The Queen's Flight (Emerging Queens)

by Jamie K. Schmidt

  Viola closed all six of her eyes.

  “Think happy thoughts,” Carolyn said.

  “You’re shitting me, right? I’m not Peter freaking Pan. I’m a schizophrenic dragon.”

  “Actually, the three heads are versions of you. Not separate personalities,” Jack said. “You know, angel on one shoulder, devil on the other.”

  “Not just a pretty face,” Goat said.

  “Oh God,” Viola said, opening up an eye. “Do you mean that was me?”

  “Please,” Carolyn said. “Think about good things. Things you are passionate about. Things that make you feel calm and centered. What do you do to relax?”

  “I knit, watch TV, listen to music.”

  “Are you working on a project now?”

  “Sort of. I go through stages. I went through a scarf phase where all I did was knit long rectangles. Then I went to hats and I knit all circles. I’ve moved on to triangles now. Shawls.”

  “What color?”

  “Oh,” Viola said. “I got this gorgeous alpaca in purple and it’s spun together with silk made out of recycled saris. Somewhere in the mix, they also threw in some sequins on a thin line of wool. It’s going to be gorgeous.”

  “Look at yourself,” Carolyn said softly.

  Viola opened her eyes and blinked down at her human fingers. “Oh, I’m me again.” She glanced down at her naked body and then up at the two men in alarm. But they had their backs turned to her.

  Jack shrugged out of his T-shirt and tossed it back. “This should fit down over your knees.”

  “Not likely,” Viola thought. One-size-fits-all was always one-size-fits-most. But she was surprised that it did cover her ass, if not much else.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” Carolyn said, helping her to her feet.

  “Wait, I’ve got to get my purse.” Viola shuffled through the debris until she found the dented remains of her old desk. It was a shame that she didn’t have a gym bag where she could change into pants and put on sneakers. But she and the gym had an agreement—she wouldn’t step on the elliptical and it wouldn’t blow out her knees. “Hmmm,” she said as she pulled the handle. “And I thought the drawer stuck before.”

  Jack leaned over and tore the steel of the desk apart as if it were paper.

  “Thanks,” she said. She looked around to see if her shoes had survived, but she didn’t see even a scrap of them. They had been expensive, too. She wiggled her bare feet. Hope all the glass had been picked up or she was going to do her Die Hard impersonation.

  Yippie Ki Yay Mother…

  Reed cleared his throat from the hallway. Viola maneuvered over the wreckage toward him. Taking up point position, Reed led them down the hallways to the gates of freedom.

  The guards at the front desk were slumped over their station, unconscious. It appeared they were going to get outside without incident. But once they crossed the threshold into the parking lot, a mob of people began to shout.

  “Where are her clothes?” someone from the crowd shouted. “Is that a Queen in human form?”

  The air shimmered and an enormous black dragon blocked the stars. Easily the size of a city bus, Reed was all muscle and sinew. He lifted his horn-rimmed head and bellowed out a challenge. The noise set off car alarms in the parking lot, but it did the job of distracting the reporters from coming after them.

  Smythe launched himself off the roof, screeching loud enough to drown out the alarms.

  “Let’s get you two into the car,” Jack said, hustling the women toward a non-descript Ford parked next to two motorcycles.

  “Holy crap, is that a Suzuki Hayabusa? It’s the fastest motorcycle in the world.”

  Reed caught Smythe out of his dive and the two were biting and clawing at each other in midair.

  “Get in the car, Viola,” Jack said.

  A man running up to them pointed a camera and started taking pictures. The flashes blinded Viola and she had to close her eyes. She heard the Ford’s door slam and a crunch as the camera hit the pavement. Squinting down at the ground, she saw a black boot crush it to oblivion as her vision recovered.

  “Too late. It automatically uploaded to my blog,” a whiny voice said.

  “Don’t hit him, Sergei,” Jack said, opening the car door and maneuvering to push Viola in.

  Sergei?

  Viola’s head whipped up. That’s what Smythe had called his friend. Sure enough, he was the same guy standing by the Ford. He wore a black leather jacket that had seen better days, ripped blue jeans, and leather chaps. Inside, she had barely noticed how large he was, but he easily towered over Jack. Bald as a cue ball, tribal tattoos covered his skull, and he had draconic words tattooed on his knuckles. Intense green eyes bored into hers.

  “That’s him,” she said, putting her foot on the car’s frame to block being shoved in the car.

  “Fuck off,” Sergei growled at the photographer. The man took a gander at his menacing face and beat a hasty retreat back toward Talon Industries’ security guards, who were in damage-control mode, chasing around other fence jumpers and paparazzi.

  “He’s with us,” Carolyn said.

  “But…” Viola sputtered. “He was with Smythe.”

  “Who do you think called in the cavalry, sister?” Sergei nodded his head at Jack and Carolyn. “You’re welcome. Now get in the car before the reporters mob us and someone gets hurt.”

  “I can’t leave my bike,” Viola said, resisting as Jack tried to cram her in the car.

  “Oh, for crying out loud.”

  “Sergei, go easy. She doesn’t know the danger she’s in,” Carolyn said.

  Sergei sneered. “She caught a taste of it this week.”

  “I cashed in my 401K to buy that motorcycle.” Viola put her hands on her hips.

  “You overpaid.” He flashed his teeth at her in a smile that was more feral than friendly.

  “Viola, you can’t ride the motorcycle without any pants,” Carolyn said.

  Viola looked down and realized that while Jack’s shirt adequately covered her while she was walking, her ass would be flapping in the breeze if she straddled the Harley. She ducked her head and got into the car.

  “Not out of the woods yet, ladies. In you go,” Jack pushed Carolyn in the front and closed the doors.

  “I’ll take her bike,” Sergei said, tossing him the car keys.

  Jack got in and started the car as Smythe squirmed free of Reed and darted in their direction.

  “Punch it,” Sergei snarled.

  “Is he hotwiring my bike?”

  Jack peeled off. The car fishtailed out of the parking lot. Media people seemed torn whether to follow the car or film the dragon fight in front of them. Reed’s roar of rage as he hauled Smythe back and flung him into the side of the building riveted them in place.

  “Is Reed going to be all right?” Carolyn asked.

  “He gets to have all the fun,” Jack grumbled and sped onto the side streets, taking curves wild and tight.

  Viola sprawled from one side of the car to the other. Sergei followed almost on their bumper and the roar of her Harley made her feel a little better.

  “I need you to take me home,” she said.

  “No chance,” Jack said. “Reed’s buying us some time with the distraction. But it’s only a matter of time before a stud catches the evening news and starts to track us down.”

  “I haven’t seen my mom in over a week. She’s going to be worried about me.”

  Jack and Carolyn exchanged a glance.

  “I need underwear. My own clothes. I’m a hard size to fit. Plus, my mother will put all my yarn in a tag sale. Please.”

  “She needs her hoard,” Carolyn said.

  “I don’t have a hoard,” Viola said. “I’ve only been a dragon a week.”

  “No, you’ve been a dragon all your life. You were stopped from shifting at puberty by an ancient spell.”

  Viola rubbed her forehead. “Yeah, I heard that all on the radio. I’m sorry for your lo
ss.”

  “What loss?” Carolyn said. “My humanity? I wanted to be a dragon all my life.”

  “Huh? No, the other Queen. The one that sacrificed her life to break the spell.”

  Carolyn made a raspberry sound.

  “That was an accident,” Jack said. “Lerisse wouldn’t do anything so altruistic. She gambled on a spell component that backfired, and it consumed her soul instead of the innocent one she’d planned on using.”

  “That’s sad,” Viola said.

  “You wouldn’t say that if you met her,” Carolyn said. “She killed my friend and she tried to kill me.”

  Viola rested her head in her hands. “I’m not used to this crazy world.”

  “It’ll get easier.” Carolyn punched Jack in the arm. “Especially if she has her stuff. We’ve got some time before the camera crews come investigating that possibility.”

  “Oh all right,” Jack said. “But we need to make it quick or you’ll have to deal with Iron Ass.”

  “Who’s Iron Ass?”

  “Reed,” Carolyn said.

  Chapter Four

  The porch light went on as Viola’s mother flung open the door when the Harley pulled up beside the car. Viola climbed out and ran up the stairs to hug her. The slap jarred Viola’s head to the side, and she stumbled back. She would have fallen if Sergei hadn’t been there to grab her arm to steady her.

  Attraction flared at the worst possible time. She hadn’t thought he was hot when he was with Smythe, but up close and personal, he was intimidating in a way that made her lady parts pay attention. She smiled up at him, but he was scowling at her mother. Oh yeah, that. Viola sighed.

  “How dare you not call me and then show up here without any pants, with your druggie friends?” Her mother shook her fists then jammed them down on her hips.

  “Ma, it’s not like that.” Viola rubbed her cheek where she was sure she had a red handprint.

  “Get in the house. I’ll deal with you later.”

  Viola stepped forward, but Sergei wouldn’t let go of her arm. “How old are you?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t matter how old she is,” her mother snapped. “While she lives under my roof, she follows my rules.”

  “It’s okay, Sergei. This isn’t unexpected.” Viola started back up the stairs, Sergei on her heels. “Ma, I can explain.”

  “I’m not letting him in. Is he another one of your fix-it-up projects?” She turned on Sergei. “She doesn’t have any money, baldy. She lives with me because the last loser cleaned out her bank account after she bought him a crotch rocket. Then he dumped her for his ex-girlfriend. So let me save you the time. She’s broke. You got what you wanted from her. Now, get off my porch before I call the cops.”

  “Ma, please.” Is that a crack in the stairs? Maybe I can crawl inside it and die. She peeked up at Sergei. He was expressionless—unless you looked into his eyes. Then you saw the dragon part of him being kept in check.

  “I got a better idea.” Sergei shoved her mother back with a negligent flick of his palm. “I’m escorting the Queen inside while she packs her things, and then we’re leaving. If you get in my way, I will end you.”

  “Sergei!” Viola swung her head toward him as he pulled her back up on the porch. He’d stood up for her. She resisted the urge to give him the world’s biggest hug. He didn’t look like he was a hugger.

  “If you raise your hand to the Queen again, I will bite it off.” He leaned in and glared at her mother, who was bristling with rage.

  Definitely not a hugger.

  “Bite it off? Queen?” Her mother got very still.

  “Oh, now you’ve done it.” Viola cringed.

  “What’s he talking about? He better not be a dragon.” Her mother shook her fist.

  Jack and Carolyn exited the car.

  “What will the neighbors think?” Viola’s mom took a step back. Sergei used the motion to body check her farther into the house and yank Viola up along with him.

  “They’re all asleep.” Although Viola did see the lights go on in Mr. Pixter’s yard down the street, and she was sure Mrs. Johnson next door was watching—unless there was something good on TV. Viola pounded up the stairs, with Sergei close behind her. Her mother followed more slowly.

  Viola handed baskets of yarn to Sergei. “Would you bring these out to the car?”

  “I’m not leaving you alone with that old harridan.”

  “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

  She loaded Sergei up and watched him eyeball her mother out of the way.

  “Why aren’t you wearing pants?”

  Viola plucked at the T-shirt. “Right after you called, I transformed into a dragon.”

  Her mother clutched at her heart and sagged against the door frame. Viola rolled her eyes at her theatrics. She crawled under the bed and pulled out three large plastic containers filled with yarn.

  “My boss kept me trapped until Sergei and his friends rescued me not even a half hour ago.” Viola dusted off her hands. It was a good thing the yarn was covered. The dust bunnies were mounting an army under there.

  “Get out. Get out of my house.” Her mother pointed to the door.

  “I’m going.” Viola said “I couldn’t stay here anyway. The male dragons will try to capture me. I’m going somewhere safe.”

  “Your father did this to you.”

  “He was a dragon?” Viola cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “Shut your filthy mouth.” Her mother advanced on her with her arm raised, but Sergei was suddenly there. He caught her mother’s arm and growled. She ripped out of his grasp.

  Viola pretended that she was alone in the room. She wanted no part of this fight. When two dogs fought over a bone it never went well for the bone. Hopefully, they wouldn’t kill each other. Viola handed him the under-the-bed-boxes.

  “There won’t be enough room for these in the car,” Sergei said.

  “I’ll take my bike.”

  Sergei shook his head. “Any dragon worth his salt can catch you on that thing. Pluck you right out of the air like a hawk would a field mouse.”

  “What if I had the ’Busa?”

  Sergei quirked a grin and Viola’s heart fluttered. He should do that more often. “You don’t. That’s my bike. And yes, even with that.”

  “Damn,” Viola said and piled three more hanks on top of the containers. “Don’t drop them.”

  “You better be dressed by the time I get back.” This time, Sergei hissed at her mother and she sprang away from him like a spooked cat.

  “You father must have had a defective gene. We can cure you. There’s a group called Order of the Dragon Slayers—”

  “I don’t want to be slain.” Grabbing some clothes, Viola ducked into the closet.

  “Better dead than a monster.”

  “Do you mean that? You want me dead?” She pulled off Jack’s T-shirt and got dressed. Viola knew she was a big disappointment to her mother. Her husband left her for a cute nurse. Her rebound boyfriend used her for a new bike. But at least, according to her mother, she hadn’t been a dragon. Sitting on her bed, she tugged on socks and sneakers. Viola risked a glance at her mother. “Isn’t that a little dramatic? I haven’t changed on the inside. I’m still me.”

  “You look human,” her mother acknowledged. “Maybe they drugged you?”

  “I have three heads.”

  Her mother shook her head in frantic denial.

  “I have a tail.”

  “Shut up. This is nonsense.”

  “And I have wings but I haven’t attempted flying yet. Does it feel like riding down the highway with the Harley full out?” Viola asked the question to Sergei, who had come back from dropping off her yarn.

  She handed him two copier paper boxes and slid four tote bags over her arm.

  “More yarn?” he asked.

  “No, those are my needles and notions. I’ve got my WIPs.”

  “Any chains in there?”

  “Work in progress,” she said, pe
eking at him under the curtain of her eyelashes. The thought of Sergei with whips and chains was a little unsettling, more so than turning into a dragon. And that was saying something. Forcing those thoughts away with a delicious shiver, she turned to her mother. “You didn’t answer my question. Am I dead to you?”

  “I don’t like dragons.” Her mother folded her arms and refused to look at her.

  “Why? What did we ever do to you?” Sergei asked, juggling the load Viola handed him.

  “My husband left me for one.” She sniffed and stared down her nose at him.

  “What?” Viola said, almost dropping a skein of Italian cashmere. “That’s not what you told me.”

  Her mother turned and walked down the stairs with the solemnity of a funeral procession.

  “You said he ran off with his secretary.” Viola followed slowly, the news about her father stunning her. All these years, she figured he forgot he had a kid. Where was he now? Did he know she was a dragon all along?

  Viola was back on the first floor when it hit her that she was leaving her mom’s house for good. “Oh crap, maybe I should pack clothes.”

  “Which Queen?” Sergei asked her mother, taking the tote bags from Viola. “There were only five before Lerisse died.”

  “I didn’t catch her name.”

  “Why would a dragon want a human mate?” Viola said, still not going back upstairs.

  “I don’t think they’re mated,” Sergei said. “Humans have their uses.”

  “Listen to him. We humans have our uses.” Her mother gave an exaggerated finger quote over the last word.

  Sergei snorted, then turned to Viola. “Weren’t you going to pack clothes?” When she ignored him, he cursed and pounded back up the stairs two at a time.

  “He never came back,” her mother said. “I wouldn’t have taken him back, even if he did. Sleeping with a lizard. It’s disgusting.”

  “Maybe he’s dead,” Viola said, wishing her mother would lower her voice or at least keep her bigoted opinions to herself. She opened the hall closet and took out a denim jacket. Her leather one was at work, still buried under her desk.

  “He’s not. Every now and then I see him with her on television. She has a fief in Ireland.”

  Viola heard a loud thump from upstairs. A commotion outside caught her attention, and she glanced out the window and saw a giant red dragon. Horns ringed his neck and bulky red plates of armor covered his entire body. He resembled Reed—a flying tank with teeth. Holy Smokes. That was a thousand-dollar photograph, if any of the neighbors were watching. Day-um, he was big.