A flash of purple caught her eye then a shadowy man in billowing robes appeared in its place. Now, that was interesting. First, Dysteria pays me a rather cryptic visit, and now you show up. Who’ll appear next? The Son of Man? Santa Clause? Metalara shook her head, but that didn’t improve the view.
What was the Adversary, the self-styled Father of Lies, doing here? He belonged in hell, not in this gray place between life and death, this place of portals to other realms. The Adversary picked a direction and glided into the waist-high fog.
He was up to something, but that wasn’t her problem. You can’t enter the Mortal World from here unless someone takes you there. But no one would be dumb enough to do that unless coerced. Was that his plan?
Metalara lay still and let the fog roll over her as the Adversary looked in her direction, but his gaze passed right over her. Curiosity had led to her downfall, and yeah, she was curious about what the Adversary had planned. But she felt them coming and heard the clicking of their many legs—the hive-minded Agents of Chaos. They dragged entropy along in their wake.
Metalara creaked as she popped up and peered over the fog, but the wind howled, masking the sounds she made. As the Adversary sped along, his robes billowed around him, revealing his body ended in a dark cloud. Now, that was creepy but still not her problem.
He was as transparent as a shadow because he couldn’t take physical form. A bunch of magical seals prevented that, and they also limited his mobility even in his spirit form. Where are you going, and why are you in such a hurry to get there? Metalara scanned the fog-shrouded plain, but she didn’t see anything except a dark smudge on the horizon. Was that his destination?
The Adversary stopped, spread his arms, and shouted something to the thunderheads building above, but she couldn’t hear what.
Why did you stop? You don’t know I’m here, so you aren’t talking to me. What are you looking at? Against her better judgment, Metalara crept closer, hating every creak and click she made. There was still no way a statuesque woman made completely of metal parts with a pair of razor-sharp wings folded up on her back could move in complete silence, but she tried anyway because the Agents of Chaos were coming.
You’re not part of the Order. You don’t need to fight them anymore, Metalara realized, and she froze because that was true. A tendril of fog curled around her neck. The Order had left her to rust. Shonofar and her beau hadn’t wound her up out of friendship, but she didn’t owe them anything.
I could walk away. This doesn’t have to be my fight anymore. Metalara raised her hand, and thin ribbons of fog slipped through her rose-gold fingers.
Out of the corner of her eye, metallic insects scuttled out of the fog by the hundreds. The colony of tiny clockwork creatures jumped onto each other’s backs and stacked up into a clockwork man, not all that dissimilar to her, except she was one entity, and it was a legion of them.
The Adversary gave his hive-minded companion a quick appraisal, but his face was a shadow-covered canvas he could change to anything he wanted. Chaos nipped at them, blurring them as if she watched this through a dirty window. That chaos field also garbled their speech, turning what she overheard into gibberish.
The Adversary circled the Agent of Chaos, but his gaze never left it, or he would have seen her crystalline eyes spying on them. But it kept its ticking clock-face eyes on the Adversary. The hands of its left eye spun forward counting down to the end of all things while the hands on its right eye spun backward to Creation. Between them, chaos dwelt, and order fought it.
I was that order. Metalara squeezed her hands into tight fists. Maybe this still was her fight after all. Why else was she spying on them? Because she was a damned fool with no backup, and no one to turn the key in her back when she ran out of power. Those angels wouldn’t reprise that role. That had been a one-time favor.
Why are you both here where all roads—be they cosmic, physical, or magical—cross? Metalara crouch-walked closer, using the dense fog for cover. One did not come to the Gray Between without a compelling reason unless, like the Adversary, one’s travel was curtailed by a series of seals that locked him physically out of the Mortal World. He could only travel to Hell or this place. What about that Agent of Chaos? Was it so curtailed?
The Agent of Chaos held out its articulated metal hand for a shake. The Adversary ignored it. He could do nothing until he got back into the Mortal World where all the action was. But chaos waited for no one, so when the Adversary glided away, making hardly a ripple in the fog bank, Metalara followed, hoping their conversation and the clicking of the Agent of Chaos covered any sound she made.
But frustratingly, she still couldn’t hear anything but muffled voices. She needed to get even closer and risk detection. But that wouldn’t be easy since the Agent of Chaos had reconfigured its lower body, changing its two legs to eight, so it could spider after the Adversary.
Very impressive. That was one advantage the composite creature had over her. But she didn’t need to transform her body to follow them in a low crawl. Her two legs worked just fine without modification, not that she could modify them on a whim anyway. That just wasn’t one of her skills.
The Adversary turned and raised a bony finger. The Agent of Chaos’ blank expression gave nothing away, but that was by design not through any guile on its part as it scuttled away on its spider legs, leaving the Adversary standing there. He remained motionless for another moment then he sped, swift as the shadow he resembled, toward a darker gray smudge on the horizon.
Metalara slowed. Should she follow him or the Agent of Chaos? Without someone, who unlike him, wasn’t confined to the afterlife, the Adversary couldn’t go anywhere except back to the hell he was supposed to be reigning over. She turned to check on the Agent of Chaos. It raised both arms and dissolved into an army of clockwork insects scuttling away.
Oh no, you don’t. You’re not escaping me that easily. Metalara broke cover and rushed toward that fleeing army, but it had burrowed into the fog-shrouded ground and vanished before she could get to one and stomp on it. Damn it.
Something struck her back as she stooped to examine the triangular marks those creatures had left. It was a ghostly girl, and that mystery girl now lay unconscious at her feet.
Who are you, and why did you fall on me? Where did you even come from? Metalara crouched down to examine the girl then stopped. What was she doing? The Agents of Chaos were her enemies, not the Adversary, and certainly not this strange girl. The Agents of Chaos might be out of sight for the moment, but they’d left behind a trail, and of course, that girl had landed on it.
Metalara carefully rolled the tall girl away and then had to brush her dark hair aside to reveal the softly glowing triangular marks on the ground, but they were fading fast. If she wanted to follow them, she’d better hurry before they were gone. Metalara glanced at that girl again, discomforted by her sudden arrival and the place she’d landed. Was there some connection between that girl and the Agents of Chaos?
Who are you? Metalara studied her. That girl appeared to be a ghost wearing the unadorned white robes of an angel-in-training. But she wasn’t an angel. Neither was she an Agent of Chaos. Did that mystery girl work for them?
Who are you, girl? Are you working for the Agents of Chaos? They increased a place’s entropy just by visiting, leaving less energy behind for the systems present to do the work they needed to do. Their presence was draining Metalara, but she should be having the same effect on them. Though that effect might be a tad diluted since she was one, and they were legion.
That girl must work for them. Why else would she be here? Metalara pushed aside her clothing to check for their mark and found it next to the omega symbol at the base of a glowing chain sprouting from between that girl’s small breasts. What the hell is this? Metalara ran a hand down the links, searching for the end of that chain, but it just kept going into the dusty earth.
Metalara clawed that pesky dirt aside, unearthing link after link with no end in sight. Th
ey became ghostlike the deeper they went. What the hell? How is this possible? She finally sat back on her haunches and gave up the search after digging a hole two-feet deep. Wherever that chain terminated, it wasn’t on this plane.
“You truly are a mystery, girl. But you’re not mine to solve.” Metalara let the girl’s chain slide through her hands as that fog rolled over them.
This mystery girl had the Agents of Chaos’ triangular mark, indicating she was one of their pawns and her enemy. Metalara couldn’t let that go. It wasn’t in her nature. “I can’t allow you to wake up ever again.” Metalara wrapped her hands around the girl’s pale throat, and the girl vanished.
What the hell? Where had she gone? Metalara scanned the fog, but there was no sign of that girl nor her hive-minded masters. No! Metalara pounded her fists into the dirt. Like the rest of this place, it too was gray. How could I have lost them both?
Movement caught her eye, and Metalara crouched in the fog as a familiar shadow flew past—Dysteria and her sleigh. Where are you off to now?
Meanwhile, roughly a mile away on that flat plain, a dark head popped out of the fog followed swiftly after that by the rest of that Mystery Girl. She was back already? What the hell was going on here?
Metalara crept closer but stayed below the level of the fog, which wasn’t hard to do because it kept rising. Mystery Girl didn’t go far before one of those elephantine Memory-Eaters accosted her then that girl turned inexplicably to look in her direction. Did that creature tell her I’m out here?
Why that creature would do such a thing, Metalara didn’t know or care. Until she knew what was going on, she’d best stay hidden. Because something hinky was going on here. Metalara hunkered down out of sight, and it was good she had because Dysteria appeared out of thin air right behind that Mystery Girl and knocked the girl down.
The ensuing struggle left Metalara more confused than anything else. Why had Dysteria imprisoned that girl? Dysteria had all but called the girl a kindred soul. I must find out. It could be important. Because Dysteria was chaos incarnate.
As she loped along, Metalara felt a new negentropic power coursing through her, making her internal gears a more ordered and more perfect system. She hadn’t felt this energized in a long, long time. That alone meant she was on the right track. This Mystery Girl was important.
Now, she just had to bust that girl out of that prison of spikes, so she could find out why. Metalara raised her fist then thought better of it. Those spikes were easily a hundred feet tall, but there wasn’t anything holding them up. Perhaps, she should work from the top down. Metalara extended her wings.
Don’t Provoke the Dragon
[Westchester, NY]
“Take however long you need to rest. You earned it.” Melinda patted Papa on the shoulder as she passed him, and he nodded, but I knew there was no way he’d sit this one out.
“Where are you going?” Papa tried to rise, but he sat down again instead and squeezed me. He didn’t have enough energy to move just yet.
I didn’t mind sitting with him. The dragon and her shenanigans could wait until Papa could cast some magical shields again. I didn’t want to go anywhere near her without them, not until I was sure she couldn’t breathe fire anymore. It just wasn’t safe until then.
“I’m going to have a word with that dragon while she’s incapacitated.” Melinda strode up to the fire door, bold as you please. It had partially melted from the heat, but it swung open before she could touch it, revealing the dragon.
Water beaded on the dragon’s borrowed metal hide, but there were dark spaces between those plates where her ones and zeroes had winked out. “You did this to me.” The Dragon pointed at Melinda and us too because we were sitting a little ways behind her.
“You’re the one who started the fire that set off the sprinklers.” I squirmed but Papa wouldn’t let me go until his magic returned. It had retreated deep inside him to escape the falling water.
“Don’t provoke her,” Papa whispered in my ear. He loosened his hold on me, so he could rub the bridge of his nose.
“It’s a little late for that.” I stepped out of the circle of his arms and padded over to my Scribe. I couldn’t let her face the dragon alone.
Neither could Papa because he heaved himself to his feet and staggered over to join us. Melinda and I both grabbed an arm to keep him upright when Papa wavered. The sprinklers finally shut off, and cold water stopped falling on us.
“You need to sit down before you fall down. You worked a lot of magic, and there’s no way for you to recharge here. There’s not much magic in my world, just a lot of technology.” Melinda pushed Papa back toward the other room. He could see everything from there once she kicked a smoking trash can in front of the fire door to prop it open.
I might have stuck my hand into her pocket and removed her cellphone as she passed by me. I had a feeling we’d need it, especially if we couldn’t count on Papa’s magic. That was a scary thought though, so I put it out of mind. If Melinda noticed what I’d done, she didn’t show it. She was too busy scolding Papa, but he’d earned a good scolding.
He swayed but stayed standing by sheer force of will. “I’m fine right here.” Papa rested a hand on my head to keep me close and away from the dragon snapping her metal-jaws at us.
With the fire doused, and my clothes saturated, I felt the cold air creeping in quite keenly now. I shivered and almost missed the fire. At least it had been warm in here while it was trying to burn us.
“Why are you wrapped around the boiler thing? I don’t see the attraction. It’s just a big boxy thing with blinking lights and tubes feeding into it. What’s so exciting about that?” I stuffed my hands into my pockets to hide my Scribe’s cellphone. It was waterproof, so it should be okay in there. “Are you merging with it?” I didn’t expect an answer.
Nor did I get one. The dragon turned her metallic snout up at me, and it reflected my bedraggled state. Papa didn’t look much better, but Melinda didn’t seem at all discomfited by her soaked pants. Water had beaded on her boots, but they didn’t look as wet as mine were. Were they waterproof like her coat? I hugged myself then transferred my grip to the warm towel Melinda draped around my shoulders.
“Here. It’s fresh out of the dryer.” She handed another towel to Papa and had to steady him when he swayed again. “You should sit.”
“Thank you.” Papa squeezed her hand and took the warm, dry towel from her. “I’ll rest when this is over.”
If it was ever over, but I didn’t voice my doubts. I still had no idea how we’d get that dragon out of here. “What’s so special about that boiler?” I tugged on Melinda’s coat and slipped my hand into her sleeve. It was just as I’d thought. The interior was dry and warm. Well, I had my towel, so I was warm now too. But when we got home, I wanted a waterproof coat like that.
“You’d have to ask her that. All it does is make heat and hot water for the building.” Melinda nodded to the dragon.
“So the boiler isn’t alive then?” I needed to make sure its life wasn’t in danger of being snuffed out by the dragon whose metal hide was slowly melting it.
“What? No, it’s just a machine like the washer and dryer in the other room.” Melinda waved to them and the smoke-stained clothes that had helped smother the flames.
Indeed, the boiler was just standing there, blinking its green lights at me. There were scorch marks and some gouges from the dragon’s claws. She was rather hard on her playthings, and the smug look she gave us made it clear we’d get nothing out of her.
“I don’t understand dragons.” Especially the digital kind that had designs on *my* newsletter even though my best friend, Saveen, was a baby dragon disguised as a human.
“I don’t understand them either.” Papa ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. It was as dark as my Scribe’s, but hers had gray hairs mixed in with the brown, and Papa didn’t. But Papa was only in his early twenties—the same age Melinda had been when Papa had walked into the scene sh
e was writing and took over the book.
“Well, that dragon’s melting the only heat source my neighbors and I have. We’ve got to do something to stop her.” Melinda tied back her long brown hair with a band she produced from her pocket.
“She’s right. According to this nifty app on her phone,” which I’d borrowed, “the temperature’s dropping fast.” I pointed to the falling numbers on the screen. They were turning blue like my Scribe’s coat. I shivered as a blast of cold air rushed in from the outer door not far away. The towel had lost its warmth, but it was another layer between me and the dragon, albeit a flammable one.
But could I believe that app? It was digital, so was the dragon eyeing us from across the room. Could that dragon be affecting it?
Her gaze locked onto the phone in my hands. “Don’t you even think about frying it.” I willed the dragon to leave it alone. She didn’t react.
Since Melinda was the only nonfictional member of our crew, she turned at the sound of footsteps in the stairwell.
“You’re on crowd control,” I reminded her. Real people couldn’t always see us, and that made controlling them difficult, but they could always see our Scribe since this was her world.
Melinda grimaced, but she nodded and moved to block the door into this multipurpose room, and boy was there a crowd forming. I counted a dozen heads peering past our Scribe. Melinda was rather petite for a woman. Almost everyone she encountered was taller than her except me, but I was a fictional child from a fantasy world. Even Papa towered over her. But he was more than a foot-and-a-half taller than Melinda.
None of Melinda’s curious neighbors even gave him a look, which was weird because he towered over all of them except one slim older gentleman holding his wife’s hand. How could they ignore the giant in variegated greens?
A loud thud startled me, and I turned to see Papa lying on the ground and seizing violently. “Papa!” I rushed to his side and slipped on the wet tiles. I fell onto my knees and crawled until I could flop down on his convulsing chest. “Papa, what’s wrong with you?”
Dragon Spells Page 7
