“This could take a moment,” she whispered. “I’ve never done it before. Not by choice.” She thought about the moment in the car that morning. She had been angry. And she had been…not hunched in. Upright. Radiating out from her middle. No, from her heart, which beat furiously…
Her heart thudded now. She felt the pull in her middle, as something gathered there. She sent it out from there, out into the air inside her wings.
The air warmed. She could feel it. Encouraged, she poured more and more of herself, of whatever it was building in her, out around Mojag, until the air itself began to glow with warmth. Heat.
Mojag sighed, his chin lifting. “Warm…”
“Yes.”
•
THE BRIGHT LIGHT OF EARLY dawn dazzled her, and Harley winced and shut her eyes again.
“No, take her inside,” she heard someone say, with a snap of authority in his voice. “She needs heat.”
She was being carried.
“She kept me warm, all night.” That was Mojag, his voice strained.
Harley tried to move, but her arms and legs felt like cold iron.
“Stay still,” came the voice once more. “You’re exhausted. You used up too much of your energy, fighting the cold. As soon as everyone is gone, I can help you.”
A hand on her face. Another on her shoulder, the heel of the palm against her chest.
Heat surged through her, and it felt like the warmest of hot showers, cascading through her like bubbling, heated champagne. Harley gasped, drawing in air that was just as hot. It was life giving.
She had the energy to open her eyes and wasn’t surprised to find Campbell crouched over her. He lifted his hands away from her face and neck, the red glow in them fading. “That was close.”
“Your night manager…” She tried to sit up. They were in a small room with wooden slat benches around the edges. An old locker room.
“Let me deal with him,” Campbell said shortly. He got to his feet and held out his hand to her.
Reluctantly, because she was still weak, Harley let him help her to her feet and looked around more thoroughly.
The room wasn’t a locker room anymore. On the other side of the room, under the windows, long trestle tables had been set up and covered in butcher’s paper. An urn steamed at one end, with towers of squat white cups beside it, and boxes of tea and cartons of almond and soy milk. Baskets of bread, buns, muffins. Pots of nut butters. Fruit, sliced and chopped, and a basket of oranges. Then serving trays with lids on them, condensation inside the lid hiding what was inside them, but she suspected it wasn’t bacon and eggs.
“What the hell…?” Harley breathed and glanced at Campbell.
He looked embarrassed. “Breakfast. For the day shift.”
He fed his workers breakfast.
Harley reached out for the wall beside her, staring at the piles of white bowls and plates, knives and forks and spoons waiting for people to come pick them up and move along the tables, helping themselves to food that wouldn’t poison them. Most of the old races couldn’t eat meat. This breakfast was ideally suited to their needs.
Wow.
Campbell shifted on his feet. It was the first time she had seen him look anything but urbane. So, she changed the subject, because she would have to think about this, too. “How did you know we were in the container, if you had nothing to do with it?”
“The steam billowing out of the windows.” Campbell smiled. “It looked like the container was about to pop its lid.” His smile faded. “This should not have happened. I’m appalled that it did.”
Oddly, she believed him. “You and I have things to discuss,” she said, then sank down onto the bench beside her as her knees gave out. “Later,” she added.
•
IT WAS CLOSE TO SUNSET when Campbell showed up at the station. He stepped inside as the door bell jangled and brushed snow off his western hat, for it was snowing again. He looked around the station, his expression curious.
Mojag and Bohdan had progressed a long way in clearing out the room, although there were still piles of junk and dirt here and there. But one could navigate the room now and not be in danger of tripping on something, or getting their wings snagged.
One of them had found an old armchair and put it in front of the stove. That was where Harley was sitting, the blanket pulled in tight around her even though the stove was blasting heat.
“Cold?” Campbell asked.
“Freezing,” she admitted.
“You’ll have to treat yourself nicely for a few days until you get back to normal core heat,” Campbell said, his tone one of authority.
He was a dragon, she reminded herself. “I’m always cold,” she countered. “It’s winter.”
“You shouldn’t feel the cold at all,” he said, coming over to the fire. “Not if you’re taking care of yourself.” He looked down at the box she had upended and put beside the chair and the neat pile of folded cotton sitting on it. “Sheets?”
“I found them in the secondhand store on the main street.”
“Your landlord didn’t give you a set?”
“I…something happened to them.” She stirred. “I’m kinda off duty, Campbell.”
He reached into his coat and withdrew a silver hipflask. “That’s why I’m here. This will help a bit.”
“Bourbon?” She wrinkled her nose.
“Scotch.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a heathen.”
“Coulda fooled me.” She took the flask anyway and drank deep. It did warm her, just a little.
Campbell shifted a pile of old magazines off the top of the orange crate, moved the crate to the other side of the stove and settled on it carefully. “I wanted to let you know that David is no longer in my employ.”
“I know.”
Campbell raised his brow. “You do, hmm?”
“Bohdan saw an orc heading into Sundre with a duffel bag. Most of the old races arrive here. They don’t leave here. I put two and two together.” She hesitated. “I had Bohdan take him the rest of the way to Sundre and hand him over to the RCMP.”
“I see,” Campbell said heavily.
“It’s my job, Von Havre.”
“Yes.”
She rolled her eyes. “But David is a non-person, legally, so all they can do is question him, and even then, he can refuse to answer without comeback.”
Campbell considered her. “You don’t like that.”
“No.” She pulled the blanket in around her once more. There was more she could say, but Von Havre had been the orc’s boss. Then she found herself speaking, anyway. “If I had a prison here, if we had courts, due process, then I’d have brought David back here, instead. What he did was wrong.”
Campbell played with the brim of his hat. “David is…was…a friend from long ago. He has an older set of values, which are no longer of use to anyone, anymore, but I didn’t know that about him until today.”
“Older values?” She took the flask as he offered it again. “I told Staff Sergeant Hopson of the Sundre RCMP that as far as I could ascertain, Martin ap Golden’s death was accidental.”
Campbell considered her for a long moment. “Thank you,” he said at last.
“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what it was,” she added. “Someone tried to revive him, which means they didn’t mean to kill him. But that doesn’t mean I think you’re a sterling character, Campbell. Your values might have changed, but you’re still up to something hinkey in that arena.”
Campbell’s smile was easy. “Don’t dig too deeply, Chief Canmore.”
“I’m betting that if I asked you to show me your provincial license to grow marijuana, you wouldn’t be able to do it.”
“Are you asking?” He seemed amused.
“Not yet.”
“Ah.” He took the flask back and drank deeply. “People like us, Harley…we have to look out for ourselves.”
She shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. I told Bohdan the same thing this mo
rning. If we want to be legally recognized someday, we have to live by the same rules as humans do.”
“But until then, we have to survive,” Campbell replied. “And while we are outside the law, some of the things we must do to survive will also be outside those laws.”
She studied him. “I guess we’re going to have to disagree on that one.”
“Maybe. But I have high hopes I can talk you into seeing things my way, Harley Firebird.”
She grimaced. “I’ve only been here a week, but I already like this town. It’s my job to protect it, but I think that even if it wasn’t, I’d still want to step up if someone threatened these people. They’ve been through enough.”
“They have,” Campbell said, his tone heavy with agreement. “And even though I know you won’t believe me, I will tell you just this once that everything I do, I do for Falconer. Nothing I do impacts negatively on the people here. I won’t allow it.”
She shivered and pulled the blanket in tighter.
Campbell got to his feet and moved over to the glass counter, where the stack of printer paper sat. He took out a gold pen and wrote upon the paper and came back to the orange crate, folding the paper.
“What are you doing?”
“I have a gift for you.” He reached into his coat. For the first time she consciously noted that his coat was a light thing, barely adequate for spring thaw, let alone the deep winter chill of the mountains.
He put a cellphone down on top of the folded bedsheets and tapped it. “Burner phone. No registration needed.” He put a plastic chip embedded into a credit-card sized piece of plastic on top of it. “A pay-as-you-go phone card.”
He put the folded piece of paper on top of the phone. “Don’t lose that.”
“What is it?”
“The email address for Dr. Michael Jones in Toledo.”
“I’m guessing that’s not Toledo, Ohio.”
He shook his head. “If there is a world-class expert in treating the old races, Jones would be it. He helped me. He could help you.”
Harley jumped. “You were in Toledo?”
“For six months. It was world-view altering.” His tone sounded like he was confessing.
Uncomfortable, she shifted the paper aside to look at the phone once more. “A burner phone. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you’re a law-abiding citizen,” Campbell told her. “Anyway, I’m glad you didn’t think of it sooner, because now I have your number.”
___________
The next book in the Harley Firebird Series
The next book in the Harley Firebird series will be released in May 2021. Sign up for Taylen’s email list to be among the first to hear details about the book and upcoming dates.
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A drought-ridden Arizona town hires a very special kind of rainmaker: A siren.
But when it comes time to pay for her services, Mayor Archer Bertrand has a change of heart. After all, the old races are legally non-people and can’t sign contracts.
That was just his first mistake.
This short story is set in the old races-inhabited world of Magorian & Jones, written by Taylen Carver. It is not commercially released, but provided free to readers and fans of the series.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Best-selling Canadian author Taylen Carver writes edgy urban fantasy, doesn’t pull punches, and would rather be writing unless otherwise notified. When not writing, Taylen can usually be found inside speculative fiction of other authors. Favorites include Jim Butcher, Charlaine Harris, Kevin Hearne, Laurell K. Hamilton, and Emma Bull.
OTHER BOOKS BY TAYLEN CARVER
For reviews, excerpts, and more about each title, visit Taylen’s site and click on the cover you are interested in: https://taylencarver.com/books/
Magorian & Jones
The Memory of Water
Rainmaker
The Triumph of Felix
The Shield of Agrona
The Rivers Ran Red
The Divine and Deadly
Harley Firebird
The Dragon of Falconer
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
This is an original publication of Taylen Carver
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2021 by Stories Rule Press
Text design by Taylen Carver
Edited by Mr. Intensity, Mark Posey
Cover design by Dar Albert
http://WickedSmartDesigns.com
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
FIRST EDITION: March 2021
Taylen Carver
Urban Fantasy—Fiction
The Dragon of Falconer Page 4
