Roaring

by Lindsey Duga

  That’s for Madame, I thought as my head grew heavy and thick. Dizzy with fatigue, loss of blood, and all the magic leaving me too quick and so fast, I felt Colt’s arms tighten around me and it all went…blissfully black.

  …

  “There’s a saying old, says that love is blind.”

  A familiar, beloved melody wove through the air, gently prodding my sleepy head to wake up and appreciate it.

  “Still we’re often told, ‘Seek and ye shall find.’”

  Softly, I hummed along, keeping my eyes closed, lost in the sound of Gertrude Lawrence’s voice coming through an old radio speaker. Maybe Madame had left the radio on in the kitchen. I’d have to turn it off soon, but not till this song was done.

  “So I’m going to seek a certain lad I’ve had in mind.”

  I knew the lyrics like the back of my hand—Marv would ask me to sing it often and, with just the two of us, we’d jive together. Me with my lyrics, and him with his soulful sax notes.

  “Looking ev’rywhere, haven’t found him yet.”

  It was the very song that had prodded that Harvard boyo to stand up to Stanley that night.

  Stanley!

  With a gasp, I wrenched my eyes open, my heart pounding as my frantic gaze scoured the unfamiliar room. It looked like a hospital—white sheets, metal bed railing, soft cream curtains gently fluttering in the afternoon October breeze. Wincing, I closed my hand over the IV needle dug into my arm. A radio sitting on the window ledge continued to play my favorite song.

  “There’s a somebody I’m longing to see…”

  The door opened and Colt strode in, a spoonful of applesauce halfway to his mouth.

  He froze when he saw me, his brows raising in surprise.

  “I hope that he turns out to be someone who’ll watch over me.”

  “Eris,” he breathed. His fingers loosened around his spoon and applesauce cup and they dropped to the floor, some of the sauce spilling across his shirt. He swore under his breath, wiped at the stain, then crossed to the bed, dropping down to kiss me swiftly on the lips.

  If I hadn’t had a thousand questions, I would’ve held the kiss for longer.

  “How are you feeling, doll?” he asked, kissing my temple then the top of my head. “Doctor said you probably wouldn’t wake up till tonight.”

  “Stanley,” I croaked. “Where is he? How is he?”

  Colt nodded as if he knew that question would be my first. “He’s alive. Stable. But he’s got a long road to recovery ahead, Eris. They were able to remove the wings and the horns, and the claws, but those scales…well, we decided to leave them intact for now.”

  Alive. He was alive. That was all that mattered. He could get better. Scars would remain, but wounds would heal.

  “I want to see him. Is he here?” I started to get up, but Colt placed a strong halting hand on my shoulder.

  “Easy, tiger. You can’t go opening your stitches.”

  Instinctually, my fingers feathered across my stomach to find bandages. “Stitches?”

  “Your cuts were shallow enough not to hit anything crucial, but you’re no dragon,” he said, giving me a tiny smile.

  “When can I see him?” I asked, reluctantly settling back into my pillows.

  “When the doc says you can. Until then, I’m not letting you out of this bed.”

  I smiled back. My dragon was very cute playing nurse. “Has he woken up yet?”

  “Sure has,” Colt said with a nod. “I was there. First thing he asked about was you.”

  “Thank God,” I breathed.

  Colt took the lone wooden chair and pulled it closer to my bedside. He gave me a crooked grin as he picked up my hand and lightly ran his fingers across my skin, just enough to give me goose pimples. “You mean, thank Eris. God had nothing to do with what you did back there. That was your own special brand of miracle.”

  As the full events of the night washed over me, I curled my body toward the side to face him—wincing just slightly. “So it’s not true?” I asked.

  Colt tilted his head. “What isn’t?”

  “That phoenixes are immortal? I think I’d read that in a book somewhere.”

  Colt shook his head. “He’s still half human. The phoenix flames may have given him everlasting life, and maybe advanced healing, but a bullet between the eyes?” Colt tapped his forehead. “No contest.”

  I’d killed a man. Colt may have pulled the trigger, but I’d ensured that he wouldn’t miss. I wasn’t quite ready to face that fact yet.

  “What about the children?” I asked.

  “They’re being kept at different hospitals right now. Dr. Durwich is almost done with an antidote to remove all traces of the chimera agent in their system. It may not prevent a virus, but it can heal someone infected with chimera blood. Prevent them from becoming a monster later.”

  “That’s good, then.”

  “Yeah…” But Colt’s gaze was distant, on the verge of staring off into space.

  I knew that look. “What are you worried about?” I asked.

  Colt frowned. “The monster parts,” he confessed. “Brocker was so sure he’d get one hundred and twenty monster parts into the country. Usually when they’re smuggled it’s only been two or three at a time. Ten tops. But that many? I’m worried about how he thought he could get them into the country. We have agents on the East Coast who are all trained to find those kinds of things.”

  I grabbed Colt’s hand, suddenly remembering my journey through the Great Lakes on Brocker’s boat. “Chicago’s pier.”

  Colt’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

  “Brocker’s yacht took me up through Lake Michigan into Lake Huron, and through Lake Erie and into the Erie Canal and then the Hudson River,” I explained hurriedly. “When I was on the yacht, I saw crates as if they were waiting to be offloaded at various docks. We stopped several times, too. What if they offloaded those crates at the docks because they knew they wouldn’t be checked by the BOI? Those waterways could be how he’s smuggling the monster parts into the country.”

  Colt’s eyes widened, then a confident smile traveled across his lips. “I’ll tell McCarney.”

  “Speaking of…” I peeked at Colt from under my lashes, almost nervous to hear what came next. “How is your old boss? Is the BOI still mad you deserted them?”

  At that, Colt let out a booming laugh. “I think us saving the whole darn country gave us a president’s pardon.” Then he fixed me with a tender gaze, one full of hope. I knew because I had to be looking at him the same way. “You get it, right? We’re free to go wherever we want, doll.”

  Something unspoken settled between us, and I knew right then that I had plans to make. He must’ve known, too, because then a comfortable silence settled over us in my little hospital room, filled only by the radio playing on in the background. I recognized the song as “Let’s Do It, Let’s Fall in Love” by Cole Porter.

  Already there, I thought happily.

  …

  It was a whole two days before I was allowed to visit Stan. For complete privacy, he was kept in a top floor hospital suite while he healed through his difficult wounds.

  Colt had escorted me to the gift shop and I had bought a bouquet of flowers—with Colt’s money because I had none, of course—and then he took me up to Stan’s room. Colt told me he’d wait outside, but even as he stood with me by the doorway, I couldn’t bring myself to knock.

  I was nervous.

  “What if he hates me now?” I asked. “It’s all my fault that this happened to him…”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve said you’d snuck a few rounds of giggle water. Eris, go.” Colt nodded toward the door.

  Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the room, ignoring the small pang of pain in my stomach that came with most movement. Colt shut the door behind me and
I was left to face Stanley alone.

  My bartender lay in his bed, pale, but alive. His wings were gone, but his hands were bandaged and I wondered if he’d ever have normal fingernails again instead of his werewolf claws. Three stitches were lined along each side of his temple where his horns had been and aquamarine scales covered his big arms.

  A grin stretched across his face when he saw me. “Eris.”

  Dropping the flowers, I flew to his bedside and buried my face in his chest, breathing in his scent. Even now, after being away from The Blind Dragon for over a week, he had its smell. He wrapped his scaly arms around me and held. “I’m so glad you’re all right,” I breathed, my sentiment muffled against his chest.

  He stroked my hair. “All thanks to you, my girl.”

  “But it would’ve never—”

  Stan took me by the shoulders, pulled me away. “Now you listen to me.” He stuck a finger in my face, shook it like I was a small child again. “Don’t you dare. You start taking the world’s evil on your shoulders and you’ll stop seeing what’s good in it. And there is plenty of that, Eris. You are good. That young man out in the hall…he’s good. Heaven or hell. God or the devil. Monster or angel. None of that matters. You do what’s right. Like you always have. Your heart has always been in the right place. Like protecting those women when they couldn’t protect themselves.”

  I gaped at him. “You saw me do that?”

  He nodded. “Course. Ain’t nothing that goes on in my bar that I don’t know about.”

  “But don’t you think that was…wrong?”

  Stanley’s brows pulled together as he studied me. “I know you’ve lived your whole life thinking that you want to give people their free will. But sometimes, Eris, the hard truth of it is that there are evil souls out there in the world that keep the good ones down. And that just ain’t fair. If you can stop that evil, then that’s nothing to feel guilty about.”

  I couldn’t help but agree. Perhaps I should’ve felt some remorse for taking someone’s life. After all, it was God’s greatest sin, but when I searched my soul for it, I couldn’t find any. Not a shred. Brocker had left his humanity and his redemption a long time ago.

  For whatever reason, the image of the stained-glass mural of St. Michael the archangel from St. Agnes came back to me.

  I was no angel or warrior of God like St. Michael, but I knew right and I knew wrong. Brocker and everything he stood for had been wrong. Had it been right to kill him? I wasn’t sure, but I would sleep better knowing that every one of those children would not serve as a soldier in his monster army.

  “Now,” Stan said, cutting through my morbid thoughts. “What’s next for you?”

  “Well, I want to make sure you’re okay. And then we can go back to The Blind Dragon and close it up and—”

  “No.”

  I blinked. “No?”

  “That’s my bar,” Stan said. “My home. I’m not closing it up. And now that…that Helena is gone, it’ll go to me.”

  Slowly, I nodded. “Okay, then I’ll go with you and we can…”

  “No.” He was shaking his head again.

  “Stan—”

  “Eris, what did we just talk about?” He tilted his chin toward the door. “Being in Boston, being in some drum for the rest of your life…is that what you really want?”

  I bit my bottom lip. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “And I will be. A fellow came by, Agent Sawyer, I believe. Said he’s a basilisk and can teach me how to hide my scales. Listen, honey, you’ll always have a home at the Dragon.” He took my hands and squeezed them. “But I don’t think it’s a home you ever wanted. I watched that far-off look in your eyes every time you sang or wiped down tables. You were dreaming of another place. It’s out there. Go find it.”

  He was handing me the key to my freedom. Are you ready to fight for your freedom, Eris?

  I loved that I didn’t have to fight for it this time.

  I smiled. “You won’t find a singer better than me, though.”

  Stanley chuckled. “But a better waitress I’ll bet.”

  I playfully whacked him on the arm.

  After an hour of talking, I left Stan so he could rest. When I came out of the room, I was expecting the hall to be empty, but Colt sat there on the floor, waiting for me, his fedora tipped back as he stared out the hallway window. At my entrance, he looked up and gave me a smile.

  “All jake?”

  I nodded. “All jake.”

  He got up, dusting himself off. “If the doc says it’s okay, we can go get some dinner. I’m starving for some pastrami. There’s a deli around the corner…”

  “Colt.” I grabbed his jacket, jerking him close, and gave him a hard, steamy kiss. Our steamiest yet since the coat closet.

  When our lips parted, he looked down at me, sporting a small, confused smile. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

  “It was a proposition.”

  “A proposition?”

  “Yes.” I tugged at his tie, pulling his face closer still. “Colt. Run away with me.”

  Epilogue

  Somewhere Out West…

  A small farmhouse stood in fields of corn and tomato plants. It had been standing for generations and would still stand even in the midst of America’s worst economic crisis yet. It would persevere, though too many would not.

  Off in the distance, about half a mile down the lone dirt road that led to and from the farmhouse, there was a cloud of dust, kicked up by the wheels of a jalopy, heading west.

  The farmer of the residence stood on the porch, hands on his hips, watching the jalopy drive away.

  “Jack?”

  He turned at the sound of his wife calling him. She stepped out from behind the screen door and let it swing shut.

  “Who was that?” she asked, lifting a hand to shield her gaze as she watched the cloud of dust get smaller and smaller.

  “A couple. Newlyweds, I think. Wanted to ask about the property some fifty acres away.”

  “So they want to be our neighbors?”

  Farmer Jack shrugged. “Maybe. The girl had the sweetest voice I’d ever heard. She’d do well in our church choir.”

  “Well, are they coming back?” the farmer’s wife asked.

  “Said they might. But first they wanted to see the Redwoods out in California.”

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  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my doting parents who encouraged my love of history and enrolled me in all the jazz and musical theater classes I could’ve ever wanted—they greatly inspired my love for the 1920s. Thank you also to my best writing buds, Melissa Jackson and Season Vining, and to Tiffany Brownlee with whom I edited the bulk of this book on our trips to book fests.

  While I can’t begin to describe the fun of weaving paranormal mythology into a decade of such wild cultural and social dynamism, I will say that I felt quite zozzled by the end of it. So thank you to my awesome editors, Lydia Sharp and Judi Lauren, and everyone else over at Entangled Teen—Curtis, Alexandra, Heather, Julia, and LJ. Cheers to you all.

  About the Author

  Lindsey Duga developed a deep love for courageous heroes, dastardly villains, and enchanting worlds from the cartoon shows, books, and graphic novels she read as a kid. Drawing inspiration from these fantastical works of fiction, she wrote her first novel in college while she was getting her bachelor’s in Mass Communication from Louisiana State University. By day, Lindsey is an account manager at a digital marketing agency based in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. By night, and the wee hours of the morning, she writes both middle grade and young adult. She has a weakness for magic, anything classical, all kinds of mythology, and falls in love with tragic heroes. Other than writing and cuddling with her morkie puppy, Delphi, Linds
ey loves catching up on the latest superhero TV show, practicing yoga, and listening (and belting) to her favorite music artists and show tunes.

  Also by Lindsey Duga…

  Kiss of the Royal

  Glow of the Fireflies

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