Wyoming Dynasty (American Dragons Book 10)

by Aaron Crash

  His father, a balding man who never said no to a hat, was enthroned at the kitchen table, clean of food. He sat there, clean-shaven, smelling like cologne, as old and familiar as his suit, complete with a mother-of-pearl shoestring tie. Joe Whipp wasn’t the most attractive man, but his intense blue eyes could convince you differently. He was a man who always had a joke, a lighter, and a good tip that was only ever for you. He’d charm you until he could steal from you.

  Steven had asked his foster father, “So poker is just all luck, right? If you get good cards, you win. If you don’t, you don’t. You must be really lucky, Dad.”

  Joe Whipp was really good at convincing terrible people he had money, so convincing his snot-nosed son they were rich, despite all evidence to the contrary, was as easy as shooting down two fingers of Chivas Regal.

  “Poker has some luck, sure,” Joe had said, shuffling the cards. “But no, Steve, most of winning at cards is skill. Not just math, though knowing your odds and counting the cards is critical. It’s more about reading people, what they want and what they’re afraid of. Greed and fear, Steve. The world is made up of greed and fear.”

  And then the vision ended. “He always called me Steve.” Steven shook his head. “The crazy thing is... some part of me knows this really does involve the Night Lance. It’s weird, right?”

  Skylar kissed his hand. “There’s a reason why Magica Divinatio drives some people insane. At times, the Divination is harder to handle than not knowing at all. Sabina would say that all will be made clear in time. I think that’s probably right.”

  Steven leaned over and kissed Skylar on the cheek. “Thanks for listening.”

  She turned so they could kiss on the lips. She then rubbed his thigh. “I think I could probably help you get some sleep. Are you up for it?”

  Even though he’d been at it most of the night, Steven figured this woman knew a thing or two about getting boys to sleep. It did work, after all, and he slept on the couch outside until the sun rose over the horizon. Covering his eyes with his arms allowed him to get a few hours.

  After breakfast, and after Liam had them help nail down a fence post in the corral he was building, they were ready to return to Gaia Alpha. Steven breathed fire and used it to create a portal. The Three Widows walked through it first, then Quinnestri, and then Steven.

  Right away, he knew something was wrong. He had meant to step from the deck of Liam’s school right into the northern garden of the Infinity Ranch.

  Instead, he found himself alone, on a vast yellow savannah, with zebras, wildebeest, and various kinds of gazelle wandering in the dry oppressive heat. Hadn’t Mouse talked about zebras when she’d sat with him holding Reggie?

  The sun was in the center of the sky above him. It seemed like he was back on Earth, but he’d wound up on the wrong continent. Africa. How could he have missed his destination? And what had happened to Quinnestri and the Three Widows?

  Then he heard the elf queen scream, “Steven! Where are you? Where am I?”

  That was when Steven noticed the doors. A shiver froze the back of his neck at the sight of a dozen doors, all hanging off the ground, attached to nothing, and surrounding him. He was in the middle. Quinnestri was behind one of them, but which one?

  Chapter Eleven

  THE TWELVE DOORS WERE brown, with weather-flecked wood, like they’d been hanging in a haunted house before being plucked away to float above the African plain—probably Kenya, or Tanzania, somewhere on the Serengeti. His first thought was that it was some kind of spell from Mronki Kyeel, but no, he was dead.

  The plain smelled dry and foul, from a nearby dried-up mud pit; it must’ve been a favorite watering hole of the herd in the distance and they’d dropped a bunch of shit around it. Steven recalled August being in the dead center of the dry season.

  His attention returned to the strange doors floating above the yellow grasses. Numbers were painted on their front in sloppy white paint. From one to twelve, each door had a number. Also, they had different kinds of knobs and handles. Some were golden and round, others were silver handles, and some were old-fashioned brass ovals. One, though, caught his eye, and it was on door number seven. It was a knob made from the same kind of mother of pearl of his foster father’s favorite shoestring tie. Joe Whipp liked his bolo neckties.

  “Magica Divinatio!” Steven cast the spell, and he knew he was on Gaia Alpha, and he knew the Three Widows had made it home safely along with the Night Lance.

  The spell also told him that Quinnestri was in danger behind one of the doors. Other knowledge filtered into his vision—the queen’s core was empty, which was impossible. Elves only got some energy from sex, but they regenerated in other ways. She’d slept well and eaten, and after a good night’s sleep, Quinn should’ve been at full strength.

  Not this time. Not in this situation.

  Steven wanted to save his Animus, so he reached out with Connexra to Heridan. He felt the Morta leave him, and yet, he couldn’t reach the Prosha. It was like something was jamming him up.

  He was about to cast another Magica Porta spell, to at least bring in some of his wives to help him out, but he stopped.

  Something was happening to the door handles. Starting with door number two, they glowed in turn, one after another, until door number nine flashed brightly. The doorknob turned white hot and the wood burst into flames. Black smoke boiled up and away.

  Several of the wildebeest in the distance weren’t taking any chances with that strangeness. They took off running.

  Steven didn’t blame them. He hoped that the entire dry plain wouldn’t catch fire.

  “Quinn, what do you see?” He shouted the question as he slammed an ear up to door number three. Wasn’t that from a game show?

  Her voice came to him. “I am tied to a chair. Chained, actually, to a steel chair. I am in a desert, with large sand dunes, and it is very hot. The sun is hot, but I see two moons on the horizon. I am not on your Earth, I know, but I have no knowledge of where I am. There is something in the sand... I can see it digging in the distance. A creature, serpentine. Steven, I cannot use my magic. I cannot tell where I am or what the creature is, but I will not be able to defend myself if it comes for me!”

  He switched to door number four. “Do you see a door?” he asked.

  “Yes, there is a door in front of me, but there is no handle.” Her voice was as clear as it had been when he’d listened at the third door.

  He switched to number two. “Is there a number painted anywhere?” Steven could guess the answer.

  “No.” Again, it was like Quinn was behind every one of the doors.

  This was the game. He had to find her before whatever was in the sand got to her, or the door leading to her world burned down. She’d be lost.

  And what was the price of failure? What if he opened the wrong door?

  Each of the knobs flashed, from two to twelve, until door number seven began to smoke.

  “Quinn, I’m standing in a field, and there’s eleven doors. You’re behind one of them. Tell me if your door starts to smoke, okay?” That would make it easy. If Steven could get to the door before it burned down, he could throw it wide open.

  “I will, Steven, but I should not talk. I think sound will draw whatever is in the sand to me.”

  Steven remembered the movie Tremors. Tessa had forced him to watch it, and that was how those monsters worked.

  Steven went to the first door, put a hand on the knob, and considered opening it. That knob never flashed, but why not?

  That seemed too easy.

  The seventh door burned away completely. Only the ashy marks on the ground marked where seven and nine had been. He only had seconds before the next door was lost.

  Steven considered his options as he shifted into his dragon form. He grabbed the fifth door in his claw and tried to move it. No, it wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard he pulled, but then that made sense. These weren’t normal doors. He tried both AnimusChain and Leeze to see if he cou
ld sense the elf queen. Nothing.

  Steven put up a hand and cast Magica Incanto, to undo the magic, and when that failed, he followed up with Enchantrix to try and understand the construction of the puzzle in front of him. He felt it... all the doors were similar to the portals at the top of the St. Vrain Aerie. They knew where two led: to the Battle World and to Aqualyra. The third? It would take them to a place called Oikos. Oikos was an ancient Greek word meaning family, home, the base of all things. Steven figured it led to the Alpheros’ homeworld, but they hadn’t gone through it yet. They’d been a little busy.

  Another thought came to him from the Enchantrix spell, though it was vague—opening the wrong door would have catastrophic results. Quinn would die immediately, or maybe it would unleash something as terrible on his world. Or maybe another wife would be kidnapped.

  Could this be some kind of magic from a lost Alpheros? Or was an exiled Dragonlord seeking revenge?

  Quinn shrieked in fear, and Steven didn’t have time to wonder.

  He might be able to undo the doors with RealityFire, maybe cut a direct tunnel to where Quinnestri was being held, though that seemed far too risky.

  Steven exhaled ArcticWind, covering each of the doors in a layer of ice. He hoped for the best. “Quinn, do you see ice on the door? I froze them on my side, but I need to know if we can mark them that way.”

  “Yes! I can see the ice!” The elf queen seemed calmer than before. “Steven, there is a dragon here, and she is fighting a creature, a snake-like thing, with eye stalks and teeth, so many teeth.”

  “A dragon?” Steven wondered.

  “A purple dragon! Female!”

  The handles flashed again, lighting up, and this time, door number four was chosen. The thick ice melted, and water dropped to the ground before the wood flamed and the handle melted into slag.

  Three down, only nine to go, but they were closer.

  Steven considered using ShadowFlame to melt the ice and mark the door, though that might be too much. He couldn’t destroy the door because there was a very real chance he’d never find Quinn again. The multiverse of the Stair was a big place, and he didn’t know if Quinn would ever be able to contact him again. Astreelia was powerful, but it had to have limits.

  And if the purple dragon slew the snake, it might then murder Quinn. He didn’t know.

  Steven marked door number three with a weak round of Inferno, melting the ice and scorching the wood but not burning it. It took all his control, and he cursed himself for not bringing Icharaam’s Crown to Xanadu. He had to get over how stupid he looked wearing the circlet.

  “I’m going to breathe fire on the doors, to melt the ice,” he called out. “Tell me when you see the wood turn black.”

  “Very well! I see nothing so far.”

  Number three wasn’t the one. Steven breathed on five and six. Four, seven, and nine were already gone. Eight was next to flash into flames.

  Steven had melted his ice off ten when Quinn screamed, “Yes, I see the scorching! Yes, that is the door! I see it!”

  Steven shifted human, grabbed the handle, and flung the door open. There, on the other side, was a desert of shifting dunes. Quinn, her skin pink from the sun, sat on a gleaming steel chair. A snake the size of a subway train lay on its back, its innards ripped from its scales.

  A dark purple female roared at him, and dammit, he knew that dragon.

  The knob on number ten flashed, and the already hot wood erupted in flames.

  Steven triggered SerpentGrace. He flung himself onto the sands of the other world. He picked up Quinn, chair and all, and flung her through the door. He then leapt through as the air shimmered in the heat. The door, writhing with flames, slammed shut.

  The purple Dragonsoul burst through the blackening door as a Homo Draconis, flames licking at her tail.

  Steven grabbed her and wrestled her down. She shifted into her True Form, and she clawed at him even as all the doors erupted in flames, all around them. Everything was lost for a minute.

  Steven triggered the Baxter rings, and armored up, he was able to wrestle the dark purple beast down, pinning her to the dusty soil. He reached out with Leeze, sucked away the purple dragon’s core, and added it to his Morta. Ichor dripped from him, onto the dragon, and onto the yellow grasses of the savannah.

  BlackBlood tentacles locked onto the purple dragon, freezing her arms in place, wrapping up her mouth so she couldn’t breathe or cast spells.

  Her dark eyes bore into Steven.

  His smile showed her his fangs. “Hey, Hwedo. I’m kinda surprised to see you. You better have a good story, or I’m going to be disappointed.”

  Quinn burst from her chair, her magical core restored. Her body glowed with a purple color, far lighter than the Dragonsoul bound by the Morta coils. The elf queen swept her arms around, and water appeared out of thin air, to splash down on the grasses, to keep the entire Serengeti safe from a brush fire. Hands dripping from the water spell, the elf summoned her hand axes into her hands.

  “Be gentle with her, Steven. She saved me from the sand snake.”

  The hate in Hwedo’s eyes didn’t wane in the least.

  “Sure,” Steven said, “and that might be one more trick. I’m going to take my time trusting this Dragonsoul. This isn’t the first time we’ve met.”

  “You know her?” the elf queen asked.

  “Yes, she was part of Rahaab’s Trinity of Death. They tried to kill me a bunch of times.”

  Quinn let out a frustrated sigh. “Why does everyone try and kill you, Steven Drokharis?”

  He had to grin. “I’m pretty sure it’s because of my superior mopping skills.”

  That didn’t ease the troubled glint in the elf queen’s eyes any.

  This time, Magica Porta worked, and they returned to the Infinity Ranch with their prisoner bound in BlackBlood. They all had a lot to talk about.

  Chapter Twelve

  ROBERT STAINS COULDN’T stop sweating. And he’d thought Washington, DC, was bad. At least there, every single place had air-conditioning.

  In this temple in India? There was no AC inside and no misters where he stood outside, on a deserted side balcony, sweating his balls off. The jungle down below seemed to steam it was so hot.

  The Ranakpur Jain Temple south of Udaipur, in Rajasthan, was a beautiful place with columns, carvings, friezes, and a long history. It was also surprisingly not very crowded for a Tuesday morning. It was a good place to meet the last Dragonsoul on Earth that didn’t serve Steven Drokharis.

  Or that was Collidium had written in his text. Her text? Their text? The Collidium did sound like it could be a collective.

  Although Robert Stains had made his career talking with Dragonsouls, the elite Primes, he didn’t want to be seen with one now. No, it might bring about uncomfortable questions that he didn’t want to answer.

  The world had gone dragon crazy. It was amazing to see how fast the plushy toys hit the toy shelves, how dragon porn had filled both Amazon’s kindle store and the adult streaming sites. There were a dozen reboots of classic movies starring, you guessed it, dragons.

  It had only been a week and already politicians were coming out either pro-dragon or anti-dragon, depending on their party.

  Robert found the noise annoying, and he hated the fact that Buster Lumpkin was being praised for how well he’d handled the Great Drokharis Reveal, which was what they were calling the historic event. Companies were already planning on switching over to the IEGs. Keeping those charged was going to cause any number of headaches for HR.

  You could power anything with an Icharaam Energy Generator, but that required sexual activity, either with yourself or others. Would General Motors really have a masturbation room? Probably not. They might not need to. According to scientists, the IEGs could hold a charge for quite a bit of time and give out a remarkable number of kilowatt hours. Maybe employees could take the generator/battery home to recharge... no questions asked.

  So, the IEGs were taking
hold and so were the IPCs.

  A few of the Icharaam’s Promise Centers were open, and while they were only curing minor injuries at this point, a few Dragonsouls had mastered the more powerful magic and were curing cancer, just not at the IPCs. These dragons were appearing at children’s hospitals and the Mayo Clinic up in Minnesota. They had office hours, and there was a waiting list.

  Things were changing, and for the better it seemed, though some didn’t think too much of these supernatural creatures. Well, it was too bad for them.

  The dragons weren’t going anywhere, any sane person knew that, and Robert did as well. No, the humans and dragons were going to interact. Robert wanted to be right in the middle of that discussion, not sidelined.

  Collidium knew that. And Collidium knew there was only one dragon that might take over if anything happened to Steven Drokharis. That was why the mysterious presence on his phone wanted Robert and Rhakshor Khat to meet.

  The problem was, the father of Aria Khat, the former Dragonlord of the Maharashtra Primacy, was already planning on leaving the planet.

  Nonetheless, Rhakshor had agreed to meet, and he’d chosen the place.

  Strangely enough, Rhakshor was already in touch with Collidium, and that was as mysterious as anything.

  The FBI’s finest had scoured Robert’s phone for any information on Collidium and his contact number, which wasn’t even a real phone number—not on the planet Earth, anyway. And there was no time stamp on when the contact was created; it was like the number and the name had always been there, in Robert’s phone, which stank worse of magic than a rabbit pulled from a top hat. The text had arrived out of the void it seemed.

  In the end, though, this Collidium didn’t seem to be a fan of Drokharis. They all had that in common—Rhakshor Khat didn’t like his son-in-law either.