Dragonproof - 6. Chapter 6

There are many ways that could have gone worse, I suppose. For instance I could have gotten shot at more than I had. My shield had been failing, and I'd taken some pretty nasty bruising, but if those bullets had gotten through I'm not sure I'd still be around to tell anyone about it. I'd been kind of aggravated after Tyrathaxion buggered off. I was also tired and a little frazzled, and I swear to God it was all for nothing, as the bodies, clothing, guns – thank goodness – and whatever money they may have had in their pockets had been dealt with by his temporal magic. I mean...yes, they likely hadn't carried any cash, but if they had, I couldn't get any.

Instead, I was angry, sore, tired, dirty and pissy as I made my way across town and over to Apropos, the shop Tyrathaxion worked out of and where Connor happened to work. Shit. I hope he's not going to be bent out of shape when I show up at his store, especially since I'm supposed to be patiently waiting to hear if he's going to dump me or deal with the magical wrinkle in his life. Why didn't I get the gift of precognition? That could be really handy, I'd assume – knowing the future. Of course, that assumes the future is a set thing and that individual choices and decisions wouldn't affect it, sort of like fate.

The little bell over the door tinkled merrily as I opened the door, and Connor looked up from behind the counter, his greeting dying on his lips as his eyes went wide.

“Nico? What the hell happened to you?” he asked, coming out from behind the counter and approaching me.

“Sorry,” I said, trying to find some self-control. “I know you're thinking things over, and I'm not here to pressure you.”

“Nico, what happened to you?” he asked, ignoring my statement.

“Bosch. Took you long enough,” Tyrathaxion said from the doorway leading to his offices. “Come.” He turned and headed up the stairway, and I glanced at Connor.

“Hold that thought,” I said and hurried after the dragon.

“How do you know Mr. Tyrath?” Connor asked as I walked away.

“Soon as I'm done, I'll answer everything,” I said and took the stairs two at a time. The door at the base of the stairs closed solidly behind me. At the top of the stairs, I found myself in an empty space covering the entire second floor of the building. Frowning I turned and looked carefully at the room. The Sidhe are very good at illusions, but I had an idea that the dragons weren't too shabby at it either. The problem with that is there could be literally anything waiting for me anywhere, from some kind of magical landmine to a box to bark my shins against. I didn't really think Tyrathaxion wanted me dead, but he did say he was territorial.

I threaded my will into the top of my staff to focus my energy and reached out around me, quietly muttering a spell to reveal what was hidden. With a popping sound not unlike snapping bubble gum, the illusion vanished, and I found myself in a very, very opulent room. The floor had a rug that felt as if you could sink into it up to your ankles. Crimson and gold leaf were generously painted around a room littered with small tables supporting objects I didn't recognize, bookshelves filled with books whose titles shifted if you looked at them – no doubt a protective spell against would-be thieves. At a small table with a chair to either side sat Tyrathaxion, smoke leaking from his nose and a contemplative look on his face.

“I'd like to grind you to paste,” he said in a bored tone. “You're more trouble than you're worth, of that I have no doubt. None.”

I looked behind me and then back to him. “Nice to see you, too.”

He tilted his head. “I haven't decided yet if you are foolish or brave.”

“I'm pretty sure I live in the middle ground,” I told him.

He let out a puff of smoke, looking vaguely amused. “Sit down,” he said, more of a direction than an invitation. I thought about defying him just for the sake of it, but I was sore, so I went ahead and sat down across from him. Of all the things he could have done next, pouring tea wasn't something I expected.

“This is a nice Orange Pekoe. Sugar is there, and milk if you're barbaric,” he said as he sipped from his fine china cup.

“That's okay. I just want to know what's going on,” I said and then decided to stop talking due to the glare he was giving me.

“Don't be rude.”

I looked slowly down, picked up the cup and sipped the hot liquid. “Um, you know, actually pretty good as tea goes.”

He snorted. “Dragons are legendary for hoarding wealth. We're also quite legendary with respect to our power, age and short tempers – not to mention territorial.” He shifted in his chair and sipped his tea again. “Ideally I'd kill you, but I'm getting soft in my old age, I suppose.”

I suddenly felt very uneasy and reminded quite sharply that I was dealing with a creature that could kill me with relative ease at the moment. I'm not sure meeting at a neutral area afforded my odds much of a change. I decided keeping my mouth closed, for the most part, would be the smart play. After all, I was dumb enough to stroll into a dragon’s lair without so much as a thought about defense.

“So, the mage hunters. I believe them to be drawn to the manifestations that are occurring in the city at present. Of course, presuming they were mage hunters and not in your parents’ employ. Do you have any knowledge of them?”

“The mage hunters, the manifestations or my parents?”

“Manifestations. I think I know enough about the other two.”

What did he know about my parents? He recognized the family name before, but – were the Bosches some kind of storied name in the magical world? Or some kind of pariah? What did he know?

“Well?”

I cleared my throat. “The manifestations are of older European creatures of legend. I've managed to kill a few of them, but I'm having trouble figuring out the source of the manifestation.”

He looked at me steadily, and I wondered if he was thinking of how I'd taste on a nice brioche bun or if he was just taking my measure. He sipped from his tea, and to keep from thinking of him deciding to kill me, I turned my thoughts to the case at hand. Several creatures who shouldn't exist outside of a fairy tale were manifesting and walking the streets like bad childhood memories.

“Do you have any clues?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said with a little surprise in my voice, sitting up straight to regard him. “I tracked the source back to your store.”

He frowned heavily. “Go on.”

Putting the pieces together in my mind as I spoke rapidly, I told him, “Someone who fancied himself a necromancer of sorts by the name of VanHouten was trying to prolong life. He theorized that life is made up of moments, memories, and he sought to trap the energy of those memories inside gems that he could later siphon the life from to extend his own.”

“Clever,” the dragon remarked. “Was he successful?”

“Blew himself up, actually. But he did manage to create a few storage gems. One of them came from this store, and I have it at home. I believe the one currently causing the manifestations is somewhere in the city.”

He was back to frowning. “Why do you think that? How are they connected? And you've barely touched your tea.”

I picked the cup up and slurped some of the hot liquid. How does it stay so hot? At my house this stuff would already be room temperature.

“The gem I'm working with is degrading and has begun to leak. I walked into my home the other day to find a manifestation of a happy memory standing in my living room.”

The dragon opened his eyes wide. “Really? And then what?”

“There is a spirit in my home. The stone was his, a few lifetimes ago. The memory belonged to him, and he seemed to have absorbed it.”

“Fascinating,” the dragon murmured. “And you think the manifestations have something to do with the stone in your possession and my store why?”

“Because Connor said there had been a stone just as ugly as the one I bought here. A twin, and I think it's the one that's leaking scary things instead of nice memories.”

The dragon nodded his head. “Yes, because following the theory, positive memories and negative memories still equal slices of life, and thus, life itself. Very interesting. What do you plan to do about it? I can't have these mage hunter buggers running all over my city.”

I cleared my throat. “Well, if there is a record of the sale, we may be able to track down the person that purchased the gem.”

“Oh, I suppose. I thought you'd just try to track the magic itself, since it's so similar to the gem you have already.”

I shrugged. “I don't know how.”

The dragon narrowed his eyes. He looked away, and I elected to stay quiet. I sipped my tea, more to have something to do than to be polite. I had no idea what the dragon was thinking, and that worried me. He had no reason to keep me alive, and the only witness to my being here was...Connor. Shit. Would Tyrathaxion hurt him? Of course he would. I began to take even, measured breaths to calm my mind and reach a place of focus so I could try to channel my will into my staff long enough to blast my way down the stairs and make some kind of an escape with Connor.

“Shite,” the dragon said clearly and turned his gaze toward me. “You need a master, but I don't need an apprentice. Still, I will teach you enough so that you don't kill yourself prematurely.” He leaned forward and placed his hand palm up on the table. “If you take my hand, know that you will be bound as my apprentice. You will do as I say, when I say, or I shall destroy you. Should you choose to spurn my offer, you will leave this city tonight, never to return.”

“Or you'll destroy me?” I asked.

He raised an eyebrow at me. I hurriedly placed my hand in his, and purple light burst forth from between our hands. I had the urge to yank my hand back but wasn't able to. I could feel my palm slicing open, and incredible heat pouring into it. I began to scream, unable to contain the terror and pain of whatever was going on. With a wet plop, my hand suddenly broke away from the mysterious grip, and I pulled it toward me, examining my palm for damage. There was a raised welt, a symbol actually, on the palm of my hand. It looked sort of like a dagger, but very narrow. Something more like a stiletto, perhaps, meant to slide between ribs and pierce a heart.

It burned like a brand, making me generally feel like a sweaty mess. While being in pain.

“That mark is a warning,” he said, sipping from his teacup once more. “It marks you as my apprentice; also as my property. Apprenticeship is a two-way street, Mr. Bosch. While you owe me your studious obedience, I owe you tutelage and protection. I will need to inspect the wards on your home, and should they be lacking, you'll fix them all, tonight. I have no doubt the mage hunters – if they were that – will be back. They must find nothing.”

I looked up from the symbol on my hand and stared at the dragon. “What about the manifestations? They are killing people.”

He shrugged. “People die. However, I suppose it's good brain work and exercise in combat tactics. Track down the other gem and dispose of it. It may help to forestall some of the hunters, though I think more will come with their comrades missing. Unless they suspect I'm here, then they may be smart enough to stay away.” He snorted. “But I doubt it.”

I stood on shaky legs. “Why would you sell something that was imbued?”

He tilted his head. “This building is buzzing with magical energy. They likely got lost in that haze. Go. Take care of this business, but go straight home and inspect your wards. I'm sure they are inadequate, but let's see what you think, eh?”

“Yeah. Right. I'll just...yeah.” I headed for the door, dumbfounded. Did I just get apprenticed to a dragon?

“Oh, and one other thing,” he said. I turned to look at him.

He sat quietly for a moment, to the point I almost wondered if I'd imagined him speaking. “Why is it you are stealing from criminals for money?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I have rent? I like to eat?”

He stared at me.

I sighed. “I've robbed an ATM or two in my day when I was desperate, but I'm trying to be a decent person.”

He puffed out a stream of smoke. “Stop it.”

“Sorry?”

“The decent thing? Stop it.”

I tilted my head. “Why would I-”

“Because I told you to,” he said, sipping from his teacup before eyeing me. “If you're wondering about the logic behind my direction...?”

Apprentices are sort of like indentured servants. You learn, the master provides. My parents taught and we learned, not realizing we were to be on the menu later. Killing an apprentice isn't common or looked upon favorably, however using uncomfortable methods to discipline an apprentice is perfectly normal. My parents used pain a lot.

I have no idea where Tyrathaxion stands on those issues, so asking about the reasoning for the direction is far better than appearing to question the direction.

“Yes. The logic,” I said as if it were my own idea. “Because you see-”

“Things like decency and principles are for those who can afford them,” he said. “For instance, I can afford to be decent to you. I can afford to send up a magical flare for hundreds of miles, because no one really wants to tangle with my kind. You, on the other hand, cannot afford decency – not to that degree at any rate.” He regarded me steadily for a moment. “Knock over a bank. Steal children's lunch money. Do what you must to ensure your survival, because with me you won't have time for the shenanigans you engage in now.”

I pursed my lips. “And to be clear those shenanigans are...?”

He waved his hand. “Chasing petty criminals for pocket change.”

“Oh. That. Yeah, um, okay,” I said, nodding.

His eyes narrowed. “What did you think I'd meant?”

I shifted on my feet. “Well. I mean...why?”

He frowned. “Because you'll be busy.”

“No. Not the shenanigan thing. Why are you helping me?”

He smiled. “You think I'm helping you?”

I paused. “Well. You're teaching me, so...kinda?”

He shook his head with an amused expression. “I suppose that will be something you'll have to figure out on your own. Now go. I have things to do.”

“You do?” I asked, unable to help myself.

He stared at me.

“I'll just head downstairs,” I said, turning and darting down before he did something nasty to me. Dragons aren't known for their largess, so wondering what he was up to was legitimate. What did he get out of this? He didn't need to drain my magic – he had more than he could ever use. He didn't need me at all, not in any way I could see – so what was his game? Or was it nothing more that? Just a game?

I opened the door back into the store, relieved to see that Connor was busy with a customer, and I headed out. I felt a little guilty, but honestly, he'd wanted the space, and I hadn't planned to show up at his job. If he wanted answers – and other things – he knew where I was.

I thought about what Tyrathaxion had told me about what I could and couldn't afford. When I'd run from my parents, I'd had just the clothes I was wearing. I was in terror, and I honestly don't know how they didn't catch me. I don't know how quickly they realized I was missing. I have no details other than when I first ran, I didn't stop, I didn't look back, and I had no compunction about stealing to survive, except that I had to be so, so careful not to draw attention. The thing is, though, that I promised myself I wouldn't stay like that – untrustworthy. My parents had committed what I can only think is the ultimate betrayal, and the fear of being caught led me to move constantly for a time. I didn't have time to set up a network of listening devices like I had here – both for my protection and to gather information on where I could hurt local criminals.

While I was running I had to steal from others. My parents made the choice to steal from their children – our magic, our lives. Now that I was entrenched in this town, I didn't steal from honest folks. I wasn't a criminal – I wasn't my parents. Yet Tyrathaxion was clear – I could no longer afford certain morals. How could I obey him and keep my sense of honor? Was that even possible?

I entered my apartment, head spinning with my moral choices, and Hugo popped into being.

“We have a new monster.”

“You're telling me,” I muttered. “What's going on?”

“Odd story yesterday. The waters on the Hudson got a bit choppy when a sudden squall kicked up. It wasn't something expected, and it surprised a pleasure boat. It sank, though no one was hurt.”

I kicked off my shoes and went to the fridge for a beer. “That doesn't sound like one for us. What am I missing?”

“Just the parts I haven't told you about, yet,” Hugo said, his voice a bit smug. “There was a very loud noise akin to screaming reported, though the owner of the boat thought it was something mechanical at the time. They said they thought they saw a boat, broken in half near the shore, with a lump in it. Then their own boat started taking on water and they grounded it, but it was swamped by that time. There was no evidence of the broken craft they said originally got their attention.”

I took a swig and opened the door of the fridge again to see what I had left over to eat. “Okay. Little weird, to be sure. I mean...did they really see or hear what they thought they did? I mean...a squall? That's got to be hectic, right?”

“Well, maybe. Except for two things. One...do you recall any rain last night?”

I thought for a moment. “No. But then I had all that stuff with Connor, so something like rain might not have registered to me. Aha.” I grabbed some leftover pasta and set it on the counter while I looked for a spoon or fork.

“Understandable,” he said, his tone conciliatory. “For clarity, there was no rain in the forecast and none recorded anywhere but that tiny stretch of the Hudson.”

I chewed slowly and swallowed. “Yeah. Okay, sounds hinky.”

“The sound and the boat they spoke of directly relates to another monster. This one from Sweden – the Draugen.”

I sighed. “Please tell me it doesn't eat kids?”

Hugo paused. “Well, no. They don't seem to eat anything. They just sink boats and drown people.”

I frowned as I chewed my pasta. “Okay, well-”

“Swallow, please,” Hugo said, turning his gaze from me.

I rolled my eyes and swallowed. “If Draugen sink boats and drown people...why'd they screw up? I mean, the boat was swamped, but I assume it’s salvageable? And the people survived?”

Hugo put his hands behind him. “Would you check the weather for tonight on your phone?”

Watching him with suspicion I crossed to the small breakfast table that sufficed for a dining table as well and looked at my phone. “Humid, overnight low of sixty-six.”

“No rain?”

I glanced at the phone again. “Chance of precipitation, zero percent.”

Hugo flickered. “I was drawn to the energy of this incident. I am becoming sensitive to this...summoning magic. I watched the report being written by the policeman and noted the address of the people who survived the incident.” He tilted his head forward slightly. “There is a cloud cover building directly over their home.”

I pressed my lips together. “That's...weird. Do the legends say anything about this creature creating the conditions you're describing?”

Hugo shook his head. “Tales of this particular creature are...this is just one type. Draugen are popular for being zombies, more or less, guarding burial mounds. But among sea faring areas near Sweden and Norway, this version appears. They are supposed to be on the ocean, not a freshwater river, and they drown people and sink boats. I don't know why it didn't finish its work last night, but I think it plans to fmake another attempt.”

“Well...shit.”

Hugo raised an eyebrow. “You had other plans?”

I let out a sigh. “It's been a day. But the important things are that the money I went after was a setup-”

“What? How?”

“I'm apprenticed to a dragon, and he doesn't like how I acquire money, so we'll probably have to figure out how to get into a bank vault or something.”

“Wait. How was the money a set up?”

I related what I'd been told about the mage hunters, how the dragon thought that's what they were anyway, and how they'd likely deciphered what my listening stones were and how they likely found them by dumb luck, more attracted to the manifestations we'd been hunting down. Even though he hadn't asked, I filled him in on the whole dragon thing as well. I mean, it seemed important to me.

“That's...disturbing. All of it.”

“You're telling me,” I said, putting the empty pasta container in the sink and swigging from my beer. “So. What do we do about this Draugen?”

Hugo shook his head. “There wasn't anything specific I could find about how to deal with them, save one minor tale.”

I stared at him for a moment. “I'm not going to like this, am I?”

Hugo appeared to shrug, but he was flickering as well, so it was hard to be sure. “There is a single story about a Draugen chasing a man to a churchyard, one with a cemetery attached. Apparently...the man beseeched the dead to protect him from the Draugen.”

I rubbed my forehead and muttered, “So, we need something to animate the dead. That's what I'm hearing.”

“Well,” Hugo said, sounding like he was scoffing, “it was a story. A single story. I'd be more inclined to go with the things we know work against these things – namely, the ensorcelled salt and the traps. I think if we place traps at the points of entry we may do quite well.” He paused. “I'd leave the staff, though. Take extra supplies instead.”