held up one of the forearm protector pieces.

  It’s called a grieve.

  She resisted the urge to say something nasty and instead decided to focus on the problem at hand. So, how is this fight going to go?

  Hunter didn’t answer and she could tell he was thinking. How to win a fight while stuck in a body with a person who didn’t know how to fight.

  Grey strapped on the first grieve then the second. He helped her shrug into the weird shoulder and neck piece thing and tightened the straps around her chest.

  So?

  Well, we don’t have magic...

  I noticed that.

  That decreases our odds, Hunter said.

  I kind of figured that out on my own.

  Grey brushed his hands down the front of his thighs and stepped back. “Man. I never thought of you as a gender hopper. This is just too weird.”