In the Shadow of Dragons (Aftermagic Book 1)

by Sonya Bateman

  There’d been a few weak cheers when Blake went down, a few sarcastic remarks directed at him. No words to her. Now he picked himself up from the ground, dusted off and walked toward her, grinning with a hand out. “Good fight,” he said. “I’d say I went easy on you, but I didn’t. On the other hand, swords aren’t my thing.”

  “You’re a slingshot guy,” she said as she shook. “Right?”

  “Exactly. First one to draw blood from Julian Bishop.”

  The smile froze on her face, and it was everything she could do to act normal, to let the handshake end naturally and not crush his hand in hers while she used the other to gut him. She should’ve realized it before. Blake was the one who’d hit Julian.

  Furious as she was with Julian, she still wanted to kill anyone who would hurt him.

  “Well, that must be everything,” she said, hoping there wasn’t as much forced cheer in her tone as it felt like. “So how’d I do?”

  “Pretty damned awesome.” Darby broke from the small crowd, walked over and clapped her shoulder briefly. “But that wasn’t quite everything. There’s still magic.”

  Her blood ran cold. “You train with magic?” she said in a horrified whisper. “You can’t … I mean, it’s completely random. No one can control it.”

  More than a few of them laughed, and Darby practically choked as she tried not to. “Oh, sister,” she said. “You’re still parroting that old party line? ‘Magic is dangerous. You little people need big, strong BiCo to drug you and protect you.’ Does that about cover it?”

  “It’s the truth.” The short woman’s mocking tone ran through her like knives, and she could barely hold back her fury. “Magic is dangerous. I—”

  In the space of her strangled pause, Darby’s amusement morphed into sympathy. “You had an accident, didn’t you?” she said softly. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard … believe me, most of us here had to learn the awful way. But what BiCo says? It’s just not true.”

  Teague shook her head, unable to respond. She had to be lying. No one could control this stuff. Even the Knights just sent out blasts and hoped for the best.

  “People can control magic,” Darby said. “Watch.”

  Before Teague could spit out that she didn’t want a demonstration, Darby raised a hand and shot a blue-green blast of magic into the sky — where it blossomed into a small, heavy gray cloud that promptly began to rain. But only on Darby. She held her arms out, cupped her hands together for a minute. When they started to glow the same color as her blast had been, she closed them in a ball, spun and blasted a luminous spear of water at the far wall of the ravine.

  The water-spear struck the wall and blew a small hole in the rock, sending a spray of dust and fragments outward.

  “See?” Darby lifted her glowing hand, and the rain cloud dissipated. “It takes practice, but we can use it. BiCo just doesn’t want us to.”

  Teague might have seen the evidence with her own eyes, but she still didn’t want to believe it. The idea that people could actually manipulate magic went against everything she knew, everything she’d fought for these past six years. Everything Julian was fighting for. He was a hero, the world’s savior. He couldn’t be absolutely, completely wrong.

  “What the hell are you people doing out here?”

  The incredibly angry voice belonged to Noah, and it was coming from behind her. She turned to find him not ten feet back, glaring thunder. Where did he come from? She didn’t see any way he could’ve gotten there with no one noticing.

  A lot of sheepish looks, cleared throats and shuffling feet spread around, and everyone started moving back inside. Soon only Teague, Noah and Diesel were left outside.

  Noah stalked past her without a word and went to Diesel. “Let me guess,” he said to the big man, who’d barely moved or said anything through the entire exercise. Some drill sergeant he was. “They all wanted to watch the new girl showboating.”

  “Excuse me. The new girl is right here.”

  Noah whirled on her with blazing eyes. “Shut the hell up,” he snapped. “The ice you’re skating on just got considerably thinner.”

  Her temper rushed up to meet him before she could stop it. “I didn’t do a damned thing,” she said. “Except fight better than them.”

  “Go inside,” Noah ground out. “Now.”

  She considered refusing, but the actual murder in his stare changed her mind.

  She went.

  CHAPTER 31

  Yukon Street Clinic

  August 10, 10:15 a.m.

  When Naomi started looking into things, she’d hoped to find that everything was still the way she thought it was. The familiar mess of the world was at least better than the unknown new fears planted in her over the last few days. But the more she read, the saner Scott Madden seemed.

  She’d wanted him to be crazy. Because if he wasn’t, then everything he told her was true.

  For the last half-hour or so she’d been in her office on her computer, reading and watching reports about the Darkspawn. Shipments attacked, supplies destroyed, dead-or-alive rewards offered — like they were gunslingers and horse thieves straight out of the Old West. All the reports used words like dangerous, bloody and violent as liberally as punctuation, and some of them peppered in terms like heinous, evil, and monstrous.

  But the actual casualties were few and far between. Zero at clinics and pharmacies — those ‘attacks’ were always carried out overnight, in locations with no staff or customers present, and the only thing ever taken or damaged was HeMo. As for the shipments from BiCo, the Darkspawn never targeted trucks while they were in residential areas. They struck along low-traffic routes. No civilians or bystanders had been hurt. So far she’d counted four actual deaths attributed to the Darkspawn, all patrol officers. All very likely self-defense.

  BiCo easily killed far more people than these so-called terrorists did.

  Still, there were other stories. Other reports, long on theory but short on facts. The Darkspawn were stockpiling HeMo to experiment with aggressive overdoses and cure Changers. Or they were secretly working for BiCo to create scarcity, even as Julian Bishop insisted the Darkspawn activity wouldn’t affect the price of HeMo.

  Of course, even that looked suspicious if it was viewed with the idea that HeMo was actually poison.

  She’d just clicked on an article about a ‘savage’ attack last June that resulted in injuries and untold carnage — literally untold, since the article didn’t actually detail any carnage — when Aileen entered the room with a perfunctory knock. “You have a walk-in, dear,” she said. “That poor little boy whose mother … well, you know. He’s running a fever. Oh, and do you have any spare pens in here?”

  “Probably.” She started opening desk drawers, not sure which one she’d squirreled the pens away in. “You mean Robbie Harris?”

  “That’s the one.” Aileen moved closer and peered at her computer screen. Her features wrinkled in faint disgust. “Ugh. Those awful people,” she said. “Please tell me there hasn’t been another attack.”

  She forced herself not to react defensively. Aileen had no idea what she knew, and she wanted to keep it that way. “No new attacks,” she said. “I’m just doing a little research.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m trying to make sense of it all.” She found a box of blue stick pens at the back of the second drawer down, pulled it out and handed it to Aileen. “Here you go.”

  Aileen took the box with a frown. “There’s no sense to be made,” she said. “What reason could they possibly have for trying to destroy the only thing that keeps people alive? They’re evil, plain and simple.”

  “Right. Of course they are.” Naomi arranged a smile and closed the browser. “Who wants to read that, anyway? It’s depressing.”

  A vee of concern knit Aileen’s brow. “Naomi, are you all right?” she said. “You look awful. Well, not awful. You look exhausted, is what I meant.”


  “I’m fine. Really.” This time her smile felt real. “Still recovering from the Eclipse. I just need a little extra sleep.”

  “I hear that,” Aileen said. “Maybe you can head home a little early today? You don’t have any appointments after four.”

  “I might do that. But for now, let’s get Robbie seen.”

  She nodded. “I’ll put him in room two.”

  “Thank you.”

  Aileen left, and Naomi let out an unsteady breath. If she kept looking into this conspiracy that might not be a conspiracy, she’d have a hard time interacting with people like Aileen — people who read articles and watched the news, took everything at face value and went on with their lives believing what they were told. Which was just about everyone.

  She’d never realized how heavy the truth was when it ran counter to popular opinion.

  After taking a minute to compose herself, she headed to exam room two and put on her doctor smile before she entered. Robbie lay on his side on the exam table, thumb in his mouth and flush with fever. The fine silver chain he’d been wearing last time, which might be a cantrip, was still around his neck, and his aunt hovered nervously beside him. Joan, if she recalled correctly. “Miss Harris,” she said. “I see Robbie isn’t feeling well today.”

  Joan startled a bit, then her wide-eyed look relaxed. “Actually it’s Mrs. Browning,” she said. “Please, call me Joan.”

  “All right. Joan, then.” She smiled again, moved to the counter and opened the top drawer. “Let’s get his temperature first,” she said, taking out the ear thermometer. That thumb didn’t look like it was coming out of Robbie’s mouth anytime soon, so a tongue strip was out. “What are his symptoms?”

  “Well, he’s been sleeping a lot. He’s got this … wet cough,” Joan said. “And the fever just started this morning.”

  “Have you given him anything for it?”

  “Tylenol, about an hour ago.”

  “Okay. That’s good.” Naomi leaned over and brushed the boy’s hair gently from his ear, inserting the tip of the thermometer. “Hello there, Robbie,” she said. “I’m sorry you don’t feel good.”

  “You’re the lady,” he murmured around his thumb. “You helped my mommy. I want my mommy, please.”

  Naomi’s heart broke. She hadn’t helped Emily Harris, beyond saving her from the bruises and broken bones the patrol officers seemed ready to give her.

  “Now, Robbie, honey. We’ve talked about this.” Joan reached out and took the boy’s hand. “Mommy is sick, but right now people are helping her get better. She’ll be back soon. Okay?”

  It was terrible to hear the slight quaver in the woman’s voice, the one that said she didn’t believe her own words. But Robbie seemed to accept it and closed his eyes with a little sigh. “Sleepy,” he murmured.

  The thermometer beeped. The readout proclaimed 101.9 — high, but not immediately threatening. “Well, he does have a fever,” she said. “But you knew that. Very likely, it’s another ear infection. Children who have them tend to recur for a while before they grow out of it. I’ll just take a peek in his ears.”

  “All right,” Joan said. “He won’t need a hospital, will he?”

  “No. Just antibiotics, fluids and rest.” Naomi went back to the drawers for the otoscope. Soft, even breathing from the table said that Robbie had fallen asleep, but that was okay. She was almost positive it was an ear infection, and just needed a quick look to be sure.

  And, she realized, she wanted to ask Joan about his necklace. She just wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject.

  She finally decided there was no way to finesse it, so she’d be blunt. “Joan … the necklace Robbie wears,” she said. “Is it a cantrip?”

  “No,” Joan said immediately, with breathless force. “It’s just a locket.”

  The woman was lying. And she wouldn’t tell the truth unless Naomi could gain her trust. She wasn’t sure how to do that, but she had to try.

  Instead of returning to the subject right away, she nodded, placed the otoscope in Robbie’s ear and switched the light on. “It’s definitely an ear infection,” she said. “He’ll be fine once he’s on meds. Do you have insurance for him?”

  Joan nodded, not quite looking at her. “He’s on his mother’s insurance,” she said, her voice fading on the last few words.

  “Yes. Emily.” Naomi drew a breath. “Joan, I may be able to help your sister, or at least find out what happened to her,” she said in low tones. It made her feel terrible, because she wasn’t sure she actually could — but she’d do everything in her power to try. “But I need to know the truth. Is Robbie wearing a cantrip?”

  Joan’s eyes flared wide. She swallowed once and looked around the room, as if she expected BiCo patrols to come out of the walls. “Yes,” she whispered. “He’s … marked.”

  “I understand,” she replied in kind. So the boy had Magesign. She wondered how far he’d changed, but she wouldn’t ask about removing the cantrip to find out. “Do you know where Emily got the necklace?” she said.

  “In the Warrens. Some guy named Goddard.” Still whispering.

  “Thank you,” Naomi whispered back. In a normal tone, she said, “I’ll just write you a few scrips for Robbie, and you can take him on home. Give him plenty to drink, and alternate Tylenol and Advil for the fever. He’ll be better in no time.”

  Joan practically shuddered with relief. “Sounds good. Thank you, Dr. Talbot.”

  “Any time. I hope he feels better soon.”

  Naomi opened the laptop on the counter and started entering the information for the prescriptions, her mind spinning over what Joan had told her. The Warrens was a very bad place, and going there was probably a very bad idea. But she’d try anyway. She’d go tonight. Maybe if she could find this Goddard, he could help her contact the Darkspawn.

  She was convinced they weren’t the bad guys BiCo wanted people to believe they were, and Scott was right. She couldn’t give this information to Julian Bishop.

  Not when he was responsible for what happened to people like Emily.

  CHAPTER 32

  The Badlands

  August 10, 2:44 p.m.

  The ‘vision pool’ was a stupid, pretentious name for a little pocket of water tucked in a small, dark cave off the main hot springs. But it did help Noah make sense of his visions sometimes.

  It just wasn’t working today.

  He’d been in there for almost half an hour when he hauled himself out with a disgusted grunt and perched on the edge of the pool, his legs still in the water. He must have recalled the vision a dozen times, pushing through the pain as the Magesign on his chest and upper arms started to bruise at the edges. No new information, regardless of how he viewed it.

  He could still see it now. A giant chess board on the ground, somewhere out in the Badlands. Julian’s face on a white bishop, centered on a black square near one end of the board, twice as tall as the black pieces positioned on white squares at the other end. Every black piece was one of his — Noah the king, Darby the knight, Sledge the rook, Blake the pawn. Diesel was on a bishop for some reason, black to Julian’s white.

  The black pieces moved, one by one, until the white bishop had no moves that wouldn’t take him out. The piece spun Julian’s face toward Diesel in the adjacent square, and then the white bishop slid rapidly to the end of the board, to Noah’s piece.

  That was when Julian’s piece lifted arms that weren’t there before and draped a fine silver chain strung with a key around the piece representing Noah. And Noah’s piece slid to a new square, offering the white bishop an avenue to escape. The vision ended there.

  He realized there actually was one thing he’d picked up that escaped his notice before. The lock. He’d only glimpsed it briefly, a keyhole shape in the far end of the board after the chess field, just before the white fog-like haze hanging in the air past Julian’s side of the board. It was set into the edge of a hinged panel flush with the field, like the compartments on some elaborat
e chess boards to store pieces when the game wasn’t in use. So Julian was giving him the key to … what, a storage place?

  Damn it, Julian hadn’t given him anything.

  Holding back a sigh, he lifted his legs from the pool and stood on the warm, wet rock. He’d give it a rest for now, but maybe later he’d try to play the vision out longer. To see if he could get the key to the lock, open the compartment, look inside. Maybe then the damned thing would make sense.

  He was headed for the towel he’d brought along and left on a spire by the cave entrance when a bright green will-o’-wisp drifted inside and hovered in front of him, its light pushing the gloom away. Single pulses.

  Great. And here he’d thought Jaeger was done berating him for a while.

  He almost decided not to play the message. He wasn’t in the mood for the Goblin King’s ranting and posturing, or a reminder of his failures. But if he didn’t get it over with, the damned thing would just follow him around until he did.

  Shaking his head, he reached out and palmed the orb. “Sticky cabbage donuts, you nasty little tinpot,” he said.

  The will-o’-wisp spun. The holo projected. And Jaeger Storm rambled out his proclamation.

  “Mr. Delaney, we trust you survived the Eclipse. Even though you disobeyed my order to send a message and tell someone less important than me that you’re still alive. But I’m going to forgive you, and you’re going to rescue my lieutenant. The tyrants of BiCo — damn you all, where are my trumpets! — have him at the county jail in Casper. Trumpets! Now!”

  The holo image folded scrawny arms, and the usual ear-bleeding chorus of screeching blats sounded off.

  “You’re all fired. Thunk, fire them,” the image of Jaeger said. Over an eruption of thumping and screaming in the background, he continued, “Our mutual informant will transmit my lieutenant’s name and likeness when you’re in strike position. Tonight, midnight. Save my lieutenant, and I may be impressed enough to send a token of appreciation. The new message password is ‘blueberry horseradish pancakes’. Goodbye, Mr. Delaney.”