Dragonproof - 5. Chapter 5

A few hours later I shivered a bit in the cold dark, an hour or so before dawn. It had taken some hunting, and now it was the small hours before the sun was due to rise. I hopped the railing and slid ungracefully down the embankment in fits and starts until I was at the edge of the Poestenkill creek. Funny thing about that – a kill is a creek in Dutch – Middle Dutch – so we actually call this thing the 'foaming water creek creek'. Aren't words fun?

The creek has a habit of overflowing periodically, growing from a creek into a damn nuisance. It was flowing briskly at the moment, and it might have actually been pleasant except that one, I'd rather be home in bed with Connor, and two, there was a funky smell rolling out from under that bridge. The bridge was old, probably built over several times but never actually replaced. It looked like there was an outer layer of brick, and the area under the bridge was awfully dark for it only being a two-lane bridge. I stepped forward and stumbled a bit, the bank soft and my shoes sticking in the soft earth. I needed some light to see under that bridge, but now that I thought about it it seemed to be getting darker rather than lighter.

The shadows under the bridge moved. I steadied my staff and was focusing my will so I could conjure some light when a scream filled my ears, seeming to drown out the whole world. I've never heard such a primal cry of fear and pain except for the time my parents killed my brother. I charged forward, shoes squelching in the mud, and held my palm out toward the darkness. “Ignis!” I shouted.

A stream of fire darted out into the inky night under the bridge, revealing a beast that was born from nightmares. The skin that I could see was pebbly, with patches of long hair growing in odd places. The face turned toward me was squashed, with one long, drooping ear and another that stood flat to one side, tilting back and forth like a radar dish. The large square teeth were grinding something that was hard to identify, but my bet was it belonged to the screaming homeless man at the troll's feet.

The troll looked at me with baleful eyes and continued to munch on whatever was in its maw. I pointed my staff and yelled, “Ignis!” Fire belched forth from the end of my staff, and I poured my will into the casting, willing it to greater temperature and length. The troll let out a startled grunt as the flame struck its skin. I held the flame as long as I could and then dropped the head of my staff down, panting and sweating. My eyes were having trouble adjusting from the brightness of the flame. I looked up and tried to gauge when the sun would rise, but became distracted when the troll lumbered out from under the bridge, dragging the screaming homeless man by his leg.

I blinked a couple of times and started to focus my will to cast again. There had to be something I could do for the victim, if it wasn't too late already. The troll, as if sensing my thoughts, swung the man around so that he was upside down, one leg in each of its massive hands. I could see now that the man was missing part of his arm, and thus why he was screaming. Setting aside the troll, of course.

I pointed my staff and pulled back just in time as the troll lifted the man like a shield. Crap, I couldn't kill the poor guy! How was I going to save his life and get rid of this troll? The troll took a step forward, and the man screamed again as the troll casually bit a foot off and began to chew while it closed the distance between us. I crouched down and placed my hands into the soft earth. “Aqua, terra, luto, aqua, terra, luto,” I chanted as the troll took another step toward me. As its foot landed it grunted, sinking in at least a foot into thick mud.

The homeless man was keening softly. I pulled my staff back toward me, gathered my will and flung a lance of air at the troll’s hand in an effort to get it to drop the poor guy, though I grimly thought the blood loss alone may doom him. The troll grunted and snarled at me. It lifted the homeless man, still gripped in both hands by either leg, and pulled him apart like a wishbone. Holding half of his body in each hand the troll leaned forward and roared enough to set off a nearby car alarm. It struggled to pull its feet free of the mud. I glanced up, just seeing light crossing the sky and then looked back at the troll. Wow, it took large steps.

I knelt back down to touch the earth and focused my will. “Durum,” I repeated over and over. The troll had one foot free and when it planted it on the ground it was dry and solid. It howled in triumph and tried to lift its other foot, but as much as the surface was solid beneath one foot, it was just as solidly surrounding the other foot, trapping the troll in place.

“Now we just wait for sunshine, right?” I asked it. It roared again. It began to dig at the earth that trapped its foot, and I began to worry it'd get free and treat me like a wishbone, too. I was a bit low on magical juice, so I resorted to my inner child and started to throw rocks at the thing to try and distract it.

It roared as I scored a lucky hit on one of its, erm, dangly bits. With a tremendous effort it pulled its foot free from the dirt, clods flying in a fountain. It took a malevolent step toward me, and I backed up, slipping on the soft earth. It reached for me, and I formed a shield as fast as I could, but I knew it wouldn't last. The troll’s fist came down once, shattering my shield. It raised its fist to swing again and then paused.

I stared, forgetting about trying to get away as the troll stilled, looking almost like a freeze-frame in a movie. It let out a keening huff that was kind of a pitiful sound, something you couldn't help feel a tad bit of compassion for, I suppose. The body changed color and then began to run like sand from the chest cavity, quickly followed by the rest of the body – crumbling like ash, to be carried away by the little creek.

“Good creek creek,” I muttered, then flopped back and let out a deep breath. “There's got to be a better way to make a living.”

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I dragged myself into my apartment and imagined anyone who'd seen me would think...actually, that's a really good question. What would they think? I'll bet none of them would guess I'd just faced down a troll. I was exhausted, dirty, wet and hungry. All that was put on hold when I saw the pretty girl in a sundress – an old one at that – standing by my couch with her forehead wrinkled.

“Who are you?” she asked, her tone not quite rude but awfully close.

“You're in my living room, seems like you should be making with the explaining,” I replied. Frankly, I was more curious than threatened.

Drawing herself up straight, she said, “I'm Mary Stuart Honsinger. I'm not sure where I am, exactly. I also don't know what a living room is. Do you have a dead room as well? Are you a mortician?”

I paused for a moment and then, not really thinking about it, replied, “I think the opposite of a living room would be a dying room. I'm not sure what profession that would be.”

Hugo flickered into being, and his mouth opened in surprise. “Mary?”

She turned, and her face went from merely pretty to something divine. “Hugo! Finally, a friendly face!”

Hugo, despite being surprised, made no move toward her. “I don't understand. You're dead, Mary. Dead for a long, long time.”

She blinked, her expression confused. “I don't feel dead. What a terrible thing to say, Hugo Marchant. I thought we were going to walk by the river today?”

Hugo's expression became pained, and he reached for Mary. She smiled a bit primly and reached back toward him. When their fingers touched, she shimmered and faded from view. Hugo let out a small whimper.

“Hugo?” I asked gently. “What just happened?”

He blinked once and turned to face me. He looked more alive and human than I'd ever seen him. “Mary...Mary was a girl I knew. She...I wanted to court her. I didn't have the money yet, but I was looking to apprentice myself so I could take care of her.” He paused and let out a ragged breath, which was odd from a ghost. “We walked by the river one afternoon. It was a perfect day. We saw rabbits playing in a field nearby, and she was delighted to watch them as they stood up and peered over the long grass to see what was around them.” He looked down. “I was delighted by her delight, except that...I'd forgotten.”

I nodded slowly, putting pieces together. “So, she was a memory. One of your good memories. Maybe something that was in that gemstone?”

Hugo snapped his head up and looked at me intently. “Yes! That must be it!” Just as quickly his expression became sorrowful. “I can't bear to see Mary again.” He flickered and then morosely said, “She married well. She had a comfortable life and three children. She died in childbirth, trying for a fourth.” He hesitated. “We have to destroy the stone. Something is wrong, and it's...leaking whatever is inside.”

I nodded and asked, “How do we do that? You said the first time a stone had its contents released it kind of exploded. Or something.”

“I don't know,” he said sadly. “But I beg of you, Nicodemus Bosch. Do not let me suffer with the lingering wisps of my happiest memories back to haunt me across the ages. Please.”

I sighed. “I'll do my best. I need some sleep before anything else.” Hugo nodded at me and flickered out of sight. As I undressed and headed for the shower, I wondered where Hugo went when he disappeared. Was he still there, just not visible to me? Or was he off visiting the graves of those he missed? Or is there somewhere ghosts go to hang out in between sightings? Questions for another day.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

I dreamed. I don't usually do that, so it's worth noting when it happens. I don't have good dreams. I'd love to dream of waking to the smell of coffee that Connor had just brewed. Coffee we would sip standing at the sink with a splash of sunshine warming us through the window. I could even go for a dream where I was very young; before my parents murdered my older brother, Bartholomew. One where we siblings invented games with our slowly developing talents to tease and play with one another.

Instead, I dreamed of Bartholomew screaming. Screaming as my parents ripped the aether from his soul, drinking in his innate ability and making their own that much stronger. There's a difference in screams, if you didn't know. There is one of outrage, for instance. You might hear that at a department store when the manager simply doesn't understand. There are the ones you hear at sporting events, usually tinged with great sorrow when a team fails; or powerfully strident if they've succeeded. There are the kinds that ring in memory, such as the sort soldiers might let forth when a comrade falls in violent death.

Those are all reactive screams. It's very different when you're screaming in total terror or pain, no thought involved. I can never unhear 'Thol's screams. Panic. Fear. Betrayal. Pain beyond my comprehension. It was all in that scream.

I woke in a sweat, breathing heavily and my mouth dry. It took me a moment to stop shaking enough to heave myself from the bed and make my way on unsteady legs to the sink. My hand shook, the glass of water slopping over its sides. I sipped carefully. You never appreciate cold water so much as when you're parched. It's better than wine, beer or almost anything else I can think of. It fulfills a basic need and makes my mouth and tongue rejoice.

I glanced at the clock and saw it was just after two in the afternoon. I swallowed the rest of the water and decided to pull some clothes on – strictly for Hugo's delicate sensibilities. After securing a cup of coffee, I wandered back into the small room where the gem lay in its crappy setting. I sat and contemplated it for a moment while sipping from my cup.

“Hugo,” I said quietly. He flickered into view near my shoulder.

“Yes?”

I thought for a moment more. “Hugo, you said that Van whatever-his-name-was had created quite a bang when he cracked his first gem, but you didn't know how he'd done it, correct?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“You also said you don't know how they were made, but did you know how he intended to siphon off the memories from these imbued items?” I paused. “Given that the soul was too powerful for him to safely release or transfer and that he seemed to think memories would be easier to control.”

Hugo shook his head. “No. I never learned.”

I remained silent for a moment. “Did you see his spirit after he died?”

Hugo was silent for a moment. “Many spirits go mad, you know,” he said softly. “Some go...wherever it is spirits go. Some reward, perhaps in line with their faith? Into nothing? Or possibly simply recycled and sent back to take a mortal form again.”

“I always liked the idea of reincarnation,” I told him. “I hope I come back rich next time.”

“Maybe you'll come back as a bug to be squashed on a windshield,” he said dryly.

“Cheerful today, aren't you?” I asked, sipping from my cup.

“Back to the point,” Hugo said, ignoring me. “Spirits can't affect the physical world. But we can affect other spirits.”

I looked at him with interest. “And did you...affect his spirit?”

Hugo looked at me with a gleam in his eye. “To shreds.”

I nodded slowly. “I wonder something, Hugo. Did you feel different after...Mary was gone the other night?”

“Different how?” he asked with curiosity.

I pursed my lips lightly. “You seemed a bit more...solid. After she'd dissipated.”

Hugo frowned. “More solid? I don't think that's possible.”

“Isn't it, though?” I asked, my line of thinking solidifying. “If that ring was supposed to take or copy your memories – potent ones – then do you suppose that's what we saw the other night? One of your memories manifested?”

“Yes, I'm sure of it. Didn't I say as much?” Hugo asked, sounding unsure.

“You may have implied it,” I said dismissively. “But Hugo – firstly I think this stone is leaking. From what I can recall of imbued items, you can see the various elements used to create the spell that is laid into an imbued item. For instance, when I looked at it the other day I saw fire and air. They were fairly vibrant – intact, if you will. There was also something that looked sickly, perhaps wearing out.”

Hugo looked at me with pain in his eyes. “Then more may leak out? My memories come back to haunt me?”

“Maybe,” I conceded. “But I wonder...what if that ghoul of a step-father of yours has left behind something that might help you? What if...well, this is what I'm thinking,” I said to his confused expression. “I don't know how he did what he did, and the only way that information would be useful, potentially, is in figuring out how to stabilize the spell. We certainly don't want it taking any more memories into itself!”

“Yes, that all makes sense,” he said uncertainly.

“But,” I said as I turned to face him. “The magic is decaying – breaking down. More memories will escape.” Hugo groaned miserably, but I pushed forward. “Hugo, what do you think would have happened to that memory of Mary had you not been there?”

He looked at me blankly and then frowned. “I don't know.”

“I think I do,” I told him quietly. “Those memories have power of some kind. If someone else gets those memories, Hugo, they get more powerful.”

He frowned. “You mean magically speaking? Or longevity, as they were theoretically designed for?”

I paused. “Huh. I don't know. But I do know those memories belong to you. You were more real after you touched Mary last night. I don't know how long it will be before that spell breaks, but I think you should be there to get parts of yourself back.”

Hugo looked at me uncertainly and then turned his gaze toward the window. “After...we saw Mary, the memory of her, I wondered why I hadn't thought of her, or rather of that memory.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked back toward me. “I mean, I think about things as much as anyone does, but that particular memory...it had slipped from me.” He wet his lips, an odd gesture from a spirit. “Although seeing her brought me despair, for all I'd hoped for and lost with her. I can't help but feel...angry.” He stared at me. “I thought I'd avenged myself upon him, but it seems he'd taken from me – and I didn't know it.”

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When I was a kid and my sibs and I would use our little spying spell to listen or talk to each other when we shouldn't be – or even if we should, right? I don't think we were really different from any other kids – we broke rules. Anyway, when we did that, the big challenge was to not get caught – by parent or sibling alike. You'd have to do a sweep of your room, like they do on TV when they are looking for bugs – listening devices, which is essentially what we were doing. You'd have to check your books, any small personal objects like a toy or a comb.

Once my sister had the semi-brilliant idea of enchanting my little brother's mattress. It was such a large object that I think it slipped past our view in favor of finding something small and sneaky to spy with. That was the brilliant part. The semi part comes in because he was sick at the time, and she got to listen to him throw up all night.

So, yes, you could use the little things both ways. My little snitch stones were scattered all over in the hopes of catching on to places that criminals would go with money so I could then claim that cash from them. I was low on cash and thinking about doing just that, but wasn't having much in the way of luck. You'd think I'd have an alternative method to cover piddly things like rent and food.

“You should rob a bank,” Hugo said, and I started.

“Hugo. ATMs are my limit. I could really hurt some one, or scare the crap out of them – or myself.”

“I know, you hate that. The point remains: banks are thieves just as well as any common criminal or con artist.”

I glanced over at him. “What makes you say that?”

“Banks have the government on their side, largely. Think back to the recent downturn, where banks speculated heavily in the housing market. They provided loans to people they knew couldn't afford them and fooled the people into thinking they could own a home to raise their family in. Instead, they fell behind, and they lost everything, while the bank sold the loan off to other institutions, making money while bankrupting others.” Hugo paused. “It sounds quite criminal to me, even if the laws here didn't punish them.”

I thought on that for a moment. “I see your point. Normally I'd say stealing from a business is wrong, but given what you've said I can see the allure. Banks are very secure, though. How could I possibly rob one?”

“You don't have to,” Hugo said with a trace of smugness. “Since I never sleep, I spend some of my spare time listening to your little stones and the conversations they overhear. It so happens that a group plans to rob some sort of exchange bank in town this evening. All you have to do is relieve them of their profit.”

I looked up at the ceiling. “Brilliant.”

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

“Did I think this was brilliant?” I snarled under my breath as I ran around the corner, gunfire and barked orders echoing in the abandoned structure. This was a trap of some kind, that much I'd worked out, but why or who were still to be answered. I'd arrived with time to spare and staked out the location, choosing a nice place from which to strike and relieve them of their pilfered wealth, and then it all went to crap.

There was no armored truck, no van to load the stolen cash into – nothing but five SUV's in stereotypical black with darkened windows. I was afraid my parents were involved, but I'd have to wait until later to work that out. Live first, sleuth later.

I cried out in surprise as a gunman rushed around the far corner, spraying bullets in my direction. His aim was sloppy, yet I couldn't afford not to create a shield. I knelt down to make a smaller target of myself and shouted “Lumis!”. Brilliant white light filled the space, blinding my attacker. I stood and ran toward him, knocking the gun away and dashing past him. He was yelling about not being able to see, but I didn't have time to waste on him or wondering what effect his yelling was having on his comrades.

I was trying to pick my way toward the river, but a smattering of bullets in the dirt ahead of me brought me up short.

“That'll be far enough,” a man called. I turned, shield snapping into place. If he unloaded with an assault rifle, I wasn't confident of stopping all the bullets.

The man advanced, flanked on each side by two other people who also had assault weapons.

“Drop the staff, Magus,” he said, his voice gaining strength. I hesitated, and he raised his weapon menacingly. “I said drop it!”

If I dropped the staff, wielding magic would become unpredictable at best. But stopping or redirecting all those bullets would be impossible, so I dropped the staff.

The leader approached slowly. “Smart move. Now don't say a word.”

I muttered my shield spell and simultaneously dropped to the ground. Gunfire erupted, and hot liquid sprayed over me. I didn't feel any pain, but then adrenaline might hide a bullet wound from me. Right? I rolled over, trying to see if there was something I could use for cover, but there was a lot of screaming, which was really annoying. I couldn't hear a darned thing over all that racket.

“Shut up,” a deep voice said, and then I was shocked by a slap across my face.

I looked up in befuddlement. Tyrathaxion. A dragon was standing over me. “You slapped me,” I said dumbly.

He rolled his eyes lightly. “Good to see something is still functioning in your skull. You've made quite a mess, though.” I sat up and looked around. Mess wasn't the word I'd use. Abattoir came to mind. Hellscape. Butcher's-

“Speak, or I retract my statement.”

“Oh,” I said, realization dawning on me. My shield spell, unmoored from a focus, had cut right through my assailants. Huh. New way to use that, I guess.

“That isn't saying much.”

I looked over at Tyrathaxion. “Sorry. My mind was still catching up.”

He grunted. “This is a fairly clever trap. How did they know you were here?”

“They?”

He glanced at me and raised his eyebrow. “Perhaps not so clever, if this is how well you normally think.”

I sighed and picked up my staff. “I thought there was money to be had here. I was just going to Robin Hood it from them.”

“I suppose you could rifle through their pockets,” he said dryly.

“Jobs aren't easy to come by when you're in hiding,” I replied. Maybe if no blood had gotten on the wallets, there would be viable cash inside? The idea made my skin crawl, but I still have to pay rent and eat.

“Money. You're out here doing this for money? Why – wait a moment,” Tyrathaxion stated as he squared up in front of me and pulled me from the grisly idea of looting corpses for cash. Hah. Sounds like a macabre game show.

“Are you ignoring me?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“Just a little stunned, I think. In case it wasn't obvious, I didn't intend for my shield to do that.”

“I don't know why not – it was very effective. But more to my point, why are you hunting for money? You're a magus – which I shouldn't have to explain to you!” he said, an edge of frustration in his tone.

“It's not like I have access to funds! I have to make a life!” I said, my tone confused.

He pursed his lips and blew smoke out in a black plume. “It's past time we spoke. I don't take encroachment lightly, and this is my territory. So, I will ask only once, Nicodemus Bosch. Why? Why are you here?”

“I told you! I came here to get money!”

He took a step closer to me. “Why are you in this city? What brought you here, specifically? Not this place,” he said, waving off the ruins we stood in. “Why are you not safely in the cloisters of your House? You are of age.”

“Oh,” I said, suddenly understanding his meaning. “Well, my parents had children to acquire power by siphoning it from us. Home isn't exactly a place to be.”

His eyes widened just a tad. “The Bosches have fallen so far? So, you are a refugee, is that it?”

“I never thought of it that way,” I said. “I...well, I saw my parents drain my older brother. I ran.” The sheer horror of the memory made me shiver. It also made me irritated to have to say it.

He frowned and grumbled under his breath. “You're trouble.”

I didn't see the point in denying that. “Do you know who these guys were?”

“Foot soldiers, nothing more,” he said in an offhanded tone. He seemed to be thinking, but I figured he'd asked questions, and for a dragon, he was friendly enough.

“You said it was a trap, though. A trap for me? Did my parents send them?”

He looked at me as if I were stupid. “You're being stupid,” he said. Gee, nice to have his facial expressions confirmed. “Do you remember nothing from your study of dragons?”

I shuffled my feet. “We learned a few names, but nothing much more than that. Most of our...education...was in a direction that lent itself to harnessing our energy, shaping us to be a better meal for them.”

“I see,” he said, his voice shifting to a calmer, more understanding tone. “Dragons are very territorial. Even if they think you're here, they would be reluctant to enter my domain, because I would likely make a snack of them.”

I swallowed. “Oh.”

“No,” he said, turning on his heel. “These were mage hunters. Not gifted with the energies of a caster, but defended relatively well from some magical attacks and armored with modern weapons.”

“I've never heard of them,” I said as I walked behind him. He studied the bodies, then walked briskly toward the abandoned vehicles.

“I'm not surprised, given what you've said. They have some sort of belief that whatever deity they worship is the only one who should be able to do things as the Magi do, therefore they hunt the Magi on behalf of their, presumably offended, deity.”

I cocked my head to one side. “So, they were after me, the trap you mentioned. But how did they find me?”

“They may have been drawn by the recent manifestations in the city. I have no doubt they are on the lookout for strange phenomena. As for you specifically...how did you find out about this supposed opportunity to grow your wealth?” He paused, opening the doors to the cars and sniffing loudly.

“I have rocks I've enchanted as listening devices around the city.”

He looked over at me. “Clever. I'll just dispose of these to get rid of the evidence of the mage hunter presence. Once you're done here, you'll present yourself to me.”

He moved his hands, and I felt his power, sort of like the way every hair on a person's body might stand up around a lightning strike – likely before one gets hit by said lightning. The vehicles degraded, rusting before my eyes as if on a time lapse camera. The temporal magic was terrifying and yet fascinating.

“Don't keep me waiting,” he said, and then the most terrifyingly wonderful thing happened – Tyrathaxion transformed into his dragon form, growing translucent before stirring the dust all around me as he leapt into the air. I stood for a moment, wondering about all that had just happened – thinking about how hard the mage hunters must have looked to have found one of my stones. They must have some form of divination or tracking. But then...how did they know I'd come for their ill-gotten gains?

I thought and thought, wondering why I didn't just hit up an ATM, and then I realized – I must have been caught on camera, somewhere. That must be how they got a clue to finding me and luring me in.