In the Shadow of Dragons (Aftermagic Book 1)

by Sonya Bateman

  Teague was the first to speak. “Do we even want to know what the hell is in those things?” she said.

  “Probably not. But we’re going to find out.” Sawyer took something out of his jacket. A bunch of nested silver hoops, the largest on the outside around six inches wide with a small, straight handle extending down. He gripped the handle, held the device out.

  The inner rings spun in different directions, and a blue-white spotlight shone forth on the nearest vat. Everything inside the light was half-transparent, layered like an x-ray.

  The vat was empty.

  Sawyer scanned them all, passing the light slowly over every surface. There was nothing in any of the vats. He kept turning, directing the x-ray light along the walls of the building — and stopped just after the stacked boxes, which looked as empty as the vats. The wall caught in the light looked thinner, brighter than the rest of it had. “False wall,” he said, angling the beam slightly down to reveal a dark, square patch level with the ground behind the wall. “And that’s a trapdoor. There’s something under this building.”

  Orrin strode toward the wall. In Sawyer’s light, he was an eerie, phosphorous skeleton crowded with floating transparent organs, swimming in a body-shaped silhouette. The light turned off, and Sawyer muttered, “Okay, I don’t want to look at that.”

  Noah grunted agreement. “Good call.”

  Orrin stopped, touched the staff to the wall. Black blossomed from the point of contact and spread rapidly, crumbling solid cinderblock into a shower of dust that left a door-shaped hole. “You were right,” he called. “It’s a trapdoor. Come on, then.” He reached down and pulled at something on the floor. There was a squall and a clatter, and Orrin climbed into a hole and vanished.

  Everyone followed. Noah was the last one down, hesitating as he watched Teague descend into the gloom beneath. If he was right about Elandwyl…

  He couldn’t think about that, or he’d never go down there to look.

  Releasing a pent breath, he crouched to the hole and maneuvered himself in, climbed carefully down the ladder. The others had gathered a few feet away — motionless, their backs to him. Staring at what he’d known would be here and still wasn’t sure he wanted to believe.

  A dragon.

  Noah joined the group slowly on trembling legs. Former dragon, he thought, because there was nothing left of the creature save for bleached bones and dust. But clearly a dragon. Long as the building above it, massive horned skull, jawbone lined with fangs, talons on the bones of its feet. Wing structures like a bat’s, only a hundred times bigger. Segmented spinal column extending through what had been a long tail.

  “This is Elandwyl. Was him, anyway,” Orrin said. “Now, what’s left of him lives in you, Mathias Bishop.”

  “Diesel,” the big man coughed out. “I don’t think I’m ready to … just call me Diesel.”

  “All right, then. Diesel.”

  Noah moved forward and stared from the surreal skeleton to Orrin. “This was the last dragon?” he said.

  “No. He was the first dragon.” Orrin nodded at the bones. “I came to this realm with him, and here I’ve stayed. That was five years before the clutch, before magic became rooted in your world.”

  “Five years before Year Zero,” Noah said in a breaking voice. “When Royce … when the Bishop Corporation exploded, because of the organ cloning.” He shivered, looked at Orrin. “Dragons can regenerate, can’t they?” he said. “Royce knew about this dragon, long before the rest of the world knew they existed. He built this place before he died. To cover it up.”

  “He did,” Orrin said.

  Sawyer cleared his throat loudly. “Speaking of evil Bishops,” he said. “Do you really think Julian isn’t going to come back very soon, with reinforcements? Maybe we should get the hell out of here, and talk later.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Orrin said. “Tell me, though. Where we’re going, is there any food? Because I haven’t had anything to eat in … oh, six years or so.”

  Noah’s jaw dropped. “Holy sh…” The world trailed off to a faint puff of sound. “You really can’t die.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Well. In that case, you can have all the food you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  As they left the remains of the dragon, Noah thought with amazement that they weren’t really leaving Elandwyl behind. Because the rest of him was inside Diesel.

  Inside Mathias Bishop.

  CHAPTER 67

  The Badlands

  August 15, 8:52 a.m.

  Teague woke up in a cave, and she didn’t mind it one bit.

  So much had happened last night, she’d figured she would sleep for a week. It was two in the morning before they all got back to camp — exhausted and sore, barely able to process anything except that Noah was alive. It was enough. Sawyer immediately split on his bike, brushing away all offers of gratitude with curt growls about how he’d kill them all if they didn’t shut up and let him leave. And their new guest, Orrin, had still been working his way through all the food they could dig up when she finally dragged off to bed.

  She hadn’t even tried to consider what he meant in all this. The man Julian claimed to have killed all those years ago, apparently some kind of immortal sorcerer who’d been his prisoner all this time.

  Julian Bishop truly was a monster.

  She couldn’t tell what time it was, but it felt like morning wasn’t over yet. She stretched slowly and turned on her side, looking into the shadows on Diesel’s side of the room, expecting he’d still be asleep. He’d been through so much more than her last night, and she’d seen the toll it had taken in his eyes.

  But he was awake. Sitting on his mattress, staring at nothing.

  “Diesel,” she said softly, letting him know she was there so her movements wouldn’t startle him. She wanted to ask if he was all right — but he wasn’t. So she got up, crossed the cave floor and sat beside him. “Mind if I turn the light on?”

  He grunted something that might’ve been yes.

  She reached for the table and hit the switch on the lamp. In the muted light, Diesel looked hollow and drawn. Haunted. “Feel like talking?” she said.

  He shook his head. Very slowly, as if he’d break if he moved too fast.

  She took his hand, and he didn’t pull away. She waited. He’d taught her to be patient, and she could do that for him.

  Eventually he stirred and made a harsh sound, deep in his throat. “All this time, I’ve wanted to know who I was,” he rasped. “Now I wish I’d never found out.”

  Her heart broke. “You’re not him,” she said.

  “No, I’m not. I’m his brother.” Absolute disgust edged his rough tone. “I’m a monster, from a family of monsters.”

  “You’re not,” she insisted, turning his face gently to look at her. “You never were,” she said. “Even Orrin said you’re nothing like them. But it doesn’t matter now.” She laid a hand on his chest, felt the dragon scale and the heart pounding hard beneath. “All that is old-life stuff, and there’s no old-life baggage allowed here. Remember?” She smiled at him. “It’s a chance to be better. And you are better.”

  He smirked. “So you can remember the rules.”

  “On occasion,” she said. “Diesel, I…”

  Think I love you. She wanted to tell him, to show him. But she couldn’t find the right way to start.

  Before she could, a voice grumbled, “Good, you’re awake. Would you get out here, please? I think Orrin’s trying to eat Peyton.”

  “Good morning, Noah.” Teague turned to look at him, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed. “Back to your old self already?”

  “If by ‘old self’ you mean the guy who has to make sure the bunch of you refrain from being idiots? Yeah, I am,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure Orrin is going to be even worse than you, and I can’t do shit about him. So if you don’t mind, can I borrow your boyfriend?”

  Diesel coughed. “Yeah. Be right out,”
he said.

  “Thank you.”

  Noah stalked off, and Teague gave a soft laugh. “My boyfriend,” she said. “I swear, he sounds just like my father sometimes.”

  Diesel smiled. “Think he’ll let me take you on a date?”

  “Maybe. If you have me back before dark.”

  “Or he’ll strangle me.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “You’d better get out there, before he explodes.”

  Diesel gave her hand a brief squeeze, then pushed off the mattress and headed from the room.

  She sat for another moment, watching after him with warm content. She’d wanted to tell him more, a lot more, but they had plenty of time. Because she wasn’t going anywhere.

  She’d spent so much time trying to get home … and she’d finally made it.

  CHAPTER 68

  Talbot Home

  August 15, 10:59 a.m.

  Naomi had been up for hours, trying to go about her day and not believe that Sawyer was dead, when she noticed the large brown package sitting just inside her closed front door. Which definitely hadn’t been there five minutes ago.

  Sawyer, she thought — a little angrily, if he’d really just delivered what she could only guess was Scott’s research without so much as telling her that he was still alive. She ran over, pushed the heavy package aside and pulled the door open. Stepped outside, looked around.

  Nothing and no one. Not even the sound of an engine.

  She went back in, her irritation turning to mild worry. What if it hadn’t been Sawyer? Maybe it wasn’t Scott’s research. It could be a warning, if someone else had realized how involved she’d gotten in all this. Possibly a deadly warning. She could open that package and get blown to bits.

  Or maybe it was Scott’s research, but someone else had delivered it because Sawyer was too dead to do it himself.

  Her heart wrenched as she stared at the package. A box wrapped clumsily in brown paper, tied with fraying twine. Something written in the top corner. DNT.

  Dr. Naomi Talbot.

  She hesitated, reached down and picked up the box. It didn’t explode. Something shifted slightly inside, a low, crinkling scrape that sounded like books and papers. The weight felt right, too. It had to be the research.

  Filled with horrified possibility, she carried the box to the coffee table and put it down, then lowered onto the couch and stared at it. Either Sawyer had brought it without speaking to her, or Sawyer was unable to bring it. She didn’t like either of those options.

  And she couldn’t bring herself to open it.

  She got up, made some tea, sat back down and drank it slowly. Staring at the box. The potential key to ending the Eclipses, saving the world, and she just … couldn’t.

  The doorbell rang.

  She got up and scrambled to answer it, her heart in her throat. Please be Sawyer, she thought as she turned the knob. Please…

  It was.

  She frowned. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were here?”

  “Huh?” He blinked at her. “Um, I thought that’s what doorbells were for.”

  “Never mind.” Too relieved to care how any of it happened, she threw her arms around him. He didn’t hesitate to hold her back. “You’re alive,” she murmured against him. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

  He laughed. The sound was a deep, comforting rumble in his chest. “Me, too.”

  “No more fireballs?”

  “Not recently.”

  “Good.”

  “Uh, Naomi?” he said. “Can I come in?”

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” She cleared her throat and stepped back, hoping the sudden heat in her face didn’t show too much. She probably would’ve stayed there in his arms for the rest of the day if he hadn’t said anything.

  He walked past her with a crooked smile, and she closed the door behind him. She turned to find him looking at the coffee table. “You have a box,” he said.

  “Yes. It was left here, inside the door, and … well, I thought you brought it.”

  “Amba.” Sawyer shook his head. “Damn, he works fast.”

  “So you didn’t bring it? Just so I’m clear on this.”

  “No. I was a little busy last night.” Sawyer crossed the living room, sat on the couch, and Naomi settled next to him. “You didn’t open it,” he said.

  “Yes, well,” she murmured. “I thought it might be a bomb.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “A little paranoid, aren’t we?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Good. Stay that way, because I like you alive.” He smiled, and then gestured at the box. “But I promise it’s not a bomb. That’s definitely Amba’s handiwork.”

  “Who’s Amba?”

  “A guy who can get stuff.” Sawyer looked distant and thoughtful for a moment. “Anyway,” he said. “Go ahead and check it out.”

  She did.

  The box was full of papers, scratch pads, composition books, reference books with circled passages and scribbled margin notes. Maps with hand-drawn markings. Pages and pages of cramped writing. Charts, formulas, boldly scribbled exclamations where Scott had worked out something essential.

  Carefully documented test results with all the proper controls, for tests she really didn’t want to think about. Tests done on corpses, and on live blood and tissue samples. Some of them Scott’s. Some of them … other people.

  But he’d proven his theory. She could see it already.

  Frowning, Sawyer picked up a piece of paper scrawled with formulas and numbers and technical terms. “Do you understand any of this stuff?” he said.

  “All of it, actually,” she said. “Eight years of med school had to teach me something, right?”

  “Well, you’re a lot more patient than me. I wouldn’t spend eight years doing anything.”

  “Is that you talking, or your disguise?”

  He smiled. “Well, maybe some things,” he said, his voice husky and warm. “Maybe longer than eight years.”

  “Good to know.” She tried not to read anything into that.

  “All right,” he said. “I suppose you have my permission to get involved with the resistance.”

  “Excuse me? I don’t need your permission.”

  He laughed. “You really are something else, Naomi,” he said. “But actually, you do. Because I don’t mean the little group out in the Badlands. They’re good people and all, but we have to bring this to the top. You can’t do that without me.”

  “Little group?” she whispered. “Just how big is this … resistance?”

  “A hell of a lot bigger than BiCo thinks, and we’re keeping it that way. For now.” He returned the paper he’d been holding to the box. “We’ll have to go soon,” he said, half to himself, and looked at her. “How do you feel about goblins?”

  She reeled back, blinking. “I … I don’t know,” she stammered. “I’ve never met one.”

  “Well, you’re going to. Don’t worry, though,” he said. “Jaeger might take some getting used to, but he’s not actually a screaming lunatic. That’s just his polite company face.”

  “Er. Jaeger?”

  He grinned. “The Goblin King.”

  “Oh. Well, then.” She managed a weak smile, but it worked its way to genuine. She could handle a goblin king, or centaurs and elves and trolls, anything the world turned up. Because Sawyer would be with her.

  The end of the nightmare was finally in sight.

  EPILOGUE

  BiCo Ground Zero Facility

  August 15, 11:38 a.m.

  Teague Harlow had just taken over the number one spot on a long list of enemies who needed to be destroyed.

  Julian stood in the middle of the silent warehouse, with the empty breeding vats and the disintegrated, door-shaped hole in the wall, the open trapdoor to his secret. His. Not his father’s. He’d been heartily sick of Royce Bishop long before the first dragon. Killing his father had been the greatest pleasure of his life, but he’d been assured of greater pleasures to come. He was t
he savior of the world, the hero of the people. With all the benefits that position entailed.

  Now his position was threatened by a girl he’d saved. He’d sheltered her, trained her, even given her some of himself — a small part, true, but not everyone was allowed to share his bed. And this was how she’d repaid him.

  By stealing his staff. Freeing his prisoners. Destroying his facility. Showing his dragon to the wretched Darkspawn, and leaving him no closer to finding the rebels.

  He’d have to eliminate all the patrols who’d been stationed here. Those who’d survived the attack, anyway. And the location was compromised, so he’d have to move the essentials — the vats, the dragon’s remains — and destroy the rest. Because of Teague.

  Her death would not be merciful when he found her.

  Beyond irritated, he turned to leave, heading for the exit when a voice behind him said, “I believe it’s time we talk. Julian.”

  A familiar voice. An impossible voice.

  “No,” he murmured, refusing to turn around. “You’re dead. You were ash. I killed you myself.”

  Laughter, cold as the heart of hell. “Do you really think you could kill me?”

  “I did kill you!” Julian whirled, jaw clenched, expecting to see nothing. This was a ghost, a trick of his mind.

  But it wasn’t. It was Royce Bishop. In the flesh.

  The flesh he’d burned from his bones and scattered to the winds six years ago.

  “Oh, dear. You look upset.” Royce grinned and advanced on him. “Aren’t you happy to see your father?”

  Julian stumbled back, shaking his head. “You’re not my father,” he rasped, hating the rough edge in his voice.

  “Well, what do you know! It has a brain.” Royce stopped a few feet away. “I haven’t been Royce Bishop for a very long time,” he said. “But if it’s any consolation, he hated you right back. Your brother, though…”

  Julian swallowed. “What about him?”

  “Let’s just say your father thought he’d gotten left with the wrong son.” Royce surged forward and grabbed his shoulders. He was incredibly strong. “The good news is, I disagree,” he said. “Your brother should be dead. But he’s not. And now, we have to do something about that.”