The Scarlet Dragon Saga

by J. P. Rice

  His facial features twisted, and he squinted. He tilted his head to the side and scratched his sweaty chin. I watched a surge of recognition run through his rich brown irises and the left side of his mouth curled up. “Junipher? Is that really you?”

  “The one and only.” I held my arms out and did a three-sixty for confirmation.

  He set his book down and stood up. “I presume you are here to see the Great Goibniu.”

  I laughed internally. “Oh, is that what he goes by these days? Is he practicing to be a tyrant?”

  Theodoro’s face tightened, and he spoke in a serious tone, “I’m not sure what his intentions are. I do know he goes by whatever name he deems suited and nobody questions him. And a person in need, such as yourself, should keep those words breasted.”

  He was right. I was a smartass extraordinaire and proud of it. And I did need a favor, but Goibniu was like a brother. “Thank you for the counsel.”

  “I’ll take you over to Goibniu, if you will follow me.” He led me out the back of the gazebo and onto an ivory lane leading into an ancient-looking city with ranch-style housing running alongside the dirt roads. I saw several towers in the distance and a giant gleaming white castle to our left.

  We followed the ivory path until it gave way to a cherry-colored cobblestone road. The warm breeze ran through my nest of auburn hair and tingled my scalp. My bare foot stepped onto the first smooth marble stair leading up to the entrance of the castle. I continued up the alternating white and black marble steps and arrived at the arched wooden door with a big round knocker.

  Theodoro walked right up and gave it a solid two raps. He stepped back and stood next to me. The door opened toward us and a skinny man wearing a loincloth and holding a spear appeared. He smiled and nodded to Theodoro, then gestured for us to come in using a windmill motion with his right hand.

  We entered the foyer of the white stone castle and stepped onto a plush red carpet. A giant staircase lay straight ahead with two hallways off to each side on the ground floor. Theodoro led me up the stairs and we went down a long hallway and passed through a beaded curtain to get to the second-floor balcony.

  As soon as the last string of beads fell from my shoulder, I stepped into a mist and could hear island music coming from a live band. The mist dissipated, and we entered Goibniu’s favorite hangout.

  It looked like a giant barbecue party with an Olympic-sized pool surrounded by tiki torches. People were grilling huge cuts of meat, whole animals were roasting on spits, the band was playing, and some guests were hanging out in a lounging area. And with Goibniu, there were always lots of women.

  I located Goibniu lounging with a horde of ladies surrounding him, vying for his attention. He’d grown plump since I’d last seen him. Garbed in a burgundy toga, I took quick notice that his face and arms had swelled. He had shaggy brown hair and his gray eyes were currently filled with boredom, even though women who looked like models surrounded him.

  His dull eyes glanced over at the band, then crawled past me to check out the smoking meats near the pool. Suddenly his eyes darted back, landing firmly on me. His smile started with his chubby cheeks and then his frown melted upward into a devilish grin.

  Pushing the women away, he rose from his lounge chair, and wobbled back and forth. A few of the women helped him regain his balance. He straightened, lowered his head and walked directly toward me.

  “June, how the hell have you been?” He slurred his words, clearly intoxicated. He also spoke with a slight lisp, which made him hard to understand when he was really drunk.

  Goibniu was the retired blacksmith of the Gods. After King Nuada had his arm cut off in battle, Goibniu had designed him a silver arm that helped him survive the ghastly wound. But he was best known for crafting a golden chalice that held his famous elixir of youth. He’d moved to this island so that the Gods would have to come see him when they wanted the elixir.

  “Hello, old friend,” I said as we wrapped our arms around each other.

  He broke the embrace and staggered backward, grabbing my shoulder for balance. “We thought you were dead. Where you been?”

  “I’ve been staying away from it all.”

  “Everyone thinks you’re dead.” He laughed and his chins jiggled. “Have you been to Clara Spiritus to see the Gods?”

  “Fook them. What, have you gone to the dark side?” I asked in an ominous tone. Retirement had afforded me the ability to watch an abundance of movies like Star Wars and the Marvel Universe.

  He squinted, and the bridge of his nose wrinkled in confusion. I’d forgotten I was talking to someone secluded on a secret island. He said, “I don’t get the reference, but I get the point. I still hate the Gods as much as you. Just praying for the day when they ask me to join so that I can tell them to piss right off.”

  Goibniu and I felt like the Celtic Gods had overlooked us for membership in the pantheon. The secretive selection process had no rhyme or reason and none of the deities ever talked about it. We’d seen several members admitted that were well below our standard. It had caused us to resent the Celtic Gods and we developed an unbreakable bond.

  “Did you come here for some pleasure?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

  “You know damn well what I came for. Look at my old ass.” I held my arms out to my sides, skin sagging.

  “Follow me to the bar.” He gestured with a swipe of two fingers. “I don’t want to say too much, but you look old. Really old. How’d that happen?”

  “You know how I went undercover in the Red Cavern, right?”

  Goibniu went behind the bar and primed a golden pump on the wooden cask. “Of course. I heard they lost complete contact with you. They said you died down there.”

  I put my forearms on the bar and leaned forward to watch Goibniu. “Technically, I suppose I did. But somehow, I rose out of the liquid fire and escaped that pit. Unfortunately, the ordeal jacked me up physically and mentally. Before that, I’d barely had any aches or pains and I thought immortals never got old.”

  Goibniu chuckled and snagged a golden chalice from the bar. “Common misconception. Most people think immortals can’t die either. But we can. And so can the Gods or there would never be openings for the pantheon. Luckily, I have the remedy right here.”

  I massaged my neck. “Good because I’ve been having a lot of pain for the past decade and when I use my magic, I grow old. Fast. Like warp speed. I’m not going to lie, it scares the shit out of me. Don’t tell anyone, of course.”

  He stopped pumping and set the chalice under the spout at the bottom. He slid a lever to the side and the elixir of youth gushed out. “I would never destroy your reputation as a stone-hearted, vindictive she-bitch.”

  He handed me the half-full drink that looked like ginger ale. “And I thank you kindly. Cheers.” I held the goblet out to him and chugged the carbonated drink that tasted like cherry coke with a shitload of lime. Not bad. After a few seconds of angst, I stepped to the right and looked in the mirror.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. The thirty-year-old version had returned. My long auburn hair had regained its gloss and my vibrant eyes had returned. The saggy skin and wrinkles had disappeared. The true test. I turned to both sides and the nasty crow’s feet had vanished. Success.

  Something surged inside me, a rush of energy recharging my body, stealing away the aches and pains. But how long would it last?

  I turned back to the bar and smiled at my gracious host. Now I could return to Hilton Head and relax.

  “There she is. I’m shocked this is the first time you’ve ever needed it. Most don’t get to live for over five hundred years before their first visit.” Goibniu leaned on the bar, and as if nothing had happened, he asked casually, “Have you been lying low in Pittsburgh?”

  I sat down on a stool at the bar. “No. I went south for a while, literally and figuratively. The warm weather is nice. I need to get back and see my father, though. Has anything new been going on there?”

  “Interes
tingly enough, yes.” He searched around the bar for a few moments and grabbed a wine glass full of red. Spilling it liberally, he took a big gulp. He belched and continued, “Apparently, the Celtic Gods have a new Golden Boy, who they are all fawning all over. He’s taken care of a few problems in Pittsburgh and Mabon tells me they can’t stop gushing about him. He’s stealing our thunder is what he is doing. I bet this island that they make him a God before either of us. Maeve’s vacated spot is still open, mind you.”

  “And they put him in Pittsburgh? My city?” I asked as irritation started building inside me.

  Goibniu swirled his drink around the glass, spilling more of the burgundy liquid on the bar. “You left it vacated. And now it might cost us from getting into the pantheon,” he added, sounding agitated as he walked around beside me.

  He acted as if I’d been sitting on an island, partying for the last three decades. “Sorry, I was recovering from being covered in lava. And before that I was trying to rescue the Dagda’s Harp. What have you done, exactly?” I pinched his love handles, and he squirmed away.

  He set his drink on the bar, licked the wine off his fingertips and faced me. He lowered his head, his drunken eyes almost covered by his prominent brow. Making sure no eavesdroppers heard him, he spoke in almost a whisper, “Let’s just work together to take this prick out. Then you can have your city back.”

  I turned away. I couldn’t get caught up in this nonsense. “I don’t need to take this guy out.” I faced Goibniu again. “In fact, I don’t even care anymore. Sure, being a Goddess would have been nice, but I won’t let it drive me to madness anymore. I’m getting too old for this shit. Let the...what did you call him? Pony Boy. Fook it. Let him have it.” I used fook instead of fuck. I’d picked up the habit from my father a long time ago.

  I didn’t really have an accent. A slight Pittsburgh one perhaps. I’d moved around and worked undercover so much that I’d never really developed a thick accent.

  Goibniu lifted his head and his eyes widened. “It’s Golden Boy, by the way.” He rubbed one index finger over the other. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. I did not expect to hear that defeatist attitude. At least, not from you. What if I told you the cross winds of rumors are telling me that Lugh’s Spear has been seen in Pittsburgh? Gale force winds.”

  “That’s bull. Don’t play around like that.” He knew what those two words meant to me.

  He smirked and swiped his drink off the bar, taking a few sips and staring at me mysteriously. “It’s easy to look around here and realize that I like to play, but I am serious right now. Nothing concrete, but lots of whispers. I knew you’d want to know about it.”

  Damn right I wanted to know. My husband had gone missing hunting that cursed thing. The spear constantly gnawed away at me. I could go on for hours about the spear, but for everyone’s benefit, brevity would be best.

  King Nuada had gifted the enchanted spear to Lugh, the great warrior from the Tuatha Dé Danann. The spear was charged with lightning and never missed in battle. Whoever possessed the spear always won. Lugh had lost it—nobody had pinpointed an accurate date when it had gone missing—and it had made its rounds over history.

  Many accounts claimed the Romans had lost it right before they were sacked by King Alaric and the Visigoths. It went missing for a long time before ending up in the hands of a French peasant. Then Napoleon took control of the spear in his attempt at world domination but couldn’t keep it.

  I still vividly remembered the day I’d gotten the call about the Nazis gaining control of the spear. The man from the Not Normal Agency had sounded so frantic. As a master shifter and illusion specialist, I went undercover and raided the ranks of the Nazis. I found the spear and took it out of Europe the day before D-Day.

  Fed up with the destruction it had almost caused, I dropped it into the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I thought no one would find it. But it appeared somebody had. And Lugh’s Spear had returned to my old stomping grounds.

  The itch I used to get when starting a case popped up again and begged to be scratched. I had to ignore the feeling, or it would get worse. Like poison ivy.

  In an “I vant to suck your blood” vampire accent, Goibniu said, “But since you’re retired, I guess you’ll be going back into hibernation.” Chuckling, he steepled his fingers in front of his jiggling chins.

  This put me in an awkward position. “I might go to Pittsburgh, but I’m not chasing the spear anymore. I’m just going to stop by and say hi to all my friends.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You have friends besides me?”

  I laughed internally. “Surprisingly, yes. Thanks for letting me sip from your chalice. I’ll probably be seeing you much more often now that I’m aging like this.”

  “You should go see Dian Cécht,” Goibniu suggested. “Take a quick soak in his healing cauldron. That should take care of those weary bones. Or you could take some magic from someone with strong healing powers.”

  They were good suggestions, but my magic stealing days were over. “No. In fact, don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me. I’m not ready to see the Gods right now. I don’t know if I ever want to see them again for that matter.”

  He agreed, “I understand that more than most. You flying out of here yourself, or do you need a lift?”

  “I’d love to fly myself, but that distance would make me use a lot of magic and age greatly. I have to be careful now. I can’t be reckless.” A frown formed on my face at the harsh realization.

  “Too bad for you. But don’t worry, we’ll get you where you need to go.” He waved his hand around in the air and a few seconds later, Theodoro stood next to us. Goibniu gave me a hug goodbye, and said, “Just tell him where you’re going, and he’ll find you a flight.”

  Nodding, Theodoro said, “The peryton named Red Streak is ready to go. What is your destination, Junipher?”

  Pittsburgh or Hilton Head?

  The choice had seemed easy less than an hour ago. I’d planned to go right back to Hilton Head and stay away from all the nonsense waiting for me up north.

  Why had Goibniu uttered those two words?

  Lugh’s Spear.

  Chapter 4

  As I opened the door to the Not Normal Agency, something across the street caught my eye. A mother and daughter were walking down the street, holding hands. I stared longingly, chewing the inside of my left cheek and contemplating how cruel life could be.

  That was all I’d ever wanted. A simple life with a husband and kids. How had everything spiraled out of control? I’d done my best with the hand the Gods had dealt me. At least, I’d convinced myself of that.

  In the distance, I heard a train leaving the station capped with a ceremonious woo-hoo and a hearty smokestack blast. People embarking on different chapters of their lives. A chance at a new start. And here I was, back to the same old chapter I’d always gotten stuck on and never finished.

  I took in some frosty Pittsburgh air, exhaled a breath cloud and stepped inside the door. The simple one room office had two desks facing the door and the smell of fast food fries hit me instantly. I recognized the man and woman behind each desk. Barely.

  It was as if I’d traveled thirty years ahead in a time machine. As an immortal, I sometimes forgot how cruel Father Time could be. Lauren and Randall had worked here when I walked out that door over thirty years ago.

  “Oh, shit,” Randall exclaimed.

  My trusty friends set aside their lunches, got up and walked over to hug me. I didn’t mind hugging humans. They wouldn’t sap your powers. I took my coat off, set it on the back of a chair and took a good look at my employees.

  The last time I’d seen Lauren Underhill, she was as skinny as a rail. Now, she appeared plump and grandmotherly. She wore her blond hair—highlighted with notes of gray—up in a bun with two pencils holding it together.

  Randall Lawton was around thirty the last time I’d seen him. The plump man was dressed in black and gold Steelers gear from head to toe. He wore his winter hat inside, but h
e wore it high enough so that I could see some of his hair. His jet-black hair had gone white except for a few remaining dark streaks.

  We spent a few minutes catching up on the past. I told them the same things I’d told Zeus and Goibniu and respected that they didn’t ask about my time at the Red Cavern. I still wasn’t ready to talk about that dark period that had only created one faint ray of hope.

  Randall put his hand on my shoulder and spoke with a thick Pittsburgh accent, “’Fore you even ask, like I know yinz was gonna, we ain’t heard nothin’ ‘bout Darabond. Sorry.”

  I looked at him with a strained smile. “Am I that easy to read?”

  Lauren put her hand on my arm and tickled my elbow. Apparently, she hadn’t kicked that creepy habit over the past three decades. “We know you, June. Nobody’s pulling for you more than us. I still can’t believe it’s you. How the hell have you gotten younger, by the way?”

  I smirked shyly and turned away. “A lady never tells her secrets.”

  “Well luckily, you’re not a lady,” Lauren joked, but there was thorned truth to her words.

  Randall laughed and limped over to his desk. The Not Normal Agency had been set up in the mid-70s mainly to gather intelligence about the supernatural happenings in Pittsburgh. Jonathan Rickleshaw—one of the top vampires in Pittsburgh—and I had started the Agency to keep our fingers on the pulse of the undead.

  The operation was simple. We sent out detectives to gather information and they called it into the office. It was a great gig for Normals who wanted to be part of the supernatural life. I was glad to see Jonathan hadn’t shuttered the agency after I’d disappeared. It was a great resource after all.

  “So what has been going on in Pittsburgh lately?” I asked casually as I turned around a picture on Randall’s desk of him and his family on the beach. It was ironic that I’d felt sorry for Randall’s aging earlier because this picture made me jealous of his life. I’d trade my immortality in a second for a family to call my own.