Dragonproof - 2. Chapter 2

The north end of town had become run down once the renovation efforts in the downtown area had taken hold. The population that had been displaced merely moved to an area that had once been respectable. Now the narrow homes were owned by absentee landlords who did little more than collect rent or evict. I pulled my coat tight in the early morning, though the weather wasn't really cool enough for it. Normally I wouldn't be up this early, but my date with Connor had me anxious, so I'd checked on my financial situation. That's when I realized why I was anxious—I was broke. Well, okay, going on a date with Connor had me anxious all by itself. Dates are something I'd given up relatively quickly upon my arrival to this little city. There were questions I couldn't answer or that had answers that defied belief. Yet I craved human contact, and not just sex. I wanted companionship, conversation and some form of partnership that could be relied on for the both of us.

Given that, I had fallen into the world of online hookups. It felt good for a time, and it helped to abate some of my loneliness. It was hollow, though. Sometimes it made me despair. Connor had changed that, because he was the first who wasn't part of the 'nut and bolt' school of thought I'd run into. He would stay and cuddle. We spoke of light topics, but it was a connection I desperately craved.

Making money was almost impossible for me, at least in the normal fashion for humans. For one thing, I didn't have a social security number, and for another I hated washing dishes, which is the sort of job you get when you can't work legally. I'm sure my folks never registered my birth anywhere because they'd never intended me to live this long.

I'm a Mage. Wizard. Sorcerer. Pick your name, it makes no matter to me—though wizard sounds kind of nerdy. Humans are, as far as I know, one of the few mortal creatures that can be born with the spark that manifests as the ability to work magic: the Art. A lot of folks seem to think that a mage or what have you is limited to certain kinds of magic, but that isn't really true. Some have an affinity for certain classes of magic; one with a feel for nature magic might be commonly called a Druid. Which is fine. I don't really care one way or another, but any practitioner can do some form of nature magic.

Sounds cool, right? In some ways it really is. The major drawback and greatest benefit is the humans involved. Mages are subject to the same failures and triumphs as other people; we're just more arrogant about it. Mage society is broken into houses—seven, to be exact. Most houses claim dominion over one area of the world, but they all squabble about territory, resources and power.

Mage society is pretty cut-throat. The strong dominate the weak or the un-gifted. There are a few laws that, if broken, will call down a whole bunch of hurt from all seven houses. Any human can be born with the spark, but it runs stronger in family lines. The number of people born with the spark is quite low—there aren't a great deal of us. Because of that, anonymity is paramount. The idea of magic has to be kept firmly, as far as the populace knows, in the realm of books, movies and comic conventions.

My story begins with two power-hungry people—my parents. In mage society there are only two ways to increase your magical power: study, knowledge and practice, or consuming the inborn magic of another. The latter, by the way, is fatal to the donor. If a child's parents were both mages, the child is practically guaranteed to have the spark. It doesn't start to gain any real strength until the teen years. Even then it's sort of like acne: some get a lot, some don't get a great deal.

My folks were breeding a power acquisition farm. What saved my hide was accidentally seeing them kill one of my siblings—pulling his magic from him and leaving his body a husk. I hightailed it and have been running ever since. He was seventeen at the time; I was fifteen. My thought was that they killed him before he was too strong to control, and he'd been strong. A few years had passed, and I thought I was pretty strong, too.

I shook myself from my memories and pulled my hat down to obscure my face before glancing around once more. My target was a house just down the block that had taken me a few weeks to find. I have a network of sorts in the city that lets me find places like this with enough time. As children we would practice all kinds of magic working, and one we developed on our own was taking an inanimate object and turning it into a communication device. We could each have, say, a pencil or a key that would let us communicate with each other verbally. Think of it like a two-way microphone.

I still have nightmares about the one my sister worked up—a teddy bear. It was just creepy.

Here in town, I'd modified that spell to create a listening network out of small stones. I had to replace them periodically; the magic tends to wear off after a time, especially after a heavy rain. I listen to the conversations that they pick up, place new ones in different locations, and sift through the information to figure out things like this drug house.

I didn't want the drugs, but if they sold drugs, then there might be money, too. I don't mind hexing the odd ATM into financing me – banks are predatory anyway – but hitting them in broad daylight was asking for trouble, and for a clear camera image from somewhere. A good hex takes down the machine and its camera, but there are usually others out of range of the hex. I walked across the street and ducked between two narrow houses, one boarded up with warning signs about trespassing posted on the wooden boards that covered the windows. I paused at the back of the house, leaning against the side and pulling out my staff.

A mage's staff is pretty important. Magic is a huge force, something that is created by all living things—people, animals, even the living earth itself. If a mage draws on magic without a focus, the results can be...messy. The staff helps to channel the magic and, with my will, focus it into what I need to do.

With a deep, quiet breath, I turned the corner. A young guy with a bandanna around his calf sat on the stoop of the abandoned house. He looked up at me in surprise and started to rise to challenge me.

I pointed the head of my staff at him and said, “Somnum.” With an unsteady lurch he dropped back onto his butt and leaned against the wobbly railing, fast asleep. One down, who knows how many to go?

I slipped in the back door, the ancient screen door making more noise than I'd have liked. I paused inside and listened. The door let into a dilapidated kitchen that was coated in grime and peeling wallpaper. A table covered in empty food containers sat pushed against a wall; the room was empty otherwise. An empty doorway led to a short hallway and the front of the house. To the left of that was a built-in pantry with sagging shelving and further to the left another door, presumably to the basement. I stepped softly and poked my head down the hall, listening for the sound of movement or speech.

Or, for what I did hear, a gun being racked.

I stepped back from the doorway and lifted my staff in defense, muttering my trigger word to lift a shield of air in front of me. I squatted down and angled the shield to deflect the bullets up so I didn't get knocked back and into an awkward position from the kinetic power of the bullets.

“Yo! Andre? That you?” I couldn't tell if the voice was from downstairs or the front of the house.

I waited in silence, readying an offensive spell. I felt pretty confident right up until the door to the basement opened just as someone walked in from the front of the home. Things happened violently fast. The gun I'd heard was in the hands of a middle-aged guy who'd just come up from the basement. He aimed quickly and fired off a shot that my shield barely deflected. Plaster dust rained down on me, and I coughed as I tried to shift my focus. That shift was fortuitous, as the other man had swung for my head and gotten my shoulder. Uncomfortable, but all in all a better outcome.

“Ventas fortem,” I said, pointing the staff at the gunman. A hard gust of wind slammed into him, lifting him a few inches up before he crashed down the stairs with a sickening crash and bloodcurdling scream.

With a curse, the second man drew a gun and took aim. I snarled the spell again, and he bounced back against the wall. I sagged a bit from the power I'd expended—this wasn't going as easily as I'd hoped. As I moved to stand, the thug was just getting to his knees. With my heart hammering, I spit out a quick word and pointed my staff to focus and shape my will to try and put him to sleep. Unfortunately, with the adrenaline rush I was on from the combat, I wasn't calm enough to focus the spell. He regained his feet and began to lift the gun. Man, I hate guns.

I raised my shield and deflected two shots before I closed the distance enough to use my staff for a more mundane purpose. I cracked him in the side of the head and dropped him like a brick. He'd live, but man...with the awkward way he was slumped over, he'd have a stiff neck. I hated a stiff neck.

I turned to the stairs to the basement and headed down. As I'd feared, three others were gathered at the base of the stairs, two looking down at the groaning, bleeding gunman and a third stepping over him to investigate who or what threw his companion down the stairs. With no clear line of sight for the two at the base of the steps, I took a calming breath, focused on the one climbing past his compatriot, and muttered the spell to put him to sleep as well.

He fell forward, bashing his head into the steps as the spell took hold. I charged down the stairs, shield up but weakened as the other two realized they weren't alone and drew weapons. With more intelligence than I'd have credited them with, they backed off the base of the stairs and let me come to them. Unfortunately, all I'd done was fight, and I still needed to find the potential cash stored here. As I reached the bottom they began to fire, the rounds hitting my shield and chewing up my magical energy. I thought I was tired after moving all that wind last night? I was flagging badly and panicked.

I rolled to the side, slipped behind a brick support column and caught my breath. A weariness was settling into my being, one that let me know I was expending will and energy too fast. Maybe going down to meet them hadn't been a smart idea? I should have blocked the door at the top of the stairs and searched the upper floors instead. Hindsight is such a bitch.

“You're gonna die. Just come out, and I'll make it quick!” one said. The other was silent, and I thought that ominous. I closed my eyes and focused on my hearing, working to filter out the meaningless words of the speaker and listen for the sound of his companion, who was, no doubt, trying to flank me.

To my right, about three feet away, was a wall. To my left the foundation wall was about eight feet away. Tactically the thug would want the most space, I thought, so I quickly formed a plan based on that. Focusing my will down to a fine point I tilted the head of my staff toward the small, dirt encrusted window set high into the wall and whispered, “Ventas fortem.”

A narrow, tight column of air blew the window out with an impressive smashing sound. I whirled to my right—and into the guy who should have been flanking me on my left.

“Shit!” he screamed out. Or maybe I did. He lifted the gun, and I knew I'd never get my shield up in time. Sometimes, I think, having something as cool as magic to wield blinds people into thinking it's all you can do. I brought my staff up quickly and hit his wrist solidly—causing him to fire off an erratic shot. As he started to pull back, flinching from the strike, I reversed my trajectory and brought the head of the staff down on his hand. There was an audible snap, and he screamed—maybe for the second time—and dropped the gun. Panting, I swung the staff again, only clipping him on the side of his head as he charged forward and knocked me over. He raised his body and pulled a hand back to start pummeling me and I, panicked, put him to sleep.

Well, I tried, but he beat my face a time or two before I could get the words out. Jerk.

He slumped down over me and I lay still, dismayed at my crappy tactics and wondering how to fool the remaining fellow so I could get the heck out of there. The other guy approached cautiously, sliding out along the far wall—So he was the tactically sound one, I thought with a grumble. I waited for him to step into view, straining to hear his shoes on the hard floor. With far more effort than it should have taken, I gathered my will and channeled it onto a tightly focused column of wind that snapped out into his ankle.

With a howl he fell forward quickly enough that he had no time to catch himself with his hands. He landed almost on his nose; close enough that blood burst forth from the impact. He yelled out in pain, and as he did I shoved his sleeping companion off of me and scrambled to my feet, awkwardly, I might add. He was rising to his knees, one hand on his face and the other reaching for his dropped gun. I took two long strides and swung for the fences, my staff connecting with the side of his head and knocking him out cold.

I panted, leaning on my staff, and wondered why I couldn't just be rich. I mean, I could if I were willing to steal from honest people. Or if I knew how to make love potions or never-ending wallets. But, no, I got my cash by knocking over criminals' places of...well, business, I guess. I mean, ATMs too. But I just wasn't watching my funds very well.

I searched the place and was rewarded with...almost nothing. There were long tables with scales and other paraphernalia, but no cash laying out near a counting machine like they always do in the movies and on TV. Well, crap.

As a last resort I went through the pockets of the thugs and managed to rustle up a couple hundred bucks among the seven of them. Not what I'd wanted, but definitely enough for my date. I skulked back to my apartment before they woke up—I didn't have enough juice left to fight again, and I had a few bumps to tend to.

The things I'll do to date Connor.

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

“I've been thinking,” Hugo said as I hung my coat up.

“Oh yeah? Had an idea?” I asked as I dropped clothes on my way to the bathroom. I planned to have a nice, hot soak and try to get some of these aches to lay off me.

“Perhaps. All four incidents share two commonalities: they are regional legends, and they attack children.”

I turned the hot water tap on and slipped out of my underwear. “Yeah,” I said thoughtfully. “That's true, but we knew that. How does that help?”

“I'm not sure, yet. Another bit of data is that the legends aren't current.”

I thought for a moment. “That's true. These things are old and not well known, at least not here. Not like vampires or werewolves, things like that. So, we're looking for something older than a generation or two?”

“I'd say that's a safe assumption. One of the puzzling elements, however, is the different regions the legends hail from. It almost makes one think that more than one elderly...something is raising them,” Hugo said, his voice twisting sourly.

I slid into the hot water and groaned. Leaning back to soak, I rubbed my face and thought aloud. “Multiple...old people raising legends? That seems kind of complicated,” I said. “Especially if you add in that they'd have to have a reason for doing this. What do they get out of it?”

“That is unknown,” Hugo admitted. “Perhaps they have found a way to steal the years from a child and add it to their own?”

“Hmph,” I grunted. “That's especially vile. I mean, I don't really like kids, but...that's a lot, even for me.”

“I don't know why you think you're amusing,” Hugo stated.

“I wasn't trying to be!” I protested. “I'm just saying, I don't like kids the way other people seem to. They're so nakedly in love with their baser instincts as kids.”

Hugo hummed for a moment. “Yes. I suppose the ones who grow up and do not learn to be more than that are quite unpleasant. The ones who simply learn to disguise it...more so.”

“Yeah,” I replied glumly. “Well, back to this geriatric coven theory. Actually, let's split this into a few theories—one is what you brought up. We have a group of old folks who are calling up nightmares and sending them after kids for a purpose unknown.”

“And the other options?”

“Instead of several old folks, we have one. It's simpler – Occam's Razor. I haven't worked out how we get there, but just spit balling here.”

Hugo looked up and away from me. “It makes some things simpler, certainly. One person knowing several legends.”

“There's also a possibility that the old folks, if they are part of this, aren't actively participating. It's hard to get folks working in the same direction and for the same goals. Harder to find people with the power to raise nightmares as they get aged and then cooperate enough to grab children. So...how could these old folks be, I don't know...being used?”

Hugo looked away from me and flickered in thought. “None of the options has a reason that we know of. If, however, we accept that the elderly are somehow involved, where does one find a gathering of the elderly?”

“I'm not sure. I don't know enough. Maybe I can ask Connor?” I said. As if on cue, Hugo frowned.

“You've never pursued anyone to this degree. What will you do when he asks how you make money? Or if he's confronted with your magical nature? Or something simpler and more mundane, like why you don't pay taxes?”

“Maybe he'll be different,” I said with a shrug, wishing I hadn't brought it up. Hugo frowned at me and flickered into invisibility. I sighed and unhappily accepted that Hugo had a point. Although I'd had some flings, none of them amounted to much. Connor and I hadn't dated, but I liked him. A lot. I wanted someone in my life who'd like me back. If only there were a way to magically guarantee that.

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

Connor and I exchanged texts mid-afternoon and agreed to meet at the store where he worked part-time. Not having a car, I headed out with plenty of time to spare and strolled through the narrow streets of the city until I reached the block his store was located on. It had large display windows—four of them, as it was a double storefront—with gold foil lettering that announced the name, Apropos, and its wares, items of vintage quality. In smaller script it noted that they also handled estates and consignment sales.

I opened the door, and a small bell tinkled as I entered. Connor looked up and smiled at me, then went back to the customer in front of him. I walked around the store, browsing through the inventory. They had racks and racks of old clothes. They had a section filled with just hats—fedoras, bowlers and everything in between. I was tempted to try on a few, but I figured instead of looking rakish I'd just look like an idiot. There were shelves full of knickknacks, and another section had larger pieces, like furniture, radios and the like. What really caught my attention were the old books.

Many were dry and brittle on the outside, with faded gold lettering and thin, filmy pages. Some tingled to the touch, as if they had some magical residue on them, but they were just normal, old books. Huck Finn, something about a Mockingbird and a few others whose titles I recall even less. Still, that tingle had me wondering. Had they been packaged with items that were used in a spell? Is that how they acquired that residual magical vibration? The only way the residue would last so long would be if they were in close proximity for a very long period of time, I mused.

I turned from the books in thought and walked to the center of the store, where the counter was. The counter, which was a square set of glass cases used to display jewelry and other baubles, looked antique in its own right. I was looking down at them, idly waiting for Connor to finish up, when a twinge ran up my spine.

Magic is all around us, even if we don't feel it. Sometimes the non-gifted, normal folks will get a taste for just a moment. They will reach a highly sensitive point, perhaps with a lover or maybe when meditating; the feeling is unmistakable. It starts at the bottom of the spine and tingles all the way up to the middle of the back, at which point your whole torso gives an involuntary shiver. When that happens, magic has just touched your life.

I can feel that, without shivering of course, when magic is worked or when I've found an imbued object. Imbued objects are relatively rare, in my experience, and can be quite dangerous. Some were crafted by humans and might be used to amplify or finely focus casting, something like my staff. Others may be crafted by the Sidhe or by others with crappy intentions and can be quite dangerous.

Faeries—or Sidhe, the Fae—are a fickle bunch, and they do love their tricks. Enchanted items might seem to grant the wearer a boon, for instance, but it always comes with a price. Perhaps the item lets you win a lottery or get a promotion. In exchange it steals parts of your being; your soul, if you like, which might equate to years off your life or some fantastic new disease sprouting up on or in your person. Some may make you lose weight, but instead of stopping at a healthy point, you find yourself unable to remove the item, and it simply drains away muscle and bone until there isn't enough tissue to support life. Yes, the Fae were not to be trifled with, and neither were imbued items.

I studied the items in the case and tried to narrow down which object it might be. If only they'd glow or flash at me, but no such luck.

“See something you like, sir?” Connor asked, appearing in front of me and placing his hands on the glass case. I glanced around, having been lost in thought enough not to have noticed the other customer leaving.

I looked up at his smiling face, and my lips tugged upward. “Now that you mention it...”

“I meant in the case,” he said with a snicker and a roll of his eyes.

“Uh huh. Sure you did,” I teased. Since he'd opened the door, though, I asked to look at the tray of trinkets in front of me, and he lifted them out on their formed, velvet covered tray. I pretended to look closely at them, allowing my hand to hover as if I were about to select an item.

“So. I told you that guy I was supposed to see tonight would never date me if I canceled?” he said, pulling my attention from the items. I raised an eyebrow, and he said, “Well, he asked me out for the night afterward instead.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly. “Connor, are you trying to make me jealous?” I asked.

His eyes were filled with glee. “Is it working?”

Shifting tacks, I asked, “And what did you tell this...admirer of yours?”

He leaned forward on his elbows and supported his chin with his hand. “That I had to see how tonight went, first.”

“No pressure, right?” I chuckled. The bell over the door chimed, announcing a new customer. I looked over to see an older man with a walrus mustache, an unseasonably heavy coat and a smoking pipe from which wafted a steady stream of smoke.

“My boss,” Connor whispered and turned half away from me. “Hi, Mr Tyrath.”

The man nodded. “I'll have an order to be sorted tomorrow morning. Be here an hour before opening.” Mr. Tyrath paused noticeably when he spotted me.

“And who might you be?” he said, his tone decidedly guarded.

“Nico Bosch,” I replied, a note of caution coloring my voice.

His eyes narrowed, and the world seemed to come to a sudden halt. I mean, like time stopped. No ambient noise, no cars speeding by, just...as if the world inhaled and was holding its breath.

“Bosch. An old name. I sense the energies in you.” He paused and tilted his head to one side in curiosity. “You're a long way from home.”

I glanced at Connor, who stood as still as a store mannequin. I looked back to Mr. Tyrath and gulped. This was serious temporal magic, and this fellow wasn't even breaking a sweat. “You have me at a disadvantage. I don't recognize your name, Mr. Tyrath.”

“That isn't the only disadvantage I have you at,” he said with a smile. Not predatory, exactly, but not really friendly, either. He withdrew the pipe from the corner of his mouth and blew smoke out toward the ceiling. Then, deliberately looking at me he inhaled deeply, closed his mouth and blew smoke from his nostrils.

Oh. Oh crap.

“Tyrathaxion,” I breathed, a slight tremor in my voice.

“Ah. You do know me, then.”

I cleared my throat. “It isn't every day you meet a dragon.”

“True,” he said, tilting his head. “And you, Magus? What unwise plan brings you into my territory?”

“A date,” I replied.

The dragon sighed, smoke curling out from his slightly parted lips. “Ah. So that explains it,” he said, glancing at Connor.

“Explains what?” I asked, dumbly.

He narrowed his eyes. “You're smart. You'll figure it out,” he said. With a pointed glance at Connor he looked back to me. “Or not.”

Then the world lurched back into motion. Mr. Tyrath crossed the room and opened a heavy door that revealed a flight of stairs leading up to the second floor. With a solid thunk the door closed, and the lock could be heard tumbling into place. I glanced at Connor and wondered what he could possibly mean.

Connor flashed me a quick smile and then walked toward the door to switch the sign to 'Closed'. I pondered the dragon's words as I watched him. Realizing he was going to lock up for the night, I turned my attention away from him and back to the tray, running my hand over it and stopping when I felt a spark of magic shoot through my arm. Surprised, I looked down to see a modest brooch with colored glass set into what looked like a cheap setting. Definitely not Sidhe work.

“Hey, how much is this thing?” I asked Connor as he returned.

“There's a tag...oh, it fell off.” He reached down to the velvet, scooped up the errant tag, and read it to me. “Thirty bucks.”

“I'll take it,” I said, pocketing the item, as I didn't want it to come into contact with Connor's skin. I counted the bills out to Connor, who looked at me with an amused expression.

“I don't know who you dislike so much that you'd buy that ugly thing for them,” he said, barely containing a chuckle.

Thinking of Hugo I said, “Someone dour. This will put a little color to them.” I paused and added, “Or maybe your admirer. Just so he knows what I think of him.”

Connor gave me an intriguing look. “I don't know where all this is coming from, Nico, but I think I like it.”