The kid’s dog was nigh invincible, outclassing even my father.
After the movie, I wasted almost two hours finding a ratty motel that accepted cash. Swiping any of my credit cards would have Dad—or one of his cop friends—breathing down my neck in short order. While I was less than enthused with my roach roommates, there was no sign of bedbugs or other nasties looking to hitch a ride.
Roaches I could handle. Fleas, on the other hand, made my skin crawl just thinking about them.
Bright and early the next morning, I headed back to the beach to watch the surf crash on the sand. Although it was close to dawn, I spotted the buff shopkeeper unlocking his store.
“You’re up early,” he commented, pushing open the door.
“Apparently, I’m not bad at the whole not drowning thing,” I announced, shoving my hands into my pockets. “That offer still open?”
He chuckled. “Sure, dude. Waves are up, the beach is clear, and it’ll be quiet for a few hours yet. I’ll grab you a rental board while you pick something appropriate to wear. You can leave your things in the shop while we surf.”
Following him into the store, I took a look around, spotting the racks of swim trunks in a corner. “Got a name?”
“Sure do.”
I laughed; his answer matched my snark when I wanted to yank someone’s tail. “I’m Dustin.”
“Dan. The shop’s my hobby. Seems I enjoy the beach too much for my own good and needed an excuse to stick around. Most of my customers are from my day job, and the rest are from my brother’s. I open on my days off.”
“That’s a terrible way to run a business.”
“That’s what my brother keeps telling me. I don’t listen. Hours are great, though.” Dan headed to the rack of surfboards, which I took as a silent cue to pick out the cheapest pair of trunks I found. If someone didn’t like my flowers, that was their problem. Dan pointed me to a tiny bathroom in the back of the shop. I changed, and when I emerged, the Fenerec showed me his office, where we stashed my things.
“All right, Dustin. You’re about to enjoy being battered, bruised, and tossed around like you’re a rag doll. Sound like fun?”
“Your sales pitch needs work.”
Dan laughed and shoved a bright yellow surfboard into my hands. “Mother always told me honesty was the best policy. It’ll be fun, but you’re going to be sore tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.”
Going home would be a lot easier if I ached too much to regret losing my newfound freedom.
If Dan learned about the three curious sharks watching us, would he flip? I was tempted to find out. The man took fiendish delight in pushing my buttons, surfing the equivalent of circles around me while I discovered wiping out hurt a lot more than I expected, especially when I smacked into my surfboard on the way down. An hour after we entered the water, I caught my first wave and made it to the beach before falling on my ass.
Dan came to a far more graceful halt, capturing his board and grinning at me. “Fun, right?”
“Hell yeah.”
“You’re not doing badly at all, especially for someone who just learned how to swim yesterday. I was worried I’d be fishing more than surfing. Tell you what. You ride ten full waves, and I’ll take you to a nicer spot down the beach. These waves aren’t bad, but there are better swells not far from here.”
“Ah-ha! That’s why there aren’t many people here. Better waves nearby?”
“Bingo. I like it, though. It’ll be tougher to paddle out, but if we’re lucky, we’ll catch a few good waves.”
I regarded the ocean with narrowed eyes. “Ten full waves, huh?”
“Bonus points if you make the beach without falling on your ass.”
“Challenge accepted.”
The longer I stayed in the water, the more aware I became of the ocean flowing around me and how the waves swelled and crested. According to Dan, the waves on our beach were barely good enough to ride, making them ideal for a beginner with a knack for figuring out which wave would turn into something worthwhile. After my first successful run to the beach, I got better at making the board do what I wanted, too. Dan coached me on how to predict the ocean’s movements and fall without smacking into my board on my way down.
“All right. I think you’re about ready to try something a bit more challenging. Up for it?” Dan hauled his board over his shoulder. “The best spot’s about a mile from here. If we’re lucky, we might see some really good swells.”
“What counts as really good?”
“At least twice as big as here.”
If the smaller waves hurt during a wipeout, I suspected the larger ones would leave me battered and bruised. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“Is it faster to get there walking, or do I have to start a career in grand theft auto?”
Dan laughed. “I’ve got a truck. Let’s grab your stuff. I’ll bring a better board for you to try, too.”
“How much is a board going to cost me, anyway?”
“A cheap one’ll ding you a couple hundred. The good ones hit four digits. The one you’ve been using is a high-end beginner board, and it sells for three hundred—cheap for its quality. I’m going to loan you a better one, which costs seven hundred.”
I didn’t even need to think about it; I planned on whipping out my credit card, and to hell if Dad showed up. If he complained, I’d beat him with my new acquisition. “Tell you what: I got a thousand I can dump into this for the board and whatever else I need. Rest pays for my lesson. Ring me up before we head to the new spot. Sound fair?”
“Told ya you’d be hooked.”
“My wallet doesn’t thank you.”
“Ah, but your heart does, kid.”
He was right, but I scowled anyway. “Just shut up and take my money, Dan.”
A thousand dollars later, I owned a surfboard and everything else I needed to drown myself at my leisure. A five-minute drive landed us on a busy beach with hundreds of people vying to catch the perfect wave. While we paddled out, Dan coached me on surfing etiquette, which boiled down to surf safely and give everyone space without being a dick about it.
It didn’t take long for me to find a whole new appreciation for surfing; women in the skimpiest bikinis I’d ever seen were surfing, too. The ladies in Vegas had a lot to learn from the babes showing off beneath the California sun.
Waiting for my turn was easy with scantily clad women in plentiful supply. I filed the view away to use for blackmailing Dad later. If Mom wasn’t aware of the surf babes, she’d find out soon enough.
Dan was right about the waves, though. They were large and so frequent my head spun. To my dismay, I wiped out more often, too. The Fenerec enjoyed goading me with his grin and kept showing me how it was done, which drove me right back into the water to try again. For every six of his good runs, I barely made one.
There were surfers who wiped out more than I did, which made my failures easier to swallow.
By the time the sun set, I hurt from head to toe, had so many bruises I’d be as black as Dad by morning, and possessed an unhealthy need to paddle out and catch just one more wave.
“One more.” I grabbed the tether and hauled my surfboard in, gripping it so I could plow into the ocean to add to my collection of bumps and bruises.
“Addict,” Dan teased, wading into the surf with me. “At the rate you’re going, you might actually end up good at this. That said, when people say someone’s a bloody natural, they don’t mean it literally.”
I laughed and touched my nose, which still hurt from its introduction to my surfboard. Fortunately, my blood hadn’t stained anything or attracted any hungry sharks. “Lesson learned. I’ll try to avoid smacking myself in the face with my board in the future.”
“Good one to learn early. Let’s try out a little farther this time. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch a nice rogue wave.”
We’d seen three rogue waves slam the shore, cresting at e
ight feet. Dan had caught one; I’d been flattened, rolled, and pancaked to shore by the second, where I had laughed hysterically at my wipe out. We had missed the third altogether.
While I wasn’t supposed to use any witchcraft, I couldn’t stop sensing the waves and the sea life teeming beneath the surface. The thought of creating a rogue wave hadn’t crossed my mind until Dan voiced his hope of catching one before we quit surfing. Could I make one little rogue wave without screwing something up?
Common sense said no.
The ocean said yes.
In the distance, far enough out we’d have time to swim to meet it, the pressure of a growing wave approached, stronger than the others I’d felt, a silent behemoth surging towards shore. We paddled to where the swells began to crest, and in the fading light, the telltale ridge of water promising a larger swell formed. Dan whooped while I regretted subjecting myself to such an exhilarating yet terrifying hell.
The wave crested, curling over us as we hurtled towards shore. I angled my board in the unlikely hope of making it to the beach without the ocean gobbling me up, spitting me out, and rolling me onto the sand in a tangle of arms, legs, and tether with a hitchhiking surfboard bobbing along for the ride.
While most of the crowd had cleared out, a few watched Dan cut his way across the wave, pulling the sort of tricks I’d dream about later. I fought to keep my balance, considering it a victory the wave hadn’t ditched me within the first few heartbeats.
I had almost made it when the wave crashed down and rolled me onto the beach. Instead of the nice, sandy landing I expected, I thumped into a pair of legs. My breath whooshed out of me, and as though insulted I dare leave it behind, my board smacked into my head.
“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing, boy?”
Only one man I knew could pack so much disapproval into his tone—and stand as firm as a mountain despite all one hundred and fifty pounds of me crashing into his legs. Damned surfboard. Damned temptation. Damned me for using my damned credit card. “Hi, Dad.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you went surfing without me. You, who couldn’t even swim the last time I checked.”
Yep, I was a dead man walking. My father would kill me, hide my body, and get away with it. “Who, me?”
“Are you aware you have a surfboard on your face?”
“Debbie Downer,” I complained.
Dan crowed his laughter. “Now that’s what I call a rogue wave. You all right, kid?”
“Sure. I’m just lying here because it’s fun. Don’t mind me.”
Dad sighed. “Dustin.”
“Yes, Debbie Downer?”
Talking back to Dad never ended well. He kicked me hard enough to roll me into the surf. “I taught you better than that.”
“Sorry, Dad. That’s Dan. He taught me how to surf.”
“Did he also teach you how to swim?”
“Nah. I paid some bum a twenty for a lesson.” It was a good thing my father was a Fenerec; his resigned sigh made it sound like I’d cost him at least ten years of his life. Then again, maybe I had with my vanishing trick. “Hey, Dad?”
“I don’t want to know, Dustin. Grab your board and get your lanky ass to the car.”
I deserved the yank on my ear, but did he have to twist so hard?
“I really hope my hell-spawned child hasn’t bothered you, Dan.”
“Not at all. You’ve got a good kid. I’ll get your stuff out of the truck, Dustin.”
“Thanks.” I staggered to my feet, all of my muscles complaining. With a frown, Dad fetched my board and freed me from the tether. I should’ve said something, but the entire day chose that moment to bill me.
It added interest, too.
“You stupid kid. You went and played yourself out, didn’t you?” Dad ruffled my dripping hair. “Car’s that way, punk. I’ll even be nice and lug your surfboard home. I can’t believe your first mid-life crisis involved surfing in Malibu.”
“It wasn’t a mid-life crisis.”
“What was it then?”
“Avoiding justifiable homicide charges.”
“I’ll just file this one under boys will be boys.”
“Appreciated.”
Dad sighed. “I have one request.”
“What?”
“Next time, please take me with you. That way I’ll have earned my beating with the spoon.”
Why wasn’t I surprised my mom had whipped out the spoon? I thought about it. “Deal, but under one condition.”
“What?”
“Next time I go back to the morgue, I better be dead!”
“Keep dreaming, kid. You’re going to work on Tuesday, even if I have to handcuff you and take you in myself.”
“Damn it, Dad.”
“Don’t you start. We took our eyes off you for twenty damned minutes, and you ended up in Malibu.”
“Forty-five, but close enough. Admit it. You’re just mad I pulled it off.”
“‘Let’s have kids,’ your mom said. ‘Kids are great.’ I didn’t get a kid. I got an evil genius with a complex.” Grumbling curses, Dad guided me to the car and loaded in the surfboard, which didn’t fit all the way, requiring him to tie the trunk closed. Dan jogged up with my clothes and wallet, and I said my goodbyes before my dad ended up even more annoyed with me.
Starting the car, Dad cranked the AC and headed for home. “Tell you what, pup. Get through the rest of your internship without running off and terrifying the life out of your mother and me, and I’ll take you surfing somewhere exotic—and I’ll leave your mother at home.”
“Sold. It better be good, Dad. And don’t lie about leaving Mom at home. She’d follow.”
“That’s part of the fun. The question isn’t if she’ll follow, but if she’ll catch us.”
For Fenerec and their mates, such a challenge had one and only one conclusion, something I didn’t want to think about, especially not when my parents were involved. “I get my own room as far from yours as possible. I don’t want to be in the area when Mom kills you.”
“I have such a caring son.”
“And my father dumped me in a morgue. I think we’re even.”
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“Do I ever?”
Dad snorted. “I’d like a refund.”
“Take it up with Mom. I’m sure she’ll get right on that.”
“You’re ruthless.”
Chuckling, I leaned the seat back for a hard-earned nap, which would start as soon as I could get Dad to stop talking for two consecutive minutes. “You’ll live.”
“I suppose. Just do us all a favor and take your phone with you when you have your next mid-life crisis.”
“You sound confident I will.”
“Yeah, by next week, I’m sure.”
Something about Dad’s tone worried me. “What now?”
“Dr. Cannovan wants you to observe autopsies starting next week. By observe, I mean you’ll be using a scalpel. He’ll be observing you perform autopsies.”
“I need a new life. Stat. Did you forget I’m going to college to be a lawyer? I have no medical training.”
“They’re already dead, Dusty. You’re not going to kill them. You should be happy. It’s worth a lot of credit hours, and you don’t even have to pay for it. You’ll be getting paid. It’s a win-win. You’re a modern-day apprentice.”
“In a morgue.”
“So?”
“Lawyer, Dad.”
“You could do a bit of lawyering on the side, I suppose.”
“Dad.”
“You’ll have fun.”
“In a morgue?”
“Just forget I said anything.”
I sighed and wondered where the hell I’d gone wrong with my life.
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About the Author
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RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.
When she isn't playing pretend, she likes to think she's a cartographer and a sumi-e painter.
In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Should that fail, her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until she is satisfied.
RJ also writes as Susan Copperfield and Trillian Anderson.
If you enjoy using bookbub, you can follow RJ and her alter ego Susan there.
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The Golden Dragon
A Keeper of Dragons Novella
J.A. Culican
The Golden Dragon © 2016 J.A. Culican
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
The Golden Dragon
Rule follower. Goal keeper. Dragon?
Rebels and Realms: A Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection Page 12
