 
# Dragon in Exile

Barbara Bretana

# Here, there be Dragons.

Wm. Shakespeare

# Chapter 1

Gliding along on a thermal, I cocked my head down to peer into the forested headlands watching carefully for any signs of trouble. The last act of trouble that I had been aware of in the Kingdom had been well over a year ago and made my daily patrols more a rote than a necessity. A way to get me out from underfoot and away from the monotony of the Palace.

Rinlon Peel thumped me on the shoulders with his feet, in both spurred and heeled boots. Hanging out in front of the leather harness to which he was attached, that and his boots prevented him from falling off. Not that anyone had, fallen off or at least fallen and hit the ground.

"We about done, Raven?" he asked, and I nodded. Banking slightly, I headed back and flapped with slow beats of my forty-foot black wings. Back to the Palace where Rinlon would take his leave of me, a report in that all was quiet before he'd depart for the Guard barracks, take off his uniform and get ready for this weekend off.

"What are you doing this weekend, Raven?" he asked, and I dropped over the cliffs of Kolvir. Below us, the five-towered castle that was the home of the King, Queen, and Princes of Amber spread out in glorious splendor. Flags and pennants whispering in the strong breeze let me know who was in residence and who was visiting from the other realms. The air smelled of the sharp tang of the sea and curlews cried as they caught sight of me.

The castle glowed. Golden-hued and crimson as the sunset in a blaze of fire, bathing everything in its fiery brilliance and made it a castle that could rival Disney's masterpiece. The rays poured off my black scales and warmed me deep into my bones. I arched my back as I settled down on the flat roof between the five towers and an Honor Guard of 12 men as they presented arms to the approaching royalty, which meant me.

Rinlon slid off, saluted, and stifled a yawn as he reported the progress of our last 12-hour patrol. We had covered over a thousand miles up and around the coast, hitting all the previous trouble spots and seen nothing. Nothing much, no ogres, pirates, invading armies, chaos storms or anything else assaulting the borders.

Julian, my great-uncle oversaw to the safekeeping of our coastlines with the Amber Naval forces and King Random was in his seventh year of unprecedented peace.

I stretched my wings out twice before I folded them against my sides and every one of the men stepped close with Sgt. Tegan holding out a backpack by the handle. His stoic face remained that way as I shivered, mouthing the spell that negated my dragon form and allowed me to become my human one. Unfortunately, the change left me naked except for the leather harness by which Rinlon had held on. Instead of being around my shoulders as the dragon it hung from my upper waist sort of like a bra.

I opened the pack and pulled out my usual garb – jeans and a t-shirt, socks, and sneakers. Sgt. Tegan had added a cloak as I was usually cold when I converted back to my human form. I dressed as quickly as I could, and the guards provided cover while I remained bare and until I was decent. Only then did they fall back and let me take the stairs down to the third floor where my own suite of rooms was located.

Once I stepped through my doors, they peeled off to their own tasks and left me to my own. My rooms consisted of a four-way suite, a bedroom, sitting room, office, and bath with a small kitchenette where I could heat up snacks in a magic-powered microwave. I could cook soups and even the occasional can of Beefaroni. My favorite was brown sugar and cinnamon Pop-tarts, but I was heavily into meat–the bloodier the better. I tended to have the appetite of a dragon, not a teenager although some had told me that teenage boys ate more than a score of Dragons. I knew it was easier for the castle's chefs to feed me as a man and not a dragon, so I tried not to eat when I was in the scales.

I hadn't always been a dragon. Once, I was just a normal teenage kid from the U.S. Even if my bodyguard/nursemaid had been an Irish gargoyle. His name was Murphy and he had saved my life by giving up his. He'd stepped in front of liquid nitrogen and shattered into dust before my eyes. A crazed witch had tried to destroy me, and Murphy had taken the brunt of the act on himself.

Taken as a pawn in a war that started before I was born, between Amber and Chaos, I had been tortured and died only to be resurrected as the Black Dragon. I wanted to be human again, even though my bloodlines had been anything but that.

I had two friends, Roelle and Marcus who saved my sanity in search of a cure. In finding the answer to my transformation back to Raven, they had found each other. I had thought I was in love with Roelle only to find it with someone else. Roelle and Marcus were wedded and living in marital bliss with a blessing on the way. Promoted to Head Chef, he hadn't any spare time to spend with me nor did Roelle as she was now a Senior Lady-in-waiting to Random's Queen, Vialle.

I had formed an attachment to the Crown Prince of Caldor, Lyndsey. Although rightly she was a Crown Princess, the title of the Heir was always Prince no matter the sex. But Caldor no longer existed–it was one of the casualties of the war between Jasra and Amber. She was and had been gone for nearly a year, busy reconstructing the kingdom from scratch with the help of her surviving generals, and others both from Amber and Topaz. Topaz being the realm ruled by Luke, Jasra's son who had also been earth-shadow raised like I had. He was also a friend to my dad.

My lineage was as impressive as anyone in the kingdom. If you were awed by such things, my grandsire was Corwin, one of the Nine Princes of Amber. My father was Merlin, King of the Courts of Chaos. My mother was the human form of the unicorn and my granddam, Dara of Chaos. I had the blood of Amber and Chaos running through my veins much like my father's. This made me a powerful new pawn on the board to be played by both sides.

The body I wore now was not my original one, this one was only a few years old, created by the magic of the Unicorn and Amber, and the Star Stone from Caldor's Lake. It sometimes felt as if I were wearing a stranger's suit that didn't quite fit which was why I preferred my dragon skin.

Forty feet long, I was the length of a school bus with my wings a hair longer than my body. Covered with shiny black scales, I was impervious to all weapons except for the leading planes of my wings. Lance, sword, and arrows bounced off my hide. Once, my tail had been forked with a poisonous barb but an overzealous Amberite swordsman had hewed it off with an ax. I bit him in half, but my tail never grew back. In that same fight, I had been blinded in my right eye but since acquiring the Star Stone, it had settled into the empty socket and provided me with the ability to see beyond the normal, to see behind the veil and reality, to see other realms and dimensions. To watch magic form and trace its beginning spells.

I was restless, bored, and depressed. I missed Lyndsey and hanging out with Roelle and Marcus. I missed the action and thrill of fighting now that we were at peace. Basically, I wasn't needed anymore.

The microwave dinged to remind me that my food was ready. The door opened by itself. I reached in and pulled out a porcelain plate loaded with Pizza rolls, popping four at a time into my mouth. Though steaming, the squares loaded with tomato sauce and pepperoni didn't burn me, a handy trait carried over from my dragon form.

Once the plate was empty, I left it on the drainboard near the sink knowing that the house staff would have it washed, dried, and put away as soon as I vacated my room.

There was a restlessness in me and pulled my feet down the hallway between the family suites to the Grand Staircase, but I bypassed it in favor of one of the back stairs used by those who did not want to be seen. From there, I skirted the Great Hall and sneaked out the back through the gardens. I jogged down the mile-long avenue towards town where there was an abundance of things to see and do. Shops, taverns, bars and dives, gaming houses and even brothels. Ships coming into the harbor ports and others going out to trade with Amber's neighbors across the Golden Sea.

I was aiming for the Blue Boar, deliberately avoiding the stables which would have allowed me to take a horse and make the journey much faster but with the caveat that everyone in the Palace would know where I was going within minutes of my departure. By taking the back stairs, I avoided the stables, the guard posts and anyone else lurking in the castle who might be keeping an eye on me.

The Blue Boar was one of the nicer taverns in town which meant that only one fight a night usually happened, the willing maids were clean and didn't roll their customers, the drinks weren't watered down or drugged. You didn't have to worry about getting shanghaied and sold as a ship's crewman. Even the price of a beer was reasonable.

The sign on the street was a boar painted blue with six-inch tusks and huge testicles prompting the nickname of the Blue Boar's Blue Balls.' Inside, the bar was one huge slab of pale blue cherrywood with a fancy mirrored wall lined with shelves holding wines, beers in bottles and spirits from places up and down the Shadow Worlds. Crystal glasses, silver tankards, and heavy beer steins rested above the bottles of spirits.

Unlike most bars in which I had been inside (which granted were very few) this one was bright and airy with plenty of windows and a skylight, a huge fireplace and enough room for dozens of tables and chairs, enough to host a reasonable party crowd. They served meals fit for a king with their desserts especially noted. Royalty came in for their Passionberry tarts and apple pies.

Like saloons from my old shadow, you entered through a pair of batwing doors only these were louvered half doors that closed off only the bottom half of the doorway and left you with a clear view inside. I pushed them open and slid in, unsure of my welcome. The clientele inside was not familiar to me, most of the regulars were elsewhere. The last time I'd been inside the Boar, Marcus, Rinlon and I had made a huge mess. We'd had a fight and me being totally smashed, I'd converted to the dragon with disastrous effect. I noted that the repair work done made the place look as if our fight had never happened.

The tables had been replaced with newer, sturdier versions, the floor of finished flagstones looked original. The bartender gave me a mean look but since I had paid for repairs and was related to the royal family, he was afraid to bar me from the place. Plus, I spent gold inside and he was loath to turn down guildens.

The serving maids wore aproned dresses that came to their ankles with no sleeves and low-cut blouses with plenty of cleavages. A new one I hadn't seen before brushed past me, gave me a blinding smile, and told me to find a seat, she'd be with me in a second.

Since it was well past the working hour for most of the population, the place was crowded, and it took me fifteen minutes to squeeze my way up to the bar. Another ten before I caught the eye of the bartender and ordered a Blue's Best. He shoved a tankard full of foam and sudsy beer down my way, sliding to a perfect stop right in front of my hand.

Flipping a coin back at him, he caught it in mid-air, did a double take and slowly perused me from head-to-toe.

"'Tis a Guilden," he replied, checking its authenticity by his teeth. Marked prints on the soft metal of gold. "I don't have change."

"I plan to drink its worth and anyone who'll join me," I added to the cheers of the crowd. I downed the first beer. Unlike the others around me, it took me a long time to reach a drunken state, another trait of being part dragon.

Anyway, I drank until my change from the guilden had dwindled to a few coppers and the entire room was as drunk as skunks. Unlike my memories of bars on Shadow Earth, no one would throw me out or the bar owners call 'last call.' That was not to say that the bartender wouldn't walk over drunken patrons and ignore them. I was drunk enough not to care and blitzed enough to play games of chance with the locals that were always hanging around, even when I knew that the games were rigged and crooked.

The bartender was also the owner of the Blue Boar which meant that he knew who I was. This elicited him into keeping an eye on me as he was afraid to risk King Random's ire should anything happen to me. I was Random's great-nephew, a treasure of the realm and a Royal Black Knight. There had been a time when I had been the King's legitimate heir, but I had managed to talk him out of that notion. Along with his suggestion that I needed a babysitter/bodyguard. It was silly to think that a forty-foot, fire-breathing dragon needed babysitting even when in my human form.

I lost two games of quoits which took the last of my coins. Pleasantly buzzed, I bowed to the group, took my thanks for their drunken revelries, and swept grandly out the batwing doors to stumble down the cobblestoned lanes of Amber. I ignored the bartender's cries of wait for an escort and good riddance as I used the gutters to keep my sneakered feet straight. Another good thing about having dragon blood was that no matter how far I was from home, I always knew my way back.

The main street of Amber, the capital that bore the same name looked very much like an old English town with its Elizabethan style houses, shops, thatched cottages, and cobblestones. Without the filth that living in medieval times necessitated. No mechanized vehicles traveled her by-ways – they invariably stopped working some ten or fifteen Shadow Realms before they reached here. Only horses and carriages worked. No electricity but most people used some form of magic and led comfortable lives in a place that had magic instead of modern technology.

Instead of cell-phones, we had Trumps and scrying-bowls, mirrors, carrier pigeons. Instead of refrigerators, we could store food in shadow places that kept items cold, hot, frozen in stasis for years or seconds but when needed were as fresh as bought that morning.

Want a California Bordeaux? That was a mere spell away via a reach through Shadows. And while I was contemplating those things, I discovered a sudden yearning to walk the shadows of my birthplace once again. I was homesick for the green hills of Ireland and the graffiti-covered walls of New York City. Just as soon as I woke up from my near drunken stupor, I stumbled my way home towards the Palace. I made it only as far as Knucklebone Lane and a pile of hay stacked outside the stables waiting to be stored in the hay mow. I decided that this would make a prime choice to rest my head.

# Chapter 2

I woke up and rolled over with a vague memory of spending a night in a haymow but that wasn't where I was now. Lifting my head required no more effort than heaving off the headstone on the grave of a giant. I might have the capacity to outdrink anything other than another dragon but even they were prone to hangovers and mine promised to be a doozie.

The very first thing I did was try to lift my head, so I could hazard a guess as to where I was. I already knew what my condition was, and regret played an important part in enduring it. From the décor of the wood-covered walls and basic iron bedstead, basic wood wardrobe and lack of ornamentation, I concluded that no one had dragged my comatose body back to the Palace. In fact, I was pretty sure I was in a barn or a cottage out in the woods.

There wasn't a window in sight, but an open doorway; on the back of the oak panel door hung a uniform. One of the Household Cavalry, complete with the chevrons and pips of an officer. But this place wasn't one of the homes of any officers or enlisted I knew.

I swung my legs over onto the bare plank floor and stared at bare knees and dirtied feet. Someone had removed my clothes but hadn't cleaned me up. I was in boxers and t-shirt. Sniffing myself, I nearly gagged as I was an unpalatable mix of soured wine, vomit and barn-yard offal. In short, I reeked.

To my right was a small bedside table which held a carafe of water, a green potion bottle, and a note. Reaching down to the water first, I emptied it and found it re-filled instantly. When I was sure that I could move without puking up my guts, I read the beautifully written cursive of the note on re-used vellum.

"My Lord Prince Raven;

I found you face-first in the dirt at Stanton's Livery and brought you to my room in the Barracks. I assumed you did not want the King or his cohorts to know of your condition. The carafe is full of water to meet your needs and the green flask contains an efficient hangover remedy that Sgt. Peel swears is most efficient. Please stay as long as you need, my aide-de-camp will bring your clothing as soon as it is washed and dried.

Your obedient servant,

Commander Tegan."

Yeah, Tegan was long-winded. I was kind of surprised at his modest accommodations in the Royal Barracks, as a Commander surely, he rated more than the enlisted men's rooms.

I heard the rattle of dishes and jingle of spurs, arms before the actual appearance of a man pushing a cart into the room. He paused at my open door and knocked.

"Sir? I have your clean clothes and hot tea. Dry toast if you think you can stomach anything."

He poked his dark head in, his bright blue eyes full of curiosity. He looked no older than me – just barely into his twenties. He wore his uniform smartly pressed and fitted to his six-foot frame. His rank was one step above base recruit, but I wasn't well-versed on Amber's military ranks. Probably a private. His name was embroidered above the unicorn patch denoting a Cavalry member. Ruinredder, Aarone.

I swallowed the contents of the flask and felt an instant heat. My eyes brightened, my stomach lightened, and the waves of drunken misery disappeared as if I had never had them.

I stood up and was three inches taller than the recruit.

"Call me Raven," I said accepting the tea, a plate of toast and fluffy scrambled eggs. Cleaned it up and proceeded to interrogate the boy. I asked where he was from and who he was training with, why he had chosen to become part of Amber's Royal Army. He answered easily, not at all awed by the Dragon Prince of Amber.

"Your name is Raven? Where are you from? Are you in the House Guard? I didn't see any rank on your clothing. Strange uniform," he said.

I grinned at him. "I'm not army material nor is it a uniform." I reached for my jeans, t-shirt, crew-socks, and sneakers, all spotlessly clean, ironed, and starched. My underwear was past saving so I peeled them off and threw them into a corner. Unabashed curiosity was on his face as I dressed commando style, especially careful not to tuck anything in the way of my zipper.

"What do you call these?" He pulled at the denim of the zipper.

"Blue jeans."

"But they're black," he pointed out and I noticed he was correct.

"Denim jeans. Made of a material called denim. They come in assorted colors but blue and black are the most popular. They're tough and comfortable, especially when they're worn in."

"Where do you get them?" he answered.

"Not from around here," I laughed as I exited the barracks to find that something was off.

It took me awhile to hit on the differences, they were that subtle but soon it became glaringly obvious. The sky was the same royal blue but not as deep. The clouds had sharp corners rather than rounded, the maple trees looked more like oaks than maples. I walked out to where I could hear the grunts, groans, and thuds of working soldiers to stare at a sandy arena covered with near-naked men in uniform. They looked like Amber's military, but the chevrons were bird's wings, not stripes.

I asked him where Tegan was, and he shrugged as if it didn't matter. Or he didn't really know who Tegan was. "Where are we? This isn't Amber, close but no cigar. This is a Shadow world close to it but not the same.

"Where's Commander Tegan?" I yelled over the noise of their workout which ceased suddenly, and the squad of nearly naked men stared as if I were retarded.

"Tegan who?" One stepped forward as the leader, but it was Ruinredder that caught me by surprise as he grabbed me by the arms and held me in a bear hug that was surprisingly strong. Stronger than he looked and strong enough to hold me.

"Hey! Let go of me!" I shouted, attempting to break free but I couldn't get loose which caused me a tremor of fear for I was the Black Dragon and no man should be able to hold me.

The leader was a giant of a man, he stepped forward and grabbed me by the chin. His fingers were steel, and I couldn't open my mouth, move my head, or do anything with my arms. I wasn't helpless, the one thing I could move was my legs and I shoved them between us into the giant's middle. Pushing for all I was worth, I kicked. To my utter surprise, the big hunk of muscle didn't miss a step. Except to plant his fist into my mid-stomach.

All my air blew out of my lungs with the force of a hurricane to a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors which slowly grayed out to a dim circle of black. Quiet. Peaceful. No pain and no worries.

Water, moldy scent and cold. Brisk and slightly alkaline water in my face brought clarity of a sort back to me. I opened my eyes and found myself seated on the ground in the main barracks, tied to a discipline post used to inflict punishment on raw recruits. All the men that had been in the yard were now dressed and in attendance around me. The giant wore full day uniform with a sergeant's chevrons on his sleeves. Campaign ribbons that I recognized from various Amber wars across the shadows. The name stenciled on his left breast pocket next to his rank was Aragon which had a Spanish flavor, but he looked nothing like a Spaniard. More likely Black Irish.

"You ready to listen to reason, Captain?" he asked, using my Amber Black Dragon rank.

I moved my jaw. Sore but not damaged beyond that fierce original grip from his massive hand. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"I am Master Sergeant Radford Aragon of the Rim Cave Regulars. Of Clyaestre."

"And where is Claeystre?"

"We're a small Barony from the Border Kingdom 50 mile from Amber's north border. Sometimes we're in Amber's Shadow and sometimes we're...elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?"

"Shifted into another Shadow. We're known for our soldiers. Hire out as mercenaries. Always fought on Oberon's side." He paused. "Never Eric's."

"What's your point?" I returned, testing the ropes. Not an inch of give. My muscles swelled but nothing stretched, snapped, or gave way to my dragon strength.

"We received a request to lure you away, hold you and then dispose of you."

"Not so easy to do," I snapped. "I am the Black Dragon!"

"Yet, here you are," he replied gently. I tore at my bonds yet was unable to budge the thin ropes to which I was tethered to the eight-inch-thick post buried some eight feet in the ground.

"Who told you to do this to me? How far did they say you should go?"

"I was given the order by King Random himself. At first, I had my doubts, so I went to others to confirm it. It was the king and he gave me the command from his own mouth. He and his Generals."

"I don't believe it!" I burst out. "He's my uncle! I was his Heir! There's no way he'd order my death! Besides, he knows I cannot be harmed that way."

"Yet, you are mortal. Like the rest of Amber royalty. Still, I don't like his order so therefore, I am giving you the opportunity to explain what you have done to warrant why he has given them."

"I haven't done anything! I don't know why he would have done this! I gave my life to save Amber! I'm no traitor nor have I done anything to explain his actions," I snapped. "Let me go and I'll ask him myself."

"I would do that except that I've already double-checked the orders. They come straight from the King's mouth. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" I screamed and tried to fight my way free, but I couldn't move. Nor could I convert to my Dragon form though I screamed the spell to do so. All of them stood there and watched my futile efforts until I realized that I could do nothing. Whatever their intention, I had nothing left to deter them from their actions.

He sighed in deep distress. "I've studied every second of your service to the Crown of Amber, Captain Raven and have found no hint of any supposed treachery so even though the King has given me a direct order, I find that I cannot obey it. Your death serves no noble purpose and is in fact, an abhorrent deed." He frowned. "There is no way that I or any of my men will harm one hair or scale of the Black Dragon. So, with a heavy heart, I will obey his other order–I will banish you to a Shadow world so far from your home that you cannot find your way back."

My stomach lightened, and I felt a sweep of relief. There was no way that I wouldn't be able to find my way no matter how far he sent me. It was part of my DNA and in my blood and bone in both dragon and human form. The same thing that allowed birds to fly thousands of miles south and yet return to the very nest in which they had been hatched. I was even sure that he did not possess the power to cast me out. Not even when he stepped aside to reveal a man dressed in wizard's robes of purple silk embroidered with images of wyverns, centaurs, elves, and dragons.

He was a middle-aged man in appearance with dark hair touched by gray stripes over his ears. Obsidian eyes that sparkled with brilliance, thin-lipped, high cheekbones and with a military erectness. But his appearance could be an illusion; something many elder wizards used to conceal the fact that they were ancient. Most had the reputation for forgetfulness, sometimes bordering on senility.

I laughed at him. Which made him squint his face in displeasure. I didn't recognize him, either which seemed to displease him.

"Rude, too?" he snapped in a voice that could have come from a whiskey-drinking four-pack-a-day smoker.

"Do your damnedest, spell caster," I said cheerfully, calling him a name akin to naming him a quack. "I'm immune to Wizard's spells."

He grunted, opened his robe, and pulled out a black velvet bag whose contents were a handful of thin metal flakes that shined in the light. White electrum, the rarest of magical metals and powerful enough that only the best of the best in spell casting could afford it.

With deft, dexterous flicks, he drew a circle around me with the silver/gold alloy and then finished it off with sulfur, salt, earth, and silk threads creating an intricate design inside the circle. What the Voodoo priests called a 'verve.'

I felt a chill touch me. Suddenly, I wasn't so sure that I was immune to his magic. Especially when I saw him pull out from the velvet bag the last item. A black, shiny metal scale. A Dragon scale which I knew instantly and with certainty was mine.

He added the scale to the center of the verve and lit the whole design on fire. The smoke was almost pleasant, with a euphoric effect so that I did not realize that my legs and lower body were disappearing. Becoming transparent. By the time that the dragon scale caught fire, (which was thought to be impossible) I was both drugged and complacent. So, when the wizard drew forth a rough stone-chipped dagger of black Dragonsbane, I merely giggled at the sight, even as he raised it towards my chest.

The instant the point broke my skin between my ribs, I was awash in a bone-chilling cold that was worse than the worst pain I could imagine, worse than the worst pain I had ever felt. It tore through every cell in my body and when I was completely frozen to the bone, he, and everything else faded to nothing.

# Chapter 3

Consciousness came in layers. The first, I was aware that I was floating in a darkness so deep that I could see nothing, hear nothing, and felt nothing.

Gradually, I became aware of a heaviness that I perceived as my body lying on a cold firm surface. As I tried to move, the cold became a pain that took my breath away. I sank back into the darkness.

I smelled garbage. That stomach-wrenching, gag reflex smell that occurred when you scented or saw something so offensive that it triggered a vomit attack. I tried to move away from it and my movement woke me to a state of complete coherence. Then, I wished that I had remained non-sentient.

I sat up and saw metal walls around me; painted green and several feet higher than my head. Pizza boxes, baby diapers, empty cans and the like were thrown around me. Garbage. I was resting in a dumpster. I gagged and lifted myself out of it as fast as I was capable.

I had no recollection of how I came to be in such a position or state; or even why I should be in so distasteful of a situation. My memories told me that I was more accustomed to the finer things in life, not a back alley lined with garbage, overflowing dumpsters, soot-covered buildings and worn concrete heaved by years of weather and abuse.

Discarded needles lay next to used condoms and soiled diapers. Cardboard boxes stacked in bundles. Milkbone Dog biscuit boxes tied together with white kitchen string. Dead cats mangled, bloating, and smelling of death and Chinese noodles. Maggots crawling on both.

I threw up foam and bile, my stomach empty and stumbled out of the alley headed unconsciously towards the light. Lights of a more traveled side street. When I stepped onto the sidewalk, I was stunned to see buildings that soared over my head, lights that illuminated the paved road every block and traffic lights that were blinking yellow which told me that I was in a city after midnight. Several off-duty cabs were cruising by, trolling for late night customers. The sight made me step forward and raise my hand.

Brake lights glimmered, and the drivers' faces gaped in my direction leaving me to wonder why their reaction. It wasn't until I heard sirens that I recognized some danger to which I needed to respond.

I ran. Past storefronts shuttered by steel curtains and retractable bars but with enough plate glass to show that I was stark naked, except for the colored designs covering my entire body. I was painted in blue, red, and green designs and runes, suspecting that the red lines were my blood.

My head throbbed in tympani with my heart as I paused to stare at my own apparition.

I did not recognize the six-foot, dark-haired man that stood covered in tattoos that stared back at me. His one eye was a deep gold and the other a blued, distorted orb that was obviously blind. For the first time, I realized that my vision was distorted with an obvious lack of depth perception, yet I could clearly see that two police cars were heading straight for me.

I ran towards the darkness to hide. The lead car kept its spotlight on me no matter which direction I ran. I put myself down an alley like the one in which I'd awakened but this one turned out to be a dead end. The two cars blocked the exit, the doors flew open and two burly men in uniforms advanced on me. They carried flashlights with one hand and the other held onto their weapons.

I could not see their faces in the brightness of their headlights. Their outlines suggested that they were large men, capable of subduing someone my size.

"What's up, man?" one asked me. "You drunk or high?"

"Neither," I responded. "I woke up like this in a dumpster."

"Naked and tattooed? Someone mug you?"

"I don't know. I don't remember. What's the name of this Shadow? The city?" I asked desperately.

"You know your name? Where you live? Got any money?" The officer moved closer and the other flanked me. That was when I felt the familiar tingle start on my back and a rush of euphoria swept me up in its embrace. I knew something intrinsic to my existence was about to happen as my hands became claws and wing buds sprouted between my shoulder blades. I was transforming into my Dragon form yet as the seconds ticked away and nothing else happened, I scowled in disappointment.

They did not seem alarmed at the sight as if a man changing into a black beast was an everyday occurrence. Instead, they pulled out handcuffs and Tasers.

"You going to come quietly? We can take you to the ER and get checked out," the first officer spoke as he came closer. "You can't stay out here like that."

I spoke the spell that transformed me yet other than a cold lump in my belly, nothing happened. No Dragon scales, no forty-foot of fire-breathing monster or wings large enough to lift me into the air and away from their custody. Since I did not want to be hauled in for drunk and disorderly, lewd behavior or wind up in the psych ward, I ran. Between the two of them. The first man in front made a grab for me but it was almost impossible to hang onto a naked man, especially if he was sweating. Their fingers slid off my skin as if I were greased and I slid between their legs neater than a third baseman on the way home.

I thought that I was fast but not even I could outrun a Taser. The points hit me over the right shoulder and both butt cheeks. I screamed in both pain and shock as my body seized up in one continuous spasm. I'd been Tased before, but nothing prepared me for an experience like that. It felt as if my whole body was on fire and I was melting down to my bones.

Thankfully, it only lasted for seconds, just long enough for them to handcuff and zip-tie me, load me up in the back of their squad car, get in, and reverse out of the alley. By the time the driver was speeding down the major highway into the downtown area, I could lift my head off the seat and look around. It smelled of vomit and piss, distracting me from the sight of tall buildings, skyscrapers, and businesses on the lower floors. I saw delis and department stores, flower shops, Rite-Aids and finally, the iconic Macy's.

"New York City," I mumbled to myself, but he heard me.

"Manhattan," he agreed. "We're heading to Bellevue."

"Psych ward?" I shuddered. "Please don't put me in the nut ward. I'm not crazy!"

"You know how many wackos we hear say that? How many naked men we've picked up in this city that weren't crazy?" he scoffed.

"No. How many?" I returned.

"None. All of them were Grade-A wackos."

I tried to kick but with my ankles bound to my wrists, I was like a turtle on its back. Helpless and unable to move.

He drove up to a large brick building, modern or at least newer than the others that surrounded it. In foot-high letters, it stated POLICE, 77th PRECINCT over its entrance but they drove around to the back entering an underground entrance, a subbasement parking structure filled with police vehicles. I was bounced off my stomach as he drove over speed bumps with the arrogance of the law enforcement brotherhood. I fell off the seat completely when he slammed on the brakes and came to a sudden stop. Stuck in the wheel wells, I had to be pulled out by the pair of them when the driver exited. Other uniformed police stood around the cruiser peering in at me. Men and women with faces both stern, disbelieving, and amused.

Three of them offered to help and lifted me like a grocery bag, cut my legs free and set me on my feet. I looked around. A parking garage mostly empty of personal vehicles, but loaded with unmarked cars and cruisers, all wearing the badge of NYPD.

There was a sally-port in front of our car and I was shoved that way by the crowd of men who covered my nakedness with their bodies, almost as if they were keeping the sight from the female officers.

Lewd comments came from nearly every one of them and I shuffled closer to the doorway which opened with a code and a swipe card. I knew that once inside, in an interview room or a cell, my chances of escape would be nearly impossible.

"Is that blood on him?" I heard one of the females ask. "Or red tattoos?"

They pushed me through the open door into a long corridor wide enough for three abreast. White. So bright that it made my eyes ache. Overhead lights in white strip tubes that made my skin look odd.

Another locked steel door at the far end of the hallway drew my attention. I tried to stop and was dragged forward by several pairs of hands. My skin tingled and I saw bare skin where they had gripped hard enough to smear off some of the painted designs on my arms and sides. We traveled the length of the hallway, through the next two locked doors into a holding area with several large barred cells. Most of the people inside were drunk, lying on the floor or inclined against the walls. The smell of puke permeated everything. One or two were women whose job roles were not the sort to which I was accustomed. Prostitutes from the short shorts and cleavage. I suspected one might even be a male dressed as a woman. Bikers in the next tank and they smelled better than I had before I'd exited the dumpster. I still couldn't smell how bad I reeked of the smells from the drunk tank.

Catcalls and mockery followed us as I was led past the cells and into an interview room marked #2. The cop flipped the paper sign on the door to occupied as he steered me to the table with the handcuff bolt secured to the wall. I sat in the flimsy plastic chair and leaned against the padded wall where others had peeled off patches that had not been replaced. He unlocked my cuffs with one hand and locked it to the bolt on the wall. I shrugged my shoulders, already stiff from the unnatural position of my hands tied behind my back.

"Am I under arrest?" I asked calmly. "You never read me my rights."

"We're holding you for 72 hours. Psych evals," he answered me. His blue eyes studied me from head to toe. "We'll get you something to wear after the nurse checks you over for injuries."

I didn't feel as if my body was hurt but if I pointed out that the blood wasn't mine, it might lead to other accusations. "I'd appreciate a wet rag and a towel. I didn't paint this crap on me."

Someone knocked on the door and it opened to reveal a tall woman in regular clothes with a lanyard around her neck. It had her picture on the ID and her name. Patty Robinson, R.N. NYPD. She carried a small bag with a red cross on the cover and a white jumpsuit folded neatly into a square. Made of paper. Flat canvas shoes. Placing them on the table in front of me, she opened the bag and pulled out wet wipes and peroxide. A pair of purple nitrile gloves and a camera with a large lens.

Under the watchful eyes of the cop who had Tased me, she photographed each design before she checked me over. As she washed off all the ink designs, she pursed her lips and paused as she reached my left nipple. Over the left pectoral area was a raised scar that looked like a recently healed wound. Still raw, red, and slightly painful as she touched it.

"Were you stabbed?" she asked sharply. I looked down at the newly healed wound and fingered it.

"I don't know. I don't remember anything about it," I said baldly at the loss of any memory of the incident. I had vague memories of a hand holding something that felt like ice as it touched my heart and then...nothing. My body jerked as the ice seized my heart, my head flinched back into the padded wall hard enough to bounce off and into her face, knocking her to the floor as I continued to bang the table. Blood splattered even as the cop tried to hold me, but the spasms were so powerful he could not stop me. I was aware of what my body was doing but had no control over its actions. He literally threw the table out of the way, pulling it loose from its bolts in the floor.

Voices screamed. More people crowded the tiny room and held me. I was thrown to the floor and forced down as a multitude of heavy male bodies sat on me. Something tore at my flesh. Darkness and ice pulled on me. The red heat grew from a pinprick and swallowed the dark iciness until I was drowning in it.

# Chapter 4

I moved, my hand over my eyes, rubbing at the eyelid. Something obscured my vision but rubbing didn't make anything seem clearer. I smelled...alcohol and disinfectant. Band-Aids. Something beeped monotonously, regularly near me. I had a massive headache, my nose itched, and my arms hurt. I was so dry that my lips stuck together and when I forced them apart, they cracked and bled.

I groaned. Heard someone move a chair and a vague form dressed in a suit came close enough for me to see it. A man with blonde hair cut high and tight. He wore a pinstripe suit with a pink shirt and a blue tie. Cufflinks in heavy gold and a Tag Heuer watch. Around his neck hung a gold detective's badge and I could see a pistol tucked away in a shoulder holster.

Cop. Plainclothes. Detective First Class. I tried to talk but my throat was drier than burnt toast. He held a cup of ice water with a straw and aimed it for my mouth. I drank until it was empty, stinging against my cut lips.

"More?" At my nod, he refilled the cup for me three more times before my throat was lubricated enough to speak where he could understand me.

"Thanks," I said gratefully above a whisper. "What happened?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," he said.

"I don't know."

"You had a seizure in the interview room. Knocked the nurse out and banged your head on the table. Broke it."

"Is she alright?"

"Concussion. Broken nose."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt her." I closed my eyes. "Where am I?"

"Hospital."

"What's wrong with me?"

"Docs say you had a seizure. You were stabbed in the chest no more than a few days ago, it damn near bisected your heart and should have killed you. On top of that, your temperature dropped to near freezing. Your heart stopped and didn't start until the surgeons shocked you five times. Then, your temp jumped to 110˚. Just what and who the hell are you? We took your fingerprints and they came back to a kid born _sixty years ago_."

"Nineteen. I think I'm nineteen years old. What was the name of this kid? That the fingerprints belonged to?"

"Murphy-Sines. Raven. Raven Murphy-Sines. Wanted by the NSA and the Military, over sixty years ago."

My mouth gaped. I had no idea what he was talking about. I _knew_ that was my name, that was the only familiar thing about any of this. I certainly wasn't over _sixty_ years old. "That's impossible. I can't be this person. Do I look like I'm that old? Someone made a mistake, a big mistake," I protested.

"I thought so, too but we double checked, and triple checked. Not only did we research the computer files to see if someone had changed or deleted the files, but we also dug out the original _paper_ fingerprint file cards. They were the _same_. The odds of someone having the same ridge pattern as yours and not being you are less than one in a _trillion_."

"Are they coming to get me?" I asked in horror.

"No one's getting you until the docs are through with you. The first thing that they want to know is how you wound up naked in a dumpster and painted like _The Illustrated Man_."

"Ray Bradbury," I said instantly, and he looked surprised.

"That story is older than both of us together. You read it?"

"I think so. It was old when I read it." For the next ten minutes, we discussed novels and if they were sixty years old or older, I knew the authors. Nothing more contemporary to his knowledge.

"You're not a time traveler?" he asked half seriously.

"Time travel is impossible," I countered and told him why Einstein's theory precluded a man from jumping into the future or back into the past.

"So, you understand physics beyond a layman's knowledge," he mused. "You're educated. Sprichst du Deutsch?"

I answered in German and then he checked me in French, Spanish, Italian and Russian. I was surprised that he knew so many languages, but he explained that Detectives had neural implants that allowed them to translate in their heads.

"Am I under arrest?"

"For public indecency. Minor charge, a small fine," he shrugged. "It's the other charges we're holding you on. Vagrancy, no visible means of support and terrorism."

"What about the statute of limitations? No crime save murder is valid after sixty years." I paused. "Not murder. I didn't kill anyone."

"As far as we know. But the NSA doesn't tell NYPD anything. As soon as the MDs release you. We have orders to turn you over to them. In fact, there are three of them waiting for the doctor to okay interviewing you."

"They're here? In the hospital?"

He was going to speak but before he could open his mouth, a lean, slender man with gray hair cut short, tanned skin, and faded blue eyes entered in a rush. He wore scrubs covered by a white coat and I knew without asking that he was a neurologist. By the straight pins tucked into his collar. The name embroidered on the white lab coat was Elon Reiter, MD. Dept. of Neurology.

"Hi," he spoke quickly with a Boston accent. "I'm Dr. Reiter. How are you feeling? You have a moderate concussion and if you experience nausea we can give you something for that, but I want you to remain awake for the next 24 hours. What's your name?"

"Fine. I feel fine," I answered which was certainly not the truth and any fool could see that. I saw that he didn't believe my answer, either. He checked my eye with his penlight.

"What happened to your eye?"

"A soldier stabbed me with his sword in a Border skirmish." Both the doctor and the detective shared a look. The one that said I was crazy. Or confused.

"And your chest? He stabbed you there, too?" His hands traveled to that place and the sores on my wrists. He palpated my skull and my nose, causing renewed flares of pain. I vaguely remembered impacting the table and a woman's head.

"What's wrong with me? Why did I have a seizure? Was it caused by the head injuries?"

"The seizure came before the recent head injuries. We gave you an EEG and an MRI and found evidence of previous severe head traumas with significant brain damage. Were you ever in a car accident? Play football? Have a serious fall?"

"Not that I remember." I was cautious, not wanting to tell them that I could only remember being a forty-foot black dragon or coming from another reality. I was beginning to doubt those memories myself. Those things began to seem less real than where I was now.

The door swung open behind him a second time and I looked up to stared at the newest entry of my hospital room. This man was taller than I was which put him over 6' 2" and even though he was dressed in an expensive three-piece suit of gray wool, I could tell that he was superbly fit. Long, lean with a runner's physique; not one of those muscle-bound jocks that liked to pose on the beach. His hair was short, and razor cut, styled by a salon and not one of those chain places that charged twelve bucks inside a Walmart. His haircut probably cost as much as a car payment. His hair tended to curl and shaped his Grecian perfection of a head. His neck was neither too long or too bulky, he looked as if he could pose for one of Michelangelo's statues. His eyes were a dark gray-green sprinkled with slivers of green, gold, and blue. Piercing eyes, cold, direct and could strip you to the core.

He had an air about him; an essence that dared you not to take him for granted, an air that warned you he was dangerous. A mysticism that said he was not...normal. Neither the detective or the doctor seemed to notice him as he leaned against the doorjamb.

"Who are you?" I asked watching the others ignore the saturnine man. "They don't see you, do they?"

Neither man reacted to my questions or the dark man's presence. He studied me before he lifted his hand in the air with a beckoning motion, urging me to rise. I found myself throwing aside the sheets before I stopped in befuddled astonishment. None of us blinked nor did my BP machine move its cursors and the annoying beeps were frozen.

"You're a wizard." I set my will against him and his face broke into a delighted grin.

"And you're not what I expected. Rise, Dragon and follow your master."

"I'm not your servant and you're not my master, sirrah," I denied as I fought his compulsion. He pulled something out of his beautiful suit's pocket and threw it at me. A Tarot card landed on the bed between my legs. A card with the exquisite painting of a black Dragon kneeling at the foot of a blonde maiden in medieval robes of blue wearing a crown of stars. On the dragon's neck was a collar of red, blue, and green lights that glittered and sparkled along with the crown's stars and the leash held in the maiden's delicate hands. Encircling the dragon was the same verve designs that had trapped me, even down to the black scale from my hide. Tiny flames spread across the circle outlining the wards and words of the spell that had trapped and brought me _here._

I reached between my knees: and picked up the card. Ripping it in two, I stared defiance at the Wizard before me. "I'm not bound to your desires," I spat and told myself to pull away. Instead, I stood, tore out my IVs and took two steps forward.

"Do you have a human name, Dragon?" he asked calmly as he held out a dog collar and leash. Nothing like the one on the card, this was a plain leather collar, spiked with a chain leash and leather handle. Surely, he did not think that I would let him put that ridiculous thing around my own neck? "Are you here in this form because it is an illusion to fool these peasants?"

My hand reached for the leather bonds and I halted in desperation. Trembling, I took a step sideways as he put his hands on me. Steel. His touch was a cold steel hawser that I could not escape. Magic flowed over my body and covered me with compulsions and geas that bound me beyond any such spells that I had ever tasted. The harder that I struggled, the tighter I was held. He made me place the collar around my neck and forced me to hold the leash. Dropping his hands, he turned his back and ordered me to follow. Even as I railed, whined, and screamed in denial, I obeyed him. No one heard or saw us. No one commented that I was walking out the door in my hospital gown and nothing else as we wove our way past the nurses' station, through the crowded hallways of patients, visiting relatives, into the packed elevator car, past the security in the parking garage or standing next to the passenger side of a large box van. The man sitting and waiting in the passenger seat gave the stereotype of a henchman reality. Chosen for his enormous size, brutish muscles, and lack of brain power, he was certainly the Wizard's doer of dirty deeds.

Opening the back of the cargo van, he pushed me inside and secured me with the five chains belted to and hanging from the steel frame welded into the van's structure. He secured me around the wrists, ankles, and neck. Next, he muzzled me. The chains were heavy enough for a monster, and clearly, they had not been expecting a man as he had to adjust the size of the loops and the lengths of the chain.

Last, he pulled a black hood over my face so that I was in the dark before I heard the roll-up door slide shut. I trembled in horror, lost in the dark and unknown situation, wearing nothing but a thin cotton gown.

As the van lurched to a start and backed up, I was thrown off my feet to land on my knees, unable to fall completely over because the chains on my wrists kept me close to the front wall of the van's overhead nose box.

The drive seemed endless but that could have been the result of my drug disorientation, concussion, my shock at being unable to throw off his control and the uncertainty of where I was going or how I got there. My inability to remember anything other than my name was also wearing on my fear.

I strained against the chains which were heavy enough to hold a dragon, let alone an injured man.

The rumbling of the tires became monotonous, the momentum of the vehicle straight forward with gentle gradual turns and equally soft braking. From that, I deduced we were probably on an interstate although there was hardly any noise of other vehicles, that could be so if the van was sound-proofed or we were on a smaller feeder route.

They drove for hours until sheer exhaustion made me fall asleep. I did not waken until the van had stopped, the roll-up door snaked open and bright lights speared the back of the cargo space blinding me even through the black hood.

I was very thirsty and begged for water. I could see nothing even when they pulled off the hood. Orange blobs against the darkness were the first sign of my sight recovering. No streetlights, no moonlight, or stars to illuminate my surroundings. Not even my dragon sight could break past the spotlights in my eyes.

" _Please,"_ I begged. " _Water."_

"Give him a bottle," the wizard's voice ordered, and I felt as well as heard the heavy man climb in, advancing towards me. His feet were louder than the crickets outside the van or the hoot of a nearby owl.

The country, then. We were out in the country, no longer inside the city. I smelled fresh cut grass, trees, and ragweed. No horses or cows. No salt so therefore not near the shore. A hint of pine and clayish soil. Dust and stone. Mountains. A bubbly stream to my left.

A bottle of water was held to my lips, the cap off. Dry, cracked and bleeding, my lips hurt as I swallowed but I didn't stop. The relief of water to my dehydrated tissues was so euphoric that I didn't care if my lips bled or my head hurt, my nose ran, and my stomach was cramping.

I drained the bottle as fast as I could so that he could not change his mind or snatch it away. When it was empty, he gave me another. I drank six of them before I was sated. They waited. To see if I should throw up yet my response was only the need to pee. For that, I was told to piss where I stood and dressed only in a hospital gown, it posed no problem. When I was done, he used the last of the water to wash off the blood that had run down my arm from the torn IVs. He even placed a set of Band-Aids on the two bruised spots. The smell reminded me of a gray man who had cared for me when I was a child, but his name did not come, only the sense of great sorrow. They closed the door and left me in the darkness but without the hood.

# Chapter 5

The rest of the trip he loosened the chains enough so that I could lie on a pile of furniture blankets used in moving vans that were stacked on the floor. We stopped a total of four times. Twice they fed and watered me and the other, two must have been to gas up or bathrooms breaks for themselves. It felt like two days on the road and by then, I was sunk into the depths of listlessness and despair. I did not have the strength to escape or the knowledge of how to break free from the wizard's magical constraints.

Vaguely, I was aware that a wizard powerful enough to trap, transport and compel a dragon should not exist in this Shadow world. From fading memories that I had of this place, magic was a fable such as elves, fairies, and Atlantis in this world. Stories told to gullible children. Dragons, gnomes, and unicorns all creatures of fantasy with no reality to the inhabitants of this place. Yet clearly, someone had believed deeply enough that they had conjured spells to bring such a fabled creature into reality.

They did not park for long. By the time that I had counted to a hundred, we were back on the highway but this one was rising, falling, and curving so that my body could not keep up with the movement of the truck. I would have fallen flat on my face or slammed into the walls wrenching my wrists if they had not secured me close as tightly as they had.

I thought about trying to loop the slack around my neck and using it to strangle myself when the notion of too much to bear grew foremost but he had anticipated such a reaction and had not left me quite enough to do so.

It must have been a day later when the truck stopped with a hiss of air-brakes and backed up to hit what felt like a high dock. The shock reverberated through the frame and chassis, jarring me out of the semi-stupor I had been in for the last twelve hours.

Once again, I was thirsty and now hungry. The problem of my urine output had dwindled with my lack of fluids and been resolved by voiding at my feet. Now, I stood in a rank-smelling puddle of my own making and that made me angry. Enough had run off towards the back of the truck so whoever came to open the door was in for a smelly, nasty surprise.

I waited, and their curses were the second thing I heard; the first being the noise of the roll-up door as it cranked open.

" _Whoo-ee!"_ I heard, and this voice was not the baritone bell of the wizard or his henchman. This voice was that of a much younger man, lacking the deep tones of an adult. "Hey, man. Like, couldn't you hose out the animal cage first? It smells like the mother of all litter boxes in here," the boy complained climbing in fastidiously and not touching the floor.

A youngster only a few years younger than me, dressed in ratty blue jeans with holes and a faded and bleached Metallica t-shirt. His hair was long and brown, streaked with purple and blue. Around his narrow waist, he wore a studded belt that glimmered in the young daylight that teased me just beyond his form and through the narrow view I could see beyond the door.

"Hey, Igor. Did Uncle Cal leave you any instructions or orders?" He called over his shoulder as his dark green eyes raked the chains and my lax form.

"Let me go, please," I whispered.

The henchman that the boy called Igor, climbed in, and stood next to the teenager, his burly arm grabbing at the boy's belt. He held him back from me with no effort as if _I_ were a danger to him.

"My name isn't Igor," he said irritably. "It's Jaxon, runt. And your Uncle said I wasn't to let you in the truck or anywhere around the creature until he had the cage ready. It's dangerous and not spelled to you."

" _It_ is a _he_. And he's as dangerous as a pinned fly. What's he gonna do? Bite off my head with his molars? He can hardly stand and he's in spelled chains," the boy said as he shrugged loosely from the big man's hold.

"You got a name? Do demons have human names that they go by but aren't spell-bound by? What plane did you transport from?"

"You think I'm a demon?" I opened my eyes and he reared back in shock as he saw my face clearly.

"Cool eyeball, dude. Did my uncle do that when he conjured you up? I helped him with the spells. I found it in an old grimoire in the basement when I was rooting around. When he bought the place. It's supposed to be built on an old graveyard and a nexus of ley and power lines. So, what name you go by? I can't call you 'it'."

"I am not a demon," I shivered, and the chains rattled.

"You're not supposed to call him anything, Whitford," the big dude grumbled. "Go on, before your uncle finds us here and hurts both of us."

"I'm dying of thirst and starving. Can you give me some water? Something to eat? I'd take a PB&J if you haven't got anything else."

"I'll trade. Your name for food and water. That's fair. That okay with you, Igor?" He turned to the man.

"Whitford, your Uncle warned you not to interfere. Do you want me to summon him before he is finished with his task?"

The boy stepped back, raising both hands into the air. "Okay, okay, Igor. Just saying. Sorry. I'll be back when the Big Dude says it's okay."

"Raven. My name is Raven, and I am not bound by it or any other name. I am human, and this is my true form and true nature."

"Can't be," he protested. "Or the summoning spell would not have worked." He gave me one more glance and then dropped down out of the box van. Igor, otherwise known as Jaxon pulled out a large golden key shaped like a lightning bolt that was the length of my hand. Inserting it into each lock on each chain, he removed the restraints from my wrists, ankles, and neck. I promptly fell to the floor as limp as a rag. He bent and hoisted me onto his broad shoulder and carried me into the garage as if I were no more trouble than a handful of mail.

The garage floor was spotless concrete, painted a deep green. Several other vehicles were parked inside next to the truck which had been backed up to a waist-high dock that ran the length of a six-car garage. Several doors led off the dock and deeper into the front of the garage. The door through which the van had backed was open to show a curving driveway lined with neat brick borders, cobblestones, flowers, and acres of manicured lawns in the distance.

Further off, I could just make out the blue crowns of massive spruce trees and beyond that, the gray stones of a truly epic house. Aptly, a castle with five turrets and the sparkle of glassed windows.

He turned around and my view changed to the interior of the garage. I recognized a Porsche Boxster, a green Range Rover, silver gray Jaguar XKE and the big box van. The last stall held a fire red 4x4 extended cab F-350 truck.

On the walls of concrete stone were painted Hex signs, Runes, and wards. Powerful protection against some imagined dangers. I could feel the power and magic long after I was out of their supposed range.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my lips close to his ear. I thought about biting him but if he dropped me, I knew that I wouldn't have the strength to get up, let alone fight him.

"Dungeon," he grunted and stepped onto the paved driveway. My senses were overwhelmed with the aromas of grass, flowers, and fresh baking. My stomach grumbled as I caught the scent of brownies and chocolate chip cookies that someone was baking nearby. Drool escaped my lips and trickled down his neck into the collar of his shirt. He wiped it off without complaint although he nearly took off my jaw.

"I'm terribly hungry," I whined as he took two-foot-long strides with each step. We arrived at a small gatehouse shaped like an arrowhead; the door opened to a muttered word that I didn't catch. Descending, we approached a series of shuttered doorways and rustic torches flickered lit as we passed and left shadows behind us.

Eventually, we reached a room that could in no way be contained within the narrow gatehouse, yet it was almost directly beneath it.

Round, made entirely of stone with flagstones for the floor of red slate, the room was divided by a floor-to-ceiling grate designed to hold a rampaging elephant. The bars were thicker than my thumbs, made of bronzed colored metal with a gate wide enough for a tank to enter.

A large drain centered the floor. On the back wall were a stone bench, a stone watering trough and a curious protrusion that was meant for sitting. The whole thing was a cell designed for a great beast.

Two huge bolts were embedded in the rock wall and a third in the floor. The rings were as large as my head and heavy enough to hold a ship's anchor chain.

He didn't touch any of the metal as he scooted through the open gate and gently laid me on the stone bench. He took the end of the leash and looped it through the nearest bolt, tying the leather into a simple knot that I should have no trouble undoing.

"Water in the trough. Drain for your pee," he said gruffly. "Master Jordemayne will bring you a bucket for your poop. When he has your room and cage ready, I'll bring you out of the dungeon. How well you're treated depends on how well you behave," he stated.

I gave the leash a tug and the knot tightened. I had no doubt that I could unravel it as soon as his back was turned. I could use it to strangle him. As soon as I could stand up.

I found that opening my eyes all the way was the hardest thing of all tasks to accomplish. Standing was too difficult, my legs wouldn't move and worse, wouldn't obey my commands to do so. I was staying put regardless of my own wishes.

I watched him walk away with grim amusement, knowing that nothing was left in my tank. Worse still, he left the gate open to mock me. He came back about 15 minutes later, in his hands he carried bottles of water and a paper sack. My nose told me that it held sandwiches and a fresh chocolate chip cookie. Gently, he set the bag down close enough so that I could reach it but not so near that I could grab at him. That was the furthest thought through my mind; all I really wanted was to sink my teeth into the food and drink the water until my eyes floated.

He paused and then in a move that made my heart less heavy, he came close enough to open the sack, unwrap the four sandwiches and hold them out for me.

Grateful, I reached, and our fingers touched. He held himself still yet when nothing happened to make him pull back, I felt his work-roughened skin as he came even closer.

"You're cold," he observed and gave me his nylon windbreaker, placing it around my shoulders. It hung on me like a tent, six sizes too large. Nonetheless, I was grateful for the warmth and gave him a tremulous smile as I crammed the whole wheat, turkey, Swiss, mayo with lettuce, tomato, and sprouts down my throat.

He sat next to me on the stone bench and gestured to the bag, lifting one heavy, beetling eyebrow. Asking without words if he could share with me.

"Help yourself," I mumbled over a huge mouthful. I was starving, and my manners had gone out the window. I watched in amazement as we polished off half a dozen each, no two alike, all coming from the small brown bag.

"How did all them fit in that paper sack?" I wondered as I munched on a still warm, gooey, awesome chocolate chip cookie made with pecans.

"Magicked. Never empties, the Cook's Bag," he grinned giving the name caps.  
"Well, except for the cookies. She don't make them for the likes of me."

"Oh. Doesn't cotton to you, Jaxon?"

"Nah. She's my wife. Says I eats her out of house and home and get too fat on her goodies." He grinned and swiped the last one from me, licked his lips and wiped with the paper napkin left in the bag. Handed me one, also. "You can call me Igor if you want."

I picked up the bottle and drank. Wondered how far his amiable demeanor would last. "Can you explain to me what's going on? The last thing I can remember was getting drunk and passing out in a hay barn. How did I wind up in a dumpster, naked and painted like a tattooed devil? Just where the hell am I?"

"Naked? In a dumpster?" The look of befuddled consternation on his face mirrored my own and was comical until I realized it had happened to me.

"Right there with used baby diapers, pizza boxes, maggots and other nasty stuff. Garbage. I sure could use a shower."

"What do they call you?" he asked and held himself still. I knew that they thought my name would give them power over me, but it didn't work that way.

"Raven. Raven Murphy," I answered.

"Sounds Irish."

"I am, part. Irish American. I was born in Ireland to an Irish American woman. My dad was...my dad..." No matter how I strained, I could not recall who that was or what he looked like. "I don't remember. Just that we moved from Europe to the States and from city to city because something was chasing us. Something bad but I can't remember what, just that if it caught us, my life would be over."

"Us?" he prompted.

"Murphy and me."

"Murphy? Your father?"

"No. He was more like my mom. I used to call him the Gray Man. Because of his gray skin. It was like gray stone, like a gargoyle. He was a gargoyle, made of stone and could fly." I spoke as if I were dreaming, those images seemed more like dreams than real memories.

"What happened to this gargoyle man?"

"He died, I think. He saved my life by giving his own. Why am I here, Jax?"

He hesitated and then stood up, gathering the bag and our trash. "Best let the master explain to you, Raven. I'm not learned in the magick ways like him. I just do the grunt work." So, saying, he left me but returned half an hour later with blankets, a thin mattress and two pillows which he laid out making me a bed on the bench. He gave me a bar of soap, hand towel, washcloth and a bath towel. Toothbrush, paste and a small pill bottle with two Tylenol in case I was hurting. I was pretty sure that none of it had been ordered by the wizard.

Humbled by his generosity, I thanked him for watching as he departed into the darkness at the other end of the room. This time when he left, the torches dimmed and went out, leaving me in a twilight that was dark enough to sleep in yet with enough light to see so I could wash my face, armpits, and crotch in a camper's bath.

Filled belly, thirst curtailed, halfway cleaned, I settled down on the comfortable makeshift bed and closed my eyes. To my surprise, I fell asleep almost immediately which made me wonder if I had been drugged. If so, then it must have been in my cookies for we had shared everything else.

Something thwacked into my cheek and woke me from a sound sleep. I heard a giggle at the same time as my cheek exploded in pain. I peeked through my good eye as my hand covered the stinging welt on my face.

"Oww. Shit! What hit me?" I complained and sat up, keeping the blankets tucked around me. The cell was dark, no torches flickered but I had enough ambient light to see the reason for my stinging flesh. The teenager was hiding in the corner of the bars and wall, his cupped palm holding a handful of suspected stones.

"Did you throw a rock at me?" I asked in disbelief. He came closer, a small flashlight in the other hand. He kept it aimed at the floor so that neither of us lost our night vision.

"Yeah. Sorry. I was aiming for your chest," he apologized sheepishly. He was close enough to see that he wore sweats and a hoodie, his feet in unlaced tennies with no socks. He looked as if he had grabbed whatever after jumping out of bed. I imagined he was cold.

"What are you doing here, Whitford? Does Igor or your uncle know you're down here?" I asked more than irritated at him.

"I don't care if they do. Part of the reason you're here is because of me," he snapped. " _I_ found the Book of Spells that brought _you_ here."

"Why? Why did you bring me here?" I asked in despair.

"To rescue my mom," he returned sadly. "She's been kidnapped by the shadow government and no matter what my uncle has tried, we can't find or get to her. My dad died trying to free her."

"And you think magic and spells will work?" I retorted.

"Of course, it will," said his uncle, the wizard as he slid out of the shadows. The hairs stood up all over my body.

"The forces of the US government cannot stand against the might of an ensorcelled dragon. Not even an atomic bomb could harm you."

"I wouldn't want to bet my life on it," I snarled. "I've been hurt and killed before."

"Killed? Yet, here you are."

"This isn't my original body. The first one I was born with died and was destroyed. My dragon body has been killed twice. Magic brought it back, but that magic wasn't in this world. On this world, I'm only mortal. You can't pin your hopes on me. I'm not what you think I am, or what you need."

"We shall see. Whitford, to your room. We will decide your punishment for disobeying my orders regarding this creature," the wizard stated, and the boy went without argument. Uncle Cal closed the barred gate firmly, stared at me with a blank expression on his face and then departed leaving me to the unsubtle darkness.

# Chapter 6

I had no idea what time it was when the sun rose because there was no sunlight where I was, nor alarm clocks or even ceiling lights. I woke because I was used to waking at a certain time, my body trained to get me up before dawn so that I could be ready for work. Memories of what I used to do were foggy but enough remained that what I had done as patrolling over great distances seemed right. Flying. The remembrance of that vast freedom made my present condition almost claustrophobic. I was beginning to panic, my heart thundering in my chest, sweat pouring off me in greasy beads, my throat felt as if it had swollen shut and my stomach tied in knots. I crawled over to the corner of the wall and bench, huddling there, shaking in terror as a full-fledged panic attack incapacitated me. That was where the wizard found me after he entered the cell alarmed when he did not see me at first.

"What's wrong?" he asked, conjuring light all around us. That helped push back the lowering walls.

"The walls!" I gasped. "They're falling in! They're going to crush me!"

His face brightened, and he gestured. Around me, the encroaching walls fell back so that all I saw was vast blue skies and distant horizons. With me still leashed to the stone bench and still inside the cell.

"You're having a panic attack," he stated. "You're claustrophobic."

My teeth chattered as the adrenalin spiked and wore off. I felt nauseous, sleepy, and needed to use the restroom as my insides churned loosely.

"I take it a cage will not be to your liking, then. It is smaller than this cell. I've never heard of a dragon being afraid of enclosed spaces. I thought your kind lived in caves."

"My _kind_ are the same as yours," I snapped. "I came from this shadow. I was born in Ireland; my mother's name was Amber Murphy-Sines."

"I came to see if you wished to eat and drink."

"Got a cup of tea or coffee? Earl Grey. Scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns, biscuits, and gravy. Pancakes with real maple syrup." He looked bewildered. "What? You think I eat whole cows and deer? Maidens? I eat a lot because I burn a lot of calories."

"I brought you a sandwich and a bottle of water."

"Six might do it. But it's better than nothing. Just what do you expect me to do for you?" I asked unrolling myself from my huddle in the corner. I was hungry once my stomach had settled and the room had broadened.

"Where are you going to keep me cuz I'm not going in some rinky-dink cage, that'll blow my mind," I threatened.

He gestured to the knotted leash. "Untie yourself."

I tried. No matter what I did, I could not untangle the simple Granny knot. In frustration, I turned to him and he spoke a phrase under his breath. He motioned for me to try again and the knot practically untied itself. Then, to my dismay, I handed over the leather leash to him.

"What magic spell transforms you to your real body? The Dragon?"

I told him and together, we recited the words. I repeated them under my breath so that I memorized them, eager to try when he was not around. To my astonishment, I was suddenly twenty feet higher and looking down at his much smaller body. I thought about stepping on him, freeing myself from his care. He still held the leash; it had become a bridle on my head and a set of reins.

With one tug, he drew my head and neck down to his level, even though I told myself not to obey him.

"What a beautiful beast you are," he admired, placing his palm on the bone above my horned nose. His hand felt burning hot, tingles of force coming through it and into my blood. Almost euphoric, I nearly purred against his touch.

"A black so shiny that your scales gleam like sapphire diamonds and as hard as diamonds or tungsten steel, I wager. A golden cat's eye. I wonder how you damaged the other? Forty-foot wingspan and golden claws. Horns on your head and neck, scales that repel metal weapons, arrows, bullets, and the like. Do you breathe fire; I wonder?"

"Aye, that I do provide there is a source of firestone available," I answered, and he reared back in surprise.

"You speak?!"

"Don't you?" I retorted, preening at my wings. His words of praise made my head swell. My skin was itchy, I needed a dust bath, oiling, and a serious grooming. I told him so.

"What kind of stone is this Firestone? What kind of oil do you need?"

I gave him the chemical compound which amounted to anything of a volcano or lava flow. Both helped me to belch flames. I said any kind of oil worked but I preferred linseed oil because I liked the smell. It also had to be enough for me to fully submerge myself in it or someone would have to rub it in those places I couldn't reach. Not that there were many because, with my long neck, I was extremely flexible.

He grinned. "Sounds like a suitable punishment for my nephew. You are not to harm him or my man, Jaxon, or any of the other help in this place. I will bind you to these two hundred acres so that you cannot leave nor, will you suffer from your affliction to small places." He wove a complex spell around me, I could see the lines and forces as he spoke and felt an additional heaviness tighten on my body. Sort of like a second skin that I could not shake off. The bridle and reins remained in place.

"Will you eat?" He held up the sandwich and I snorted a puff of blue smoke that smelled vaguely like cedar.

"If you have a deer or two handy, I might snack."

"So, it would be easier to keep you in your secondary form. Return to your human body, Raven."

I was kneeling at his feet and leaped up as I realized what position I was in but not before I snatched the plastic wrapped sandwich and stepped away from him. Peanut butter and grape jelly. I ate it in three bites. Wordlessly, he held out the bottle of water and I washed the peanut butter, jelly, and mashed white bread down my throat. Looked expectantly for more.

"Well. I guess I'll ask Chloe to make you breakfast."

"Chloe?"

"The cook. Jaxon's wife."

"What's your name? I heard Whitford call you Cal."

"Callimachus Japheth Jordemayne. Wizard of the Silver level."

"Sorry, that doesn't mean anything to me."

He humphed. "For a creature of magic, you don't know much. That can be dangerous if you came up against a demon more powerful or knowledgeable than yourself."

"You said I was immune to nuclear bombs so how could a demon hurt me?" I pointed out.

"That's like comparing oranges and apples to typewriters," he said.

"We don't use typewriters anymore," I pointed out. "Computers and printers."

He closed his eyes and mumbled. Instantly, I was on my knees and even though I fought him, I could not get up. My neck under the dog collar burned until I nearly screamed as my flesh melted yet when it eased, I felt no damage to the skin even as the smell of roasted flesh dissipated.

"You are not immune to magic, Dragon. Heed me well. You are bound to my wishes and I will force your obedience if I must and in any way needed. Is that understood?"

"Yes-sss," I ground out.

"Obey me and this will be a partnership. Otherwise, you will be a slave and me your master."

"I call no man or beast my master," I returned angrily.

"All men have masters," he denied. "The trick is whether we recognize the fact and use it to our advantage. I will give you free rein of the estate for the next two days. Let you acclimate to this plane and your circumstances. On the third day, I will expect you to fly me to Fredericksburg."

"Maryland? What's in Maryland?"

"The headquarters of the NSA."

I gaped at him, but he merely turned his back on me, dropping the leash on the flagstones as he departed. Once he was out of sight, the dark and the walls returned, leaving me in a state of panic nearly as bad as the first episode.

I picked up the leather and bolted after him, neither the bars or my leash tethering me to the cell. I ran down the hallway and my dragon senses let me see both where I was going and in what direction. I ran for ten minutes and the torches remained stubbornly dark although I had a thin bar of lighter shadow ahead of me to which I was aiming.

That proved to be the passageway up and out through the Gatehouse proper. I stood in the doorway in joy as I welcomed the sunrise over the dark shapes of the spruce trees and on the warm, mellow rose stones of the Victorian castle.

Three stories high with mullioned windows and towered turret room, I spied carved gargoyle downspouts off the roof's gutters. The roof was made of colored slates and copper flashing turned verdigris by the passing of centuries. There were a dozen chimneys with several spouting whiffs of smoke even though the weather wasn't chilly enough for fireplaces.

I turned until I saw the garage and headed for the open doors; my intent to steal a vehicle and make a run for it. Inside the spotless stalls, I had my choice of three–the estate Range Rover, pickup truck, or Porsche Boxster. In the end, I chose the one that had the keys in it even if I could hotwire any vehicle.

The engine in the Porsche started with a low rumble of muted thunder and no one stopped me or cried an alarm as I backed it out of the stall doing thirty before I spun it around in a controlled slide, gravel spewing up over the hood and ticking at the paint. We flew down the driveway, doing seventy-five before I rounded the first curve. I saw the open gate and my foot mashed the accelerator as I shifted into fifth gear. Beyond the gates, I could see the pavement of a major road, my way back to freedom. I gunned it.

As the Boxster passed through the metal gates, incredible pain tore at me; pulled me back towards the property through the steel and fiberglass of the car as if it were no more than smoke. I howled in agony, unable to see and found myself crawling on the road by my hands and knees, scuttling towards the iron gates as fast as my pain-wracked body could take me.

Somehow, something had plucked, no _torn_ me from the driver's seat out of the car and deposited me inches from the property's boundary. The closer I came, the faster the agony and fire abated yet even when I was firmly on the grassy grounds of the side of the driveway, I was still tormented.

Howling turned to moans and my fingernails dug into my palms as I rolled over into a ball, trying to deal with what was happening to me. I kept looking for either Jordemayne or Jaxson to bring me back; neither made an appearance.

After a quarter hour of hell, finally, I could stand up with only minor cramping in my legs and belly. Stubbornly, I had to test my limits further, so I gingerly stepped into the woods to the fence line. Climbing a tree near the line, I was fine until the branch I was standing on moved of its own accord and held me on the very edge of the boundary. The pain was just as intense even though I was fifteen feet off the ground. Then, it swiveled me back inside the perimeter and dumped me on the leaf-strewn litter.

I spent the rest of the day trying to find a weak spot on the estate's lines. No matter how high I climbed, dug down or climbed over, I could not escape the property.

Hungry, thirsty, filthy, scratched, and weary, I dragged myself back up the driveway towards the garages. I noticed with defeat that the Porsche was back inside the stall, the keys still in the ignition, not a scratch on it.

I hesitated. Made my way towards the house, instinctively going around to the back where the delivery and servants' entrance was located. This time, I was warned by a tingling, burning sensation down my back as I tried to push open the plain wooden door. Stepping back until the itch stopped, I leaned forward and knocked. Waited.

Presently, a woman softly rounded with white hair and a queenly manner opened the screen, raising an eyebrow over blue eyes that were sharp.

I cleared my throat. "Chloe?"

"Who are you?" she demanded. "We don't need any help although it looks as if you do. You could use a bath. And my name to the likes of you is Mrs. Sommers."

"Yes, ma'am. Jaxon said you were the chef. I was wondering–"

"Chef!" she snorted. "I'm the COOK!"

"Cook, yes, ma'am. Your sandwiches were delicious. Your cookies divine. I'm very hungry, ma'am. Haven't had anything to eat all day. Could you feed me? I'm willing to work for it."

"Are you." She paused and then held the door open. I hesitated, not willing to risk the pain or the humiliation of enduring it before her eyes.

"I'm not allowed inside, ma'am. At least, I don't think I am."

"Nonsense. Come into my kitchen. I'm the master in this room, no one else. That's an order."

I took a small step forward, my knees trembling at the thought of that pain. Nothing happened, so I took another and another until I was standing in a huge kitchen with hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of appliances, commercial refrigerators, and freezers. A huge center island and butcher block, copper pans hanging from racks on the ceiling. A massive range top that could accommodate half a steer in one go and double ovens large enough to hold a full-sized turkey. Professional mixer with dough hooks. A coffee machine capable of making lattes, cappuccinos, and espresso. On the counter of polished granite sat a silver Paul Revere coffee and tea service, complete with silver chased serving tray. The place oozed of money and serious cooking.

The sink was a double, old-fashioned cast iron and deep enough to sink your arms to the elbows. I could picture her bathing fat-cheeked babies in it. Against the right wall were a breakfast nook and two bar stools with cheery blue gingham cushions. On the table top of scarred Maplewood were a pile of potatoes, a large kettle, and a peeler.

"You can peel potatoes for me," she pointed. "Sit there. When you're done with that, I need a bushel of apples peeled, cored and sliced into pies."

"Yes, ma'am," I said dutifully as I planted my ass on the wooden stool. She clucked. I looked up in surprise. She pointed to the sink and ran the water. I washed my hands with soap, dried them on the soft towel she handed me and commenced to peeling twenty pounds of spuds.

By the time I had finished that task and started on the bushel of Granny Smiths, I was tired, detached, and light-headed from the morning's exertions, lack of food and the after-effects of the pain. I nearly fainted twice, the second time she caught my face before I planted it in the bowl of apple peels.

"What ails you, boy?" She was exasperated.

"Sorry. Been a long day and I'm starving," I said flatly without apology. She made me eat a bowl of stew, rich in meat, gravy, and vegetables. I drank two cups of rich, creamy coffee which made me feel halfway human. Even so, finishing the rest of the apples took me an hour.

By the time I was finished, it was dark, and an edginess consumed me. I was afraid to remain in the house, afraid to return to the cell so I compromised by climbing into the cargo bed of the truck using it to sleep in. I watched the moon rise and the stars shimmer, their cold radiance mocking me with an illusion of freedom.

# Chapter 7

A hand touched my shoulder, waking me with a gentle shake. I rolled over onto my side, stretched the kinks out from sleeping on the metal bed and looked up into the green eyes of the boy, Whitford. What kind of name was that to lay on a kid, anyway? It conjured images of nicknames like Half-wit, nitwit, witless and the like.

"Hey, dude. Why are you sleeping in the truck? Did you escape from the Gate House?"

I yawned and shook my head at the stupidity of his question, sat up and leaned on the side-walls. He was dressed in neat chinos and buttoned-down shirt with a backpack dangling off one shoulder. He looked as if he was on the way to some fancy Prep school.

"You eat breakfast yet?" I perked my ears up.

"Why? You got food in there?" I pointed to his backpack, visions of candy bars, snack packs, and other junk food tucked away inside the book bag.

"Naw. Just books and my homework. Chloe told me to ask you to the Big House for breakfast. If you're hungry."

I didn't waste another second on him. I tumbled out of the truck bed and loped for the house. There was no warning tingle as I knocked on the door, just Mrs. Sommers' face behind the screen.

"Come in, Raven. You can eat and then I'd like you to bring up some boxes from the basement. Canning jars. I'm making jelly and jams."

I was more interested in the food laid out on the breakfast nook table. I made sure that I washed my hands first before I sat down. Inhaling the food, I ate as fast as she refilled my plate several times; along with a carafe of creamed coffee. She didn't seem shocked at the amount of food that I put away but took it for granted.

"I take it you met Whit on his way to the bus stop?" she asked breaking the silence. Well, except for the noise I was making masticating and swallowing. The more I ate, the faster my manners returned.

"Yes, ma'am. He takes the _bus_ to school?"

"You think because he lives in a castle on an estate that he should not take the school bus? Should he have a limo and a chauffeur drive him? Or perhaps his own car?'

"Well, yeah. His uncle has a Porsche in his garage. That's what I would drive to school. Or the Land Rover."

"That's mine. I use it for grocery shopping. Of which I'm going to have to do more of since you've arrived. I thought Jaxon ate his weight in food every day."

Oh sure, use a seventy-thousand-dollar vehicle for grocery shopping. Must be nice to be rich. "You called me Raven. So, you know who I am. Who told you? Jaxon, Whit or...him?" I couldn't say his name and I damn sure wasn't calling him my master.

"Cal tells me whatever I need to know," she replied calmly. "He said that you aren't dangerous to anyone in the House or who belong on the grounds. You're here to help him find Molly and if I can use you, I should do so. Feeding you is part of my duties. I feed everyone in the House."

"Seems funny to call it that. It's really a castle," I said, circling the mashed potatoes on my plate with my fork. Probably left over from the mess I'd peeled the night before. I looked around hopefully for any leftover apple pie. Didn't see a crumb. Sighed.

She opened one of those massive commercial stainless-steel fridges and pulled out a whole six-inch high deep-dish pie. A towering mountain of a pie. My eyes watered. She cut me a piece that qualified as a quarter of the thing and placed it in front of me. It was almost as large as the plate.

Apples cooked to perfection. Sweet and spicy with cinnamon, nutmeg, and a touch of mace. Crisp, golden crust that melted in my mouth. If apple pie was American, I'd eaten the Capitol and the Washington monument all in one.

"Ma'am, you are one fine Cook, pastry chef and baker," I complimented and scraped the plate. I offered to do the dishes, but she pointed me in the direction of the hallway where an out-of-the-way door was tucked under a narrow staircase. So narrow that one thin person could make it up if their arms were tucked against their sides. Wainscoting edged the door frame, the latch was old and made of wrought iron and lifted with a thumb catch. What the antique people called a pistol back.

I stared down the dark flight of stone steps that vanished into the gloom until she flipped a switch at the top. After a two-second delay, a feeble light came on and I could see the steps go down to a landing and turn out of sight.

"There's another flight with another light switch there," she said. "I can't manage two flights carrying boxes of glass jars and Jaxon's too big for these narrow stairs. Be careful, it's a long way to the bottom if you fall. The boxes are to the right near some old trunks. There are six loaded with Mason Jars and there's a plastic bin with the lids somewhere near them, but you might have to search for them."

Great. She gave me a huge flashlight. "There are lights but sometimes the bulbs burn out while you're down there. You aren't afraid of the dark?"

Not the dark but the small places. I couldn't bring myself to descend the narrow stairwell; the feeling of the walls pressing in on me was more than I could bear. Intuitively, she sensed my problem.

"I can find something else for you to do, Raven."

It made me ashamed to disappoint the one person who seemed to care about me. I shook my head and stepped forward. My bowels quivered, and I was afraid I would mess my pants.

"Raven, trust me. I will not let anything happen to you going down the stairs, in the cellar or coming up. These walls have stood for over four hundred years and they are not going to move an inch even in an earthquake. They are spelled to perfection by the finest magicians in three countries. This house is a solid fortress."

Such was the sincerity in her voice that I _almost_ believed her. That was enough to override my fears and coupled with the Wizard's threats, I could slither down the stairs step by step even though my knees trembled, and my legs threatened to collapse under me.

I kept my eyes on the treads and not the walls so that I couldn't see how close they were. Like a horse wearing blinders, I could only see what was directly in front so that when I reached the landing, I was prepared to turn on the light switch.

Once I had done that, an enormous space opened before my eyes. A cellar with the bases of chimneys marking the expanse of the foundations of the house. Besides the chimneys, huge slabs of square cut stones made up the cellar walls. Here and there, partitions cut off tiny alcoves where neatly stacked boxes and plastic bins resided. Each one labeled and dated. Some held clothing from periods dating back two hundred years, still other bins holding things like deeds, wills and newspapers and pamphlets with arcane names like _Magisterium,_ Arcanis, and _Malefactum_. Old and hideous furniture was stacked in another part of the enormous basement covered with zippered plastic sheets that kept the dirt and dust off.

To my surprise, there was no dirt, no musty smell of dampness nor even a single cobweb to be found. The bins and boxes she wanted where the Mason jars were stored I found close to the edge of the stairs. Each held a dozen jars wrapped in plastic, clean and ready for use. There were quart-sized jars, half-pint jars and fancy quilted ones that I had seen in gift shops filled with beans to make soup or spice mixes and even gourmet coffee beans.

Stacking all the boxes on the first landing took six separate trips for each box, leaving the lids for the last. By the end of the last trip, I was sweating even in the cool air of the cellar. I left the lights on, planning to turn them off only when I was ready to bring up the last box to the kitchen.

Climbing up the rest of the way took concentration placing my feet, balancing the box, trying to keep from hitting the wall. All that with a load that left me breathless as I reached the top step into the kitchen and the open door. Grateful to be out of the basement, I placed the box near the sink, knowing that Mrs. Sommers would want the jars washed out before she used them.

I was in the last bin and at the top of the stairs when I turned around to kick the door shut. The warning tingle started at the nape of my neck and I froze in place. My arms were wrapped around the box, its edges digging into my flesh as I turned to face the Wizard. After my first guilty glance, I dropped my eyes and waited for his reaction. I didn't know whether to expect punishment for being in the house, a swift kick down the stairs or a lecture.

"Oh, there you are, Raven. Finished already? You must have flown up these stairs," she said cheerfully. "Put that down on the table and have an ice tea. You've been working hard all morning. Time for a break and some lunch. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, ma'am," I whispered and sidled out of his way. Setting the box down gingerly, I backed into the corner near my customary stool.

"Cal, will you join us? Tomato soup and grilled cheese," she asked, putting the lids into the sink filled with hot, soapy water.

"No, thank you, Chloe. I'm off to plan for the weekend. Jaxon and I are flying to the city. Do you need him for anything?" he asked easily. I could feel his eyes burning on me. My face blanched and I felt cold.

"Not if I have Raven," she smiled at me.

"That might be a problem. We're taking it with us."

She stared at him when he said 'it.' "You mean 'him'."

"Chloe, this...thing, this boy is not what he seems."

"Nonsense. He's exactly what he seems. Raven Murphy from Ireland, nineteen-years-old, and a gentleman. A hard worker, polite and obedient. You're not going to tell me any different."

"The creature is a conjured demon, Chloe. Bound by my magic. Were I to release it, it would tear all living things within this house to pieces. Once loose from the wards around the house, it would need another more powerful wizard to send it back to its own plane before it destroyed anyone and anything it could reach. It is dangerous, sly and will attempt to find a chink in the ensorcellment I have placed upon it."

"Raven, is he telling the truth?" she asked me, and I answered.

"It is true that he has bound me to his will and it is true that I am dangerous. But, I am not a demon nor was I born on another 'plane.' I was born in this Shadow and I am human. As human as he is or you or Whitford or Jaxon. What he did not say is that I am also something more than human and that is what makes me dangerous. But only to my enemies. To my friends, I am a powerful ally. It is true that I come from another world, not a plane or a shadow, just another world called Amber from which all Shadow worlds are but a pale imitation. On that soil, I am both the human Raven and Raven, the Black Dragon."

Callimachus spoke the spell that transformed me, and I was a forty-foot black-scaled, horned head, and tail stuffed into the suddenly small kitchen.

"Oh my," she said succinctly, her hand at her mouth. To her credit, she did not seem shocked. Instead, she stepped forward and touched my nose horn. That made me cross-eyed as I tried to keep her in sight. Being blind on my right side made me somewhat skittish and defensive.

"You're beautiful this way, too, Raven."

"Thank you," I returned, and she jumped as my voice made the pots vibrate. I turned my volume down to a whisper.

"Can you fly?"

I resisted the urge to open my wings. In the enclosed kitchen, it would have disastrous results on the furnishings.

"Perhaps you should shrink him back, Cal?" she suggested. "He's a trifle...large for my kitchen."

" _WHOA!"_ I heard from behind her as both Jaxon and Whit strolled into view.

" _Ddraig,_ ddychwelyd eich _ffurflen_ arall _gan_ hwn sillafu _hud_ ," he chanted, and I was back in my smaller form.

"Cool," Whit gushed. "Can you fly, too? What language was that, Uncle Cal? What did you say? Can I learn it?"

"Welsh, the language of the Druids. I told...him to transform back into his other form. And yes, he can fly."

"Of course, he can," Jaxon returned, cuffing Whit on the back of the head. "He's a dragon, isn't he? Does he not have wings?"

"Yeah, but there are land dragons, too and ostriches have wings and they don't fly. Chinese Dragons that don't fly, either," Whit argued. "Are there any more of you?"

"No, there's only one of me," I said amused at his naiveté. He snickered.

"No, idiot. More dragons."

"There was only one summoned, Whitford," his uncle replied.

"Once there were many, but they departed for a shadow far away and long forgotten where man has never stepped foot nor ever will. That was promised to them centuries ago by a Prince and a Prophecy," I said. "Mrs. Sommers, ma'am. Do you need me for anything else? I'd like to leave and rest."

"No, Raven. I have nothing else. Thank you for your help. Let me pack you a lunch bag to take with." She busied herself packed several sandwiches, cookies, apples, and a huge piece of the pie. Gave me a six-pack of Pepsi and spring water. I scuttled past all of them and retreated to the garage where I ate my lunch on the tailgate of the truck. When I was done, I folded the paper sack and placed it in my pant pocket.

I chose a small room just inside the Gate House. It had a futon cot made of pipe set against a wall with windows. That looked out on the driveway towards the gates. The blinds were vinyl and open. The floor was old wooden planks, the walls colored rose above and painted wood below.

A small couch, desk, and chair were the only other furniture in the room. No dresser or closet for clothing, no pictures on the wall, no books, or computer to pass the time. I did not see a phone or an intercom nor were there any security precautions in view such as cameras or alarms set up.

What I did find were runes painted on the on the window sill and around the doorways, but it hadn't triggered any warning on my skin. I also couldn't find a bathroom.

I lay down on the futon, resting my hands on my stomach and stared at the white painted ceiling.

# Chapter 8

The rest of the day passed in a semi-daze. I did sleep, a nap that lasted for three hours and would probably have gone into the night if the warning tingle hadn't brought me to clear-eyed realization that the wizard was approaching. I jumped off the futon and debated whether I should return to the cell but since he hadn't punished me already, I doubted that he was now going to do so. I wanted to hide from him; a move I was certain would anger him into doing just that. I wasn't stupid enough to push him that far.

The trouble was that I didn't _know_ him; I had no clue as to his behavior. He clearly didn't believe I was human and credited me with more power than I possessed. Although I might be a dragon, I had no magical powers or spells to call upon. I sure as hell didn't know how to negate the spells he'd put on me.

He stood outside the small room's door, a blank expression on his face yet I could smell the anger blazing under his calm exterior. Afraid of what he would do, I backed up against the wall, ready to turn and dive out the window if necessary.

"Stay," he said flatly, and the word vibrated in the room, imbued with power. My feet froze on the floor. I raised my hands towards my face, protecting my eye, my sight from whatever he might throw at me.

"You tried to escape for just the first day, dragon. Why not today as well?" His tone was curious. "Why did you help Chloe when you could have decided to attempt flight again?"

"I tried every route above, below, over and under. Even through. Your wards would not let me pass and when I touched the boundaries, the pain forced me back. As for Mrs. Sommers, she offered me food for working, a fair trade without conditions or threats," I returned.

"I can make your time here...unpleasant," he spoke softly.

"More than you already have? If I were free..."

"What? You would kill me? Do you think that I don't know this? That I went ahead with these spells not understanding the risks? It is worth every danger if I succeed."

"If you had asked for my help, I would have given it freely," I spat.

"But how would you have heard me and come here from your plane if I had not conjured you? Follow me now out to the back lawn. I want to practice flying on your back. Can you carry Jaxon and me at the same time? How much can you lift and still fly successfully? How fast can you go, can you outrun a jet plane, or do you not know what such a thing is?"

"SSTs, F-18 Hornets, B-1 Stealth Bombers. How will you prevent radar and people on the ground from seeing me fly across the skies?"

"There are illusion spells, masking spells and invisibility spells," he answered and made his fingers walk. As he did so, my legs moved on their own and I marched out the door, onto the driveway and preceded him.

The two of us paraded out to the backyard and I saw formal gardens, topiaries, and vegetable gardens in perfect form, not a weed or insect in sight. Beyond the garden plots was an expanse of several acres of mown grass. Green velvet, finer than a golf course fairway. It sloped gently down to the wood line and a three-rail fence.

Off to the right was a Gazebo with lawn furniture. I smelled a pond and heard the distant quacking of ducks and geese.

He stopped in the center of the field and told me to take on my dragon form. Near instantly, I was and spread my wings to their furthest reach, stretching the kinks out of muscles that had not been used in a long time. Flapping them twice, I almost lifted off the ground answering his question of whether I needed a running start or a vertical lift-off.

"What is the usual position of a rider?" he asked, and I turned my head towards him. He blinked at my large, horned, and fanged face that was inches from his own.

"How would I know? This is all new to me, too," I snorted, blowing puffs of smoke that twirled along the ground like curious kittens.

"I assume you sit between my front legs and shoulder blades. If you fall off and die, does that set me free?"

"If I fall off and die, you will die, also. In exquisite agony," he threatened. "I suggest you don't let that occur."

Gingerly, he climbed on my back, holding onto the reins for balance which did not let me get my head and neck up to where I needed them. He found it uncomfortable and unstable, my scales made hanging on very slippery. Also, he complained that I was too hot for his...seat.

"Conjure a saddle, then," I grumbled arching my back as he dug his heels into my elbows. He did. Had to re-engineer it to fit my odd dimensions which made it look more like a camel saddle than the hacking saddle it had started out. It was surprisingly comfortable and secure, leaving his hands free to steer instead of hanging on. It left me free to move without being kicked in the armpits or elbows.

Without warning, I leaped into the air, flapping my wings furiously until I felt and caught a thermal. Letting the warm air spiral lifting me higher, I glided from wingbeat to wingbeat until he got the knack of hanging on.

He wanted to try diving, sharp turns and spiraling down, so I did those things at his commands. What he didn't tell me to do was to fly higher, and as I took him higher and higher in slow spirals so that he did not notice, I worked my way up to where the air was too thin for a human to breathe. I waited for the low level of oxygen to knock him out.

Stubbornly, he breathed normally even as my own breathing became difficult and we could see each one turn to vapor. Above us, the satellites were almost close enough to touch.

He jerked the reins and forced me down; all the way to the ground and only a few feet from where we had taken off. Jumping off my back, he forced my head to the grass, muttered a word and tethered me to the very spot where my claws had torn furrows in the dirt.

"You tried to kill me," he whispered near my ears. "For that, I will hurt you. Hurt you so much that to even contemplate such an act again will chill your blood and make you beg for death."

He changed me back to human, my neck stretched out on the ground as if for the block, my body arched into the air like a frightened cat. Unclipping the leash from my collar, he snapped it twice, changing it into a whip. This he used on my back with grim intensity.

The first one stung like nettles dragged across, the second brought a scream of intense misery from my throat. The third became a moan as I bit a clump of grass trying to stifle any sound.

When his arm grew tired, he stopped. I had lost count after he had hit me 19 times and was aware only that blood ran down my sides into the grass and I was no longer arched above the grass but buried in it.

His voice came from far away. "Stay here. Do not come to the house, nor the garage, the Gate House, or your cell. Do not seek aid from anyone in the house. You will lie here and think about your actions, no food or water or first aid will you receive until you acknowledge that I am your master and you are bound to my desires. Whatever they may be. Do you understand, _Raven_?" He sneered my name.

I grit my teeth, whispered 'go to hell' under my breath but my head nodded in agreement before he faded into the darkness.

I

My face was wet. Tears salty and itching mingled with the soft patter of raindrops. For a while, I laid there in a haze of agony, not understanding why I was in such a state. I hallucinated, thinking that a man shaped like a gargoyle was bending over me and tending to my hurts but all I smelled was blood and rain, all I felt was a deep burning in my back as the cold skies wept on my torn flesh. So, I willed myself back into the soft darkness which did not require much effort on my part.

II

When the rain stopped, the burning was worse and yet, I think the cold bothered me more. That leeched the warmth from my joints and the shivering made everything more painful. My back had dried, the shredded pieces of my shirt and pants sticking to my skin so that any movement tore it free, causing it to bleed again. When I was awake, low groans made it past my lips but not far or loud enough for anyone to hear me. I wondered if he would check on my condition; wondered why he had damaged me so severely to risk me not being able to fly his rescue mission.

I wondered if the weekend was upon me or days away. Or long past. I had no idea how long I had laid there in the grass since he had whipped me.

Vague memories of similar treatment flittered through my vagrant mind. That and worse had been done to me. I shivered. If I were to go through a percentage of that again, I would die by my own hand. Drifted off again, unable to feel even the beginnings of hunger or thirst.

III

"Oh, fecking shit!" Curses rang in my head and I opened my eyes. A pair of blue jean-clad legs wearing leather hiking boots were squatting next to my face. The figure bent lower and became Whitford's anxious countenance. "I'll get some help. Raven, what happened? You need an ambulance. Your back is...torn to shit."

"No. No ambulance," I managed between shallow gasps and moans. "Leave me alone. Can't leave the ward's boundaries."

"Uncle Cal will let you leave once he sees this," he protested.

"He did this," I said flatly. The boy was silent. "He left me here to suffer. This is a lesson. You move me, he'll make it worse."

"What can I do?" he asked determined to help even if it made things worse.

I smothered a choked laugh. "Nothing. Go away and let me learn my lesson."

He took me at my word and departed. I suffered. Almost enough to regret failing. But not trying. I had been called stubborn to the point of no return before.

IV

He came back. By himself with a backpack and a black plastic sled pulled by a long rope. It was a sled used to pull dead game through the woods and back to your camp or vehicle. Inside it was blankets and first aid supplies.

In fifteen minutes, he had an IV in me, had given me morphine and was working on my back over my feeble protests. The sensation of cold hydrogen peroxide on the lashes nearly sent me screaming off the ground even through the haze of the morphine. I was afraid it was loud enough to carry back to the house and alert him that Whit was helping me.

He held me down with one hand on the nape of my neck, crying in sympathy with me but did not stop cleaning the gashes.

"I'm sorry, Raven but I have to do this, so I can get the scraps of your shirt loose or you'll get an infection. The morphine should kick in soon."

It had but barely helped. He finished the mess in grim silence and forbearance. It was nothing compared to the task of rolling me onto my back and into the sled. Luckily for both of us, I passed out so missed most of his struggle to move my limp, larger body. I only came to when he tucked the soft fleece blankets around me. He hadn't left me on my back but had turned me on my side, using the extra blankets to wedge me in place. Being over six feet, my legs hung over the edge, but he bent my knees and managed to get all of me inside the sled. He tucked the drag rope around his waist, leaned forward and asked, "Ready? I'm not sure how fast or smooth this will be, Raven."

"More morphine," I begged, and he frowned.

"I've already given you three doses. Any more and it could kill you."

"Does it matter?" I asked, tried to death. He didn't answer but strained forward with all his might. The grass was wet from the rain and I slid easily enough for the 140 lbs boy to drag my 190 lbs. He had a harder time up the grassy hill but nearly there, another pair of hands took the rope and helped him pull. I couldn't see who it was; the ride became smoother and faster.

I learned the identity when Whit addressed Jaxon. "Thanks, Jax."

"Where will you hide him, Whit? Not in the house, Cal forbade it."

"I thought the old shed in the woods. It's still in the wards but Uncle...he never goes there," the boy replied.

"You can't hide him from your uncle," the big man said pointedly. "It'll just make things worse for him."

"Why did he do this? Even if he wasn't human, why would Uncle Cal torture him?"

"If he's a demon, this means nothing to the demon flesh. His true form does not feel it. But, I do not believe he is a demon. No demon would bleed red blood nor suffer like a human would."

"I tried to kill him and free myself," I said into the sudden silence. After that, neither spoke but dragged me back into the Gate House over my protests and down the long corridor to the cell.

Jaxon lifted me out of the sled and onto the thin mattress on the bench, making sure that I was on my stomach and my IV was hanging from the bolt above my head. He inspected Whit's work, covered my back with opened gauze pads and left a sheet over that before he piled blankets on top of me.

"He has a fever, he's chilled and I daresay he's hungry and thirsty. Not sure if he'll eat or drink in his condition. Keep him on fluids for the next 24 hours. I'll try to keep Cal away from the property for the next two days. Are you going to toilet or cath him?"

"Never done that before. Not handle a dude's junk. Don't know how and don't want to learn how," he stated.

"Raven, do you need to pee? Can you get up to go or use a urinal you think?" the big man asked.

"Not pee," I returned slowly, letting the warmth of the room and my cocoon of blankets pull me under. I didn't hear them leave. I didn't see him stay by my side for the next six hours. I didn't hear them switching shifts or feel them tending to me during that whole time.

I had dreams or fragments of memories. My mind had taken me down deep to a primeval darkness in which my ego was the only spark of life. I felt a faint touch; like cold fingertips brushing across my face. It disappeared, leaving only the whisper of my name. _Raven. Raven, take my hand_. It was gone before I could respond.

# Chapter 9

Later that evening when the morphine wore off, I woke. Not exactly clear headed but enough to know where I was and how I got that way. I tried to roll over and was reminded quick why that wasn't a clever idea. I startled Whit who had fallen asleep on the rock stool, his head and back leaning against the wall.

He'd brought a gas lantern in and the hiss of the light reminded me of times when I had camped as a kid. There was a fold-out table nearby, stacked with med supplies, food and water, and a plastic urinal. I couldn't lift my arm and my voice was hoarse, weak from screaming but he understood my need. When he saw that I couldn't move on my own, he helped me, his face an expression of revulsion.

"I promise to return the favor," I whispered, and he looked...scandalized. He blushed.

"No way. _NO_ thanks. Nobody's touching my junk except me." He blushed even deeper when I grinned, and he realized what he said. "I mean when I need to piss. Not the other–"

"What about girls? You gonna let them touch it? Hard to get a BJ without a handle on it," I teased.

"Well, sure. If they want to," he said.

I looked at his brilliant face, the promise of killer good looks. "Oh, they'll want to," I mumbled under my breath, the teasing gone from my voice. I was fading fast.

I concentrated and barely filled half of the plastic container even with IV fluids going full bore. Discarded liter bags lay on the floor; I was on the third from the empties.

"How do you feel, Raven? Do you need more drugs? I have a couple of ampules left."

"How'd you learn to do all this? The IV port, first aid and giving shots?"

"From my mom. She's a nurse and a diabetic. She taught me in case she needed it and couldn't do it herself or if I turned out to be a diabetic. It runs in families. I have a 75% chance of developing diabetes." He shrugged as if it were no important thing.

"Why do you think the government kidnapped your mom, Whit? Did she see something she shouldn't have or has some knowledge that they want?" I asked trying to distract myself from the awful feelings that surged through my body. I held my breath as a welling of nausea filled my throat. He scooped up a plastic kidney bowl, tucked it under my chin just in time for me to hurl. Mostly bile and thin foam that burned my sinuses.

I sat back, exhausted, keeping my lacerated back from contact with anything. "Your uncle. Does he know you're helping me, that you've defied him?"

"No. Jaxon made sure that he's occupied the last two days in Plattsburg. We've heard rumors of a secret base where government witnesses are held before they're relocated into deep cover," he answered.

"Plattsburg?"

"In New York State. Near an Air Force Base. Anyway, once he leaves there and heads home, I'll have to move you to a shed in the woods."

"He'll find me," I said almost desperately. "He promised to hurt me worse than this if you helped me or I left the lawn where you found me."

"He can't find you in the shed. It's the one spot on the estate that is immune to his powers. He can't see or find it. I've tested it before, it's a null spot."

I was intrigued. For about a minute before I closed my eyes and slept. They were only catnaps of ten minutes or so, I was unable to sleep easily between the lashes and the fear of his returning to the estate. I would have little or no warning when he did come back.

"You haven't told her, Mrs. Sommers?" I mumbled. I wasn't sure if he heard me or if I'd spoken. He made no reply and I supposed he hadn't heard me.

The hours passed in fits and spurts. Between awareness and incomprehension. Between bearable pain and unendurable torture. But like time, the sharp edge passed, the bouts of awareness lengthened, and my back healed.

By the second morning, I could sit up, my fever had died to a slight temp and my belly griped loud enough for me to want solid food. Whit brought me canned soup which he heated over sterno and sandwiches he'd made himself. They lacked the neatness and precision of Mrs. Sommers' gourmet delights but I was grateful for any crumbs from his hands. Peanut butter and Jelly, ham, and American cheese, they filled the emptiness of my stomach.

"Uncle Cal and Igor should be home by this evening. They took the last flight out. I checked and both are booked on the 11:36 to Reagan International. They'll get in by 3:52 am."

"Where are we, exactly?" I wondered. "I have no clue what state we're in."

"West Virginia. Near the town of Taylorsville. A small town but well known, its claim to fame is the College and Prep School."

"Prep for College?"

"That and it produces more than its share of powerful magic adepts. It has more Silver and Gold Level Wizards and Sorcerers as its alumni than any other school in the world," he boasted.

I shivered and wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. "That reminds me. I brought you some shirts you can wear that won't stick to your scabs. I know you're cold. Let me help you put one on and then we'll see about getting you out to the shed."

"Walking? I don't think I can. Make it very far." I was dubious.

"There's the sled or I can use the wheelbarrow but that won't be very comfortable. I can't get a car out there and an ATV would leave tracks. You can't ride a bike?"

"Don't think so. No balance."

"I can't carry you. The sled won't work on the dry ground, not very well. It's made more for dragging in the snow. Let's try walking. I can stop when it gets too much for either of us. We have to clean up in here, so Uncle Cal won't know I've helped you."

"Will he punish you?" I asked, afraid for him more than for myself.

"Naw. He's never laid a hand on me," he smiled. "I've done some pretty rank stuff."

Slowly, I stood up using the wall for balance as mine had decided the floor was moving as if the ground was alive. Movement pulled at the tears on my back, cracking some of the scabs open but I ignored them. He stood near me, ready to grab should I become unsteady. Or faint.

It was close. Two steps forward, each one nervous but I kept it off my face to reassure him that I could handle it. It got easier once I kept moving. We made it to the water fountain where he made me sit while he doctored to my back, the sensation of fresh blood trickling down worms crawling on my skin. Luckily, he did not see any blood through the gauze. He didn't remove any of the gauze or the tape but eased a clean t-shirt over my head and arms. Next, he helped me into a cotton dress shirt that was miles too big, soft, and faded from many washings. It was the big man's. He left the front open and unbuttoned, the cuffs flapping at the end of the long sleeves which extended past my fingertips. Really, the man was gigantic. My back warmed as I tucked the blanket back over my shoulders. We hobbled onto the grass over the driveway heading for the distant tree line.

I wished I could say I enjoyed the sight of fresh blue skies, puffy white clouds, and a warm scented breeze in the sunshine. I saw none of those things, just my feet dragging through the damp grass and leaves as Whit nearly carried my exhausted and heavy body through the dense woods. We followed no trail that I could see but he seemed to know exactly where he was going.

The shed came into view, a small garden type built of textured 1-11 and painted mustard yellow with a metal roof. It had double doors, two windows with flower boxes hanging off the sills and someone had planted cheerful plastic flowers in them. The doors had a regular master lock on the hasp and Whit dug into his pockets for the key. He leaned me against the front wall of the building while he fiddled with the lock, unlocking it with some effort.

The doors opened outward. The floor was wooden, not dirt with unfinished walls, a tattered couch, table, and bookshelves crammed with paperbacks and old hardcovers. On the table were melted candles and a Coleman lantern.

He came and got me settled on the couch, easing me down on my stomach to avoid pressure on my back.

"Whit?"

"What?" He busied himself lighting the lantern and a warm glow lit the dim interior.

"You have to put me back where you found me. Or he'll hurt me worse. He said so. Unless you plan on freeing me?"

He was silent for ten heartbeats. "I can't. I don't know how and I'm pretty sure that only he can undo the spells," he said unhappily.

"What about the wards? Can you break the circle, so I can leave? And he said he bound me to the estate, two hundred acres," I persisted.

"If the wards are broken, so are the spell-bindings to the estate. If you leave, how will you help find my mom?" he asked. "Won't it send you back to your home?"

I shrugged. "I don't know where home _is_. When your uncle pulled me here, I left most of my memories behind." I paused. "If you don't let me go, then you have to put me back. In the same condition that you found me. I can't take another whipping, Whitford. _I can't_. I was one lash away from breaking. _Please_."

"Alright," he said.

"Alright what? You'll take me back?" I asked, girding myself up to lying in the grass with my back open to the elements and raw, bleeding, the scabs exposed to the birds, bugs, and sun.

"No. I'll break the wards for you. That I know how to do."

"You won't get in trouble?" I wouldn't let him take my punishment, couldn't let him get blamed for my escape.

"Doesn't matter. He'll know that the only way you could have gotten past the wards is if one of us breaks the circle. One of the ones making it. Where will you go?"

"I don't know. As far away from here as I can get," I said. Without cash, an identity, papers, or transportation, I was limited in my options. He knew it, too.

"The wards aren't the only problem you face, Raven. Uncle Cal has you collared and leashed. I can't remove these bonds and he can control you even if you're not close – for up to a half mile away. Or if he can see you. Also, any other Wizard, Witch or Sorcerer can take control if he can grab your leash. And you'll give off a magical aura that will attract other spell users."

"Got any more good news?" I asked sourly.

"Some. I memorized the spell that transforms you. I think it will work if I say it."

"Wait. Don't do it inside this box. I don't want to be wearing it on my back," I said and together, we managed to find an area close by that was large enough for the transformation.

He spoke in Welsh, _"Ddraig, newid_ ffurf _y Ddraig."_ His words were clear and shimmered in the cool air, its magic quite powerful and ancient. I felt that peculiar stretching sensation, a shift in my entire structure and a powerful urge to leap into the air belching fire.

He was suddenly small, weak, and vulnerable. I lowered my head and opened my sharp mouth, exposing teeth that would have made a Great White jealous. I saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed dry-mouthed and he stepped backward in preparation to turn and run. Prey's instinct of flight or flight and dangerous to do to the predator.

I scooped my long neck forward, my head ramming between his knees as I tossed him onto my back. Telling him to hold onto my neck ridges and to tuck his feet under my armpits or he would fall off. He followed instructions even though I could feel his legs shaking as they clamped around my ribs. I looked up, head and neck above the trees and found a way out of the grove where I could launch into flight. I climbed the pines easily, using the branches much like the steps of a ladder. Once in the crowns, I used the springy trunks as a drawn bow to launch me into the air.

His delighted laughter and whoops filled me with the same joy as the illusion of freedom rode with us. Stretching my neck and wings to the utmost of their capabilities, I poured on the speed in a way I had not with his uncle. We raced along the boundaries of the two-hundred-acre estate, never more than a foot away from instant agony.

I could see the faint silver shimmer rising from the ground wherever the warded runes were laid. Whitford directed me to the Northside of the property where the woods thinned out to a meadow and just beyond the border was a thin, two-lane road.

"Down there, just this side of the wards!" he bellowed.

"You don't have to shout," I said, forgetting that my voice was a deep bellow. "I can hear you perfectly, even in the heaviest wind."

"Okay, could you tone it down, yourself? I like my hearing the way it is. How is your back?" he asked but answered himself as he looked at his legs. My back was shiny, black scales with no wounds, no blood, and no pain. When he had transformed me, my injuries had not followed the dragon.

"I wonder if the wounds will be gone when you change back?"

I set down. "Shall we find out?"

"Ah, Jeez. Can't we fly some more? That was totally awesome!" he gushed.

"We could. If your uncle wasn't coming back tonight. When you get me past the wards," I pointed out.

"You'll need money, papers and a place to hide out," he mused. "I have like a thousand bucks I've saved. I can lend it to you. Taylorsville is too small to hide you; it'll have to be a larger city. A bus would be the cheapest way to get out of town but not from here. Uncle Cal would just ask who was new in town and had left. He'd find you in minutes."

"What about the wards?" I reminded him.

"I need salt." He told me to take him back to the shed and I flew there in two minutes. Set him down and he jumped off, running into the shed. I heard him rummaging around and he emerged later with a shaker of table salt, a candle, matches, and a pocket knife. "Back to the meadow," he ordered, and I obeyed. I think he was enjoying the flights and sought to prolong the experience. If I wasn't on a deadline, I would have liked to extend it, too.

Setting down once more as close to the arcane barrier as I could tolerate, I watched as he placed the candle on the exact line and lit it. He cut his palm with the knife and let it drip over the open flame. Hissing obscenely, it turned sulfuric yellow and smelled like the fires of brimstone and hell. The smell of old magic. As the candle burned swiftly, he spread the salt in both directions, long enough to mark a space through which I could fit. He muttered words under his breath that even with my dragon hearing I could not place.

"Now, Raven. Before the flame goes out. Walk through the wards' gateway. You'll only get one chance before the barrier snaps back and warns Uncle Cal that it has been breached. And for god's sake, don't step where there isn't salt."

I squeezed through without touching him or knocking over the candle. As the tip of my tail passed over the flame, it sputtered out and pain tore at my body until I jumped twenty feet onto the road, diving head first into the gravel. I screeched in agony, but it was quickly forgotten as I passed the wards. I turned around to watch Whit.

"Come on," I urged as he gathered up his stuff. He hurried across the wards without a blink where I had suffered the torments of hell. "Get on. We'll fly to the next town and bus station."

"I don't have the cash on me," he protested.

"I'm not going back. We'll find some on the way," I decided. "Dragons are supposed to be gold hoarders."

He climbed back on, already at ease with the idea of being a dragon rider. We flew by his directions, keeping close to the treetops and following the road towards the next town. He said it was a seasonal road and therefore little traveled. By keeping low, we minimized the risk of being spotted as he did not know the spells to make me invisible. We flew on, with freedom almost within my reach.

# Chapter 10

" _Ddraig,_ ffurflen newid i dynol," Whit whispered. (Dragon, change form to human) I was standing next to him at the corner of the woods and the gate of the old junkyard on the outskirts of town. We had flown all night, keeping mere feet above the treetops, darting like nighthawks through the night skies. It took more wingbeats to fly so low, harder to keep flapping, but hard flying was not a term used by a dragon. I was perfectly aerodynamic and created solely for flight, it was as easy for me as breathing.

I had paced myself at an even 60 mph, more so for Whit as anything faster made him cold but it also had the advantage of letting me guestimate how many miles we'd traveled in the length of time spent flying. From the time, we'd left to when we landed was just over 12 hours, just in time to watch the sunrise in our present position. We'd flown over forests, swamps, and back roads, avoiding the Interstates which were always loaded with cars and trucks. I'd never seen so many 18 wheelers at one time before. It seemed as if the entire eastern seaboard was on the roads. I hoped that we were not pushing our luck and be spotted by some alert night hauler.

Just about 4 am that morning, Jordemayne would have learned that both of us were missing. I wasn't sure how big a deal he'd make of Whit being gone but I was certain that he would be seriously infuriated that I had defied him. I hoped fervently that the 750+ miles we'd already put between my tail feathers and him would be enough to protect me.

I wasn't sure what the town's name was but from the glow on the ground as we'd approached, it had to be quite large; maybe even classified as a city. I figured we had to be near or in New York state. We had flown over PA and seen Philadelphia's lights in the distance.

The junkyard had a sign on it, French's Salvage. Row after row of parked junkers and stacked cubes of metal that were all that was left of crushed cars lined both sides of the dirt driveway. Weeds grew up under the rusted bodies and made the place look untended. The gates weren't closed but hanging open and the place looked all but abandoned. I would have assumed that it was closed if I hadn't spotted the new pickup parked near the office or the lights on inside. Whoever he was, owner or employee, he was an early riser. Still, I hadn't managed to come up with any money and my clothes weren't socially acceptable. Before we ventured into downtown, I needed to acquire something to cover my bloody back and ripped jeans.

"Stay here," I whispered to Whit and sneaked carefully over to the truck. The lock buttons were up which meant that the doors were open, and the alarm wasn't on. Better yet, there was a faded Carhartt jacket on the seat next to a fat wallet.

I couldn't go in through the front door as the dome light would come on, alerting the owner inside that someone was messing with his vehicle. The only other option was for me to climb into the bed and pop the sliding rear window, entering through on my belly. I disabled the dome light, snatched the coat and wallet, and slithered the rest of my body onto the bench seat before I opened the door and exited. I took the keys and locked the window and doors behind me, hoping to slow him down from coming after us. Unless he had OnStar or another set of spare keys handy.

Sneaking back to Whit, my hands full of the coat, I startled him by my sudden appearance even though he was expecting me. I shrugged into the jacket, thankfully larger than I needed. I was careful not to strain the still tender scabs on my back yet still tore a few open. The blood trickling down my back smelled strong enough so that his nose caught it, but he made no comment. I still had the whip marks, they hadn't disappeared when he'd changed me back.

"I hadn't realized how cold I was until just now," I murmured. "You okay?"

"I'm freezing," he admitted, shivering under his thin hoodie. I offered to give him the jacket, but he declined. "Sitting on your back and flying into the wind is not so much fun when it's cold out." His eyes lowered to the wallet and we inspected the contents. I threw the wallet, a leather tri-fold with its credit and debit cards, driver's license and game licenses onto the driveway; keeping the thick fold of cash. Over a thousand dollars, mostly in twenties. Enough to get us food and a cheap motel. Clothes we could hit the thrift shops or church missions. Every city had them and I was more than familiar with the way they operated.

"We should go. Don't want to be around when he figures out he's been robbed," I said and started walking. The road was a two-lane blacktop, a smaller state highway with several feeder roads off it. Numbered like the state used instead of names. CR 45 or CR 357. We stayed on the main route and after an hour, arterials of major Interstates began to appear with businesses along the access roads. We could see the broad concrete aprons of Interstate 81 beyond the old highways fronting it.

The further in towards the city we walked, the busier the road we were on became. Many 18 wheelers, cars, and pickup trucks whizzed past us avoiding the highway and using the back road. Most of them sported the orange and black of NY with a goodly proportion of the plates from PA. Some were white and black – Canadian, Quebec, I thought.

We stayed off the main highway as it prohibited pedestrians; a sure way to get picked up by cops was hitchhiking on the Interstate. It was still illegal in all 50 states.

We passed a truck stop off the Interstate but close enough to the feeder road that we could skirt through the parking lot. It was huge, with over two hundred rigs parked in the overnight area; with 50 or more coming into the pumps for diesel or stopping for food.

I tried to avoid the many cameras at the pumps, mounted on light poles but every inch of the lot was covered by at least two. I looked longingly at the sign for showers and their pancake special with sausage and coffee for $5.95 sign stuck to the front doors. We had to keep going; we were too conspicuous in the truck stop. Two teens who looked as if they were runaways.

"How are you doing, Rave?" he asked, his voice sounded as exhausted as he looked.

"Been better," I sighed. Wished I had drugs to make my back ache less and my feet not so swollen. My whole body ached. I felt feverish.

Another thirty minutes brought us only two miles further to an elevated interchange like those in Dallas/Fort Worth. In the spaces under the supports were signs of homeless occupants. Cardboard boxes set up as houses, tents staked on the meager grass beyond the concrete and in the hollows, old 55-gallon drums that were burned around the steel edges from frequent campfires.

We didn't linger. I knew that the two of us would attract predators who'd love nothing better than to get their hands on young pretty teen-age Whit. The safest place for us was one of the Church Missions or soup kitchens that were scattered in the poorer sections of downtown cities.

It was noon before Whit and I stumbled into a Salvation Army soup kitchen. He spotted it before I did; dragged me over by the arm and pushed open the door with its glowing red cross. The air that came out in a rush smelled of chicken soup and stale old men in need of a bath, of need and desperation. Of kindness and too little money to help. We were grateful just to have a place to sit, get off my feet and rest. Whit aimed me at a corner bench and long table covered with paper tablecloths that were held down by clothespins. I could lean against the wall; I was so exhausted that I didn't care that my back was pressed up against it.

"Stay here," he said softly. "I'll get you something to eat and drink."

"Don't say anything," I muttered but I closed my eyes, drifting off immediately. Vaguely, I heard him speak and a woman's reply.

"My brother's sick. He needs food, something hot and a place to lie down. Can you help us?"

"What's wrong with him? We don't open the lines until 4 pm," she said. "If he's sick, you should take him to the ER. It's just four blocks down the street. Harvest and Rutgers's."

"No. We can't. They'll send us back to that place. They beat us, tried to rape me and he was hurt trying to stop them. If you call the police, they'll find us and kill us," he pleaded. "They're human traffickers. It's taken my brother a year to get us away from them."

She came over to me and I felt her hand touch my shoulder. I opened my eyes and she gasped as she saw my face. "They did that the first time we escaped. Burned out his eye, said he was too old for them to use as a chicken and too wild to trust with anything else. So, they made him a slave."

"You're hurt," she said, and I glared at Whitford. So much for not saying anything.

"I'm Sister Margaret, Meg. Where did they hurt you? Do you need a doctor?"

"He's been whipped, Sister Meg," Whit answered before I could. "I counted over thirty. He lost some blood, but I couldn't do much for that. I did clean the cuts with hydrogen peroxide and put triple antibiotic cream under gauze pads. He ran a fever for two days. He's feverish again, today."

"Did you give him any medication, pain pills or anti-inflammatories?"

"Tylenol. That's all I could get from them," Whit said. She helped me up and they half dragged/carried me towards toward the front of the room set up like a cafeteria. Behind the serving lines were other sisters and men in regular clothes covered with white aprons that were setting up food and cooking. All of them eyed our group as she urged me along, my feet reluctant to carry me. Beyond the kitchen was a dank, dark hallway with a staircase of metal leading upwards. With her pulling me up and Whit pushing from below, I could navigate the 11 steps to another hallway, this one with doors leading off to offices or bedrooms. One bathroom serviced all of them.

She took me to the end room, larger than the rest and set up as a makeshift clinic with three beds and partitioned with pull-around curtains. The hospital bed was freshly made, and I hesitated before sitting on it. I wasn't clean enough for the room, let alone the crisp white sheets.

"Take off your coat and shirt. What's your name? Do you know your blood type?"

"Rafe," I said. "My brother, Walt." I eased the jacket off with her help. She took one look at the bloodstained shirt and cut it off with a pair of medical shears. Her gasp told me that my back looked as bad as it felt, worse today that I'd thought.

"Rafe, why didn't you say something?" Whit demanded tears in his eyes. I shrugged. Wouldn't have helped and we couldn't have done anything.

She had me lie on my stomach before she efficiently washed, cleaned, and stitched the worst of the mess. Kindly, she gave the whole thing a spray of lidocaine before she shot the worse parts with a needle. I was numb when she gave me a tetanus shot and a dose of Keflex after ascertaining that I was not allergic to antibiotics.

She sprayed the whole thing with a liquid bandage which had a further numbing effect before she covered me with sheets of greased gauze and tape.

I shuddered in relief, my cheek pressed against the thin pillow. "Thank you, Sister."

"These people should be reported to the police," she snapped.

"NO! They'll want us to testify. The moment we surface, we're dead," I said. "It's better if we just run."

"Run where? How will you take care of yourself and your brother? What will you live on? You're too young to get hired at a regular job and the only thing left are the streets. Are you willing to prostitute yourself? Even if you don't get picked up by a pimp who'll sell you, maybe back to the same group you've escaped from," she said. She sent Whit out of the room and her voice dropped to a near whisper. "Have you been forced, Rafe? Do you need to be tested for HIV?"

I shuddered. Prostituting myself to make a living was for me less enticing than putting a gun to my head. "If we can make it to Ireland, I have relatives there," I said. "The Murphys."

"Give me the number and I can call, make arrangements for them to get you," she offered but I shook my head.

"No offense, Sister but I don't want anyone to know where we're going. It's safer for both of us."

"You rest, Rafe. I'll see to your brother. When you're ready, he can bring you some food if you're feeling up to eating. If you need it, I can give you some Tylenol, we don't keep any prescription drugs here in case of robberies." She laid her palm on my forehead. I guessed that I passed muster for she didn't pronounce me hot or feverish even though I felt that way myself. I wanted to close my eyes and sleep for a week, but I was afraid to stay too long in one place. Especially after the tale, Whit had spun.

"You rest, bro," he said, standing by the curtain. "I'll get us some clean clothes, socks, shoes, and coats. Bring you something to eat." His voice faded as he moved away, following the sister out of the cubicle. I was left alone in the clinic and as the silence became weighted, I slept.

The smell of chicken soup, peanut butter and jelly woke me. Groaning, I attempted to roll over finding that my body refused to move. I had cramps in my hamstrings and my big toe arched up, almost touching the top of my foot. Whit panicked.

"What do I do, Raven?"

"Wait." I grit my teeth. When I could, I rolled with his help onto my side and slid my feet off. Once on the floor, I could walk off the Charley horses although doing so brought tears to my eyes.

"Goddamn it," I muttered as I eased myself down at the desk.

"Can you eat?" he asked, clearly scared.

"I need to drink more than eating. I'm low on potassium and magnesium, that's why the cramps," I said and spied a liter of Lactated Ringer's. That would work in a pinch but would taste like shit and I wasn't going to give myself an IV or let Whit do it. That would also bring questions from the sister over his medical skills, far more than the average teenager possessed. He handed me two bottles of Gatorade off a tray loaded with soup, sandwiches, and dessert. Only one of each.

"These will taste better and work just as well. Sister Meg said to get as much into you as possible. She also said if you needed the bathroom, to ring for help."

I chugged, finishing one and started on the other. The chicken soup was meaty, filled with vegetable and rice. I licked the bowl out, ate the sandwich looking hopefully at him for more.

"Sorry. They wouldn't give me seconds, not until they finish serving everyone. If you want more, you'll have to come downstairs. You might not want to do that, there are over fifty homeless people in there. Maybe some undercover cops, too."

"Transients, not homeless," I corrected. "They don't like to be called homeless. I'm good. I can make do with what you've brought me. Just want some more of that Gatorade." I finished the last of the purple. He offered to go downstairs and get more, even if he had to go to the nearest convenience store, but I didn't protest or stop him. Besides, I didn't want him trolling the streets without me. In fact, I put myself out in the hallway using the walls for balance as I shuffled to the bathroom.

It was clean. Spotless, with a walk-in shower, toilet and sink on the opposite wall. A stainless-steel mirror bolted to the wall above the sink. Toilet paper on the roll and paper towels, no wash cloths, bath towels but there was a bar of cheap Ivory soap on the sink. In a pink plastic soap holder.

Since my shirt now lay cut in pieces in a trashcan in the clinic, I didn't have to roll up my sleeves to wash. The water was lukewarm, the ivory produced lots of suds. I washed my chest, arms, neck, and pits leaving a dirty scum in the sink when I rinsed off. The soap stung my eye, I dug my fingers into my ears and massaged the soap into my hair. Rinsing took a long time; the water was soft, and the soap didn't want to wash off.

Fumbling with handfuls of paper towels, I dried off my upper body. When that was reasonably clean and dry, I dropped my jeans or what was left of them and scrubbed the other half leaving puddles of rusty brown water on the floor. Luckily, there was a drain at my feet that took away what was dirt and remnants of dried blood.

Some of the whip lashes had made it down my thighs and two as far as my calf. Those weren't more than red stripes; the denim of my jeans had protected me from serious cuts. I patted myself dry and felt...lighter. I refused to put the dirty rags back on and paraded naked as I returned to the clinic's room where I wrapped the sheet around my chilled body. Easing myself onto my back, I pulled the thin blanket all the way over my head, cutting off the rest of the world, as if hiding under the covers was any more safe or magical than when I had been a kid. I didn't hear Whit when he came back.

# Chapter 11

Detective Roger Steele, First Class had been a detective for over ten years at NYPD. He'd started in Vice, worked homicide for five and then side-stepped into the Department of Special Occurrences, the department reserved for those odd cases that seemed to have no explanation and rooted in the supernatural. Like fingerprints off a teenager that was sixty years old. And if that wasn't bad enough, the government had sent two spooks from either the CIA, NSA, or NIA. One of those alphabet soup agencies that no one claimed they worked for but threw around like a magic bullet. At any rate, they rode roughshod over the two officers who'd picked up the kid, the nurse whose nose he'd broken, the doc and hospital staff who'd been there when the kid had escaped. No one had ever seen Murphy leave and none of the cameras had picked up a single image of him, not from the cameras that covered the hallways, the front, and rear entrances, or the parking lot, any one of which he _had_ to have passed by.

A week had passed without one piece of evidence of his whereabouts until a Salvation Army Sister had called in asking for information on two runaways, which was not unusual but coupled with the fact that one of the teens had a damaged eye and was blind in it, triggered an alert. It also mentioned that he was the elder of the two and had severe whip injuries. She had the foresight to send along a glass with fingerprints to confirm the child's identity. The tip came from the St. Paul Mission in Albany, NY.

The request came through the CMEC, the Center for Missing and Exploited Children which had then been sent to all police departments. Which meant that the FBI and other agencies would have received it shortly thereafter. Which meant that agents were already on the way to St. Paul's to pick up information or the boy if he was still there. And the other teen with him.

"How fast can we get to Albany?" Steele asked his Chief at the daily briefing.

"Two and a half hours by car. Hour by helicopter. Why?"

"My witness is there but not for long if the Feds get there first."

"Witness to what?" the Chief of Detectives asked.

"A sixty-year-old mystery," Steele said.

"Murder?"

"No, a national security issue but related to the kid in the dumpster. The one who freaked out in the interview room and broke Robinson's nose."

"No crime committed?"

"Lewd behavior in public, running naked through the streets. Minor misdemeanor," he shrugged. "Suspected terrorism. Bogus if it's sixty years ago. Kid's grandparents weren't even born yet, let alone him."

"You can get Lombardy to take you. He's flying the Cessna to Albany to pick up some crucial evidence for the DA's case this afternoon. He's leaving at 2 pm. That's the best I can do, he's taking off from Wright Field in Patterson." He looked at his cell phone. "You have 45 minutes to get out to Jersey. I'll call and tell him you're on the way."

"Thanks." Steele snatched his outer coat off the back of his chair and ran for the door.

Jaxon paced nervously at the terminal gate outside the airport, waiting for Jordemayne to bring the Range Rover out of the short-term lot. He guarded their luggage, just the two small bags which were all that was needed for the short stay in Plattsburg. He carried one in each hand, swinging them against his knees as he walked.

Recognizing the distinctive headlights of the Rover, he stepped forward as Jordemayne pulled up and paused as he saw the wizard's white, furious face.

"What's wrong, Cal?"

"The wards have been _breached! Broken!_ Get in, we have to get home fast!"

Jaxon leaped into the passenger seat as Jordemayne floored it, bouncing over the speed bumps, nearly tossing Jaxon out before he could throw the bags in the back and slam the door. "What do you mean?" he asked, his own face worried.

"That damned dragon! Somehow, he's voided the wards. I felt the barrier go down. He's either forced Chloe or Whitford to destroy the wards or he's more powerful than I suspected. Or, he's–"

"He's what?" Jaxon demanded in real fear.

"He's killed one or both." Jordemayne's grim face reflected that awful possibility.

"Do you think he would?"

Jordemayne slammed his hands on the wheel, a crackling indicating that he might have broken the rigid plastic. "Damn it, Jaxon. He's a demon! A dragon I conjured from the Planes of Hell! Get that through your head! He's not a teenage boy like Whit but a malign and evil creature that would eat us in a minute after playing with us for hours. We have to get home!"

Jaxon eyed the speedometer, the wizard was doing over 120 mph yet neither was worried about getting pulled over by cops. Cal unconsciously used his spells to both mask the vehicle and ensure that nothing could impact them from any side, front or back. It took them less than ten minutes to do the more than 30 miles to the estate. He slammed on the brakes so that he could make the turn into the driveway and through the open gates.

The wards glowed too brightly, in an agitated fashion that told him it had been forced and then recovered, long enough to allow exit and entry. It took them another ten minutes to find the exact spot where it had been destroyed. In the woods, near the meadow and across from the small seasonal road that serviced the state forest just beyond his borders.

Jaxon had run for the house, checking up on his wife and Whitford. As soon as he knew their conditions, he went in search of Jordemayne where he found him bent on one knee sifting the soil on the ward line.

"Salt. Grains of salt. The rest was cleaned up, but they missed a few grains of salt," the wizard said softly. "Chloe? Whit?"

"Chloe's fine. Whitford is missing. She said she hadn't seen him since before we left, and he came home from school. None of his money is missing, still in his 'secret' hiding spot and he left his backpack, ID, and bike here. Nothing is missing except him and the...dragon."

"He forced Whit, then. Or another wizard smelled him and took him," Jordemayne groaned. "I thought I beat him hard enough to fear to try to disobey me."

"You thought to beat him into compliance?" Jaxon asked carefully. He had thought Whit might help the boy but not to the extent of helping him escape. Or been forced to do so.

"I whipped him to his knees and beyond. He tried to kill me, suffocate me in the thin air when I flew him. I expected such a trick and was prepared. I couldn't let him get away with that," Jordemayne explained. "He shouldn't have been able to crawl let alone get up and move. Unless he had help." He stared at Jaxon. "Did he? Have help? Is that why you were so keen to get me to Plattsburg, Jaxon?"

"No, Cal. I received a tip from Malachias that the safe house was being used again. He's always given me crucial information. I couldn't tell you and not check it out."

"I don't need to remind that he is quite capable of returning to you, Chloe and myself."

"Won't the wards keep him out?" Jaxon asked nervously, scanning the skies as if he expected to see the dragon diving for him and belching flames.

"He knows how to defeat it now which makes it hundredfold times harder to contain him once we find him. If we find him."

"Where could he go?"

"That depends on several things. If Whitford helped him and if he traveled as the dragon. If they were on foot or flew. With no money, he can't take a bus although they could steal a car, I'd hear about that in town. If he is as smart as I think, he'll have flown after disposing of Whit, flown at night and low so that no radar could track him. If some night owl had seen him, we'd hear about that on YouTube or social media. What I'm more worried about is another magic sniffer sensing him before I do."

He stared at the road. "If it was me, I'd follow the forest and the road, but I have no clue where a dragon would go to roost."

"I can put out feelers," Jaxon offered. "I know a lot of witches from here to Canada. For the right price and favors, they'll keep their ears and noses open for stray magic."

"No mention of dragons, okay?"

"I'll tell them that Whit's missing and we suspect that he's run away."

Jordemayne nodded and passed his hand over the wards, exciting the salt grains which jumped into the air, swirling like a miniature dust devil. "That gives me an idea," he mused and took off at a run for the back lawn with an air of urgency that made Jaxon follow. Puzzled, the big man kept up until the wizard stopped at a trampled place in the grass at the rear of the house, yet not within sight of anyone inside the house. Blood splatter and scraps of material were scattered on the grass and dirt. Pieces of skin were stuck to leaves of grass and apparent to Jaxon. He gaped at the remnants of Jordemayne's ferocity.

"That's a lot of blood," he said carefully.

"Not nearly enough," Cal returned bitterly. He gestured and chanted a spell that twisted the air. All the bits and pieces, most of the blood, clods of dirt and trampled leaves of grass coiled from the ground into a thin ribbon, twirling faster and faster until it became a solid rope. Forming arms and legs, a tail and a narrow head on a long neck, it became a creature that resembled a lizard with a frilled collar more than a miniature dragon. Its eyes were blank, the right one a scarred and deformed hole; its hide a dull brownish red streaked with green stripes.

Before their eyes, the other orb began to glow with a dim red flash. It hissed and sat up, its head cocked as it looked at Jordemayne. Ignoring Jax.

" _Seek your blood and bone_ ," he chanted in Latin. The creature spread thin wings and hovered, seeking a scent and the way over the wards. Jordemayne gestured and the entire barrier winked out of existence. The mini flying lizard slowly flew off, following the forest road.

"The Range Rover?" Jax asked. "How will we keep it in sight?"

"It is bound to me as well as its blood donor, the dragon. It will come find us if we get out of its tether range. Get Chloe. We'll leave the house; it is compromised beyond repair."

Jaxon nodded, left to go to the mansion while Jordemayne went for the garage. They were loaded and ready to leave within minutes and caught up to the lizard within the hour.

The creature flew no faster than 50 mph making it relatively easy for the driver to keep it in sight, even when they left the seasonal road and entered the state highway system.

As birds headed north to their summer nesting grounds, the mini-dragon flew true north, never deviating more than a few degrees. For the most part, they followed the roads, not losing sight of the creature. If anyone else saw it, their impression was that of a drone, masked by another of the wizard's spells. It wouldn't fool another magic user but for the average person, the spell was more than enough.

Miles hummed under the Rover's tires as they drove through the mountains of West Virginia and into western Pennsylvania, past scenery that was breathtaking in its scope and beauty.

"He's heading for New York City," Jordemayne noted. "That's where I found him."

"Back to Bellevue?"

"I doubt that but in New York, he'd have enough space to hide and provide him with prey."

"What does a dragon eat?" Chloe asked, breaking her silence.

"If you believe the old stories, anything he wants. Sheep, deer, cattle, humans with a preference for virgins," Jordemayne said.

"Not a lot of those around anymore," Chloe laughed. "Nonsense. He prefers chocolate chip cookies and peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches. Whitford took half a dozen out to Raven after he came home from school."

Jordemayne slammed on the brakes and pulled over onto the shoulder. Shadows deepened as late afternoon slid into evening. "Whit took him food?" he demanded.

"Yes, and he took my first-aid kit along with two bottles of peroxide," she added.

"Did he say why?"

"I didn't see him, so I could ask. I just found the stuff missing."

"He found him. Treated him. Probably helped him escape," Jordemayne said slowly.

"He wouldn't," Jaxon protested. "If he did, there's no way we can find Molly! He knows that!"

"Unless he promised Whit that he would. Whit doesn't know that he won't keep a promise unless bound by blood. Oh Hades, he has no idea what he's dealing with!" Jordemayne put the Rover back on the road with renewed urgency.

Just down the street, two blocks over at the obscure little corner store called the Arcane Stone. It was a magic shop and herbal potion store that catered to holistic medicine users and sold love potions and magic spells ranging from gray through white. Nothing black or cursed came from its shelves.

Its proprietor was an older man with a sweet accent; most people guessed he was from the Deep South and indeed, he had been born and raised in New Orleans. He was also a sorcerer, a second tier third level wizard whose specialty was ferreting out old curses and ghosts that haunted places and objects. He made an excellent secondary living finding lost objects – wills, jewelry, and coins buried in backyards. His name was Lorican Stone, the shop's name a play on his own.

He was closing for the evening; one of the few nights he had free from scrying when he paused in the act of locking the steel bars on his front door. A faint shiver of ancient power and mystery rippled across his back, an accent of magic both rare and unexplained teased his nose. Slowly, he turned around to peruse down the street, drawn to the glowing white cross on the red door of St. Paul's mission. He knew that the mission was run by the sisters and brothers of the Salvation Army; he'd chased off their overflow from his dumpsters, but he'd never felt such a strong aura before. It almost tugged at him.

Standing at the corner was a tall teenage boy. He wore jeans, boots and a blue down-filled parka that had seen better days with a dark stocking cap pulled over his ears. He was joined by another boy, younger, shorter but both were equally good looking although there was something wrong with the taller boy's right eye. He wore a dark patch that stood out against his pale skin.

The smaller youth handed him a bottle of Gatorade, Stone could plainly make out the distinctive label in the light from the door and street lamps. They chatted, one gestured inside and the taller youth shook his head, pointing in the general direction of the store owner. Stone was sure that they could not see him, his lights were out, the victims of a drive-by encounter months before and the city had not replaced them.

In fascination, drawn to their auras, Stone watched as the being with ancient power walked stiffly towards him.

# Chapter 12

I slept for a couple hours, waking when Whit shoved my shoulder. Vigorously, as if his first one hadn't worked. I groaned and pulled the sheet back over my head, but he was insistent.

"Wake up. I brought you more Gatorade and some clothes. I heard Sister Meg talking on her cell phone. She called the cops about us."

That brought me out of my doze immediately, I sat up quickly tearing at my back with the sudden lunge. My curses caused Whit to flinch as if they had the power to hurt him. I moved more cautiously, sliding my legs off the bed and onto the floor.

He handed me a brown paper sack which was stuffed with folded clothes. Jeans. Boxers. Long-sleeved t-shirt and polo. Socks, lace-up boots with a rugged, cleated sole. Black stocking cap. A blue down parka with snaps, a zipper, and several sets of pockets. It came to my hips and was extremely warm. White tube socks that I'd always hated but was grateful for this time. And last, which brought a strangled laugh to my lips was a black patch on an elastic string. An eyepatch like Nick Fury wore in the comic book.

"Where did you find this?" I grinned, amused. I would have preferred a fake eyeball; it would be less conspicuous. Wasn't sure exactly how to go about getting one.

I dressed quickly, except for the t-shirt. That I pulled carefully over my wounds; the gauze remained intact, no fresh blood soaking free. It itched and ached with a dull throb that was more an annoyance than a pain.

He laced my shoes, I almost fell over bending and it hurt, muscle strain, mostly. Once fully dressed, he showed me another way out that kept Sister and her co-workers from seeing us leave.

We skipped out the back door and came around to the front and stood, eye-balling both directions, both up and down the street. It was well-lit uptown but towards the river the streetlights were intermittent. That would be an area of more crime, more danger, and more places to hide.

"Gatorade?" I asked, and he handed me a large bottle of grape which I emptied in four gulps. I was still hungry and that made my decision for me. I turned and walked uptown looking for the closest McDonalds or fast food restaurant. Without a cellphone, we'd have to keep walking until we found one; there certainly weren't any pay phones or telephone books to look one up. But fast food places were like rats–everywhere and easy to spot.

Whit stayed close on my heels, his long legs slowing to accommodate my shorter, weaker strides. I was still tired, hungry, and beat down from his uncle's attack. Even though I had flown all night as a dragon with no lack of energy, it had taken its toll on my human body.

"God, I'm hungry," I muttered, the image of Golden Arches in my head. We walked four long blocks with blinking amber lights and no traffic, and then across two more intersections onto a street near a bus stop. Inside the covered bus, the kiosk was advertisements for Burger King, First National Bank of Albany, APAC, and McDonald's on Freer St. near the Medical Center. So, we followed the ' **H'** signs and after 20 minutes of wandering, we saw the Mickey D's crammed into a corner lot with a Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, and Nirchi's Pizza. The DD and Mickey D's were the only two open that late at night.

"You still have that money?" I asked, and he nodded. He pulled out change from a twenty in his jeans. I didn't see the rest of the cash.

"I hid it in my boot," he said. "I didn't think it was a clever idea to flash a roll around in this neighborhood."

"Smart. Ready for a Big Mac, fries and a shake?"

His nod was enthusiastic as we entered the fast food place to stand at the counter and wait our turn. Surprisingly, there were quite a few people inside eating, none of them cops unless they were undercover, but I doubted the management would allow homeless inside, even cops disguised as one. I ordered a Big Mac, filet of fish, four egg burritos, large fry and a vanilla shake. He had two double cheeseburgers, fries, apple pies and a Coke. Diet. I raised an eyebrow, but he said, 'what? I'm watching my sugar.' The total came to $21. 56 and we had to dig out another handful of change from my coat pocket, jeans, and his sad looking wallet. It was used and not his original from the tears in the leather. One of those dorky looking trucker wallets with the chain attached to a belt loop. He flushed at my bland look. I wouldn't let him look for another twenty unless we were someplace safe and out of sight.

We ate slowly, savoring every bite. What he didn't finish, I did and to my uneasiness, my appetite was drawing attention from the other diners. Comments like 'he must have a tapeworm the size on the Bronx' and 'is he part lumberjack?' floated around us. I wrapped the rest of my food up to take with us, so I could eat in peace.

"Tell me what you heard," I murmured so that only he could hear me. We had sat in the back, against the wall and in easy access to the rear doors. No one could sit near enough to overhear us.

"She called the police and reported two suspected runaways, underage. I don't think we look under eighteen, do you? She asked if anyone had reported a pair of teenage boys that were missing and mentioned your eye and your back. Said she was sending a glass with your fingerprints. They connected her to the Center for Missing and Exploited Children. She gave them our descriptions and names. They said they were sending officers out to detain us, not to let us go. She said you weren't going anywhere, you were too hurt, and she'd sedated you."

"Huh. No wonder I was so hard to wake. They are probably the FBI; they handle crimes against kids. And I do too look over eighteen. You, however, look like you're still twelve. Do you even have hair down there?"

He hit me and turned red. _"Yes!"_

"We have to lay low or get out of the city. New York would be better but the only place I know was the dumpster where I woke up and I sure as hell don't want to go back there."

"Yeah, what was with that? Uncle Cal's conjuration was supposed to bring you from your plane to his workshop in the city. Instead, he had to track you down at the hospital. What, you took a detour?" he asked, half seriously.

"Like I should know? I was waking up from a serious hangover when I came to, naked, painted with temporary tattoos and in a dumpster," I complained, slurping the last of my sickeningly sweet shake.

He giggled a sound that tugged at my heart. "Human or dragon?"

"Human. I ran through the streets before I realized I was _au natural_. Two cops chased me down and tasered me. Not my finest hour." I looked out the glass windows that covered the entire front of the Mickey D's and spotted a HOTEL sign. Not one of those chain places that leave the light on, not a good place like the Clarion but also not one where they rent the same room by the hour. Called the Driscoll, it had both daily and weekly rates. Still too close to the Mission for comfort; I didn't feel like walking any further to find a room. From the looks on Whit's face, he was ready to crash, he'd had even less sleep than I had.

"Ready to make it a night?" I asked, and he nodded, yawning into his hand. "Bathroom." I jerked my head to the men's' room. Once inside, I held the door closed and had him pull off his boot and take a hundred out. Tucked it into my jacket pocket and had him conceal another twenty in his own. He put the rest back and we exited the McDonald's aware that several faces watched us.

Our footsteps echoed on the street, we were the only ones walking it. Not even the usual vagrants were out. Before we turned to the hotel, I ducked into an alley and watched to make sure no one was following, watching from the eatery, or paying us any attention. I didn't want anyone seeing us heading for or entering the hotel.

The lobby of the Driscoll was small, typical, and even held some nice plants as if someone still cared for the place. The night clerk sat behind bullet-proof glass. I had to tap into it to wake him up. His bleary, bloodshot eyes stood out in a face straight out of the Mid-East, Iran, or Pakistan. His accent was pure New Yorker.

"No tricks, don't bring your Johns into the room, no hourly rates," he snapped.

"I want a room for two nights, maybe three. With two full beds and a bath," I said calmly and in Farsi. "I don't do tricks and I'm staying 48 hours, not one."

His eyes widened as I spoke his language. "You speak Farsi!"

"I guess I do," I was surprised myself, where the words came from I wasn't sure until he had replied, and I understood him.

"Credit card?" he smiled.

"Cash. Do I look like I own a credit card?" I retorted but he didn't take offense.

"ID? Just to prove you're over 18?"

"I'm nineteen and I don't have any ID," I fanned the twenties out on the counter and waited. His sign said $45 a night, check-out at 11 am and valuables locked up at owner's risk. No guns, knives, drugs, or prostitution allowed. No loud music, cursing or fights.

"No luggage?" he asked taking the cash. I just stared at him. "Right. Sign the register card," he added. "Don't use John Doe or John Smith, we have four of them already." He pushed the card towards me with a cheap black pen. I signed my new name, Van Corbin, and brother, Walt Corbin. Where the name came from, I didn't know or care. The address was fake, and the phone number was one I'd sign on a Domino's Pizza back on Grand Avenue.

He took the card, looked at it and handed me a key card. Electronic which surprised me, I wouldn't have suspected the hotel of being that modern. The furnishings in the lobby and carpet looked older than the 60's.

"Room 772, up the stairs to the elevator, the seventh floor down the hall, corner room. Two fire escapes at either end and a fire escape that pulls down from the bathroom window. Has its own shower and a hotplate, and a coffee maker. Down the hall near the elevators are vending machines and an ice maker. You need more towels or coffee – that's extra."

I turned my back and acknowledged his last words with a raised hand. Called back, "ممنون."

The room was decent. Large enough for the double beds so that we could walk comfortably around them, and it was _clean_. The towels in the bathroom were plush enough, not as fine as what was in Trump Tower but not threadbare like I had been expecting. Two bath towels for each of us, washcloths and hand towels lined up on the metal shelf over the sink with small soaps wrapped in wax paper and complimentary bottles of shampoo.

The coffee pot, wrapped glasses and coffee cups were on the small sit-down counter just outside the bathroom door. If you were so inclined, you could do your makeup there, in front of the big mirror.

Since both of us had showers at the Mission, or I assumed Whit had, I was surprised when he called dibs. I didn't smell bad nor did I want to get my back wet, but someone had cleaned me up where I no longer smelled as if I lived in a dumpster.

Already stripped down to my shorts and tee, I was checking my back in the big mirror, looking for any new blood. I could see the overstuffed chair, the long counter that ran the length of the wall with shelves and drawers and one of those clothes racks with the hangers that didn't come off.

Several nice landscape prints were screwed to the wall. I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to steal one, but I guessed people would do anything for drug money, even steal off the walls of a motel. The same for the flat screen TV; it was mounted high and bolted down with big lag screws. The carpeting was still thick under my bare feet and the whole room smelled freshly cleaned. Lysol and bleach overladen with air freshener. I opened one of the windows, surprised that it wasn't nailed shut and studied our escape route.

The steel fire escape cage led down to the first floor but stopped short over six feet from the ground, an easy drop for both of us. If you were a short, overweight woman, it might be a problem.

The window looked out on a back street, it was too well-lit and wide to be called an alley and there was enough room to park. I caught the smell of the river. Not as pleasant as the air in the room.

Whit was already naked and in the shower. He had the water so hot that steam was invading my part of the room and fogging the mirrors. I wiped circles off the glass and stared at myself. I looked silly with the patch, but I couldn't think of any other way to hide the disfigured eye socket and wondered why my parents or caretakers or even myself hadn't taken steps to make me look normal, especially before I'd been pulled to this Shadow.

I made faces in the mirror. That was when I felt a cold chill on my back and felt a weight on my shoulder. Yet, there was nothing there. I could have sworn that I saw a man in the mirror behind me, dark-haired, slim, over six feet, handsome with piercing eyes. He wore a beautiful three-piece suit of gray pinstripe with an ornate silver ring on his finger.

I gasped and spun around but no one was there. Spooked, I checked the door to see if it was open and responsible for the chill I'd felt but it was dead-bolted, locked and the chain up solidly. No one under the beds, hiding behind the door in the shower or escaping down the fire escape.

Slowly, I sat on the bed with my parka around my shoulders and wondered if I was losing my mind, was suffering from delayed shock or a concussion or was severely sleep deprived. Or maybe, it could be a reaction to the drug with which Sister Meg had tried to assure my continued presence at the mission.

I couldn't rest; my nerves were jumpy as hell so when Whit came bouncing out of the bathroom, I nearly leaped off the bed. "What's with you?" He stopped in shock at my edginess.

"Nerves."

"Well, chill out. You'll have me doing it, too. You have anything left from your orgy at Mickey D's?"

I tossed him the bag of leftovers, a few fries, cold and hard. One egg and sausage burrito. Two packets of mild salsa. "If you're still hungry, I can go hit the vending machines, stock up on chips and candy," I offered as he wore only a towel wrapped around his skinny waist. With his slender body, hairless chest, slicked back hair, and wide green eyes, he looked at best, 14-years-old.

"How old are you, Whit?"

"Sixteen," he said. I stared. "Okay, 14. And a half. Thirteen," he finished.

"Tell me about your mom," I said, and he sat on the bed nearest the window after he closed it. The room warmed up from the shower. He tucked his legs like an Indian, his hands in his lap.

"Like what?"

"Her name. What she looks like. What she smells like. What she does. Describe her to me if I were blind and needed to pick her out of a crowd," I encouraged.

"Just shout her name. Molly Marlin."

"Whit–"

"Alright, I get it. Her name is Molly Jordemayne Marlin. She's my uncle's sister. The youngest. Her hair is chestnut brown with red streaks in the sun. Her eyes are green like mine but not as light as Uncle Cal's. She has big lips she's always complaining about what she says makes her look like a camel. She's taller than me so far but mom thinks I'll outgrow her when I get my growth spurt. She loves horses, goes gaga over them. Reading and cooking. She used to walk in the park with me and we'd camp overnight but that was before we moved to the city. She knows all the names of the constellations and the stars in them.

"She's a nurse in the operating room and like I told you, she's a diabetic. Shoots herself with insulin 3x a day. She can't sing but likes to try. Dances good enough for those ballroom competitions. She's always on time and never misses an appointment. Always watching her weight but never needs to lose a pound.

"She tells jokes and forgets the punchline, can't put a worm on a hook but can fish better than me. She helps me with my math homework even when I know it better than she does. Taught me how to ride a bike. She disappeared seven months ago, and we've been looking for her since. The police haven't found anything."

"Why did she vanish? Did she see something? Hear something? Does she do magic like your Uncle Cal? And just who is Jaxon, anyhow?"

"Jaxon Klamath. He's a friend and a relative of my Uncle. He knew my father. He's a minor wizard and spells depository."

"Say what?"

"He can hoard the energy needed for complex spells and when the wizard needs more power, he can draw it forth from Jaxon. Like a battery. Supposedly, he did the same for my dad."

"Where is your dad?"

"I don't know. No one will tell me anything about him. I don't remember him at all."

"Where was your mom when she disappeared?"

"She worked at the University Medical Center in New York. She was on her way home, she stopped at Uncle Cal's workshop which is nearby. He has a brownstone in SoHo which Mom rented from him, the second floor is a separate apartment as big as a house. That's where we lived when she disappeared. We know she made it home, we found her cell phone, purse, and keys on the sideboard where she always tossed them. But her backpack with her daily dose of insulin, needle pack and coat were gone. The door was locked and the alarm code reset. I came home from school early that day because she was supposed to take me to a dental appointment. I couldn't find her and knew something was wrong immediately. She never missed an appointment, she always called if she was running late. There were no messages left for me. She was just gone. I called Uncle Cal. He came right away and scryed for her. Found no trace. When he used magic, all it would tell him was that she was alive but the spot where she'd last stood had been blasted by a magical energy that had turned the area barren. What he called a null spot, a dead space. Sort of like where my shed is. It has no magical essence left and none can be worked there."

"Huh," I said and felt foolish because that was all I could think of to say. "I think we need to go there. To your home and maybe his workshop. I think I can pick up a scent of your mom. Maybe track her."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah." I didn't tell him we were already in tomorrow. "You still hungry?"

"No. Lost my appetite." I could hear the tremor of sadness in his voice and didn't know what I would do if he started wailing. He stretched out, in his towel and stared at the ceiling. It wasn't long before I heard his soft snores but thankfully, no muted crying. My sleep was long in coming and when I did fall, it was with depressing dreams of flying in caged circles.

# Chapter 13

We both slept late. I was on the verge of waking because my stomach was violently complaining that it was more than empty, it was the Sahara Desert of emptiness. Whit woke before me and had turned on the flat screen TV that was mounted and bolted to the wall. The news was playing, MSNBC on a cable channel and I finally noticed that our room had Wi-Fi. Neither of us had a laptop so it wouldn't do me much good.

Anyway, the news was out about the usual bad crap that was occurring in the world–fires, wars, airplanes missing, child abductions. With a start, I realized the anchor was talking about me, that I was wanted by the FBI. And they had my name. Raven Murphy but of course, I had told that Detective who I was. The charge was for a 'person of interest' in an old case involving terrorism in which I might have been an eye-witness. Any information on my whereabouts could lead to a substantial reward. Several other agencies were also interested in and after me. What scared me most was the sketch that a police artist had put up, it looked remarkably like me and in the interest of viewer sensibilities, they grayed out my bad eye. As if it made small children and weak old ladies nauseous.

I put my hand on the patch I'd worn to bed and still had the parka draped over me.

"How did you lose your eye, Raven? Were you a dragon when it happened? Why haven't you done something about it?"

"I think so. I only vaguely remember that life. I think I was in some sort of war between princes, wizards, witches, and unicorns. I was the only dragon and on the wrong side."

"Wrong side?"

"The losing side. I can remember a soldier in blue and gold livery attacking me with a sword. He stabbed me in the eye, blinding me. And another cut off the poison barb on my tail. Neither came back when my wounds healed. I bit both in half at the time. I was pissed. Sometimes, the memories feel more like a dream, you know? Not like it happened to me," I said.

"What are we going to do about this?" he nodded his chin at the screen.

"I'll have to change my appearance. That'll be hard to do with my bad eye. But I can change our hair color, wear something besides jeans. It'd be best if we split up and joined the homeless crowds, hung out there. They don't rat on each other and hate the cops."

"I'm not leaving you. How do you know all about this stuff?" Whit asked.

"Dunno. Seems maybe I used to be one of the homeless," I mused. "Me and Murphy."

"Murphy?"

"I think he was my caretaker. At first, early on I thought he was my mom or dad. He took care of me from the age of like five or so. He was a gargoyle."

"A real gargoyle? Like stone, wings, hang off the edge of buildings gargoyle? Flying through the air gargoyle, the whole nine yards?" He seemed awed by that as if my being a dragon and his uncle a wizard was commonplace stuff he took for granted.

"Tell me, has magic always been a grandiose thing on this Shadow? Because I don't remember it that way. Not that my memory is erudite."

"Oh, good one. Big word for a kid like me. It's kinda like the crazy uncle no one talks about, but everyone knows he's around," he shrugged. "There are unspoken rules – don't get caught using it in public and never admit that you have it."

"What time is it?"

He moved out of the way so that I could see the time on the flat screen. Nearly noon. No wonder I was hungry. I'd missed breakfast and lunch.

"Lunch?" I asked. "I'm pretty sure I saw a diner down the street near the used car lot."

"You think it's safe to go out?"

"We have to eat. This place doesn't have room service and if it did, we'd need a credit card. Too bad you don't know some spells to make me look different."

"I do. But looking like Spiderman or Frankenstein won't help us. I used it for Halloween costumes. Besides, if I spelled you, it would make you a beacon to any magic users around. They'd be curious why you were disguised and by whom. Maybe we could change your hair color and style. Maybe a wig with long hair that hung over your eye instead of the patch. Or, we could paint you like Goth and your eye wouldn't be so noticeable." He stared at my face. "You're lucky that it didn't pierce your brain and kill you."

Considering that my dragon head was the size of his entire body, a puny sword hadn't penetrated more than a few inches. Just enough to blind me and piss me off royally. "Dragons are not so easy to kill." I slid out of bed and pulled on yesterday's clothes and probably tomorrow's as well.

"I think we need to visit your uncle's workshop as soon as possible. We have two options. We can wait until dark and fly or we can find a bus station, spend some more money on tickets and ride three hours into the city."

"Won't the bus station be dangerous? The first place they'll look for runaway teens?" he asked. "Your picture is bound to be everywhere. Especially in the city."

"No one notices the homeless." I snatched the keycard off the counter and we left the hotel together. He nearly stepped on my heels, I thought he was afraid that I would ditch him. No one watched us leave, no one was in the lobby and the night clerk had been replaced with a young woman who had no interest in us.

The streets weren't like the Big Apple's where we could get lost in the crowds. Albany, unlike NYC, had room to sprawl out whereas NYC could only go up. The most densely populated city in the world, we could hide in the shadows for years. Especially if we descended to the underground New York. I didn't think I could tolerate being confined underground.

I heard my name called and spun around. No one within walking distance, no one calling me, yet it had been so clear that I thought someone had said it next to my ear. I shivered.

"Did you say something?" I asked Whit and he shook his head. "I'm going nuts. I swear I heard someone call my name.'

"Maybe you heard a summoning spell? No, they'd have to be within sight of you or know your secret name."

Irritably, I returned, "I only have one name. Raven Murphy."

"Why'd your parents name you, Raven? Your black hair and gold eye?"

We reached the diner. Old-fashioned with a long counter, red cushion topped stools and a row of booths along its windowed wall. It looked out on the street down to the river, the Hudson. Wide enough for the barges to navigate but rarely more than 500 yards from bank to bank.

There were a few hardy souls out on the speedboats and we saw a River Patrol craft go speeding by up-river.

"Booth or counter?" I asked, and he went for a booth in the back near the rear exit. I already had him thinking escape exits and lines of retreat. We could keep an eye on those entering and leaving and had an escape route if needed.

Sliding into the booth, I kept my head turned away from the waitress, a pretty, younger woman in an old-fashioned dress and apron. College age. I wondered if she was a co-ed at the University of Albany. Blonde with blue eyes. I leaned my face on my hand, covering my eye as she approached.

"Menus?" she smiled and handed over two laminated foot long cards with everything from blueberry pancakes to fish and chips. "Something to drink?"

"Pepsi?" I ordered. "Diet Coke for my brother. What's good? And filling?"

"Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy with two sides, rolls and dessert. All for $9.95 and all you can eat. Seconds are free if you can eat them."

"Sounds good. Walt?" Whit nodded but asked for a cheeseburger, the works to go.

"My, you're hungry," she grinned. "Coming right up. My name is Patty." Same as what was on her nametag.

She put in our order and went to the next dinner guest, a man in a blue wool business suit seated near the front door.

The food came fast, and we ate slow, enjoying every bite. It was as good and as filling as she promised. I ate mine, had seconds and then polished off whatever Whit hadn't off his second plate. When we were done, she brought his burger wrapped in a foam box.

I left her a $5 tip and she thanked us as we left the diner. We had the rest of the afternoon to get through, I figured the easiest way to spend the afternoon was to check out the malls or the zoo. Both were within walking distance or we could take public transportation to either.

Because Albany was a city that had grown in an urban sprawl instead of up, you just didn't see many people walking around. Most people drove, even the buses were barely filled. They were cheap – the most expensive fare was 2.00 and for that, we could ride all day from one end of the city to the other.

Whit was grown up enough that the Zoo held no appeal but then again, shopping wasn't his thing, either. Instead, we went looking for a park because I knew where we would find the transient population. If you wanted to hide in plain sight, that was where we had to go.

There was such a park near the industrial area. Large warehouses lined the old street near the docks. Some were still in use and others were in the process of gentle decay. The park butted up against the backs of one such strip. Once, it held swings, a merry-go-round and an old playset of jungle bars, slide, and rings. The grass had gone to weeds, old Walmart bags littered the field and caught in the sagging chain-link of the ball field. It didn't look as if any kids had played there for decades, but prostitutes and drug addicts had made it their home. We found used condoms and needles littering the ground.

There was a thick stand of trees that merged into a wooded area that led to the outskirts of town. Part of the Catskill mountains. It was there that we found the evidence of homeless living. Makeshift tents, tiny cabins made from pallets and tarps. Shopping carts stacked with all manner of worldly goods. Campfire rings and 55-gallon fireplaces. A couch minus its legs in front of an old barbecue pit along with a table made from a large wire spool and a metal folding chair.

No garbage littered the area, but someone had dragged one of the city's ornate iron garbage can holders into the clearing along with its green garbage bag. The bag was as empty as the clearing.

"Where is everybody?" Whit whispered.

"Probably in town getting food and hand-outs. They won't come back here until late at night, they won't want the cops to follow and roust them. Watch where you step, you don't need to walk on a used needle."

"So, are we gonna hang out here until they all come back? Good thing I brought my burger with me."

"We can stay but not directly in the clearing. That'd be like walking into a stranger's kitchen without asking," I shook my head. "Only, these people are less forgiving and a whole lot angrier."

I led him over to a big oak tree where we could keep the encampment in sight yet remain unseen. Looking up, I spotted a suitable branch where we could comfortably sit. Boosting him up, he settled on the limb close to where it grew out of the trunk. I jumped up, caught one of the lower limbs and climbed all the way to the top where I could see over the whole clearing, the park and the streets leading to the warehouses. That was why I saw the man hiding in the shadows and then walking towards the park where we were hiding. As he came closer, I recognized the way he was walking and what he was wearing, a nice three-piece suit in blue wool. It was the same man I had seen in the diner, eating while we were there. He came into the park and with both stealth and unerring accuracy, he found the exact spot where we'd stood to watch the homeless camp. He dropped to one knee and laid his palm on the ground. As he connected, a faint silver glow came up from the spot and illuminated our footsteps all the way to underneath the tree. They disappeared at the base. I hoped that he didn't know enough to look up.

Whit was frozen, torn between looking at the man and looking at me. I could see that he was afraid to move or breathe. I resolved to drop down on the dude's head if he so much as tilted his neck back. Instead, he walked around the entire circumference of the tree, all the way back to where he'd started. Searching for more footprints.

His head came up and he stared off towards the street and all of us heard approaching voices. Low, rough as if the owners were chronic smokers.

The occupants of the clearing were returning far earlier than expected. The old man who led them was wearing camo pants and several coats piled on top of each other. His beard was gray and touching his chest, his hair buried under a ratty stocking cap. He bared his teeth, all four of them. He stopped dead as he caught sight of the man in the neat suit and overcoat hanging over his arm. The bum appeared menacing, his hands on a baseball bat that he'd hidden under his long coat.

"You got a reason to be invading our fine home?" he demanded. The seven or eight others crowded close behind him, their pungent smell almost too much to bear even as high as I was in the tree. I swallowed my gag reflex, aware that it must be worse to Whit who was considerably closer.

The man in the suit didn't seem at all afraid. He stood tall and put his hands out in front of him. The transient thought that he was begging for mercy, but the suited man simply opened his palms and silver flashes of light burst forth to knock over the entire crowd. They fell backward in a tangle of arms, legs, and grocery carts.

Wisps of smoke came from their clothes. They fell as gracelessly as old dolls but none of them were dead; I heard their groans and complaints as they moved to pick themselves off the ground and each other.

Once he was sure that they had no interest in attacking him further, he turned to the oak tree. His hands aimed at the branches and I shouted down to Whit. _"NOW!"_ His voice, trembling in fear shouted back.

" _Ddraig_ draig _!"_ Instantly, I was the dragon, dropping through the branches before the suited man could react. I snatched Whit off his perch, hit the ground, slapped the suited man with my wing as I leaped into the air and flew as high and as fast as I had ever tried. I left behind a sonic boom. His cries followed me as well as a sharp slap of power up my tail end.

# Chapter 14

Whit clung to my legs, hanging like a piece of food wedged between my teeth. He was so scared that he chattered, his words running together so fast that I couldn't decipher them. I was also engaged in trying to figure out what the wizard had done to my rear end – not hurt exactly but more like it was cold and numb.

"Whit, slow down," I begged. "I've got you, you won't fall." I finally shouted. _"WHIT!"_

Now a dragon's full-fledged roar is a thing of near infinite power. If I'd been on the ground, I would have blown over whole trees. In the air, it had the effect of rupturing anything's eardrums and stunning if not killing them and if my front legs hadn't been cupped around his eardrums, I would have done that to him.

His voice slowed. "That was a wizard."

"No shit. What did he do to me? He shot some silver shit at my ass and it feels weird."

"I dunno. Are we far enough– _holy shit!"_ We both ducked as I just missed a blacked-out helicopter, military and fast. I dove for the silver-gray ribbon of water I saw below between the trees, the river my target.

"Can you hold your breath for a minute, Whit?" I asked and didn't wait for his answer before I dove into the chilly waters of the Hudson. Through the twenty feet of liquid over me, I felt the vibrating thumps of the rotors as it circled around to track whatever it had seen that had nearly clipped them. Namely, me. I knew that disbelief was predominantly figuring in their eyes and minds unless there were magic users on board and I was a strain even on their imaginations as dragons on this shadow were merely myths.

Until tonight.

A dragon can do many things and swim long distances quickly under water in less than a minute was just one of them. I'd gone over a mile keeping below even when the river bottom rose to less than ten feet. My sonar sense warned me of obstructions on the bottom and when I detoured around them, I recognized them as submerged vehicles. A few still had occupants' bones encased in the remnants of clothing and wedged into seatbelts in the front seat.

I broke the surface with my head first, a snorkel – or more like an alligator cruising the river in search of prey. My eye just above the water line checking for any sign of the chopper.

It was behind me by a half mile, its brilliant spotlight illuminating the water and spilling out in rays towards us. I ducked my head under, took Whit's legs in my mouth and with utmost care lifted his limp body onto my back. He wasn't breathing.

Desperate, I leaped from the water in a huge splash and onto the nearest bank, breaking trees down in my panic. I recited the spell to return me to human.

It didn't work.

Gently, I laid him on the clay and leaves of the bank and watched him turn blue. I felt my 12-chambered heart jolt in fear.

Carefully, I put him down, placed my right front leg on his chest and belly, pumping 30 times as gingerly as a 40-ton creature could do. His chest depressed. I did it four more times before water poured from his mouth and he started coughing but not breathing. No reassuring thump of his heartbeat.

"CPR. Thirty thrusts and one breath," I said to myself but how could I pinch off his nose, tilt his head back and blow into his mouth? My head was bigger than his body. All I could do was swallow him unless – I stuck one of my gaping nostrils over his entire face and puffed gently. His chest rose and fell. I did it twice more.

He sputtered, his eyes opened in horror and he slapped me. It hurt as he hit me on my good eye. Luckily, the third eyelid snapped shut, protecting the orb. I blinked several times as it teared.

"Gross!" he gurgled, still hacking up river water. "Are you _kissing_ me? With your _nose hole_?"

I sat back in relief and almost felt like crying. "I thought I told you to hold your breath?" I said indignantly.

"Yeah, you gave me like two seconds warning before you dove in. Are we safe now?"

I looked around and dragged him further into the woods, not an easy thing to do with my large body, without knocking over trees and leaving a hole in the forest that pointed straight to us. And it was hard to maneuver around the tree trunks, rocks, and gullies.

My hind end collapsed, and I nearly sat on him. I couldn't move my rear legs or my tail. It hung behind me like a flattened snake in the road. "What's happening to me?" I cried, cold creeping up my lower half.

Whit sat up and touched my hind, snatching his hand back as if it were burned. "That was a wizard. A pretty decent one. He hit you with an ice spell or numbing one after he took out those people with a lightning bolt. He must be powerful if he had enough juice to take them and you on at the same time."

"Ice spell? Can you fix it?" Dragons hated the cold.

"Maybe." He turned me back into a human, but I was in worse shape that way so back to the dragon. "Can you still fly? I need to get to Uncle Cal's workshop to have a chance. I don't have any stuff here."

"How long before it reaches my wings? My heart?" If I froze while in flight, both of us would become rocks. Rocks don't fly, nor do they bounce from heights. On the contrary, they shatter.

"Depends on the strength and will of the bespelled and how strong the wizard is, how much he put into the spell. Maybe an hour, four at the most."

"We'd better hurry, then. I'm not sure I can outfly a jet, but I can damn sure run rings around a Black Hawk, let alone a Lakota."

He climbed shakily on my back between my shoulder blades right behind my wings and I was back in the sky just above the treetops. The only way we could be spotted by the military was under the radar and that didn't work below 100 feet.

We needed two hours to fly to the city and Whit knew exactly how close we were to disaster. He could feel the ice advancing up my body through contact with his seat.

My wings labored over the skyscrapers and we barely flew aloft through the concrete canyons, all made harder by my attempt to remain below the radar and out of sight. I knew I was going down and couldn't do anything about it. The best I could manage was to cradle Whit between my front legs and aim for Central Park's Sheep Meadow, deserted at that early morning hour. I prayed that I could land without dropping or crushing Whit.

I came down hard. Not a controlled glide but an abrupt drop from the air. I hit hard. Hard enough to leave a crater and knock me for a loop. But, I didn't drop Whit. He was safe, cradled between my legs, a cocoon of rigid bone and flesh that kept him from injury. It was an instinctive thing, designed to protect a dragon's most valuable asset – their egg.

I was not so lucky, I felt two legs break and one wing tear at the shoulder. Nearly torn off the shoulder blade and flying would be impossible until it healed. The agony was white-hot; my head and neck thrashed on the ground leaving gouges large enough to bury a horse. The last thing I heard was Whit's voice calling my name.

II

I came to as I was being dragged by something tied under my armpits. I gasped, it was constricting my ribs making breathing more difficult than it already was with what I suspected were broken ribs. I cried out in pain and that made the person dragging me come to a stop. My upper body was slowly lowered to the grass and Whit's worried face leaned over me. He was fuzzy.

"Raven?"

My answer was another groan. I felt as if I were a popsicle, I was so cold that I couldn't shiver.

"Don't move. Both of your legs are broken, Raven. I've splinted them with magic but it's only temporary. We're still in the park but I changed you back and dragged you towards the Cloisters. We're not far from Uncle Cal's but I can't get you there unless you can walk. We need to take a taxi and you have to walk to the street, so we can flag one down."

I tried to get to my feet, his hand held me on the ground with little effort. He told me not to move until he used a spell of his own. He muttered to me, touched my forehead, heart, and the pulse point in my wrists. As his hand left my flesh, a trace of warmth ran through me, pushing back the frigid feeling of my entire body.

"Does it feel better?" he smiled, and I saw what he would look like in ten years. A kind and honorable man. "Do you think you can stand with my help? You shouldn't feel any pain, just weakness."

My words sounded slurred as if I were drunk. I managed to answer him, but it was Whit's strength and Whit's determination that got me on my feet, not my own. He placed my good arm around his shoulder and tucked his other hand into my waistband and belt at the small of my back, careful not to touch the still healing whip welts. Both of us were yet damp from my dip into the river, another reason we were both shivering in the cool air.

I couldn't feel my legs or anything from the waist down, yet Whit was able to walk me through the park onto paved sidewalks. Less than a hundred feet off the path was a wrought iron fence, park benches, and gates out to the street. Not gates so much as pedestrian walk-throughs, one every twenty-five feet to accommodate those too lazy to walk far.

Beyond that was the busy street, the main thoroughfare in front of the Park. Even though it was early in the morning – but no, it was no longer morning but late afternoon by the shadows leaching the sunlight from the air.

"How long was I unconscious?" I whispered, glad that I could not feel my broken legs or torn shoulder or back. From the way my arm hung inside my jacket, I was sure it must be dislocated. Or broken. Strangely, all I felt was cold. Light-headed.

"Hours. Maybe a day. I tried to wake you after I woke but at first, I was afraid to move you. I had to, joggers started to fill the meadow. Joggers, horseback riders, bikers, cops on bikes and mounted patrol. So many damn people coming and going that I thought it was a free concert or something," he confessed. "I got scared they'd find us, so I changed you back, dragged you into the bushes and laid a confusion spell on the whole area. They know something happened here but not what.

"Once I got you undercover, I found a kind of hollow, a cave between two huge rocks and dragged you inside. Somebody else used it for a hide-out, I found kid's stuff, old food, and books from ten years ago, hidden inside a backpack. I waited, got you stable and waited for you to be conscious. How do you feel?"

"Like I fell out of the sky without a parachute," I said drolly. "How much further?"

He settled me on the park bench, one that wasn't occupied and didn't notice the sideways glances that the others seated nearby gave us. Stepping off the curb into the busy street, he whistled loud enough to call Hades back from Hell. One of the many yellow cabs flashing by us slammed on the brakes and pulled over, stopping mere inches from his sneaker tips.

Whit leaned over the open passenger window; the driver was a light-skinned Hispanic. He spoke English, his name on his driver's medallion Hector Lopez Soto.

"1247 Harriman Square," Whit said. "You know it?"

"SoHo. Besides, even if I didn't there's always Google Earth but I been a cabbie in the City for 25 years. Ain't a street I don't know. You got the fare, kid? I don't do credit and the bus, it'd be cheaper. No offense but you look like one of them homeless bums."

"Can't. My brother's drunk. I can't lug him all the way on the subway or the bus and my dad will kick his ass if I call him for a ride," Whit answered. Really, he was turning out to be quite a skilled liar. "Wait here, okay? He's right there on the bench."

"He's not going to puke in my cab? I've never had any fare puke and I ain't starting now."

"No, he won't puke," Whit promised and came back to get me.

"Holy Christos," the driver gasped and opened his door to come around and help Whit load me in the rear seat. "He looks like he went ten rounds with Pacheco, not gone drinking."

I collapsed on the back, wondering if I could possibly look worse than I felt. Decided that was too much effort to contemplate and closed my eyes. I felt myself dwindling into a thin strip of awareness.

"Sure you don't want to go to the ER, there's a hospital just around the corner, two blocks over."

Whit looked at me, I could feel his stare. I let him decide if my injuries were bad enough that he couldn't fix them. Both of us knew that the minute I was admitted, I would be taken into custody and then his Uncle would take me shortly thereafter.

"No hospital. I'm taking him home. My mom's a nurse," Whit said and slammed the door. He went around to the other side and got in, pushing me upright so that my shoulder was leaning against him. I couldn't feel his warmth, but he shivered as my cold chilled him.

The driver nodded, returned to his seat, and showed us what a New York cab driver was capable of in rush hour traffic. We made it in one piece and in less time than I thought possible. Whit paid him $60, twenty for the tip along with a minor spell to make him forget us. Then, he peeled off, leaving Whit to help me out onto the sidewalk a block away from the brownstone, set me on a bench at the bus kiosk while he went to reconnoiter. Wouldn't be a great idea to waltz in if either Jaxon or Uncle Cal were in either place.

Whit came back holding a key that was so old, it was an antique before New York City was founded. It was the size of his hand, brass with scrolled curlicues and teeth cut like a cow's molars. I felt a faint tingle of magic seep off it; spelled to some minor purpose yet it didn't seem to bother him as he held it.

"Sorry, Raven but you'll have to climb the stairs into the house. There are seven. Can you manage? After that, there's an elevator we can use."

"I have to, no choice, right?" I said and grit my teeth. At least nothing hurt. Once it started, I was in for a world of torment. Hopefully, Whit had access to drugs and major spells.

We struggled up and once more, he literally carried me up the stairs and into the hallway beyond the open door. He swiveled to kick it shut. I didn't care what the place looked like; other than it be safe and secure yet my first impression was that it could have come straight off the cover of House Beautiful or Architectural Digest.

A magnificent carved oak staircase and balustrade took up the entire end of the hallway, to the right was an old-fashioned cage with pull-shut gates. Whit put me inside and I promptly slid down the wall to the floor, unable to hold myself up. Slowly tilted over until my face was on the carpet. Indoor/outdoor, harsh on my cheek but easy to keep clean. It smelled as if someone had recently vacuumed, not at all musty like an unlived-in home. He closed both gates and we slid smoothly up not to the second floor where he'd told me he'd lived but to the fourth. I still wasn't sure if we were in his home or Uncle Cal's workshop. Then, we stumbled down a narrow hallway past rooms that were tiny and cramped until we came to a door that he kicked open. Inside was a dark, large storeroom filled with trunks and covered furniture.

In the center of the room, space had been cleared for a twin bed and matching table, chair, and lamp. It was nearly pitch black, but I could see better than Whit until he flicked a switch and light flooded the undeveloped area from the lamp on the table. It glowed with an eerie green color that made his face look as sickly as mine.

Setting me on the bed, he lifted my legs because I was not capable of movement on my own. He straightened them and wedged a pillow under my shoulder so that if I could have felt it, I would have been comfortable.

"I'll be right back, okay? Once I close the door, only I can enter, and no one can sense your aura outside this room. You're safe here. I have to get some magic stuff from the workshop."

"No," I begged. "Don't go without me, alone no!"

"If I don't get those ingredients, there might not be a 'you' left, Raven," he said tremulously. "You're hurt bad and I can't heal you by myself without the proper magicks. For that, I need Uncle Cal's grimoire and his serious spells. What I know are minor things, like confusion spells and wind to lift a girl's skirt. Nothing big. Besides, it's only a few blocks away and this is a safe neighborhood."

I tried to grip his hand, keep him with me but I had no strength nor will to stop him. "I should be back in an hour, no more than that," he stated. He laid his hand on my forehead. "I'm going to put you into a stasis state. It'll keep you stable until I can come back and heal you. You won't feel any pain, Raven. Sleep."

He tapped my forehead. My eyes closed, and I was back in the quiet darkness.

# Chapter 15

Raven. Can you hear me? Raven?

No one was in the room, but the covered furniture gave me the creeps. It looked too much like monsters waiting to pounce. Slowly, I cranked my neck around and back to the door. From my side, it was massive, oak four inches thick, bound by iron latches and hinges right out of a medieval dungeon. In fact, the whole door looked as if it came from _Central Casting, Evil Wizard's Dungeon, 1 Door._ Nobody in the room but me yet I smelled the faint trace of a flowery perfume that hadn't been there before.

"Whit?" I called feebly but at least I could hear my words instead of a tortured mumble. I thought he'd said I'd be in stasis while he was gone but I had an awful feeling that his 'hour' had long passed.

Nothing moved. I knew that my chest was still breathing because I could see it rising and falling; my legs didn't so much as twitch nor my arms. The only thing still obeying my commands to move was everything from my neck up. Stick a pencil in my mouth and I could write my last will and testament.

I shouted. No Whit meant I would lie there until I froze to death or starved. Overall, I preferred the former or better yet, getting someone to free me even if it meant I would be re-captured. I wouldn't do myself or Whit any good stuck in bed in a room warded against magic.

I wished for my dragon voice. No one could fail to hear that even through a warded room. Unfortunately, all I had were human lungs, so I used them. After a while, my throat hurt, and my voice quit. I did too, acknowledging the inevitable. No one could hear me, and no one was coming to help me. Whit was gone, captured, or arrested although no one should have known that he was with me.

I felt a subtle vibration in the house and assumed it was the elevator. Joy raced through me – it meant that Whit had found his things and was returning. Eagerly, I watched the door waiting for it to open. I heard footsteps down the hallway and someone was trying all the door knobs. At first, I was puzzled as to why Whit would need to do that when he knew where I was. I became afraid because it meant that someone had entered the house who wasn't Whitford.

I stared at the door in disbelief as the handle jiggled, slowly began to turn, and burst open in a silver flash that blinded me. When I could see once more, a tall form stood over me looking down in pleasure. The man from the diner. He very carefully pulled my ankles together and fastened them with yellow silk cords, trying to do the same with my wrists until he realized that my arm was seriously disjointed.

"My, my, my," he said softly. "I'm so glad the ice spell hasn't worn off, young man. You're in for a world of hurt when it does." He had a soothing drawl that came from the south, Louisiana, maybe.

He touched the collar on my neck, the leash suddenly visible as it glowed a warning at him. "High-level magic. What's your name and don't lie, I'll know it for one."

"Raven. Raven Murphy," I answered honestly, and it was clear it was not what he expected.

"Irish? American? Where is the other creature that I saw?"

I wondered if he thought I was Whit and not the dragon.

"You have a scent of ancient power about you but all I see is a young man just out of teenhood. Where's the other boy?"

"He left to get something to heal me. He never came back. I don't know how long I've been lying here."

"Since you fell out of the tree in the park, it's been two days. I've tracked you from the Hudson and the helicopter to the Sheep Meadow in Central Park and lost your trail on the steps of this house. Still, I knew that you were close, I could feel you through my spell."

"What do you want?"

He eyed my badge of slavery, the collar around my neck. "Obviously, I want the power you possess but I am not gifted enough to fight for ownership of you over the Wizard that bound you. I suppose there will be a sizeable reward to turn you in."

"Turn me over," I said flatly.

"Excuse me?" He looked startled.

"Turn me on my back," I repeated.

"If I move you, it will hurt."

"You're going to move me anyway at some point. Turn me over."

He did so. I asked him to lift my shirt and jacket. He stared long and hard at the lacerated flesh before he slowly placed me back on the bed.

"My...master did this because I tried to escape. I am not a demon nor a creature of power that he can use for his agenda. I'm just a teenage kid lost in this shadow trying to figure out who I am and how to get home." I paused for breath. "Who are you?"

"Lorican Stone. Owner and proprietor of the Arcane Stone – a magic shop of eclectic taste."

I gagged. "Magic. I wish I'd never heard of magic. So, Wizard, do whatever you have in mind. I'm tired and want this over with so I can die or whatever."

"Where is the other boy?"

"Whit? Whit went to his Uncle's workshop a day ago and hasn't come back and I'm stuck here with two broken legs, shoulder and frozen to the neck and stuck with you," I rambled. And to my utter contempt, I began to cry which made Stone extremely uncomfortable as the tears drained what little energy I had left.

"Stop that," he said. "Please. Stop."

The door behind him exploded in a shower of wooden splinters, shrapnel that pierced everything but the live bodies in the room. Stone held his hand up and the missiles parted around him even as he was knocked to his knees and fell over the chair. It took him only a second or so to rise to his feet and face the cause of the explosion. My heart sank, and I began to prepare myself for death for that was what I saw on Callimachus' face. Jaxon stood to his side, a huge silver handgun dwarfed in his grip. The Desert Eagle looked almost like a toy in his hands.

Jordemayne advanced, his palms glowing blood red, as were his eyes. He looked like a demon and I shrank back against the sheets. His eyes raced over Stone and dismissed him, brushing him aside as if he were no more than a cockroach he'd stepped on.

"Where is Whitford?" he bellowed and grabbed me by the collar. Such was his strength and ire that he lifted me off the mattress to dangle inches from the wooden floor. I closed my eyes and swallowed, sweat pouring off me and mingling with the tears that ran under the eyepatch and pooled in the hollow where my other eye had once rested.

Slowly, he turned around towards Stone. "What have you done, magic dabbler?" he roared.

"Merely an ice spell, milord," Stone returned. " _I_ have not damaged _your_ property. It will wear off in a few minutes, but I suggest you don't allow that to occur."

"Really? And why should I listen to you, a mere fifth tier spell-caster?" Jordemayne asked silkily as he tore off the thin cloth cords from my ankles. I felt the bones in my legs grate and I gasped, a tiny squeak that hardly made it past my lips.

"If you care to notice, the boy's lips are turning blue, his heart is racing and skipping beats. That is because he is going into shock. He has broken bones; both legs for sure and either his shoulder or upper arm. Broken ribs. If you do not treat him soon, he will die although from the condition in which you have left his back, perhaps you want him to perish in torment?"

If I wasn't beginning to hurt, I would have admired the older man's courage.

Jordemayne put me down on the bed and ran his hand over me, some few inches above my body. Reading my aura, I could feel the heat from his touch and the stronger beginnings of returning pain. I wished that I could say I endured it in silence, but the truth was I screamed until my throat grew raw and my voice faded and then I moaned as if I were a tiny baby animal caught in a tiger's mouth. I begged him to kill me and stop the agony.

"Where is Whit?" he asked again. "Tell me and I will make the pain go away."

"Your workshop. To get medicine. Never came back. Tried to stop him. Tried to follow. Couldn't move. Please. Just kill me. Oh, God! It hurts! It hurts!"

"You didn't kill him?"

"Kill him? Why? Kill Whit? Friend," I gasped. "Have to find him. Help me, go after him." I tried to get up and my legs became two torches on fire that burned the flesh down to the bone and then began to eat away at the bones themselves. My skin melted. I twisted my head back and forth, writhing in agony, howling until I couldn't take anymore. I passed out with a grateful sob and prayed I would not ever wake up.

III

But I did wake. To my utter shock, it was not in a cage or tucked safely away in a dungeon but in a beautiful bedroom of a young boy. Posters of Transformers on the walls and scenes from the latest Star Wars, Hogwarts yet not of any bathing beauties. Too young for that. Robot drones hung from nylon strings off the ceiling and models of airplanes and magic wands were neatly stacked on shelves next to an extensive library. Some of the titles were kid's books but most were geared more to a college-age adult. Clothes lay scattered in piles on the floor. Whit's from the thrift shop and they smelled moldy as if they had laid on the floor damp for days.

His bed was an old-fashioned brass and cast-iron affair, the mattress and box spring so high off the ground that he must have needed steps to climb in. Clean cotton sheets in a pale blue with a blue down bedspread neatly folded at the foot. Over me were a top sheet and a thin blanket of white nubby cotton. It was warm.

I felt numb, foggy headed, not quite of this world. I recognized the effect of some serious drugs, Oxycontin or straight morphine. Only my left arm moved, the other was strapped to my chest with green vet-wrap over thick cotton batting. I lifted the cover and peered at my legs. I wasn't wearing anything but the same green sticky tape from my crotch down to my toes. I could barely wiggle them but the sight of them moving brought more tears to my eyes. They tickled as they rolled down my cheek and into the pillow. I was thirsty, yet my stomach recoiled at the thought of food and for once, I wasn't hungry.

Hearing voices approaching my room, I closed my eyes and pretended I was still asleep as the three men entered the room.

"Will he wake?" Stone asked.

"I've treated his shock and the breaks and forced the healing as far as I could. The rest is time and his own health. His will," Jordemayne said. "If he lied about Whitford, he'll wish he had died."

"He was with your nephew in the diner," Stone said. "And treated him like his brother. He went out of his way each time to ensure that your nephew was safe and protected. I saw him treat the child as if he were a beloved brother, not an enemy. This young man is _not_ a _demon_."

"I summoned him through a demon ring and with a demon spell," Jordemayne denied.

"Can a demon weep? In all the lore I have ever read and researched, no such action has ever been proven possible by even the Lord of Demons. You know this, Callimachus Japheth Jordemayne. Whatever else he may be, _he is not a demon,"_ Stone stated flatly and left the room.

I opened my eyes and we stared at each other. "What happened to Whit?" he asked calmly and waited patiently for my answer.

I wanted to know myself. "What could have happened? He said it was no more than a couple of blocks to your workshop. He'd be gone no more than an hour. Where could he have gone?"

"I thought that you had killed and ate him," Jordemayne said and I gaped at him.

" _Eat him? Are you nuts?_ I'm not a cannibal!" I shouted, and he made me calm down. "How soon can I get up and go after him?" Then a sudden thought crept into my foggy brain. My jaw dropped. _"Oh shit!_ The people that took Molly – could they have him?"

It left them speechless. By the time that I finished that line, both men had bolted through the door and left me alone. I called out to them. Of course, there was no reply, so I willed myself off my back and onto my left side. The morphine took the edge off but the moment that I attempted to use the arm or put weight on my legs, I saw white and then black spots. Almost fainted like a girl. Had to lean against the bed frame to keep me from falling to the floor.

Oh, how I wished I knew a spell or three but the one thing that I had in overabundance was sheer stubbornness. An inability to take 'no' for an answer and stubborn bull-headedness which was more responsible for me climbing out of bed than will or courage.

I could stand, barely. On legs that were made of spaghetti. A head that felt curiously like a balloon on a string. I couldn't call what I did next walking; it was more of a staggering lurch. It did get me to the door and into the hallway. Into the part of the house where Whit and his mom had once lived.

I drifted down the hall passing another bedroom, frilly and feminine and into an open great room with a huge flat screen TV that was 60". Any larger and it could qualify as a movie theater big screen. The kitchen was as big as the smaller bedroom with black appliances. The fridge hummed quietly as I passed the center island. I was more interested in locating the exit door, elevator, or staircase than in finding food. Although, I did stop and drink out of the sink's spigot. Wiping my chin with my hand.

Standing in the short hallway by the side table of highly polished cherry wood, I found the door. A series of locks and deadbolts with a security chain guarded entry from intruders. It was also spelled and the feeling of menace coming from the door made me hesitate. My eyes were drawn back to the table, the one where Whitwood had said his mom tossed her house keys when she'd come home.

I could _taste_ it in the air. A faint whisper of a familiar scent. Somewhat like Whitford but stronger, sweeter, and more mature. The scent of a mother, a ripe and mature woman with an overtone of acrid sweetness which my nose told me was a disease. Diabetes. I lifted my upper lip and drew in her unique effluvia that I would be able to filter out anywhere in the city. Like the Flehmen response in a stud horse smelling estrous in a mare from miles away, I could home in on her presence.

Jordemayne, Jaxon, and Stone found me there. I held up my hand and stopped their protests with a flash of my eyes. Such was my intensity that they obeyed me without protests. I caught the trail of her scent and that of three unknowns that had taken her and as it eddied out the door, Whit's overlaid hers, stronger and heavier. I turned to his uncle.

"Change me," I ordered. "But say, ' _Draconis_ alternus _'."_

"You're too big for the house," he protested. "And need I mention, you're naked."

"Doesn't matter. Not with this spell. Trust me. I can smell her. And Whit. Follow their trail."

Stone looked back and forth, his eyebrows rising in astonishment, two furry caterpillars standing at attention.

"Will your body take this?" Callimachus asked.

"I hope so. Might not be able to fly but I won't need to. Say it," I prompted. He nodded curtly. "Just _'Ddraig draig.'_ Don't need all the rest. Just say it, quick and together."

" _Ddraig draig Draconis alternus_ ," he chanted. I felt the change, my body shrinking until I was a miniature version of myself, a dragonet the size of a large raven. My legs were painful but able to hold my weight, my wing trailed loosely unable to keep me hovering. Jaxon grabbed me before I fell out of the air and I wrapped my neck, tail, and arms around his forearm. He supported my lower legs with his other hand.

Stone gasped. "I didn't really believe it but now that I'm seeing – he can control his size? Can he speak, or does he read minds? Does the spell allow you to understand him?"

"I speak." My smaller size made my voice more high-pitched, not as threatening as I would have wished. In no way squeaky though.

"Carry me, Igor," I said. "I'll tell you where to turn."

All four of us left the house via the elevator, crammed in like sardines, and headed for their vehicle. They'd brought the Range Rover and had performed a miracle – a parking space in NYC in front of the brownstone. I sent them south, towards the coast.

# Chapter 16

Whit's trail diverged from his mom's at the entrance of the Long Island Expressway. Our trip was odd, to say the least. I had Jaxon put his window down and hold me with my nose and head out like a dog flapping his ears in the car's slipstream. Every mile or so, I had him pull off onto the shoulder and stop if there was room.

At the entrance to the Expressway, Whit's stronger scent parted company from hers. I asked Jaxon to take me out and walk back down the way he'd driven but on the shoulder. He tucked me into his jacket and I felt the slow beating of his heart. He was not excited; his heart was steady and normal.

When I was satisfied that the odor did not turn back, I had him walk past the Rover in the opposite direction. Whit's mom had then been taken further while Whit had gone back into the city. I recognized the smell of one of the people that had taken him.

"I know where Whit is," I announced. Jordemayne looked at me expectantly. "The police have him. Or that Detective I talked to – you know, where you found me. In the hospital room."

"77th Precinct, Detective Steele," he snapped his fingers.

"He's not alone. Someone with him had magic on him. I can't tell if it is his own or someone's using the magic from somebody else. So, Molly or Whit?" I asked as we stood by the Cruiser.

I could see that he was torn between his sister or his nephew. "How close are we? He can't still be there, you said it's been two days since he left you."

I wished I could read the fates on the air as easily as I did odors, but my gut said Molly was safer than her son, so my two cents said we should go after him. I was relieved when Jordemayne agreed and Jaxon drove us to the next illegal crossover where he made an equally illegal U-turn and we headed back into the city.

The car's navigation system gave pinpoint directions and Jaxon pulled up in front of the massive, newly built precinct house, jail, and court system, all in one place. A convenient one-stop-criminal-shopper's mall. Bail bondsmen offices and pawn shops lined both sides of the street along with lawyers. A municipal parking lot made use of a few million dollars' worth of space where hundreds of blue and yellow cars and SUVs with NYC police decals roosted.

Not the most perfect place for an unfriendly encounter. Jaxon parked across the street in front of SOKOLOV'S BAIL BONDS and PAWN. OPEN 24/7. I was amazed at how he always found a parking space and commented sourly. Jaxon grinned as he whipped the car in.

"One of my many talents," he said. "It's a rare gift. I never hit red lights, either."

"I can smell his presence inside," I said and stuck my head out the driver's side window just as a woman in patrol uniform walked by. She saw me, did a double take and her mouth opened. I tensed, my wings open to flee, not knowing if I could even fly.

"Wow!" she gushed. "That's a really cool...bird! Or is it a kind of drone shaped like a dragon?"

"Newest thing on the market," Jaxon returned. "Just came out of Amazon Valley."

"I bet it was expensive."

"A bit more than the iPhone 15," he smiled. "It's actually worth more than the car."

She looked impressed. A Range Rover Land Cruiser started at seventy thousand dollars.

"What can it do?" She put her hands on her belt, her gun, handcuffs, baton, and flashlight weighing down her ample hips. She was African American, light-skinned, and beautiful. Her hair was pulled back into a milk chocolate ponytail, her eyes a rich hazel and more open than when she'd approached the car.

"Fly. Record, videotape. Listen. IFR and radar. Operates underwater and in the rain. In the dark or daylight," Jaxon answered.

"Defensive weapons?"

"None. No room for anything," he returned. "He's purely defensive."

"You plan on spying on the cops?" she laughed.

"No. We're here to pick up paper on a skip. Two hundred thousand."

Her eyes went to the BAIL BOND sign. "Oh. Jack must be doing okay to afford one of those."

"He leases it, trial period to see how effective it is in manhunting."

I was amazed at the effortless way Jaxon invented a plausible story and how she accepted it. Or, Jaxon had some other kind of 'gift' beside his parking magic.

"Gotta go. Keep the public safe, protect and serve," she said and slapped the door as she left. We watched her walk towards the glass-fronted doors, but she went through a smaller one to the side of the public access. I watched her use a key card to open the employee entrance.

"I need to get inside," I said and Jordemayne studied the building. Four stories high, electronic access and guarded. And something else. The entire structure resonated with a subtle vibration, much like the ward barrier that he'd placed around his estate to keep me inside and others out.

"It's warded," we both said at the same time.

"Can you get me in? Can you get in like you did at the hospital where they couldn't see you?" I asked him.

"In small groups, I can influence their perception of me," the Wizard said. "But here, too many of them cloud the spell. Besides, the minute either of us approaches the wards, it's as if we rang the front doorbell."

"Me, too?"

Stone cut in, for the first time in hours. "Your aura is deeper, more powerful and ancient. Not easily recognized or explained. Confusing. I can twitch it to hide you in your human form but as small as you are now, only a very high-level adept could sense you. One even more powerful than Callimachus. There are only four Gold First Tier Wizards alive that are capable of that and all four are in London at an auction until Thursday. For the ' _Pseudomonarchia Daemonum,' '_ The False Hierarchy of Demons.' They won't leave until they obtain it."

"So, theoretically, I'm good?" I asked. He agreed. I studied the four stories, the front and east side that were visible to us. The rear and west were out of my view. I handed Jordemayne the iPhone that rested on the center console and stood on the edge of the open window.

"What? You want me to make a call?" he demanded, and I shook my head.

"Yeah, come to think of it, I do. Call them and ask for that detective, Steele. See if he's inside and where his office is located."

We waited as he made the call, but all the operator would say was that Steele was unavailable and we could leave a message in his mailbox.

"Okay, he's in there. I guess I have to do this the hard way." I took the iPhone from him and gave it to Jaxon. He raised a questioning eyebrow at me.

"Your remote control, Igor," I grinned. "Fly me around the building so I can check for fresh-air enthusiasts."

"Can you fly? Your wing is still wounded," Jordemayne pointed out. I shrugged.

"Not like I have a choice. Put another spell on me, make it stronger."

"He can't," Stone interrupted. "With magic on you, it'll increase your footprint. Someone lower could sense you and track you."

"Great," I muttered. I held on with all four limbs and claws as he opened the door. Standing on the sidewalk, he pretended to guide me around the street and when no one seemed to care, I rose slowly, wobbling as my wounded shoulder and torn wing barely lifted me. It protested but strengthened as I continued flying but the pain receded to a dull ache that promised to be a problem later.

I was soon out of sight to those on the ground and anyway, if anyone had seen me, would assume that I was a bird.

I found a thermal and used it to lift me above the roof, dropping lower in a spiral that did not tax my weakened wing muscles. I could check all four sides of the complex for open windows.

The jail I ignored completely. The brass would not put a 13-year-old in the cells nor would Whit be in any of the Court offices. If he was anywhere, it would be in an interrogation room or detective's office. Or in private holding.

What I was looking for was an open window on the second or third floor. The fourth floor would hold all the Admin offices, the brass, and big bosses and was not part of my search.

Even though all modern office buildings were air-conditioned, there were always some miscreants that preferred fresh air. At 85+ degrees in the summer, there was no such thing as fresh air, just hot, muggy, and uncomfortable. Just as some people persisted in opening a window for the 'breeze,' I was counting on one of them leaving a window open large enough for me to slip inside.

I found dozens but oddly, only on the north side of the building. The trick was to find one to a room that was unoccupied. Luckily, I could sense a human's heartbeat in the ones that were occupied and avoided those.

A corner office on the third floor was my final choice and I flew straight through, wobbling as I tucked my wings close to my sides and dove in. The room was a typical office space, small enough for two desks facing each other. Cold coffee rested on one along with open case files. The computer was on, scrolling the screensaver for the NYPD. Dark blue background with the State Flag and its motto, Fidelis ad Mortem, Faithful unto Death and the 77th Precinct's, Fidelity, Professionalism, and Respect. Both desks had family photos of moms, dads, and kids scattered around the room. I had entered the offices of Dieter Rohan and Marcus Whitestreet, cops in Street Crimes. Another wall held commendations for bravery under fire, marksmanship medals and Community Service Awards. On a nearby shelf was a handmade coffee cup with children's handprints and The WORLD'S GRETEST DAD printed on it. Spelled wrong.

I settled onto the back of Whitestreet's plush office chair, my claws digging into the vinyl and leaving eight holes in the front and six on the back. I hadn't meant to do damage, but my wings gave out just as I hovered over it and I sort of crash-landed there. The chair teetered but I managed to right it before it and I fell over. No one came to investigate the noise.

Climbing down to the floor, I crawled on all fours towards the door. With my shoulder pushed against it, I opened it into the hallway, standing behind the door so I could check for humans. A busy place, I had an image of trousered legs going and coming, none of them in uniforms. At the end of the hall was a large open room with many desks, separated by panels over which you could see if you stood up. A water cooler and kitchenette boasted of fresh coffee and on a table nearby were donuts, bagels, and cream cheese. People seated at their monitor screens were interacting with those that were standing in small groups. Some had their jackets off and others wore hoodies over regular shirts. It looked as if they were just coming from a briefing or going to one.

I scuttled out, keeping close to the wall and behind a pair of legs in black slacks wearing a sensible pair of flats. Like a loving cat, I wove between her legs yet never touched her and no one actually saw my black body against the color of her pants.

Whit's scent was much stronger in here and I followed it and her until she took the fire door to the stairs. She tapped briskly down the steps as I lingered, my nose in the air and casting for the strongest odor. Contrary to my expectations, Whit's spoor was wafting from the fourth floor and reeked of fear and desperation.

I climbed the steel balustrade rather than use the steps, my claws ticking on the metal. I didn't meet another soul coming to meet me; the higher-ups were too busy and important to waste time walking anywhere.

The stairwell door opened into a secondary hall with a closed fire door that led to the main corridor. It was both wider and fancier than one floor below with its glass-fronted office doors. I passed Payroll and Human Resources before I saw the Heads of Departments, Police Chief, and Police Commissioner.

The entrance that called to me was a door of steel with an outside lock sandwiched between two conference rooms. My nose told me that two of the three people who had been in Whit's presence when he disappeared was in the one on the left.

Placing my ear to that door, I heard them as clearly as if I stood next to them. They were talking about Whit's stubborn attitude, that he had not spoken a word or eaten since he'd been taken.

Which meant that he was behind the door of the small room. I cast my eyes about, saw nothing that could help, just the doors of an executive suite across from the conference room. Painted in gold lettering on the door in inch high letters was the legend 'Office of the Exchequer, Maria Santos Delgado.'

The room drew me in with an urgency that made me ignore whether it was occupied. Thankfully, no one was inside. What had drawn me to the room was a rock collection on the window sill, (the window closed) each sample labeled in a glass case with its name, date, and location.

The 5" lump of black, shiny stone with many sharp angles called to me with a lover's kiss. I climbed up to the sill and with care, opened the glass specimen case to hold the rock made of lava near my nose. LAVA, HAWAII, 2020, MAUNA LOA, North Slope. Volcanic. Firestone. I nibbled away at it until it was small enough to swallow where it sat in my crop converting into the gas needed to create flames.

Another chunk caught my eye. Mount St. Helens but I left that one behind, not needing more and too full to eat it or carry it. To hide what I'd done, I rearranged the other cases to hide the bare spot after I'd disposed of the empty specimen case.

Back in front of Whit's prison, I reached up for the doorknob, not quite tall enough to touch it. I dug my claws into the steel surface and walked up to it until I could reach the doorknob. After that, it was easy to swing in on the door as it opened.

Whit was sitting on a cot, neatly made, his face so downcast that he could have worn it on his shoes. His eyes were deeply shadowed, bruised almost and he looked noticeably thinner. He had a bathroom with no door connected to his prison and the cot, nothing else in the room. He didn't look up or acknowledge me.

"What? No hello?" I asked and the change in him was electric. He gaped, opened his mouth, and thought better of it as he looked towards the bathroom. I noticed another door that led through to the conference room. He peeled me off the door and ran down the hallway towards the stairwell. Once inside, he barred the fire door with its illegal lock and turned to face me.

# Chapter 17

His first words to me were, "are you friggin' _nuts?"_ Then he did a double take. "Way cool, bro. Are you like a miniature dragon?"

I was so glad to see him that I ignored his questions or that he saw me as a pet. I was no such thing; I was still a dragon capable of ripping out a throat, disemboweling a man and burning steel to melt to liquid metal.

"What's your plan, Raven? Switch to extra-large and fly me out of here?"

"No. My wings barely got me in here and gave out just as I found you. We're going to sneak out. Your Uncle, Jaxon and Mr. Stone are waiting for us outside."

"Uncle Cal is here? Wait, who is Mr. Stone?" He seemed dumbfounded and looked me over for other wounds. He found none. "He wasn't pissed?"

"We came to an accommodation over your safety. You know, he thought I _ATE_ you." I still couldn't believe that he'd thought I'd killed Whit and ate him. "Stone was the dude in the park, the wizard. He followed my scent to the brownstone and found me in the room, frozen."

" _Ate me?_ Well, don't dragons eat virgins?" he teased.

"Maidens, Whit. Not skinny dudes with no fat and muscle. Too gay for me," I retorted. "Good one." I ruffled his hair with my wings.

"So, how do we do this?"

"I came up the stairs. Met no one going down until the third floor and she went to the 2nd. There aren't any cameras inside except for the IRs and the first floor where the Intake, Holding Tanks, and public access areas are found. There are fire alarms on every floor and sprinklers," I noted.

"Fire alarms?"

"Yeah. Can you carry me at this size?" He bent over, picked me up and was surprised at how solid my form was yet not any heavier than a medium-sized cat. He carried me close to his chest but was unable to hide me as he wore nothing but a t-shirt and jeans.

I opened my mouth, burped, and shot a laser point of fire at the closest smoke detector twenty feet over our heads. The smell of burning sulfur permeated the stairwell as the fire alarms went off with a strident screeching that was worse than the barking of a Jack Russell Terrier. Sirens that echoed all through the building. Policy dictated that everyone left the building, using the stairs and not the elevators which left them open for our use. We had to hurry before the fire alarm system locked them in place and we opted to use the one on the third floor, reserved for freight.

Waiting until the crowds departed, we entered the elevator and descended to the basement. I didn't want to accidentally run into Det. Steele or the other men who would recognize Whit. We weren't afraid to wait, after all, we knew that the fire wasn't real and no danger to us.

We had to be out before the Fire Department arrived to locate and extinguish the blaze and ensure that all life was evacuated. They would not clear the building and allow re-entry until they were certain that no fire existed, or it had been put out.

The freight elevator brought us to the sub-basement and the lower part of the parking garage. That area was under surveillance, but no one was watching the cameras, so I knew we were unobserved and safe for the 20 to 30 minutes it would take to clear the Precinct. Home free until the police reviewed the tapes which they would do as soon as they realized Whit was missing. I was hoping that the men responsible for taking him had not stopped to grab him first and found him gone before they exited with the rest of the force.

I directed him out, following a certain path as to take advantage of the gaps in closed-circuit TV coverage. He asked how I knew where it was safe to walk, and I told him that my eyes could see the Infra-red of the lenses and its coverage. Most of our movement consisted of duck-walking between the rows of parked cruisers until we crossed the bar gate where a guard shed housed a uniformed patrol officer. He was not in the shed but standing outside watching the entire building egress to the parking lot.

Whit and I walked briskly towards the street behind the precinct house, away from the jail and chain-linked, the razor-topped fence that circled the largest part of the complex. On the opposite side of the lot from his uncle, Jaxon, and the store owner.

The instant that Whit crossed the wards, I felt it as a discordant jangle in my head, on my skin and deep in my bones. I waited for the accompanying pain, but it was only the memory of what I had suffered at his Uncle's hand. If he felt any in passing through the barrier, he did not show it.

"We have to hurry," he said suddenly. "The originator of the wards will have felt that as we did and know what happened and where."

He didn't quite run but he jogged up the avenue into the crowd of looky-loos that were gathering, curious over the sirens coming from the approaching Fire Department and the alarms screeching from the Police building. He held me close so that I was in no danger of falling as I couldn't dig my claws into his tender skin and hold tight.

As soon as we disappeared into the crowds on the sidewalk, I told Whit to throw me into the air, to kick start flight. I needed to bring the trio to us rather than us to them as I was afraid someone would have recognized us. I was afraid to leave Whit alone and I wasn't sure if my wing had rested enough to chance flying.

With both wings tucked back close to my sides, I didn't look like a dragon, more like one of those collared lizards or iguanas. If you could imagine one that was coal black.

"They took your cell, right?" I asked, keeping an eye out for a pay phone. In this era of cells and technology, finding a working pay phone would be a miracle. Besides which, neither of us had a dime.

"The cash in your shoe?" I asked. "Did they find it?"

He nodded. "They strip-searched me down to my socks. Found it and took it away from me. I didn't tell them anything and they tried. Even did that good cop/bad cop routine but what scared me most was when they brought in their magic sniffers."

"They the same dudes that took your mom?"

"I don't think so. They asked me questions about you, mostly. Where you were. How did I get hooked up with you? Whether I knew what was going on with you and where to find you."

We mingled. Whit kept bumping into people, bouncing off as if he was drunk and he apologized. It surprised me until he wandered over to a convenience store heading for the bathroom. We were now 5 blocks away from the confusion and as he locked the men's room door behind us, I learned the reason for his unnatural clumsiness. He held up four cell phones, a wallet, and a garage door opener. He threw that away and the wallet after he cleaned out the cash. Only a single twenty. Cheap bastard.

"Hey. Since when did you become a pickpocket?" He set me on the edge of the sink and dialed what I assumed was his uncle's number. I heard his conversation as well as Cal's. Anyone standing within ten feet could have heard his Uncle's reply. Whit told him to tone it down, where we were and to come get us before we attracted all the wrong kind of attention. Callimachus promised to be there in 5 minutes, warning both of us to keep out of sight as all hell was breaking loose at the police station. They knew he stated that Whit had escaped.

"Think I could shop?" he asked wistfully. "I'm starving and thirsty. I was afraid to eat or drink for fear of being drugged."

"Not worth the risks," I said. "Wait for your uncle." No sooner than I'd said it, I heard the distinctive throttle of the Land Cruiser and waited for one of them to find us.

It must have been Jaxon's fist on the door, it sounded if he was hitting it with a hammer. The door shivered, and the hinges strained.

"Whit?" He called through the door.

"What do I like, Igor?" Whit asked, and the big man replied.

"Chocolate chip cookies with pecans and ice cream sandwiched between," he answered. "And for Raven, PB&J – grape." Whit unlocked the door and Jaxon enveloped him in a bear hug. Whit groaned as he was squeezed and lifted off the floor.

"Where's Uncle Cal?" he asked, and Jaxon set him on his feet.

"In the car. Waiting until you're loaded and we're out of here. Ready, Whit? Raven?"

Both of us nodded. Jaxon scooped me off the sink, tucked me inside his jacket and we exited the bathroom. The clerk didn't make any nasty comments about the pair leaving the restroom together although, from the look on her face, she suspected something. I was sure their explanation would have been...interesting.

Callimachus was behind the wheel, Stone standing at the rear passenger door and parked in the store lot. Both men were out of sight of the cameras until his uncle bolted from the driver's seat and grabbed Whit by the shoulders. He shook him until his eyes wobbled.

"Runt, don't you EVER do anything like this again, I swear I'll whip your ass worse than I did Raven's," he threatened.

"I love you, too, Uncle Cal," Whitford grinned. "Can we please leave before someone figures out that I escaped and where?"

Jaxon held the door open and Whitford jumped in, buckled up and took me from Jaxon's arms. I was careful not to dig my claws into the plush leather seat or Whit's fragile flesh. Stone slid in beside us, admiring me with his eyes. I could tell that he wanted to touch me, and I gave him a warning hiss. He kept his hands in his lap.

"Whitford," he said holding his hand out without getting too close. "I'm Lorican Stone.

"Hi. Nice to meet you," Whit said and shook. As soon as their hands met, Stone shivered.

"Ah," he said slowly, drawing out the sound as he looked at Cal. "Now, I understand."

"Understand what?" Whit questioned, perplexed. He let go of Stone's hand and wiped his palm on his pants leg.

"He senses your coming ability and my own power," I told him. "You're destined to be a wizard more powerful than your uncle."

"How'd you know?" they asked.

"I can see between the veil in this form. The lines of power encase you; yet you haven't gleaned them. When you do, it'll be a magical explosion that will resonate across the Shadows," I shook my head and slipped out of that mindset.

"Hit it. We need to get out of town before the cops set up roadblocks. NYC is an island, remember. Oh, and we're hungry."

Jaxon handed Whit the Cook's bag and when the boy dug in, he pulled out sandwiches. Offering me one, I pulled it apart and tore at the meat inside. Honey-smoked ham and turkey. It took several to satisfy each of us and I burped in Whit's face with a bubble of sulfuric air that every one of them gagged at. They responded by opening the windows.

"Whoo. That's nasty, Raven," Jaxon complained. His eyes brightened. "You can make fire?"

"You should have seen it, Uncle Cal," Whit mumbled over the last mouthful. "Shot a stream of flame at the fire alarms."

Callimachus drove smoothly away from the convenience store, putting a greater distance between us and the police presence. He maneuvered the big SUV with the finesse of a race car driver hitting speeds that were no faster than those around us.

Fifteen minutes brought us to the entrance of the lower deck of the GW bridge. I ducked my head into Whit's armpits and hid from the sight of the closed-in box of wall-to-wall cars, trucks, and bikers. People heading home from the city.

Helicopters invaded the air, moving towards the area where we'd been, circling over those spots where we could egress. So far, we remained ahead of any pursuit.

The tires hummed. Whit leaned forward and tapped his uncle's shoulder. "Raven? Did you heal him completely? Wouldn't it be safer to change him back?"

"No," Callimachus said honestly. "I could only do a small healing spell. Stabilize his broken bones, raise his BP, and mask his pain. Enough for him to function as the dragon. For the rest, he needs to heal naturally although the process I performed on him _will_ make the healing time shorter. What happened?"

"This dude," he pointed to Stone. "Saw us and shot Raven with an ice spell. It hit fully as we flew over Central Park and we fell from a hundred feet in the air. I got the wind knocked out of me and he kept me from hitting the ground but took the brunt himself," Whit explained. "I dragged him to Mom's, thought I could use your spellbook to fix him. I put him under a stasis field and went to your workshop to get your grimoire. Before I made it there, two dudes in suits and a detective caught me at the corner. Called Raven's name and made me as I looked. All they asked about was Raven."

"How did they connect you with him?" Jaxon questioned.

"That sister – she took our photos at the Mission. Keeps a book of all the runaways and transients like a police mug shot book," he explained. "When they saw the photos of us, they knew my face, too."

Once on the highway, Cal's foot pressed the accelerator down until we were doing over 100 mph. The only one whose eyes were saucers was Stone; the rest of us were used to Cal's driving.

"Where are we going, Raven?" Whit asked, and the others echoed him.

"South. Your mother is somewhere south. I'll know more when we reach D.C."

We crossed the Hudson and as we did so, we could see the police setting up a roadblock behind us. It would only be a matter of time before New York authorities coordinated with the Jersey police, helping to apprehend us. I could guarantee that each roadblock would have its share of magic sniffers.

Jaxon turned on the radio and we listened to the police band, warning their patrol officers to be on the lookout for both of us. They gave accurate descriptions of Whitford and me plus Jaxon, Cal, and the Range Rover.

"That patrol cop, the woman. She put you together with Whit's escape," I said. "She might have taped the plates of the car on her body-cam."

"We need to ditch the Rover," Cal agreed. "Jaxon?"

"I can have another car by the time we reach Paramus," he said. "Twenty minutes, maybe."

"There's a roadblock in the next ten miles," I reported. "They'll be patrolling with helicopters any minute. Can you mask the car and us?"

"Can't," he said briefly, slowing down to 75 mph. "If they have magic sniffers, we'd be a torch in the darkness to them. Masking something as big as this vehicle, and we would pull too much power and anyone with half a talent could spot us. Same thing if you took to the air."

"I have an idea," I said slowly and voiced it. Over their vociferous objections but I convinced them as there really was no other choice. It was chance being stopped at a checkpoint and risk capture or my way, so they could pass safely beyond the police's roadblocks. In the end, they acquiesced because really, they had no other choice.

# Chapter 18

We encountered the roadblock on Rt. 17, just past the exit for HoHoKus. Cars had lined up for over a mile and traffic was at a standstill. We had plenty of warning. Cal pulled off on the shoulder and we opened the doors on the inside near the scrub woods of pine and maples. Beyond the wire fence to keep the deer and neighborhood dogs from escaping, I could just make out the roofs of houses. The sound of trains in the distance echoed back to me, we weren't far from the station.

Whit walked by Jaxon's side as both climbed over the five-foot-high mesh fence and deeper into the woods so that neither could be seen by passing motorists. Jaxon carried me so that Whit could mind his feet. Placing me on the ground, he told Whit to change me.

" _Ddraig draig!"_ he spoke, and I was back to my normal forty-foot size. Stretched and carefully extended my torn wing. Flapped and lifted a few feet off the ground. Seemed to be healing and stable enough to fly but neither Jaxon or Whitford left it to chance. Both touched me with spells, one to give me strength and the other to ignore pain until later. I felt them as an overcoat on my scales and knew I must be glowing with power. A beacon to those that were following us.

"Where will we meet you, Raven?" Whit asked, evident that he wasn't sure it was a clever idea. Jaxon looked as if he doubted my plan, also. "Wait. Let me hang a cell phone on your neck. You can call us when you're safe."

"Okay, but I might not be able to push the buttons."

"I can send you a text." He tied one of the phones he'd swiped around my neck on a pair of shoestrings. It dangled loosely.

"You pick a place," I suggested.

"The baseball fields near the Senate offices?" he guessed. "Or the Mall. Plenty of people to hide among. Think your wounds will be up to it?"

"We'll find out," I said and leaped into the air. I was airborne and a hundred feet up by the time both had returned to the car. I watched them merge back into the right lane and creep forward to the roadblock.

Further down the highway, police cars were lined up across all three lanes funneling traffic into a one-car bottleneck where both uniformed cops and suited agents were investigating each vehicle. Several were pulled off to the side where an agent was examining the occupants, paying close attention to the teens.

I came upon them from their blind spot, my wingbeats as silent as an owl's. I dropped my rear legs onto the roof of a squad car, lifted it off the ground and dumped it atop the two others.

The crash was deafening but that didn't cause as much consternation as when I breathed fire on the 18-wheeler being searched off to the side of the shoulder. Metal melted, and the trailer settled, its entire crew of tires gone in the incandescent breath of my flames.

Men, women, and cops ran in different directions as I dive-bombed them. I was careful not to hurt or kill anyone. Couldn't say they felt the same way as bullets peppered the sky around me. Luckily, I was immune to what amounted to no more than mosquito bites.

I strafed them several times leaving spit-balls of fire burning on the tar before I flew off, low and slow towards the Jersey shore. I wanted to make it easy for them to follow me and give up on finding the others. That's what they did. Get in their cruisers and take off after me. Police choppers joined the chase and before I reached the Meadowlands, military helios joined them. One opened its side hatch and a figure dressed in black tactical gear leaned out with a sniper rifle pointed at me.

The larger caliber bullets hit a bit harder – like a punch but still bounced off my scales. I teased them by leading one chopper almost close enough to ram the other; I swept low and hung underneath the first Black Hawk and shoved it up with my back, hard enough to rattle their back teeth. I did not interfere with the rotors or tail; I did not want to be responsible for a crash or anyone's death.

The phone hanging from my neck buzzed and I fished for the screen with my front claws, turning and holding the tiny thing so that it was close to my eye. I could read the text; the letters were almost too small for my dragon sight.

Sfe. Out of nj in md. Plce bnd says no rdblks pst cpe my. Cme in. WM.

I scooted out from under the Black Hawk. Rose as fast as I could, leaving the helicopters behind even though I heard the whine of the turbines as they tried to follow. The last sign of their presence were tracer rounds that they were firing up my ass.

I flew above the clouds, higher than any civilian aircraft and in fact, I saw a few airliners drift slowly by beneath me. Wondered what they would report if anyone could see me. I glided on the thermals, flapping only an occasional wingbeat when needed. I was drifting along, dozing on the wind, minding my own business, and enjoying the flight. Never once did it cross my mind to keep going, dump Callimachus and try my hand at finding my own way back home. I wasn't paying attention and ignored the funny tickle in my head horns.

Until a long silver tube flew up my backside, skimming my belly and chest before it skittered past and made a U-turn. I shrieked like a girl caught by surprise and flapped my wings in a backstroke that stopped me in mid-air. I watched as the Tomahawk missile came back for a second run at me. Opening my mouth, I shot a wide stream of fire at it, cutting the flow from my mouth before the missile could lock on the heat signature. The flames confused its heat-seeking chip and it exploded before it came within range. Yet, it produced a shock wave that rattled my head and knocked me backward into a tailspin.

I recovered in the clouds, but now, pinpricks tickled my entire body, signals picked up by the sensitive nerves in my back ridges and horns. I dropped lower, into clear skies so I could spot my pursuers. That's when I saw two F-35s streak past, pull up and make tight turns, heading straight for me.

"Holy shit!" I said and plummeted to the ground. I could outrun a Black Hawk, but I was in no way fast enough to escape an Air Force jet fighter. I could out-maneuver one, except that they carried heat-seeking missiles and other nasty surprises. No way two of them.

Time to leave. I had only one advantage – I could fly low and slow. I could fly as high as the ionosphere where their jets could not go. Though they could send missiles to me, I was betting they would not work in the thinner air. I was also betting that they would not fire any close to the ground, not to risk damage to towns, cities or take civilian lives.

I kept to the clouds as long as I dared, even knowing that radar would still be able to pinpoint my body mass. I wasn't sure if I had a large enough heat signature for them to lock another missile on me and I wasn't hanging around to find out.

Another Tomahawk came out of the west and this time I ducked sideways as it blew past. Grabbing hold of it with both sets of claws, I straddled the cool metal between my legs.

It was like riding a bucking bronc as it twisted and rolled, turned, and pitched beneath me. I rabbit-kicked at its nose cone until the whole assembly came loose and we both started to fall out of the sky.

The second jet buzzed me, close enough to see the pilot's face behind his helmet and O2 mask. He'd dropped his jaw as he saw me. I leaped off the defunct missile and gave the pilot my middle finger. It worked on dragon anatomy, too.

I was getting pissed, especially when he let off rounds of armor-piercing bullets at me. They hurt. Still didn't pierce my scales but the punch it left behind was significant.

We engaged in a dogfight until I managed to get on top of the plane, directly over the cockpit. I tore off the canopy and as the pilot pulled the eject lever, snatched him and his chair before he could exit the plane. The explosive charge pulled me up with him. To his credit, he did not scream. Instead, he tried to reach for his handgun and pumped 13 rounds into my face.

I snarled, bit the Glock .40 in half and threw it over my shoulder. I left _most_ of his fingers. The parachute deployed but because I was hanging on with him, the total weight was more than the chute could handle. We fell. I let him go a thousand feet before I spread my wings and arrested our descent.

Biting the shroud lines, I let the parachute streak off in another direction before I spotted a suitable place to land. We were over the Jersey Meadowlands, huge piles of the stinking landfill and beyond, the Jersey shore.

I settled down gently, letting his seat bounce more than necessary yet not hard enough to injure him. He tore off his helmet and I saw his face. He couldn't have been more than 25, young, baby-faced with blue eyes and fair hair.

"What the hell are you?" he sputtered.

"What does it look like, moron?" I snapped, eyeing his bleeding fingers. A quick squirt from my nose cauterized them. "I'm a dragon and you just tried to blow smoke up my ass."

"You gave me the finger!"

"You're lucky I didn't blow up your plane! Or roast you inside it. Or eat you!" I leaned my head down close to his face and bared my teeth. He pushed his face back into the seat, turned his head and closed his eyes. My breath did smell somewhat, sulfuric, and hot. "Don't follow me. I don't want to hurt anyone." I looked around. Not exactly cell phone coverage in this area.

"You got a way to call for pickup?"

"EPIRB." He looked shaken. "A dragon. Who'd ever believe it?"

"Didn't you use to believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy?" I felt an approaching tingle. "Uh-oh. Gotta go."

I ran on all fours for the shoreline and just as the second jet dove low and strafed me, reached the water. Dove in and swam for the deep ridge that I knew lay just off the coastline. Once in the water, I was safe; they couldn't track me, and I was too deep for their bombs to affect me.

As fast and sinuous as I was in the air, I was even more graceful and adept in the water. Curious sea creatures came out to watch me and at one point, I was chased by a great white, yet it made no move to attack me. I could hold my breath for hours and I learned that by being too nervous to breathe at all for fifteen minutes. Long enough to swim out of bombing range.

They did blast the water. I wondered how many fish and sea life that they destroyed behind me. I felt the vibrations, the pressure wave but by the time it reached me, it was no more than a mild shove. It would have killed anything inside its drop zone and stunned what else was within a hundred yards.

I didn't surface for an hour. When I did poke my head above the choppy waves, I saw the coastline, a few sailing vessels, and a huge marina lining three sides of a bay.

The whine of a tugboat echoed off the shoreline and made mournful litany to my situation. Wherever this was, it was busy. Too busy for me to surface and fly off as I stood a sure chance of being spotted or run into by a smaller boat. I took another deep breath and dived as deep as I could, skimming off the bottom. I kept swimming, analyzing the area that I had seen and suspected I had entered the Chesapeake Bay. I berated myself for not remembering the cell phone hanging around my neck and hoped that it was one of those waterproofed ones.

After another half hour underwater, I caught the deep thrum of a ship's propeller. As I came up with my head barely above the slight chop, I saw huge cargo barges being pushed into port. Maersk and China Sea being the most predominant. Behind the barges were larger ships with names like _Ocean Queen, Pride of the Balkans, Ocean Endeavor_. All from exotic ports of call.

I put myself behind a barge, keeping to the shadows and grabbing for one of the lines trailing in the water. If anyone saw me or picked me up on sonar, they didn't announce it. In the dark surrounding the barge, with water lapping and breaking reflections, I was as good as invisible.

Once I stopped swimming, the temperature of the water began to sap my strength and energy. I let the barge tow me to shore. My piggy-back ride took an hour; the barges moved no faster than 6 mph, not knots as barges were measured in miles per hour on river ways and not nautical knots as ocean-going vessels.

I both saw and heard the crew as they maneuvered the cargo hauler into berths scattered along the ten-mile-long shoreline. Row after row of docks and man-made jetties. Standing fifteen stories high were huge cranes that lifted the containers and stacked them ten or more high.

Men ran around like chickens pecking for grain, too busy to notice me as I drifted under the nearest dock wide enough to hide me and accommodate my bulk. Footsteps echoed off the boards and announced the arrival of dock workers.

I snorted. A puff of sulfur eddied between the cracks in the treated 2x6's. I used the Firestone in my gut to warm the water around me until it was the temperature of bathwater.

Dragons don't shiver. Good thing or I would have shaken the dock apart. I dug my claws into the sand and rocks of the breakwater and wished I was in Hawaii where the water was warmed by the erupting Mauna Loa volcano.

"Jesus, Mike," I heard one of them complain. "Did you fart?"

"Hell, no. I thought it was you."

"Whatever you ate, I'd stay away from it. No chick wants that smell on her face."

"Fuck you, Petey. Your breath would kill Godzilla."

They chattered and insulted each other as they counted the unloaded containers coming off the barge.

I was hoping that this port didn't run 24/7 so I could sneak ashore. Taking off from the water was beyond my wing's strength. I suspected that this port was a non-stop port-of-call and a 40-foot dragon didn't do 'sneak' very well. Someone was bound to spot me, and I wanted my presence there to remain unknown.

By 8 p.m., the barge was empty and riding high in the water. The tide was coming in, my bath water was getting cold and my head was nearly hitting the bottom of the dock. One way or the other, I needed to leave. I found my opportunity two docks over. Another barge was leaving with a new load, heading down the coast for Atlanta. I could hitch a ride behind or underneath it, leaving when I reached an area that was less congested with humans.

The crew on this barge, (called the _Queen of New Orleans)_ , kept to the wheelhouse after using a long gaff to push off and away from the dock. An older man, he whistled all the way back to the small cabin stuck on like an afterthought that was the pilot house. Glassed in on three sides, it held the wheel and electronics that guided the barge downstream.

Only four men were on board and two of them departed once the barge left the shelter of the harbor. Harbor Masters, they were called and by maritime law, were the only pilots allowed to bring in and take out the ships. They left via helicopter which made me very nervous and I hid under the ship until it was gone.

Helping the barge along by kicking my rear legs in an awkward dog-paddle, I pushed it faster than it should have but no one in the wheelhouse came out to see why it was suddenly hitting over ten mph. I needed the exercise to help keep me warm. The colder I became, the more lethargic I felt.

Six hours passed. A mere sixty miles yet that was far enough for me to find an area free from development. I let go of the ropes and watched as the barge puttered off down the coastline before I turned in towards shore.

It was lowland, covered with scrubby pines and mountain laurel. As my feet churned up the sand, I crawled onto a shallow beach and shook the water from my wings. Droplets shimmered off my scales in the moonlight. I wedged myself through the trees, picking up my feet as they sank into the dank swamp.

Glowing eyeballs followed me. Gators. They didn't come after me, I was too large a prey item for even their jaws but not for mine. I snapped two six-footers and found the meat sweet and tasty. When I was finished eating, I removed the cell phone and carefully pushed the pre-programmed key for Whit.

# Chapter 19

"Where the hell are you?" Whit's voice yelled at me. "Are you okay?"

"Just outside a State Park, I think," I spoke into the phone and hoped I didn't blast his eardrums. "I'm pretty sure I ditched my pursuit. Can you change me back over the phone? Less chance of being spotted."

"Hold on a minute. Let me ask Uncle Cal."

I heard both sides of the conversation and he came back to me in less than a minute. "He says that you need to give us an exact location and he thinks your human form still is too damaged for you to walk any distance. Your best bet is to go small and fly to us. We're in a small town called Fair Hill. Find Interstate I-95 and take exit 47. Rt. 6. We'll be waiting at the four corners in a black Durango. You got that?"

I nodded. Realized that he couldn't see me, so I said yes. He asked if I'd had any trouble and had I eaten. I told him I'd had gator.

"Yeah? What's it taste like?"

I thought for a moment. "Chicken," I said and heard him laugh.

"Ddraig draig, Draconis alternus," he said, and I shrunk, the cell phone now hanging around my neck like a dowager's reading glasses. It was light enough for me but an awkward shape hanging from my neck. I pulled it over my head, bit off the knot and shortened it by 30 inches.

I jumped into the air and hovered. Didn't seem to be too badly damaged, sore, tired, or weak. I could feel a difference in the angle of that wing especially when I stretched it out to the maximum.

"Okay, Whit. I'm leaving now. 'Bye." I didn't wait to hear his reply but rose just above the treetops. It was nearly noon and absorbed as much sunlight as I could, enjoying the warmth on my scales.

My hearing was as precise as a bat's; I heard the clamor of traffic towards my left side and aimed for it, staying high enough so that when I left the trees behind the highway lay below me. Two lanes northbound and two lanes south. Three lanes the closer I came to the next large city. Several times I was dive-bombed by hawks and some crows who made a strategic retreat when I hissed at them. I was more than they could bite off and chew.

Following the concrete highway, I dropped low enough to read the signs. I-95 turned to I-295 and later, I-495. Since I had no desire to travel through the city, I remained on the main route, I-95, passing by the city of Raleigh, North Carolina. I had no idea how far Fair Hill was from my present position but from the numbered exits, I was 35 exits away. Which could mean 35 miles or 350 depending on how close the ramps had been constructed. I.E., every mile or every ten.

I kept an eye out for helicopters and small single-engine planes as they could sneak up on me more easily than a jet. News choppers were covering both a major ten-car-pileup and a three-alarm fire right off the interstate. I had to swivel my neck around like a bobble-head to keep track of all the air traffic. Once I was past the city, I breathed a sigh of relief and dropped to a mere 50 feet above the tallest 18-wheeler. I landed on top of the trailer and let the driver do my work for me. I was flat enough so that I wouldn't hit the bottom of any overpasses.

The slipstream on the roof was powerful enough to pull me off and would have if I hadn't dug all 14 talons into the roof. I tried not to make the holes too large. If it rained, it could ruin his cargo. From my spread-out position, I couldn't see the name on the truck or trailer. From the scent inside wafting through the holes, I could hazard a guess as to its contents. It smelled of old clothes and musty papers so was probably recyclables on their way to a second life. I wondered if that was an omen.

I could see the fire; a structure was going up in flames. It was a three-story, two-family house. Three fire engine companies with fire-fighters scurried around on the ground. Above the din of alarms, shouting, the roar of the flames as they consumed the house, I heard a young child's screams. No one else seemed to hear it. I stopped and hovered, hoping that one of the brigades would notice the sound of a human child in peril.

When it was obvious that I was the only one aware of the child's plight, I didn't hesitate but found a blown-out window and flew into the maelstrom of flames.

The fire, heat, and smoke did not bother me, not as a dragon. I could see well enough using the dragon's infrared sight, but the excessive heat made the leather thong around my neck burst into flame. The cell phone fell, dropping into the heart of the conflagration, melting plastic and metal in seconds. I ignored the damage and headed for the diminishing screams.

The inside was a funhouse on fire, a vision of Dante's Inferno. Of distorted walls and staircases that went up to floors no longer in existence. The rooms were cubicles of hell on earth.

The powerful downdrafts of air created by the fire tossed me willy-nilly, making flying in a specific direction almost impossible. I flew towards an open charcoal hole in the ceiling while paint melted and dripped near my wings. Emerging into a space that had once been an attic, I found the remains of a meth lab.

Flames had eaten a hole in the roof, but it looked more like an explosion had burst the ceiling and walls. Glass lay scattered on what remained of the floor, further evidence of a meth lab set-up and the reason why the roof looked as if it had exploded. The main reason for the fire.

"Where are you?" I shouted and hidden behind a massive mahogany bureau was a ten-year-old girl next to a dressmaker's dummy. Her face was blackened, her clothing burned to rags. How she had survived the explosion was explained when I moved the burned clothes form away from her. As soon as I touched it, I realized with horror that it was no dressmaker's form but the incinerated body of a small woman. The odor of cooked flesh would have made me gag if I'd been in my human form but to the dragon's nose, it smelled like...food.

The girl's eyes blinked in her black face as she saw me. The whites were bloodshot and running with tears. I couldn't tell if she was white, Hispanic, or African/American.

"Are you okay?" I asked, knowing that it was a stupid question but asking anyway to get her to focus. Had I pushed her...mother? sister? out of the way.

"Am I dead?" she whispered coughing, her voice hoarse from the smoke. "Are you the devil?"

I didn't hear an accent, "No. No, you're not dead and I'm not the Devil. I'm a dragon. You believe in angels and unicorns, right? Faeries and elves? I'm as real as they are. I've come to take you out of here."

I wasn't positive that I could carry her, but I'd kill myself trying. I wasn't about to let her burn to death if I could do anything to prevent it. I looked up. The meth explosion had blown a hole in the roof and dumped most of the fire downwards. There were flames around us but not as thick as the lower floors. At least, not yet. With the roof open, the main fire was sucking more oxygen in to feed the inferno below us. The smoke was so thick that I couldn't see unless I used my dragon sense.

Carefully, I encased her body in all four legs and beat my wings frantically. As hard as I tried, I couldn't get enough lift to fly, could only get a few inches off the ground before my wings collapsed and we fell back.

I shifted her to my shoulders and told her to hang on tight. Her grip was death-tight. Taking a deep breath, I climbed the walls, using the bare joists to get me to the hole in the roof. She weighed maybe 40 lbs. which would have been a breeze to carry had I been my larger self. But as the dragonet the size of a large raven, a ten-pound rabbit would have taxed my wings.

I struggled. Unencumbered and with both my rear and forelegs, I could have climbed out of the fire in mere seconds. Hell, I could have flown out. I was afraid that it would take me too long and the smoke would get her before I could reach the fresh air.

She was gasping for breath when I cleared the last rafter and pulled myself onto the hot shingles. Both of us paused to breathe before I moved again. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to get off the roof, I couldn't fly with that much weight on me. I couldn't crawl down the outside of the building, it was fully engulfed. Looking around, I spotted two of the fire trucks' ladders; both held fireman pouring water into the heart of the blaze, man-handling enormous hoses laid out on the ground below.

They were twenty feet away from the incredible heat coming from the building and I was amazed that they could stand it even with their fire-proof gear. The smoke obscured me, prevented them from seeing me or the girl.

I told her to wrap her arms around my neck and she did so. I prayed to all the Gods, not just those that I believed in and leaped. My wings and legs spread as if I were one of those flying squirrels which were gliders. The hot wind from the fire caught me and helped extend my reach but we slipped lower than my intended rung, putting me farther away than if I'd aimed for the top step of the ladder.

Landing was the trickiest part; I had to grasp the rungs without knocking the girl loose or losing my own grip on the steel tread of the ladder. I was already committed to my choice of landing. I grasped with my front legs first and then my rear, folding my wings around her as a second method to ensure that she did not let go when I hit. I folded my entire body around the step. Our combined weight made the ladder shudder and we heard the fireman above us curse as the stream of water diverted to the side of the house instead of down the center.

Her weight compressed my lungs and I couldn't breathe. I was afraid to move lest she lose her grip on my back and fall. I couldn't call for help but seconds later, some of the weight lifted and she swung herself off my shoulders to put her feet on the nearest treads.

"Help!" she called, her face looking up at big rubber boots. She reached for my wings and grabbed hold of the pinion on my leading edge. "Help!"

This time, the man above us heard her cries. His curses warmed my ears and he descended to our level. "Holy Jesus!" he said. Leaning down, he scanned the girl for burns. "Cap'n, we have a child on my ladder. Looks like she came out of the fire on the roof. Somehow." His eyes dropped to my head and neck, the only part of me that was visible to him. "And her pet snake, I think. Bring us down real slow."

He reached for her carefully and placed her inside his arms as he held tightly to the ladder. It jerked and swiveled, descending as smoothly and quickly as was safe. He murmured to her, asking her name, something that I had not thought to do.

She replied, "Emily Snow. The dragon, you must save him, too. He came through the fire and saved me."

"Dragon? What dragon?" the fireman was puzzled. "That snake?" He pointed to me and I let go, to slip out of his sight before he could grasp what he had really seen.

The updrafts outside the blaze were as powerful as the ones inside the burning structure, as powerful as a tornado. I caught one and spiraled higher, lost in the smoke where no one could spot me. Struggling to leave the area and avoid detection, I kept to the clouds of smoke using my radar to warn me of approaching news helicopters, fire trucks, and extension ladders.

Just when I thought that I was free from the congestion, a hole in the smoky gloom opened all the way to the ground. I looked down at the score of astonished faces tilted up at me. Police, firemen, and news reporters. Paramedics and ambulances were parked back from the house blocking the street and keeping the neighbors from approaching. Close enough to see me in exquisite detail. Cameras flashed, and cell phones took my picture.

In a move that surprised all of us, one of the men on the hose turned it in my direction. The full force of the stream of pressurized water hit me full on, knocked me ass-over-teakettle and stole the lift from my wings. In short, it knocked me out of the sky. I fell. From sixty feet to land on the roof of a parked police cruiser. The fall tore a hole through the metal and I hit the cushioned back seat hard enough to stun me. Knocked out, unable to move and I was sopping wet and cold.

My first inkling of my predicament came as the car rocked, all four doors opened, and four Glocks were pointed at me. I raised my head, shook off the dizziness and stared each of them in the eyes.

"Owww," I said deliberately. "That hurt."

Untangling myself from the remnants of vinyl and padding, I went over what was stretched, torn, or broken, relieved to find that other than a headache, everything worked. At least as well as it had _before_ I fell.

"Is the kid alright?" I asked and snapped at their shocked expressions. "Jeez. Get over it. You'd think you'd never seen a dragon before."

I hopped up, eyed the hole in the car roof and was pretty sure I couldn't get back out the same way. I'd have to enlarge the hole and didn't think they'd stand still for that. So, I had to go through them. I blew flame up over my head and as the upholstery ignited, they leaped out of the way, clearing a route for me. I made smoke instead of flames and under cover of that, managed to exit the vehicle.

Instead of flying, I crawled beneath the cruiser, going from one unit to the next until I had exited the perimeter of the entire circus. Only then did I take to the skies. Once I flew, the damage I'd sustained from the fall and the hose became more evident. It was a clear effort to move the wings down stroke and my legs trembled with weariness.

I traveled only about five more miles before I picked out a tall red pine and landed. Perched on a thick branch, I tucked my head under my wing and slept.

# Chapter 20

The entire sky was ablaze with lights, with sound and fury, with restless wind and activity that caused the branch I was resting on to sway wildly in its path. I woke with a start as the tree bent back and forth; while military, police and news choppers crisscrossed the area near where I was hidden in the branches of the red pine tree.

Below me, men in uniforms were combing the grounds, searching with flashlights, dogs, and night vision gear. Searching for me. I tried to make myself smaller. I couldn't do anything about my heat signature and could only hope that if spotted, the searchers would assume they were seeing an owl or some other night bird. My chances of escape were next to zero and since I'd lost the cell phone in the fire, I had no way to call for help.

I flattened myself onto a thick branch close to the trunk and prayed that in the darkness I would not be noticed. Maybe the dogs smelled me, but they alerted on my tree, several trying to leap up into the branches. Lights flickered up towards me and I ran down the tree limb until I was deep into another tree, away from the dogs' noses.

I slithered from tree to tree, without flying or breaking into the open. I ran with pounding heart and desperate fear, something no dragon had ever known for it was not a creature that could be so easily defeated. Yet, it was happening to me. My act of selfless heroism to save a child's life would now put mine in peril.

The trees stopped at the edge of a meadow. 1500 yards of open space across and no cover to conceal me. I could not go back for behind me were the dogs and their handlers. My only option was to risk flying for nearly the 30 seconds it would take me to cover the ground. I would be exposed to all of them for the entire time.

My first few wingbeats were powerful, launching me off the tree's crown and deep over the grassy clearing. Shouts indicated that they saw me, the dogs' barking became frenzied. Beyond my first flaps into the meadow, my wings struggled to keep me aloft. The hour's rest had given me some relief, but my body was still weak from the fall, the fire and just not as powerful as I needed it to be. I was hungry and the lack of fuel to my muscles showed in the absence of endurance and speed.

The choppers were on me in seconds, their snipers targeting me with heavy weapons that hit me like punches. Yet they did not penetrate my diamond-hard scales. Even the rifles loaded with laser sights and Armor Piercing loads did not mark me and I thought I was home free as I neared the next parcel of dense woods. I watched as a Black Hawk helicopter plunged toward me, its rear gunner hanging half out the hatch. He aimed a heavy barreled rifle at me, a strange design I had not seen before. The barrel was wide enough to launch an orange. I saw a flash of reddish powder erupt from the muzzle and a thin black tube emerged aimed at me.

I did not dodge. My wings were not stable enough for me to perform an abrupt maneuver and I did not think the projectile was powerful enough to hurt me. It traveled much slower than a bullet and lacked its heavy punch. So, I kept flying in a straight path to the trees. Before I could enter the mass of branches, the tube spread out in ghostly filaments that attached to me. Closed tight around my wings and smashed them into my body along with my taloned legs. I could not move, nor fly, nor rake my claws or teeth to rip myself free. I fell as I struggled, and as I tore at the strands with teeth and jaws, wherever I contacted the sticky stuff, I adhered to the lines.

Abruptly, I hit the end of the lines and dangled below the Black Hawk, attached by two central lines. The chopper did not land. Instead, they winched me up and the gunman reeled me into the hatch where I was surrounded by a team of hard-faced men in black TacOps gear. Everyone loaded with weapons that did not conform to the standard rifles or handguns with which I was familiar.

I hissed and roared, struggling to free myself from a spider's web stronger than steel. They put their hands on me and I could not fight back. I was held much the same way as a falconer handled a wild bird and like that wild creature, I expressed my dislike of such tactics. My talons were strong enough to rip steel, my teeth diamond sharp yet I could not tear these webs or free myself. I could not even snort fire; I was out of Firestone and my nostrils were pinned shut so that I could only breathe through my mouth.

The one who had shot the web-net at me forced a hawk's hood over my head and tied it behind my horns. I was suddenly in the dark and cried out, causing the man to hold still as if in shock.

"The creature is contained, sir," the sniper spoke into his com. "Bullets do not penetrate its...hide. Scales. Made of black scales. Diamond bright and sharp as razors. I don't think a needle will penetrate either. Maybe in the membranes of its mouth or tongue? Except, I'm afraid the sedative would cause the tongue to swell up and suffocate it."

I didn't hear the other side of the conversation but guessed the reply when he fingered the Taser at his waist and I heard the crackle of electricity. He ordered the others to hold the netting down as he applied the prongs of the Taser to the juncture of my wings and shoulder. The electric force simply traveled around my body without harming me. It was only when he applied the prongs to my open jaw that I felt it. 50,000 volts of electricity roared through my nervous system and short-circuited it. Cut off my entire consciousness, tore free my identity and sent me into darkness. I did not even have time to scream.

I

"What a perfectly unique creature it is." The words tugged at my brain. I wanted to open my eyes and express my displeasure but that seemed to be both dangerous and impossible. I let myself drift, waiting for the pain to pull me back under. Instead, it made me come up out of the peaceful dark when I didn't want to face my circumstances.

"Ugghh," I muttered and the silence around me had a weight to it that I could feel even in my disorientated state. I blinked but the dark did not lessen. Shaking my head, I widened my eyes, but I was still in the dark. I hesitated, remembering the hawking hood on me. I stretched my legs and sure enough, there were jesses on both sets of feet. I could not spread my wings and when I attempted to sit up, I could do that. At least they had not set me on a perch. I was lying on a padded table or bench.

I pulled at the jesses. Mere leather would not contain me but whatever these were, I could not tear or break them although I tried. I could not pull off the hood and after a fruitless bout of trying subsided and sat on my haunches. I turned my head in their direction, my nose telling me where they were. The hood had holes in it for my nose and horns, so I could still smell.

"It is aware of where we are, Simon," the first voice said. "How sentient do you think it is?"

"The fireman and the child said it spoke. A male voice, young not a man's voice but a teen. Do you have a name, creature? From what plane do you come? Who is your master? You bear the collar and brand of a major wizard. Give me his name and I will release your bonds to him."

I snorted. Did not say anything. I settled down on my haunches and curled myself into a tight ball with my wings over my head and the hood. I was trying to shut the world out and make it go away. That wasn't a solution for any problem and they didn't let me enjoy my solitude. One of them caught up the jesses on both sets of feet, pinioning my very dangerous talons and then removed the hood.

I blinked. I was inside an office, standard government with blacked-out windows and generic furniture. The desk and chair I'd seen many times before, even the police used the same ugly steel desk and swivel chairs. There was nothing on the desk except a wire cage with the door open and a thick pad on the floor. A cup filled with water and another empty were wired to the sides. It looked strong enough for a raptor but from the shimmer off the wires, I knew it was spelled with magic.

I turned my head around, nearly like an owl and peered at the men who were holding me. Both gray-haired, older in their fifties. One wore the uniform of a general and the other was dressed in a three-piece-suit, expensive and understated blue wool. He wore a lapel pin, gold, an emblem of a phoenix grasping a wand and arrows. Clean-shaven, they oozed power and confidence.

"It is blind in one eye," the officer, called Simon said in surprise. "Is that how the creature was caught?"

"No, it did not recognize the net-gun as a weapon. Do you understand me?"

I stared at him and hissed. Nearly smiled as he jumped backward. "Those teeth look like they could strip steel armor," Simon exclaimed. He reached for the leash that was coiled loosely around my neck. Quick as a snake, I struck my head forward and pinned his hand between my jaws. I did not draw blood but with one millimeter of pressure, I could take his hand off. And he knew it.

"Simon, don't move," the other man stated, and I waited. "My name is Aldi MacAfee. I am a liaison between the armed forces and the Sorcerers Consortium. You have come to the attention of the top Wizards on this plane. We seek to understand your kind and what your purpose is here. Do you understand me?"

While he was speaking, his hands were busy making arcane movements that I sensed were spells and I clamped that tiny bit harder so that a trickle of blood ran from my jaws.

"Aldi," Simon warned. His face whitened. Very carefully, the wizard opened his hands and stepped back, the jesses laid on the table. I bent my head, turned my good eye on the leathers which surprised me as they were made only of a thin silk cord colored blood-red. Magicked and spelled, then. I tore at the front cords with my back legs and once free of those, worked the rear ones loose. I did not _tear_ them, I had to untangle the knots and kick the jesses off. All the while, I held his hand in my jaws and kept my eye on both. Reaching up with my front claws, I wrapped them around his forearm, my inner talon just this side of his artery and then – I let go of his hand.

"Well, sir," Aldi MacAfee said. "You have us at a disadvantage. What is it that we can do to end this?"

Opening my mouth, I hissed and blew a stream of scented smoke, still out of Firestone and unable to make flames. "You can let me go," I said and flew up towards the door, my claws still around his flesh. I tugged him with me, an unwilling passenger as I flew towards the simple wooden door. Aldi stepped aside to give me access and I paused, uncertain that he would so willingly let me escape.

Turned around and dropped his hand as I hit the glass. It shattered but held together, the wires in the layers preventing it from shattering into pieces. Behind me, the man called Aldi spoke and violence warped the air around me, bounced off the window and knocked me out of the air. I tumbled ass-over-teakettle on the floor and Simon lunged forward to step on the end of the leash. It shimmered, turned icy-blue like the flare of a propane torch but he did not let go. His shoe smoked and Aldi's suddenly gloved hand grabbed hold of Jordemayne's tether. He slung me across the room and slammed me against the wall, stunning me. Quick as a cat, Simon lobbed the jesses at me and they crawled up my feet, immobilizing me before I could retaliate. Once they had me restrained, it was easy for them to replace the hood. I keened and fought, tearing myself against the bindings and breaking teeth, only to have them replaced like sharks.'

"Holy book, bells and candles," Aldi whispered. "Can you imagine what power he would be if he was full-sized? What a weapon! We would be invincible!"

The General shuddered. "Do you think that you could control such a beast when this small one is so difficult?" I could smell the blood on his hand and the fear in his heart. It was MacAfee that gingerly picked me up and shoved me inside the cage. As he slammed the latch, a magic field contained me, drained me so that all I could do was lie flat in abject misery.

# Chapter 21

The General oversaw my daily care; feeding and watering me. Toileting. To punish me for my action in threatening them, he treated me like a raptor which wasn't all bad as I could live quite well on raw meat and water. Not that beer or Pepsi wouldn't have been a welcome change. As for toileting, I just picked a corner and did my business making it as private as one could in a cage under constant surveillance.

I refused to speak again, and they refused to allow me any respite from the cage's confines. While I was contained within it, the wizard tried different incantations and spells to force me to talk, to obey him, to become complacent but Jordemayne's magic was both stronger and first on me since it was his spell that brought me to this plane. Primal magic and only Jordemayne could release the geas.

Time had no meaning inside the cage. For a creature used to the wide-open spaces, to flying free, to be restricted in the tiny cage was a misery that became a torture as my claustrophobia ran rampant. The only thing that kept me from battering myself to death and imploding was the spell laid on the cage. It made me so miserable that it was all I could think about. So, I had no idea how long I'd been immured or how long I would continue to be so held.

Kept hooded and in the jesses, I thought I was still in the same office. I didn't remember being carried out to another location and it still smelled like the same room. I was visited intermittently by the General, the wizard and three other men who smelled of the supernatural. All of them made suggestions for my care, control and uses of the military and sorcerous worlds.

By now, Whit and the others must have been frantic with worry. I had no way to warn them or ask for help. I howled my unhappiness for hours and when I thought I was alone, I carried on a conversation with myself, all of it self-pity. I cursed my stupidity in being drunk and starting this whole mess. I cursed that my actions had robbed me of my guardian and stopped in astonishment that I even remembered him. Murphy, the gargoyle, and the man who had died to save my life from the Red Witch, Jasra. I remembered! I remembered.

For the next three days, I wallowed in those memories until I was sure that I had them burned into my brain. My name was Raven and I was a Prince of Amber and Chaos, Amber's Black Dragon and Knight, Protector of the Realm. In the morning when they came for me, I had forgotten most of it.

At night, they put a cover over the cage as if they expected the lights to keep me awake. When they pulled it off, even through the hood, I could see the lights come on. Harsh, bright from overhead strip lighting that was common in buildings.

A hand entered the cage, I could not smell whose hand reached for me over the strong scent of a leather glove. If they thought leather would protect them from my bite, they were mistaken. If I could bite through the muscle and bone of a large hare, I could hardly be deterred by a thin layer of cowhide.

The gloved hand grabbed the handful of jesses and pulled me out. I squatted and turned my head and neck in the direction where I thought the hand's owner might be. Took an experimental bite of the glove and recoiled. It was leather but inside the layers was a lining of Kevlar.

"Behave, or I'll keep the hood on," the General threatened. I hesitated, wanting to see worse than the urge to hurt them. I nodded and heard gasps from the others in the room. He pulled off the hood and I blinked in the bright glow of the room. It wasn't the same room, this was a huge warehouse space that had windows all along its length, large enough to house a jet airplane and room to spare. Steel walls that were glowing with blue sparks. Concrete floors and at either end were roll-up doors that were open to the outside. I could see trees, blue skies, sand, and pavement. Far off in the distance, my dragon hearing caught the murmurs of men chanting as they marched. Military base. I was on a military base.

I stretched, opened my wings to their full six feet and stood on my rear legs. My talons gripped the glove and he struggled to hold my weight so balanced. The claws sank into the glove, not at all deterred by the Kevlar lining. I was careful not to pierce his flesh and give them warning that my talons were more dangerous than they expected. The more I could keep secret about my capabilities, the better chance I had to escape.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" one of the others admired.

"How do you know it's a _he?"_ That voice made my head swivel for it came from a woman. I had neither seen or smelled her before. She stood behind the General, tall, dressed in a suit of linen colored cranberry which set off her black hair and vivid blue eyes. She was not as old as the others but clearly not as young as she looked. Her manner and confidence said that she was an expert at whatever it was that she did.

"From the accounts of the child and the fireman. Both stated that he spoke, and it was male. Also, both Aldi and I have heard him speak."

"Yes, I read about him in the paper. I believe Channel 42 has some great photos of him diving out of the flames," she returned dryly. "What is it?"

Aldi MacAfee said mildly, "it's a dragon, Cherelle. Just what it looks like."

"Aren't they supposed to be...big? Ferocious things that snort fire and eat maidens?"

"I can vouch for the ferocious," General Simon laughed shortly and held up his bandaged hand. As far as I was concerned, he was lucky he still had it. And all five fingers.

"The Four Gold Tier are flying in to examine him; they'll be here by Friday. They ask that we do not attempt anything until they have time to prepare to examine him," MacAfee added. "That means you, too, Cherelle. It is infinitely more dangerous than we are prepared to handle."

"Pfft," she snorted. "No baby dragon is going to get the best of me! I'm ranked as the top demonologist in all the Americas!"

"I suspect that it is not a demon but a...elemental."

"Even an elemental has rules it adheres to," she argued. "I am well aware of that hierarchy, also." She tapped the side of my body, just where my keel muscles attached to my breast ridges and I snapped at her hand. She tasted sweet, the pulse of her life force strong and tainted with magic. I twisted her bones yet did not tear at her flesh, nor did she pull away and cause unwanted harm to herself.

The others jumped back and threatened me with spells and verbal warnings, but she just laughed and left her forearm in my teeth. She thrummed with power and I caught the familiar whiff of a scent that had brought me south. I smelled Whit on her. Recognized that it wasn't him but perhaps his mother. Molly. Molly was somewhere near.

It was hard to talk with my mouth wrapped around her sleeve. I spat the cloth out, tilted my head and stared into her eyes. She watched me with careful attention as I cleared my throat.

"I'll make you a deal," I said, and the entire group straightened in surprise. "Not these idiots. Just you."

"What kind of deal?" she asked.

"What exactly is it that you want from me? I don't have a hoard of gold and jewels lying around. I don't eat maidens, virgins or otherwise. I'm not a demon, and I can't make spells or win wars. I'm not a prize to be used for anything and I don't kill humans."

They were silent. She said, "you are a creature of magic, though. Correct? There are things you can do that we cannot?"

"Lady, I'm a talking midget dragon. I might have a career on TV but that's all I'm good for."

"Yet, you risked your life rescuing a small child from a fire."

I rolled my eyes. "Not much of a risk when you're fire-proof."

"On that aside, do you really breathe fire?" Aldi asked.

"Yeah, if there's Firestone available." I didn't tell them what that was and let them think it was some rare, exotic mineral. "So, Lady, what's your deal?"

"We want you to recover an artifact," the General said. I did not acknowledge him, I kept my attention on the woman.

"There is an object encased in a vault that no human may touch. With it, we can end the conflicts in this world. Between our magic and military might, it will give us enough power to stop all wars. We need something like you to retrieve it."

"Say I do this thing for you, what do I get out of it?" I asked.

"What do you want?" she asked, and they let her do the talking which told me that I had been right in my assessment of her talents.

"I want this collar and leash off me. I want my freedom back and I want Molly Marlin released right now."

There was silence and I knew that they were wondering how I knew about her. Until she said, "That's whose spell casting I sensed on him! Callimachus Japheth Jordemayne!"

"Only he would be audacious and stupid enough to attempt to call up a demon," MacAfee agreed. "So, he is your Master?"

I snapped, "no man is my master!"

"You wear his mark of bondage," she pointed out snidely. "We'll think about your proposal." She gestured, and the hood flew up to cover me and the jesses tightened cruelly around my legs. I fell over and banged my jaw onto the table. Someone wrapped me in a thin, chain-like mesh and I was put away like an unwanted dog. Back into the cage only now, it swung back and forth from a pivot point and made me slightly nauseous.

# Chapter 22

They left me hanging. _Literally_ and figuratively. The cage kept swinging back and forth and made me sick to my stomach. I yelled but nobody came to find out why I was making so much noise. So, I deliberately made the cage swing even faster until it rode the chain up and down, jerking when it reached its tightest point. No one stopped me and after a few hours where I swear I was turning green from vertigo, the weak link snapped, the cage fell and rolled along the floor until it came up against something solid enough to stop it.

I still couldn't see with the damn hood on me nor move with the jesses. They clung to me with all the passion of a love-starved, bodice-ripping author. Only, I wouldn't be seeing the tall, dark, and handsome hero come riding in to save me. Not unless I did it myself. I groaned and tried to pick myself up but bound, all I could do was inchworm up on my knees. The first thing I did was puke. Spectacularly. It didn't smell too bad, at least not to my dragon nose but what did surprise me was what came up. Digested bits of mystery meat, bones and small diamond hard stones that glittered when I peeked under the edge of the hood. I pushed one around with my nose and saw it gouge lines in the cage's bars. That was... _interesting._ I wondered if it was something like a bird's crop where it stored rocks to help break down the...ugh, worms and bugs that it ate. Never really thought about how my dragon guts broke down food. Just too busy killing and eating it. I tucked a few of the rocks into my cheek pouch for later.

I inched my way forward and wasn't really surprised when I detected a change in the surface under me. The cage had popped open when it hit the cement floor and I was now standing in the hole where the gate had been. I opened my wings and shoved, the cage flipped off and I was free, free of the cage but still bound by the jesses. Once more, I tried to tear at them with my fangs but even my teeth made no dent in the magic leashes.

Contorting my body, I brought both sets of legs together and tried to peel them off. No dice. "Ah, shit," I said softly. "Why couldn't this be easy? Why can't I transform back to my normal size? Or better yet, back to my real body? Why won't newid fy Ddraig i dynol work?"

Abruptly, I was me. Lying on concrete with my hands and feet tied in silk and a ridiculous little hood hanging off one ear. Naked, of course, and the concrete was cold and every part of me hurt. I spit and tossed the hood, bent my head down and gnawed on the cords, keeping an eye out for returning bad guys. My teeth made no inroads on them either, but I could rub off the ones on my hands. After that, I could sit up and unknot the ones on my ankles.

I tried to stand, and my legs were weak, still painful but if I had to crawl out of there, that's what I would do. I headed for the wall and the end of the hanger where the huge overhead doors were still open, daring me to come that way. Halfway there, I stopped and turned around, looking for a smaller door into the complex I knew must be there. Molly was inside, and I wasn't leaving without her. I'd promised Whit.

There was a door, tucked behind an iron truss, part of the skeleton that formed the huge warehouse. It had a small window in the top, so I could peek through to see if anyone was in sight before I pushed it open and slithered through. I glanced both ways down a short hallway. No cameras, nothing but a couple of other doors that I was afraid to open. I knew that the doors at the ends of the hallway probably led to places I didn't want to explore but if I was going to find Molly, I had no choice.

Raising my nose into the air, I took a single sniff, lifting my lip so I could taste the scent molecules in the slight breeze. Above my head was an air vent, too small for my body but not the dragonet's. If I didn't find something to cover my nakedness, that was a possibility. I had a sneaking suspicion that the witch-woman would be able to track the dragon form much easier than my human body.

Taking a risk, I placed my ear against the nearest door and heard nothing. I kicked it gently with my toes and listened for an echo. Which would have told me that there was a large room beyond or a staircase. I heard nothing. Praying that it was a closet, I opened it slowly and heaved a sigh of relief when I looked at a maintenance closet. Mops, brooms, buckets, tool boxes. Coveralls.

I snagged the drab green jumpsuit and had it on in seconds. It was a relief to have all my assets covered and gave me a reason for being pretty much anywhere in the complex. I grabbed a mop and bucket and started pushing it towards the door.

The one I chose had the strongest scent of Molly, the one to the right of me at the far end of the hallway. When I opened the door and pushed the bucket through, I nearly stabbed one of the men in the stomach with the handle. One of them from that morning's session with the General.

"Excuse me," I mumbled and held the door for him so that he had to maneuver around the empty bucket. He scowled and brushed past me, heading for the warehouse floor. I hurried, not wanting to be around when he discovered that my cute little dragon body wasn't where he'd left me.

A minute later, the sirens started, and doors opened discharging men in BDUs, carrying guns and Tasers. They rushed past me without a glance. After all, they weren't looking for a six-foot dude in coveralls but a little dragon.

I kept going until I came to a stairwell that went down a long way. I stood at the top of the staircase and looked down at least twenty stories. No way could I make it down all that way on my barely healed broken legs nor with the mop bucket. I sighed.

"Ddraig draig draconic alternus," I whispered and wasn't surprised when nothing happened. Seemed as if I could use my human form but not control when and how I transformed to the dragon.

I started down. Step by step and taking my time. One slip and if I fell, I knew it would kill me. I'd done maybe four flights when the landing turned, and Molly's smell came through thick and strong. Behind me was a door off the landing, a door with wire embedded in the glass and locks on both sides. Electronic.

Now, there's a curious thing about dragons. No lock can hold one and they can open anything that is locked, part of the reason why they were known for their immense gold hoards. Like my dragon senses that improved my human ones, this ability came with me when I transformed back into my human one.

As soon as my hand touched the door, the locks disengaged with a soft click that anyone standing close could hear but no one was there. It seemed as if everyone had abandoned their posts to join in the hunt for the lost dragon. I found myself in a broad corridor that was the typical clone of all jail cells. Cages barred with two-inch-thick steel but towards the end of the interminable hall were cells that were solid with a door that had a peephole.

My nose brought me to the closest one and when I put my eye to the peephole, I saw a thin woman of surprising beauty. Dark-haired, green as glass eyes and a porcelain complexion that had more to do with incarceration than heritage. She looked just like a female version of her son. I was surprised, she didn't look old enough to have had Whit, she barely looked older than me.

Sitting on a thin mattress covering a cement slab, she was reading a dog-eared, coverless paperback. From the looks of the rough book, it had been the rounds. Behind her, a shelf made from melamine bolted to the walls and held a dozen other paperbacks. One of them was a Bible.

The sirens had penetrated to this level, but she never looked up. She kept her attention on the book, slowly turning the pages. I could see the words on the back, she was reading The Escape. A cruel jest on someone's part. When I raised my eyes to peruse the rest of her collection, they were all books on escapes, captivity, and thrillers. It pissed me off and I slammed my fists against the door, not at all surprised when the steel buckled and twisted off its lintels. Luckily, it did not fall on her, but it sure surprised the hell out of her.

I swept in, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back towards the far end of the hall. I knew I wasn't going to be lucky enough to make it back out via the warehouse doors, but my nose had told me that there was a source of fresh air blowing in from the outside somewhere down this corridor. I didn't give her a chance to ask questions and to her credit, she didn't try to do anything but run. Clad in a white jumpsuit, her feet were in flimsy flip-flops that did nothing to help her keep her footing on the slick cement floors.

She ran like an athlete and if I hadn't been concentrating on following my spoor, I would have admired her long legs and form. She tugged me towards a door that I had dismissed, pulling hard enough to throw me off-balance. I almost fell, my legs trembling with the sudden change of direction.

"In here," she gasped and flung open the door. We entered a small lift, a cage that closed with a metal grate. "They bring the bodies out this way. Goes to the incinerator."

"And this helps us how?"

"The incinerator has its own building. Away from everything else so no one has to smell it. Backs up into the mesa."

"Mesa? Where are we?"

"Don't you know?" She cocked her head and studied me. "Who are you?"

I shut the grate and the cage lurched, going up and then _sideways_. Traveling at crawling pace, I fretted that they would figure out where we were and were going. When the cage stopped, I rushed the grate and stepped out into an equally small room that led directly into a holding area for bodies. There were a few, covered with sheets and the smell was an industrial disinfectant.

Here, she took the lead, leaving the building behind and exiting through a large freight door. We emerged into a night landscape, the moon hadn't yet made an appearance, so the dark was in our favor. I saw the immense bulk of a rock outcrop that went higher than I could see. The mesa she spoke of. It was covered with brush and pinion trees, offering concealment unless our pursuers had Night Vision gear. Which I assumed they must have in their possession. She picked out a spot that seemed no different than any other and started climbing. She climbed like a pro and soon, left me behind.

Her voice drifted down urging me to hurry. I grunted and tried, my legs and shoulder decided that they had had more than enough. I found a small ledge and crawled onto it, telling her that I could go no farther.

She came back to me, her hand on my wrist and I realized she was taking my pulse. "125. What's wrong with you?"

"A few days ago, I was lying in your house with two broken legs, a dislocated and torn shoulder, cracked ribs, and a bad headache," I grumbled. "I'm not at my best right now. Sorry."

"My house? Who are you?"

"My name's Raven. I'm a friend of your son, Whit. I told him I would rescue you."

"Well, you haven't quite finished the job," she said, and I could hear the amusement in it. "Where is Whit?"

"With Cal and Igor. Safe." I hope.

"How long?"

"How long what?" I closed my eyes and then opened them, scanning back down the cliff wall to see if anyone was after us. So far, so good.

"How long have I been gone?"

"Over eight months, Whit said."

"Eight months. I had no idea it was that long. She did something to the cell, so time ran wrong for me," she mused. "We can't stay here. They'll see us come morning if they don't drag out the night optical gear. Or the big spotlights. This is a military base in New Mexico, they do night flights all the time."

Just as she said that a huge blacked-out plane flew over our heads and rattled the rocks above us, peppering me with grit. I struggled up and managed another few yards, onto a broader ledge that widened into a ravine and went all the way up. Too steep for me in my condition and she said she would need ropes and gear herself.

I grabbed her hand. "Do you have any of Cal's or Whit's talents?"

"What? Like magic?"

"Yeah."

"It runs in the family. I have healing magic, growing magic but not in the class of Cal. Whit doesn't have any, yet."

"He will," I offered. "Say this, Newid Raven Black Dragon."

She did and abruptly, I was forty feet long, grasping the cliff with all 14 talons and hanging like a bat from the rock. I turned my head towards her and told her to get on.

With her mouth hanging open, she did so, and we flew to the top of the mesa where I circled the rock, keeping an eye on the tiny figures scrambling on the ground.

# Chapter 23

My sensitive horns and keel plates tingled, warning me that something nasty was coming. I dived low and an enormous cargo plane painted matte black just missed flying up my ass. The wash from its turbines knocked me off course and I pulled up mere seconds from diving nose first into the mesa.

I shrieked. Which wasn't quite as girly as it sounded because it sounded more like a foghorn than a shriek. Molly kept her seat by throwing her arms around my neck and hugging like a linebacker on the third down. I flapped thrice and brought us back up to cruising level where I could keep an eye on traffic and look out for those on the ground. The tingling I felt wasn't just about the plane, but I also sensed that the witch called Cherelle was gearing up to take me on.

Molly slapped me on the neck with the reins. I almost stalled when I realized that she could touch them. Maybe because she was Cal's sister and the spell recognized her DNA or something.

"Hey!" I yelped. "That hurt!"

"Oh, don't be a pansy," she laughed. "Think of this as a video game and we're the main characters."

"Yeah, except we don't get three lives and there's more at stake here than the winning score. It's my life, freedom and yours, Molly."

I rose and came up behind the cargo plane that had nearly parted my cheeks. My idea was to piggy-back in its shadow so that they could not follow us on the ground or by radar. Didn't know if it would work to conceal our presence from magical sources but I didn't have any other options. There wasn't exactly a busy metropolis around to hide in. She aimed me towards a distant glow on the horizon, which she told me was more than likely the city of Las Vegas.

Great. I always wanted to hit the big jackpot. I wondered if they would comp a dragon?

Below us, the entire base lit up like Christmas in Times Square. Jeeps, Humvees, and ATVs set off in the direction we'd fled. Helicopters took off and hovered over the mesa, scanning below with huge spotlights that would have pinpointed a caterpillar on a leaf. Good thing we hadn't stayed on the bluff. The chopper landed, and we saw the same three people descend to cast about for evidence that we had made it to the top. Aldi MacAfee, General Simon, and the woman Cherelle.

I just had time to see her twist her arms in a windmill before the plane turned and we were out of sight. Somehow, I didn't think I was going to like what she had done. Sure enough, minutes later, a glowing ball of yellow coalescing light rolled up to the aircraft and skimmed across its aluminum skin. It skipped over the tail and bounced, just missing my nose and wingtips. I slid off to the side and hugged the underside of the plane, hanging onto the wheel wells, praying that my weight would not drop the plane out of the air. I helped it along with wingbeats and lifted it up a hundred feet.

The ball of light bounced in place as if it were confused before it hovered and fell back to earth. Molly heaved a sigh of relief and then puked over my shoulder. I gagged.

"Great time to get air-sick," I complained. "I don't carry barf bags, you know."

"You...are a smart-ass," she said and wiped her mouth. "You said your name is Raven? Where are you from? You're not a demon. No demon would hold to a promise, especially to a twelve-year-old boy. It would eat him."

"What's with the eating people? I don't, I've never and I never will," I yelled. "I hope this stupid plane is going somewhere I want to be. How the hell did I wind up in New Mexico? I was in Maryland, last I knew."

"So was I. They brought me out here three days ago, in an all-fired hurry. That must have been when you and Whit started looking for me. They moved me because someone was getting close. I don't suppose you have a cell phone on you?"

I rolled my eye. "Oh sure. I keep it in my back pocket."

"Well, you were in a maintenance uniform. You came out here without any back-up or way to call for help?"

I would have blushed if I was capable. "Look," I said shortly. "When I'm the dragon, my clothes don't come with me."

"So, if we get to Vegas and you convert to human, you'll be naked?" I could hear the smile in her voice. "How old are you, Raven?"

"In dragon years or dog?"

She laughed. "Dog years of course. You must be a teenager, with that smart mouth. Right?"

"Nineteen. I think."

"What do you mean you think? You don't know?" She sounded puzzled.

"Your brother spelled me from my plane to his. Most of my memories got left behind. I remember my name, a palace, being the Black Dragon, a Knight. Patrolling the night skies over a kingdom that is magical but real. A gargoyle that once was my bodyguard on this plane. I don't know how to get back home or where home is."

The plane rose another five thousand feet, cruising altitude. Any higher and she would find it tough to breathe. It was time to untangle myself from the cargo plane and seek my own path. Below me, I caught the contrails of more jets, and above, large passenger liners. The trick was to mimic one or the other until we could descend and find clothes, transportation, and a phone. I flew, dropping lower and following the glide path that I could pick up with my dragon hearing. It led us straight into the airport, but we weren't going that far. I dropped suddenly to below a hundred feet so was off the radar which would cause some alarm until the flight controllers named me as an anomaly when no crashed aircraft was found.

I set down in the desert, twenty miles out of town. My landing was as graceful as I could make it and I left deep gouges in the sand, back-flapping so that I came down softly. She slid off my back, walked up to my face, grabbing my horns, and stared into my eye. She kissed me.

Without me asking, she chanted the words and I was standing before her with my hands over my head, stark naked. She looked and smiled. Grinned. "Well. That's a nice sight for sore eyes."

I blushed and dropped my hands, but she'd already seen everything. I would have turned around but that was a worse view. In fact, she walked around me, and I heard her gasps of distress. "Holy Book, Bells, and Candles! Who whipped you, Raven?"

I didn't say. She looked around at the desert vegetation and whispered as she pulled out several leaves from a spiky plant. Her hands plaited, smoked and she chanted to shake out a length of fabric tan-colored, soft, and long enough to wrap around my waist like a sarong.

"Plant magic," she offered. "I can heal some of your hurts, too." She laid her hand on my back and warmth traveled through her touch, dulling the stinging sensation of pulling scabs, the ache of abused bones and torn muscles. I yawned, wanting nothing else but to lay down and sleep. Not even food had as much allure as the thought of a long nap. Except, this wasn't the place to sleep. Not with the sun overhead and no water, twenty miles from civilization.

"How are we going to get into town? Without water, shoes, and money?" I asked. "If I transform again, the odds of someone seeing me are that much greater the closer we get to town."

"We'll just have to risk it. Neither one of us is in shape to walk two miles, let alone twenty. We can't wait for nightfall; we'd be seriously dehydrated by then. Neither one of us has had any liquid in hours." She hesitated and then asked about my eye, saying that it was an injury she hadn't seen before.

I remembered Whit telling me that she was a nurse and a...diabetic. "Oh crap!" I exclaimed. "Your insulin!"

"Don't worry, it's all good. I have a pump implanted and it's good for a week. Whit told you?"

I nodded and started walking to the city, the sand pleasantly warm on my bare feet. She looked in all four directions and followed me.

"You know where you're going?"

"Yup. Dragons have an innate sense of direction. Can't get lost." I stopped dead. "That means I should be able to find my way home!"

"Not through wards or a pentagram contained by a spell. It would block your homing sense. How did you lose your eye? Does it follow through both changes? Do you have another animal form?"

"It was a sword fight, a particularly nasty swordsman thrust his six-foot blade through my eye. A magicked blade. Yes, and no," I answered her other questions shortly.

"I hope you killed him?"

"I believe I bit him in half. I was half-mad with pain. One of his overeager friends had just hacked off my tail." So much for my claim of never killing a human. As I recollect, I had killed thousands in that melee. Granted, they were all trying to spit me on lances or swords.

"Don't they have doctors or healers that could replace it with a prosthetic, so you look normal?"

Normal? Normal wasn't a word that I associated with myself. "Whit brought me an eyepatch. Like Nick Fury," I grinned. "I lost it somewhere. Along with the rest of my clothes."

"How do you plan for your changes? Do you run into a phone booth, slip into your tights and cape?"

"No, and I don't have an alter-ego. If I think I'm going to need clothes, I usually carry a spare set in a backpack tied to my rider's harness."

"Good idea. So, we need 1.) money. 2.) clothes. 3.) backpack and 4.) a throwaway cell phone. Have any ideas on how to acquire all of the above?"

I sat down in the sand in the sparse shade of a mesquite tree and pulled off the seed pods. If you were _really_ hungry, you could eat them. Tasted like starchy pinto beans.

"I need a nap. Seriously. I'm bushed," I said and yawned. "The words you need are Ddraig draig. The condensed version works well."

"Are you sure you want to be a forty-foot black dragon asleep on the white sands of the desert? You'll stick out like a nun in a..." She didn't finish the analogy.

"Dragons like the heat. I can burrow down in the sand like a stingray does in the water. To any aerial surveillance, I'll look like a sand dune. I can shelter you under a wing, out of the sun, give you shade. When night comes, I can fly in close enough, so we can walk the last bit. We might run into a ranch or something. I remember coming across some riding stables once."

She agreed and spoke the phrase that turned me. As I brought my head down to her level, she stepped back in consternation. My good eye was nearly the size of her head and my whole head was larger than her entire body. I definitely had pucker power and intimidation on my side.

"Gods!" she said in awe. "You're so big!" She touched my scales alongside my jaws, plates as large as her hand. "They're sharp. Like razors yet you didn't cut me when I rode."

"I can control the hardness and planes of the scales – make them sharper, dull, overlap to bounce off projectiles. Even shed some scales so my riders can use them in defense as a shield. I am impenetrable to all earthly weapons and most magical ones."

She walked around to my tail, now a mere point at the end where once I had sported a poison barb akin to a scorpion's. No longer. I didn't really miss it, poison wasn't my thing and there was no antidote for the stuff. With my teeth, talons, wings and fire-breathing, the tail was superfluous anyway.

I closed my third eyelid and burrowed headfirst into an explosion of hot sand, burying myself completely except for one wing and my eyes. I arched the wing into the shape of a clump of bushes and shadow. Beneath the wing, the sand cooled enough so that she could lie comfortably in the shade.

I curled my head around, so I could see her, leaving my eyes and horns above the sand. "You okay?" I asked, and she nodded as she crawled underneath on her knees. She sat back on her haunches, hugging her knees to her chest while I blew softly on her, cooling the air off faster than the shade.

"Won't one of us need to keep watch?"

"Dragons sleep with one eye open and all senses engaged. If anyone or anything remotely dangerous approaches, I'll know it before they're close enough to harm us." I closed my eyes and let my body rest. It needed rest almost more than fuel, I knew that food out here in the desert would not be readily available. So, I would have to make do with rest. I slept. Not deeply and my sleep was peppered with dreams. Of unicorns and goblins. Dragons of every color, griffins, harpies, and Princes.

# Chapter 24

You could see the glow of lights that was Vegas long before you stepped foot on her pavement. The city sat in a small depression and the candlelight power of its brilliance must have been in the billions.

From our vantage point in the sky, we could see the whole sprawling city laid out before us. There was more to Vegas than the Strip; an entire city of suburbs that spread in all directions. Every home we saw was enclosed within adobe or brick walls with barred gates and grated windows.

I commented on that as we padded quietly down cul-de-sacs and neighborhood streets. My nose picked up the smell of chlorinated water; it seemed everyone had a backyard pool. Dogs refused to bark at me as we passed by and dry sage permeated the air with a pleasant aroma.

"It keeps the sand and dust from blowing into the homes," she offered. "The bars are for protection; this area is famous for break-ins and home invasions. Lots of crime in this city. Or there was, once. I heard that the LVPD brought in a Necromancer and he put a stop to petty crimes and violence."

"Just petty crimes?"

"The mob bosses still want their cuts from drugs, prostitution, and gambling," she shrugged. "There's a Guild Hall near the casinos. In the open and works with the LVPD." At my questioning look, she explained. "Guild Halls are the equivalent of Union Halls for Witches, Warlocks, Wizards, and Sorcerers."

I tugged at the cloth she'd made from the Spanish Dagger plant and saved when I'd transformed. It was a trifle itchy and stuck in places that I didn't dare to mention. I swore it had bugs in it that liked to crawl up the crack of my ass. She didn't tease me about my appearance as I wore it.

"I've got to get me some jeans," I moaned and started looking for one of those Good Will sheds where people dropped off their unwanted clothes, toys, and garbage.

It wasn't until we traveled a dozen blocks deeper into the downtown area that we businesses and people. Skulkers, nightlife, and tourists who were drunk and or lost. Those that preyed on the drunk and desperate. Homeless who preferred the warmth of southern cities. Yet, they did not approach us. I saw their eyes widen at my bizarre attire and Molly's luminous beauty. Yet something warned them I was not to be taken lightly.

We found the St. Pauli Catholic Charities shed on the parking lot of a 7/11, right next to the big green garbage and recycle can bin. I hesitated when I saw the big metal box and told her the story of how I woke up inside one.

"Painted in red, blue and green runes?" she mused. "Demon spells." She gave me a sharp look and said slowly, "Cal conjured you, didn't he? And was the one that whipped and beat you." I didn't answer. "He tried to call up a demon? Why? Why take the risk?" she demanded.

"Because of you. He couldn't find you anywhere or any other way. And I deserved it. Probably," I said grudgingly. "I did _try_ to kill him."

I leaned into the opening where you deposited your bags of clothing and rummaged through until I had a complete outfit. Jeans. T-shirt, hoodie, socks and even a pair of Jordans that weren't too bad or too big. No underwear. I drew the line at used underwear. Guess I was going commando. I also pulled out a couple of ladies' sweat suits and gave her a choice. She tugged the University of Las Vegas crewneck over her head and stepped into the jogging pants. Now, no one would wonder if the white jumpsuit was a prison uniform. I couldn't find any shoes that would fit her, and she said she'd stick with the flip-flops until we could go shopping.

The transients and skulkers in the shadows watched as I dressed in the light of the street lamps, rustling as they sensed something unearthly.

I felt much more confident once I was fully clothed. Looking around, I observed the outside of the convenience store. Set on a corner lot, it was well-lit with quite a few customers inside even at the early hour. It wasn't 4 am yet. Two employees were outside sitting on the curb and smoking. There were four gas pumps under a canopy and CCTVs covered every inch of the parking lot, even the sheds. I wasn't too worried about the cameras recording my image, the authorities were looking for a dragon, not a teenager.

Three of those hiding in the shadows behind the store were gangbangers, their shorts, and jeans hanging off skinny butts. They wore Under Armor long-sleeved tees and Aeropostale hoodies, Air Jordans unlaced and insolently tipped and backward baseball caps that said Vegas SWAT. One was a Latino and the others dark enough to be Native American. The oldest wore a small fortune in gold chains around his neck and in rings on his ten fingers.

Our eyes met, and he was the first to drop. I crooked a finger and he slunk out of the shadows to stand before me with grudging respect. He didn't understand why he was afraid of me only that he was. His homies didn't chide him about it either for they felt the same dread when they met my eyes. The blind one just made me seem even more dangerous.

"How much do you have on you?" I asked quietly, and he dug into his pockets to pull out a heavily loaded money clip of a bullet in 18 kt. gold. I didn't take all of it, I left him with a hundred and handed the rest over to Molly who watched in wide-eyed fascination.

"Leave this place alone," I said and bared my teeth. "I would not be happy if you hit this store. Ever. Understand?" He nodded like a turkey pecking grain, his eyes big and frightened.

He backed away from me, afraid to turn when I said thanks. I turned my back to them as if they were no more than an inconvenience and entered the store. Both Molly and I had seen the black 40 caliber Glock tucked into his waistband.

As the door closed between us, she said, "he was going to rob us or the store, wasn't he? How did you get him to hand over his money? In front of his posse?"

I turned around and stared at her. She immediately backed up and prepared to run. When I softened my face, she laughed shakily and came back to my side.

"That was scary, Raven. You looked...deadly. Can you do that to anyone?"

"Mostly." I walked to the back where the coolers were and pulled out a six-pack of Pepsis and water, heading for the snack aisles. We loaded up on bologna, beef sticks, salami, and bread. Hostess cupcakes and Doritos, cool ranch. She added the good stuff, apples and bananas and donuts to the pile. The little-powdered sugar ones that I could eat the whole bag.

We checked out and the bored night clerk rang us up where we parted with almost $50.

"You know those kids hanging around out back were going to rob you?" I asked, and the Pakistani nodded in resignation. "They won't be bothering you anymore."

"Why? They hit every place between here and the Strip."

"I convinced them that there are easier places to hit. You sell phones?"

He pointed to the display where one could purchase pre-paid phones and the cards to add minutes. I spent the change from the hundred on a smartphone and 500 minutes.

"Any pay phones around that work?"

He told us there might be one down the street at the Hess Station along with another rarity, an air pump that was free. I thanked him, and we exited, gratified to see that the gangstas had dispersed along with the transients.

Walking more confidently, I took bigger strides now that I was clothed and shod, had money and food. Molly had to stretch to keep up with me. I realized that I was feeling much stronger since she'd healed me, and I'd slept. My bones didn't ache as much, and my back itched instead of pulled.

We headed across the street to a bus stop and there on the bench I laid out the bread and cold cuts. Making each of us double sandwiches, I loaded mine with extra meat while I chewed on a beef stick. Between the two of us, we finished off the entire loaf of bread and both packages of lunch meat. She ate an apple and a banana. I ate the entire bag of chips and the cupcakes. When I drank a six-pack of Pepsi and started in on the waters, she sat back in amazement.

"Wow. I thought Whit and Jaxon ate a lot."

"It takes a lot of calories to fuel a 40-ton dragon. Think how much fuel you need to run a semi-truck. And it doesn't breathe fire," I said.

"Speaking of that – is there any of that Firestone around so you can stock up if we need it? How much do you need?"

I sniffed the air and pointed to the small bungalow across the street from our bench and near a small park.

"Where?"

"See that barbecue grille? It's filled with lava rocks. That's the big secret ingredient to breathing fire. I actually produce methane when I break down my food, but the rocks help me filter, stabilize and redirect it into sheets, beams or balls of fire." I gave her the eye. "You're the only one I've told, the idiots that caught me think it's a rare mineral. You and Whit. He knows, too."

She pretended to zip her lips. "I'll never tell."

"There's a Target four blocks over, the clerk said. We can get a backpack and change of clothes for both of us. How much cash did he have?"

She counted. Over two thousand five hundred forty-five bucks. Probably from dealing. As I was counting, an LVPD car cruised past and gave us the fisheye. Guess the cops didn't see too many couples sitting on a bus bench at 4 in the morning.

He slowed as he passed us and did a U-turn as he came back around. Slid his window down and asked if we'd seen any young gang members hanging around.

"Why? Someplace around here get robbed?" I asked.

"Just down the street. Shell station. Funny, they usually hit Harish's 7-11 over on Broad."

"Nope. We're waiting for the bus back to the Flamingo. Thought we'd play and win back my money," I shrugged.

He laughed. "Good luck with that. The house always wins. If I had a dime for every sucker that said that, _I'd_ be rich."

A bus rounded the corner and stopped behind his cruiser, the driver tapped his horn. The cop pulled off and waved at us. Obviously, neither of us had made the news, papers, or BOLO list.

Molly heaved a sigh of relief. I hadn't realized how tense she'd become until after the cop had driven off. The bus driver tooted, and we went around to the open door. Asked where his route ran, and he said that he did the downtown and Strip run.

"You go to any cheap hotels?" I asked.

The Hispanic with the name tag Joe flicked his gaze to Molly and grinned. He mistakenly assumed I wanted a room for an hour. I was insulted that he thought she was a prostitute.

"Not that cheap," I said, my face flushing red. He made a cat growl, to imply that she was a Cougar and Molly pulled my face over to hers and Frenched me. I could feel the hot rush of blood all the way to my hairline. The few riders on board wolf-whistled as she took my hand and dragged me aboard. We sat right behind the driver as he extolled the virtues of the Strip. He promised us a discount on his cousin's B&B just this side of the Strip. Even better, he said his route drove right past it.

So, we rode the bus downtown and saw the sights. The famous Strip and all the Casinos. The exploding volcanoes, the iconic Cowboy and the dancing water fountains at the Bellagio. Prime rib and a show for 6.99. Elvis imitators playing everywhere. Millions of people who had come to Vegas with grandiose dreams and left broken and disillusioned.

He drove us almost to the edge of the city as his last fares where the desert began to encroach on the land. Mesquite, Joshua Trees, Spanish Dagger, and ocotillo. Cactus and sagebrush made an oddly beautiful landscape as the sun came up over the Superstitions.

The B&B was a low, rambling Santa Fe style adobe with red tiles and built around a central courtyard complete with a huge Spanish oak whose twisted branches reminded me of the legendary tree in Norse epics. Yggdrasil. Vines crawled up the posts and over the pergolas. In the background, we could hear the tinkle of a water fountain in the courtyard.

Bright red geraniums and multi-colored Impatiens filled the window boxes. Joe had told us to say that he'd sent us before he dropped us off at the front gate and headed back into the city. I suspected that he'd gone off-route to bring us to the Alameda Bed and Breakfast Suites.

By that time, the sun was rising in a sky so beautiful that I had to stop and enjoy it. Crimson, gold, and violet melted into an opaline morning. The air was crisp and clean with a hint of sage and cedar.

Molly picked up my hand and squeezed it. "It's the trivial things that we take for granted," she murmured. "Watching another dawn, a child's laugh. An old couple walking hand-in-hand."

I mumbled a reply and pushed open the screen door on the heavy wooden slab entrance way. Inside was the lobby, cool and dim, furniture south-western style and comfortable. There was a desk against the wall and behind that, a doorway into a series of rooms. On the desk was a computer and a guest register.

On the walls were beautiful handwoven Navajo blankets with the Four Winds designs, worth a small fortune. Photographs in color of the mesas, Ship Rock, and the Superstitions. A faded copy of a map of deer hide to the Lost Dutchman's Mine.

I rang the bell and a woman of middle years with black hair and eyes came out of what I guessed was the kitchen because she wore an apron, and had flour handprints on her rear end. She brought the scent of fresh bread and blueberry muffins with her.

"Good morning," she said with a slight accent. Mexican or perhaps Native American although she bore a strong resemblance to the bus driver. She gave us a room for two with two queen beds on his say so, even though we had no luggage, ID, or credit cards. I suspected that Molly used some enchantment on the owner to smooth over any doubts about us although later, she denied it.

Our room was one of those that opened on the center courtyard and on the second floor with a balcony, so we could look down on the garden and fountain. We had two exits and there was a phone in the room.

The very first thing that Molly did even before we made any phone calls were opting to take a shower. I went through the complimentary phone book and looked for options on shopping, transportation, and maps to learn my way around. You never knew when knowledge of back streets and escape routes would mean the difference between life, death, or freedom.

# Chapter 25

She steamed up the room so thickly that if I had been an ice-cube, I would have melted in seconds. Good thing the heat didn't bother me. I told her that I hoped she'd left some hot water for me, careful not to stare at her rosy skin barely covered by the plush peach-colored towel.

It had been a long time for me and besides, she was Whit's _mother._ Being older wasn't so much an issue. After all, I was supposedly born sixty years before her.

It felt good to be clean. A long hot shower had to be one of life's greatest pleasures. Thankfully, I had clean clothes to get back into but when I came out of the shower nearly dressed, she made me lie down on the bed minus my shirt, so she could finish with her healing magic. I drew the line at removing my jeans since I wasn't wearing any briefs or boxers. No way was I laying naked in bed with her there.

Her hands felt like velvet gloves as they traveled up and down my spine. Left a warm glow in the pit of my stomach and made my muscles so loose I thought I'd melt. It was a good thing that she didn't ask me to turn over because I had a hell of a boner and I was embarrassed because she was Whit's _mom_.

"Do you know the phone number of Cal's or Whit's cell?" I asked, trying to get my mind off her touch and what it was doing to me. "Whit gave me a phone but I...ugh...lost it. In a fire."

So, I had to explain how I'd rescued the kid and been photographed by dozens of witnesses, been on the news and captured by the military and some shadow agency.

"Will they have kept their old numbers?" she wondered.

"That depends on the idiots who held me and whether they linked Callimachus to the dragon. They didn't know about him until that witch recognized his mark on my collar," I said.

"Every high-level Mage has his own style, a signature...if you will. As easily recognized as a brand name. Was the bitch named Cherelle Montescue?"

"I only heard her first name but there can't be that many Cherelles." I closed my eyes and dug into my memories. Pulling out the lost cell phone's number, I wrote it down on a piece of hotel stationary but made no move to pick up the in-house phone. Any idiot knew such a call could be traced with key phrases linking me to Cal and vice-versa. Even throw-away cells could be tracked if the NSA used their black ops program that tracked every cell and landline conversation around the world in real time. If the NSA deemed it necessary.

"I'm going to call from the Mall," I said. "Where it's a lot harder to separate one signal from all the rest. It's only six miles from the B&B on the arterial off the Interstate."

"How will we get there? You can't risk flying around as the dragon, big or small. It's too far to walk in the Vegas heat and besides, we'd attract too much attention strolling on the roads. Nobody walks anywhere anymore," she pointed out. She pulled on her sweats over the towel and when she was covered, she dropped the towel on the rug. I made a mental note to get her some new clothes at the Mall while I was doing the same.

"I called for a ride while you were in the shower. They'll pick us up in an hour, take us to the Oak Dale Mall. It's one of the largest Malls in the State. We'd be anonymous there, just another tourist, another cell among millions. We can also shop for clothes and a vehicle."

"How can we get a car for what cash we have without IDs or licenses? Not to mention registration and proof-of-insurance. We only have two thousand left after you paid Maribelle." That was the name of the B&B's owner and Joe's cousin.

"I have an idea or two that. Give me $500." She counted out the cash, five one-hundred-dollar bills and handed it to me.

We waited in the lobby after a continental breakfast where we met the other five guests. I ate enough to cause the guests' eyebrows to raise at my appetite. We had time to scan the papers and peruse the flat screen TV prominently displayed in the dining room.

Still, nothing about our escape from the military base but the news people were making a big deal about the mysterious flying creature back east that had rescued the girl, Emily Stone from a burning crack house.

Some witnesses were insisting that I was a secret government drone, others an experimental genetically modified animal. Or a magic spell from local wizards. Most of the eyewitnesses stuck to their story that I was indeed a dragon, just smaller, a miniature specimen. Perhaps a juvenile. Looking for its parents. All sorts of dumb theories were floating out on the net and Social Media.

The taxi that came wasn't your standard yellow cab, but a small lime green electric cabriolet licensed through LYFT. The driver was a young dude with an open grin, copper kissed skin and shiny black hair in long braids coiled into a bun. His eyes were a deep brown. He looked Native American.

"Hi. You called for a ride to the Galleria?" He leaned towards the open passenger window, the AC already cranking out frigid air in the rising heat of the morning.

"Yup," I nodded and held the door for Molly. He introduced himself as Orji Flores, another cousin to Joe and Maribelle. He said he was a student at UNLV, making extra money as a driver to pay for school. Taking robotic engineering.

We settled in the surprisingly roomy rear seats as he drove us out onto the arterial just off the Interstate. We passed fewer and fewer homes as more open land and ranches appeared. Dude ranches and abandoned homesteads, lack of water the main reason they were no longer working places. I had read about an old Ghost Town that had been revived as a tourist attraction and catered to those with mystic leanings. Crystals were big business along with crystal gazers, vortices, magic, Shamans, and witch doctors. They all hung out their shingles in Crystal City. He asked if we would be interested in seeing it after we were done shopping.

"What makes you think we're tourists?" I was curious.

"Well, for starters, your accent. Just a hint of an Irish lilt and a British clip. And the lady is from the south but lived in New York for a while. Also, she's in sweats. Nobody wears sweats in Vegas where it hits 95˚ before 9 am. Even in the winter," he laughed.

"No thanks. Maybe to the Bellagio after we're done at the Mall. I feel the need for greed."

He laughed again. "Only ones who get greedy are the owners. A sure thing is either stupid or crooked. Just ask the card counters."

The ride didn't take long, maybe fifteen minutes from the time he'd picked us up to the drop-off in front at the North Entrance. I took his card with his phone number, so we could call if we wanted a ride back to the Alameda with him.

Once he'd driven off, we left for the next entrance around the side of the huge mall. The parking lot was immense. Vehicles parked from over all the states except Hawaii. Cameras covered the entire lot and the front entrances to the Mall. A flea couldn't sneak in without being seen and recorded.

We stepped into another world and was assaulted by the sounds of shoppers, tourists and children riding the rides of a full-sized carnival inside. A waterpark was the next exhibit over and a petting zoo beyond that. Ice skating and even snow skiing could be done inside. There was an audible hum from the thousands of conversations going on around us.

The food courts were wall-to-wall, standing room only. We weren't there for the food so didn't linger although it did smell good enough to get me drooling. I found a discount men's shop that sold jeans, trousers, and shirts where I snatched two outfits off the racks in ten minutes or less. Package of new briefs, some socks and I was good to go. Molly remained close to my side making faces at my selection. I was more interested in comfort and camouflage than in style.

When it was her turn, I sent her off to her choice of venue alone while I found a bench near the center of the walkway. There was an exhibit promoting Green Energy. From that vantage point on the balcony, I could see her, the mall cops and anything that might threaten us. I sat on the bench, looked around to see if anyone was close enough to overhear my conversation before I dialed the number written on the hotel paper.

It rang. Almost long enough for me to think that it was going to voice-mail but then, I heard Whit's cautious voice say hello.

"Don't say my name or your uncle's or your mom. Where are you?"

He echoed me but answered first, his voice a near shriek. "Gray Knob, Tennessee."

I didn't know where that was but with a smartphone, I could Google it. "I've got her. She's with me, unhurt. We need your help, to come get us before anyone finds us. I'm going to buy a car and drive towards you. Someplace safe where we can meet, and they won't think to look."

"Tell me what happened. We saw you on the tube," he started. I shut him down before he could say 'fire,' 'child,' 'rescue' or 'dragon.' All keywords that would trigger the NSA to start a trace and track our conversation.

Cal's voice took over. "She's okay?"

"Fine. Her condition is stable for a week, she said. We found each other and managed to stroll out. Flew a few sightseeing tours and we're looking forward to coming home ASAP. Probably not by Delta."

"I understand. The boy says you want to meet somewhere?"

"Neutral ground for all parties. Somewhere...out of mind, backwoods, and off-the-grid. Know anyplace like that?"

"I might. Where are you?"

"Ever wish you could go gold mine hunting?"

"No," he said slowly. "Can't say I have."

"You'd be one of the very few that didn't buy a map to this place. Course, no one's ever found it and come out alive with any gold."

"You like Elvis?" he asked, and I knew that he had figured out what I was trying to say without saying it.

"Don't worry. The two of us aren't going to the Chapel."

"Then, how about the Hound Dog?"

I didn't understand but he told me to ask her and she would. We ended the conversation with both a warning and a threat. He'd not once asked how I was doing.

# Chapter 26

Molly was excited. She came running up to me and told me I had to follow her. At first, she grabbed my hand and led me off at a trot down to the first level and towards the back part of the mall where the stores were small and eclectic. I thought that something had alarmed her but when she swept her arms out at the window display, I realized _why_ she had drawn me there. The shop sold prosthetics. Of all kinds. Arms, hands, legs, feet, hair, ears, noses, and _eyes._ Even eyepatches. She led me in and the old man dressed in a satiny suit looked up from his tablet and smiled at us.

"Can I help you?" He very nicely did not assume that I was there for the very thing that made me so noticeable. Molly took over.

"My son was in an accident last year and lost his eye as you can see. We had one custom made but he lost it when our luggage went to Florida instead of Vegas. We noticed that you carry some replacement eyeballs. Can you fit him?"

He studied my good eye. "I've never seen one that color before, almost a molten gold. The closest I have is a light brown. If you wanted to wait, I could have my artist match your natural eye and make one that only you could tell wasn't real."

"No, that's okay. We're only going to be in Vegas for three more days. He's tired of hiding in his room. He thinks the girls won't look at him like this."

"I doubt you'd have much trouble attracting female company, son," he told me. "And your mother certainly doesn't look old enough to have a boy your age."

Molly laughed at the compliment. "I'm older than I look. Can you show us what you have?"

He nodded and turned around to peek into a glass case that he'd been leaning on. Picked up a velvet box that had depressions in it like an egg carton. Rows of colored eyeballs looked back at us and gave me a creepy feeling. Blue eyes. Green. Hazel. Brown and violet colored like Elizabeth Taylor's. Red ones, for vampire costumes. Those were shells worn like contacts over the natural eye. Molly picked out the violet one and held it up to my face.

"This one. It makes you look totally different."

"Heterochromia iridis," I said, and he looked surprised.

"Exactly."

I nodded. I liked the look and it helped to disguise my description should the BOLO make it out to Vegas. Molly paid out of her cash and it took a whopping $1200. He said it was usually covered by insurance, so he gave her a receipt that she could turn in for reimbursement.

It was easy enough to put in. I simply wet the prosthesis with my saliva and slid it into the socket. Looked at me in the small mirror he held out and smiled. It did make me look different. Exotic. Unlike myself. And stranger still, I saw through it, after-images of the objects around me. Like an echo of the thing. He watched us leave the store and disappear into the crowds of shoppers.

From there, we took a bus that stopped outside the front entrance of the Mall and dropped you off on the Strip. No one paid me any attention, no one even commented on my two different colored eyes. It brought back a memory of another time and place where I had once worn a jewel that gave me insights into the magical world from which I had come. I wondered what had happened to it and whether it was rolling around back in that strange place in my memories.

We stopped at the Bellagio casino because I wanted to see the exploding fountains. Water shot fifty feet into the air and with the lights, made sparkling diamonds of mist around us. It cooled off those who ventured close enough and was a refreshing treat. We simply walked in and stared at the opulence of the vaunted casino and hotel where the cheapest room went for $500 a day. Still, it wasn't as fancy as Trump Tower, but we weren't there for the glitz. We were there so I could try my hand at inflating the five hundred.

Nobody dressed up to go out anymore. We wandered the different sections, watching the cards games, dealer's tables, one-armed bandits, and craps. What I had in mind was the table where they played 21, the easiest one to manipulate and to bankroll the $500 I had taken from Molly where I would raise it enough to buy us silence on the purchase of a car without papers.

I sat down at the table covered with felt and studied the cards, the dealer, and the other players. Run-of-the-mill people. Men and women in jeans and tees; no high rollers from the looks of any. The dealer was a woman, blonde with her hair sprayed into curls, lightly made up and pretty in a professional way. Her hands were a blur as she shuffled the cards, but I could watch them as they were revealed.

I knew the basics of 21. Blackjack. You had to get the value of face cards to add up to 21 and beat the House's cards. An Ace and a Jack was the perfect pair. Any other combination had to add to or nearest 21 to win. Go over and you bust.

I pushed over my handful of chips that I had received when I turned my cash in at the cashier's box near the entrance to the playing floor. They made a small, unimpressive pile but I hoped to change that. I had kept back a couple of hundred, just in case the whole deal fell through and we needed an emergency stash. Not that two hundred would get us far.

I watched as the dealer cut me my cards. I looked at my hand. Three of Spades and nine of Hearts. She dealt the rest of the table and we waited as each player tapped or held.

I tapped my covered cards, knowing before she dealt what I was getting. When she turned it over, I stared at a 5 of Diamonds. I tapped again and received the 4 of Clubs. I held and bet as we waited to see the House's count. 18. There were gasps of shock when I turned mine over to show 21. Blackjack.

The table grew excited as I won progressively higher stakes, and I won more than I lost. I knew the House was watching to see if I was cheating, counting cards, or even used witchcraft or magic to affect the outcome.

I knew that because the dealer nodded to a man standing near the bar, by a discretely hidden door that must have led to the Security area and the Camera room. He shimmered when I looked at him through the prosthesis; a magical aura that emanated from him like questing fingers.

I sat perfectly still as the ethereal fingers reached me and tried to pry their way into my physical body. I saw the man whisper a spell and that flew towards my face seeking to force its way into my mind. I kept it empty of all but thoughts of food, hoping that it would fool him.

I was afraid to do anything that might acknowledge that I saw or sensed him; afraid to reveal my own arcane nature. I knew that my dragon essence was muted when I was in human form, but I wasn't sure how much leaked through or if he could sense it. I still wore the dog collar around my neck and that screamed arcane possession to any wizard out there. I could only hope that this sniffer would assume I belonged to the owner of the spelled collar. Like an indentured servant or maybe an apprentice.

Around my neck, the collar and leash flashed to life, burning me. I strained to keep any sign of it off my face. He had dark, saturnine features and his eyes hooded behind thick brows as the collar sensed his attempts to read it.

After the collar cooled and I made no reaction, his attention was diverted by another aura at the slot machines that even I felt. Someone was trying to manipulate the inner workings of a slot machine by using a spell of Chance. As his gaze shifted, the creepy fingers slid off me and like eager puppies, gamboled over to the person that had tweaked fate and the sniffer's interest.

I relaxed and gathered up my winnings. I'd already doubled my original stakes twice. I held the handful of $500 chips and stood up. I tipped the dealer and walked briskly over to one of the roulette wheels.

The strange echo of objects I saw through the fake eyeball let me pick out where the ball ended before the wheel stopped spinning. This time, I tried to lose more than I won but in the half hour I played the wheel, I had rolled the $2000 up to 20K. this brought hangers-on to stand around me and women began to congregate at the side of a winner. Wanting to cash in on my good fortune.

Bar-maids in skimpy outfits came around with free drinks but all I took was one beer. A Heiney in a bottle spotted with condensation and she didn't ask if I was old enough to drink.

House policy was to offer free drinks to all the big winners in the hope that getting drunk would cause them to make silly and rash bets. To lose, but I knew better. Unfortunately for the House, my alcohol limit far exceeded a human's.

I set a limit on what I wanted to win. Anything over twenty-five K had to be reported to the IRS and required a bank account. A paper check needed proof of ID as did an EBT. Electronic Bank Transfer. The days of a winner walking out with hundreds of thousands of cash in a bag and run the risk of being mugged were long gone.

Since we didn't have any ID, we couldn't open an account nor pay the taxes up front. So, I kept my winnings at 24,500.

When I finished playing, I pushed away from the wheel and kept one eye on the sniffer. I searched out Molly's general direction. After a couple of hours watching me play, she'd gotten bored with the whole thing and was killing time on the slots. She'd found a bank of them near the exit and among the old men and battle-hardened women, had found an empty seat. She was dutifully sliding her cup of quarters into the machine and watching the bars come up.

"Having fun?" I asked, slipping my chips into her purse. I approved the tight jeans, slinky lavender shirt and shoulder bag she'd purchased at the up-scale shop at the Mall but the 6-inch heels in bright fuchsia looked entirely too sexy. The shoulder bag was large enough for a change of clothes and sneakers; it easily held the 24,000 in chips.

"This is so boring," she complained. "And this stupid machine hasn't paid off once. These are my last six quarters."

Angrily, she put in the last six and was turning away as I watched the '7's all line up in a row. Bells and whistles, lights, and flashers all went off on the corner machine. The old man sitting next to her now empty seat tried to scoot over and claim it was his. One snarl from me stopped him in his tracks.

Molly started jumping up and down in her excitement, as excited as a kid at Christmas. "How much did I win?" she screamed as she gathered up the quarters as fast as her hands could move and all her cups were filled. We let them fall on the floor as management came over to congratulate her.

These weren't penny slots or nickels. They were quarters and she'd played 6 in a row increasing the possible payouts. It came to a cool 1.8 million. Both of us stood there in shock. I wondered how we could accept it; it was probably the worst thing we could have happened. It drew too much attention to us.

I grabbed Molly and held her. Kept her from sitting back down. "You were just holding the seat for this gentleman, Mol. Remember? It's his machine, his quarters. Congratulations, sir!" I pushed her towards the front doors, taking the cup of quarters and placing it in the old man's hands. He looked quite shocked and then greed stepped in.

"That's right. I asked the young lady to hold my seat while I went to the restroom. Bad prostate, you know. Thanks, sweetie."

She sputtered and resisted as I pushed her past the gathering crowds noticing that the sniffer had disappeared. We made it outside and I was surprised to realize how much time had actually passed. We'd been inside for over six hours. The casino kept the lights constant and no clocks anywhere to let you know what time it was or how long you'd been inside. They even regulated the temperature and the air pressure for the maximum effect to keep you inside and playing. It was a totally artificial environment geared to make you spend and lose money and keep coming back for more.

Outside, reality checked in as I noted the time, late afternoon. It was hot but comfortable for me although Molly was steaming. More from my forcing her away from claiming almost 2 million dollars than the 90˚ heat.

"You gave away 2 million dollars!" she hissed, her green eyes wide and blazing mad.

"Molly. The first thing the casino does is take 40% off the top and pay the IRS. The tax monsters. You can't pay your taxes without a social security number. You can't get a social security number without a birth certificate or a passport. You can't open a bank account without ID or SS#. Do you really want to walk into a bank with a check worth over a million and deposit it in the name of Molly Marlin and your real SS number? Or into the IRS office? The NSA will be there waiting before the ink on the check is dry."

She was silent for a beat. "What about your cash?"

"I kept my winnings to under the limit. 25K. I don't have to report it. We have another problem. Once they review the tapes of the machine winning, they'll realize that the old man is lying about whose seat it was and wonder why we walked away from all that money. And there was a sniffer there. Interested in me. Did you use any spells while we were in there? Can you sense anything magical about me?"

"No," she shook her head vehemently. "No magic. I don't do anything to enhance luck or fate. All I can do is encourage hurts to heal faster and plants to grow better. I can't make someone live if they're dying, I can only make them go more easily and with less pain and fear."

She looked around. "Do you see him? The sniffer?"

I hadn't seen him since I'd left the roulette wheel, but I could feel something or someone watching me. It gave me the creeps.

"We need the cash to get out of here. Do you think that you can go back inside and cash in our chips?" I was a little hesitant about letting her out of sight and going back inside alone but no one had seen her with me. Not enough to conclude that we were a couple.

People were still coming into the casino in large crowds. Large enough to hide us. I moved sideways through the throngs until we were near one of the other entrances. This one was not in direct line with the cameras, one of the only dead spots I'd seen.

I could observe the cashier's box from the doorway and there wasn't a lengthy line exiting. Not like the long queues for buying chips.

She nodded. "I can do that." Gathering all of the 24-$1000 chips and the 5-$100's, she walked confidently up to the window of bullet-proof glass. She slid the chips into the tray and I watched the cashier ask Molly a question. Because I could read lips, I knew that she had asked if Molly wanted cash, check or a combination of both. Molly hesitated and said cash. Large bills.

It took a while to count out 24K and it made quite a pile. Filled up her oversized purse where she could barely close the zipper. The cashier then told Molly that an escort to her car or hotel room was provided free of charge and was mandatory. She tried to protest but the woman was insistent.

I saw her hand move towards a button on the underside of the counter and in less than a minute, a man in a suit that barely contained his bulky muscles stepped out of the playing area and entered the lobby. He strode to Molly's side. He could have played against an NFL football player or doubled as a bouncer. I would have assumed that he was the bouncer until I saw the tactical earpiece and wire hanging around his neck.

He held the door for Molly who unhappily exited the casino and very carefully ignored me as she moved towards the street where he flagged down a yellow cab for her.

I saw her get in, thank muscle man and she disappeared as the cab drove off. I stood there in disbelief, not knowing what to do or where she'd gone. Or if she'd ditched me to keep the cash for herself.

# Chapter 27

By the time that I had walked myself to the curb for my own ride, only to wonder how I was going to pay for it, a yellow cab pulled up behind me and beeped. I turned to look, and Molly leaned out her window.

"Get in. Before Steroidman sees me."

I slid into the cab and sat next to her in shock, embarrassed that I had thought she'd dumped me. She smiled sweetly. "This nice cab driver is named Manuelo and he took me around the block, so we could cool off after our argument, dear. He also claims he knows where we can pick up a decent used car for cash. No questions asked and it's clean."

"Okay. But can we stop for lunch? I'm starving, and I was too busy working to get anything in there," I said.

"Chinese, Italian, French or fast food?" Molly asked.

"You pick. As long as it's a lot of food," I said, my stomach growling loud enough to draw comments from both of them.

"All you can eat prime rib?" the cabbie asked.

"Sounds good to me," I agreed. So, he took us to the Hilton where the dinner was included in the show. We ate rare prime rib with twice-baked potatoes, fresh asparagus, wine that flowed freely and baked Alaska. All to the accompaniment of a wonderful Elvis impersonator, followed by one that did Cher.

Dinner made a sizable dent in the cash I had left on me. The bill came to over a hundred bucks, but it was worth it. We left the dining room and emerged onto the Strip. I knew it was late, near midnight but the street was so lit up that you could forget it was evening.

It was easy to get a cab in this city, there were literally thousands cruising up and down the streets, not just the Strip. There were signs for Uber and LYFT on glass storefronts and billboards and even shuttles coming from the airport every 15 minutes. Bus service for those who had lost their shirts and wagered their cars.

Down the street from the Strip were the Missions and Gambler Anonymous clinics. Pawn shops and used car dealers who'd pay cash, so you could go back to gambling. Instead of us taking a cab, Molly wanted to walk so we strolled like a couple and gawked at the sights. Just like tourists.

Halfway across the avenue of lights, she picked up my hand and held it, the other keeping her purse tucked into her side. Protecting the money.

"Should we be walking around with all this cash?" she worried.

"I'm a dragon, Molly. Who would dare to test me?" As long as I kept my attitude geared to that temperament, no one wanted to even be near me.

Towards one a.m. after both of us were yawning like fools and giggling from exhaustion, we stumbled onto a side street that would take us to our B&B.

The shops grew farther and farther apart and the houses more run-down and old. Old neighborhoods, still without the large overhanging trees that I was used to seeing. There were trees – mesquite and brushy cedar, neither of which could be called trees as they were more like bushes...or thickets. There was another bush-like tree called a Palo Verde; it looked almost like it had feathers instead of leaves. Very lacy and fragile. Although all these species could grow in thick clumps out in the desert, there wasn't enough water to support many, so they grew sparsely. Not a lot of coverage to hide in.

So, when the three men materialized out of one such thicket in front of us, I was more than startled. Especially when one of them turned out to be the man from the casino. The Sniffer. The other two were lean, short-haired, and strong looking dudes in cargo shorts and dark blue golf shirts. With gold badges silk-screened over the breast pocket. LVPD. They were armed, too with Sig Sauers in pancake holsters on their hips.

"Molly," I murmured dry-mouthed. I didn't take my eyes off them. _"Run. Change me."_

She wanted to argue, stay, and fight but she was no match for any one of them, let alone the three. Especially the Magic Sniffer.

"We'd like a word with you," he said in a voice of melted butter but the spell he'd cast in his voice did nothing to me. Or Molly. He began to finger weave a spell, but I didn't wait for it to materialize before I charged them, praying that she would listen to my warning.

When I saw one of the cops take after her, I yelled, _"Molly! Now!"_

I could barely hear her but as long as I knew the words were spoken, it counted. I was converting faster than he could finish his incantation and 40 feet of a pissed-off dragon with diamond-hard scales sloughed off his weak 'freeze' spell.

I avoided stepping on them, not because I didn't want to kill them but because I didn't like picking out body parts from between my toes. I did use my tail to sweep them off their feet and toss them twenty feet away to land in a particularly vicious bed of cholla cactus.

With one leap, I was in the air flying after fleet-footed Molly. She was _fast_ and had established a good ten-foot lead on the cop chasing her. He must have been a bike copper because his legs were churning through the sand as if it were pavement and not molasses. I gaped at his calf muscles, they looked like scrapping squirrels.

I swooped down and snatched Molly from his eager grasp by no more than an arm's length. He fell forward and screamed as he whipped around onto his back instead of his stomach. I hovered over him as his second reaction was to pull his pistol and shoot off the entire clip at me. I rolled instantly and put Molly on top while I was upside down. Out of the line of fire so he couldn't accidentally shoot her. I screamed at him, called him names and he winced as my voice nearly ruptured his eardrums.

The bullets bounced off me. I hoped one would ricochet back at him in poetic justice. Rising higher into the night sky, I kept an eye out for approaching aircraft, I was sure that one of them would radio it in and send planes after us.

Below me, I spotted the intermittent flares of the sniffer's incantations. One such enchantment caused the collar to ignite and took my breath away. I roared in pain, reached my hands up to tear at the scorching metal, desperately attempting to remove it or at least, pull it away from my flesh. I couldn't fly and fight it at the same time; I began to fall out of the sky, going lower until we could see the pale faces of the three men.

The sniffer looked different now. His entire body glowed green and icy yellow runes danced in the air around him. He was more than just a magic sniffer; he was also a _Mage._

"Raven!" Molly shrieked. "You're going down and back to him!"

"I know! I'm trying. It's as if he has hands on my reins!" I cried. Struggling, I flapped fiercely and pulled up at least two hundred feet. He roared at me and I plainly heard his words. He was ordering me to return to his control or suffer the torments of a broken invocation.

Molly leaned on my neck and reached for the golden reins, pulling my head up and my wings followed. Her healing magic bathed me; gave me the strength to break from his cold clutch. I turned my neck, blew them a raspberry, and held up my middle finger in a gesture that needed no translation.

We flew east, as fast, and as straight as I could manage. Before we had gone a hundred miles, I was shadowed by others in unmarked helicopters and slow-moving planes that were able to stay with me and maneuver as sharply as I could. It seemed as if the entire country was after us, both the mundane and enchanted.

I could fly longer, they needed refueling. I was faster than anything but a jet. I could out-maneuver most of them, but I was hampered by Molly's human strength and endurance. By her fragile hold on my back and her physical needs.

Several times in the first few hours, I thought that I had lost them only to come up against their forces waiting ahead to block us from advancing. How they coordinated all the craft in the air without running into someone amazed me.

I tried flying low and slow, under the radar. High enough so that only a jet could see us but it strained Molly's lungs beyond her endurance. I flew through the cloud cover, but they found me with IFR and radar and no matter what I did, there was always one on my tail or at either side.

I flew until exhaustion dogged me and I found myself dozing on the wing. Which was like falling asleep at the wheel. Sleepy enough to slow down and nearly tumble out of the blue.

Their escorts turned me back, away from my easterly direction and what I assumed was safety. Swinging me in a wide loop so gradually that I didn't notice until we had nearly made it to Phoenix. When I surveyed the circus beneath me, I was stunned that it was so large and that we were almost back where we had started. How they had set this up in Phoenix instead of Vegas astounded me.

Massive blacked-out helicopters ringed me. I sought an escape route; tried to climb higher and get above them but there was one above me, too. I knew that no matter their weapons, they could not harm me, but Molly was another matter with her frail human flesh. The bullets would injure or kill her, even if they were not aiming for her.

I kept my eyes out for those big barreled tube rifles, the ones that discharged the web. If their soldiers tried to use that, I was almost sure that my larger size would be more than the tensile strength of the cords could hold. Unless the gunships coordinated their attack and fired at the same time. Then, my size and weight would not be a burden on the gunship's power. There was the possibility that they did not know about my larger size before they had come after me.

I charged the lead Black Hawk, seeing the pilot's gaping mouth below his helmet as my face and teeth filled the screen of his PAVE helicopter. He flinched and dodged the bird sideways but not fast enough to avoid my shoulder from hitting the skids hard enough to send it screaming to the ground. I saw it hit in a burst of shrapnel and didn't care whether the pilot and crew made it out alive. It did not burst into flame and I threw an enormous spitball to ensure that the soldiers did not burn to death. That I could not stomach, even when I was pissed.

They fired on me. From all sides, forgetting that they were in each other's cross-fire. I dropped low enough to skim the ground with my rear legs as tracers and heavy bullets flew in a sheet of lead at each other. Ships fell out of the sky and those caught in fiery explosions. I tore my talons through the roofs of Humvees, tanks, and APCs, eliciting return fire from those on the ground.

"Molly?" I called in fear. "Are you okay?"

My answer was a weak cough and the sound of barfing. I had to find a safe place to stash her, so I could fight my way free. I had to fight so I could get free.

"Raven," she called. "Here. Eat this."

I turned my head around to look at her, something a dragon could do because my neck was long and flexible. She held out her new purse; the one loaded with all our cash.

"What?"

"I swiped some lava rocks from the casino display. Just in case."

"The money?" I asked.

"In my pockets. What I could fit. The rest I dropped somewhere over Utah."

I snapped my jaws on the rocks, purse, and all, felt the sudden mixing of the volatile reaction in my gut that allowed me to produce flames. I burped sulfur. Aiming in a broad arc around me, I let loose a flame that burned blue-white and melted the rotors of the choppers that were still in the air. The rest bolted sideways away from me, leaving a great hole in their ranks for me to squeak through. I poured on the speed, aware that Molly had wrapped her arms and legs around me and was holding on with a grip I suspected would not loosen even in death.

The distant line of the Superstitions was my target. Once I entered those canyons, mountains, and ravines no one could track or find me. The area had abundant wildlife; mule deer and pronghorns, even the occasional bighorn sheep on some of its higher ridges. Even better yet, the Apache tribe still protected the area and considered it part of their sacred tribal territory. Not open to the police or military.

I had almost cleared the last piece of military equipment when my wings started to tingle. The tingle became an itch that morphed into laser-like pain and I struggled to keep us in the air. My wings had lost their lift and as I looked back, I saw _her_. Standing on the rooftop of an APC that hadn't taken a hit.

She wore a one-piece dark blue jumpsuit that fit her like a second skin and had shimmering gold scrollwork on the wide cuffs, wrists, around the waist and low neckline. Both hands were in the air and from their palms, short threads of reddish light streaked towards me.

Hitting my wings, the threads ate holes in the leathery folds between my wing ribs. I threw my head back and howled as Cherelle laughed at my pain. I breathed fire on her, but she held one hand up and the flames parted around her and around the others standing below her. Wizards and Mages. Dressed in working gear, complete with wands and staffs. The pulse and flow of magic made the air resonate with thunder and fury, explosions of light and color that vied for ascendency over the wreck of the military's own destruction.

I grit my teeth and kept flying although it was a struggle and more of a glide than true flight. If I calculated correctly and begged the fates for a great deal of luck, I was almost sure that I would still have enough of a glide path left to reach the first peak of a series of ridges that formed the chain of the Superstition Mountains.

By the time I'd gone the entire distance, I was only a few feet over the mountaintop and my wings were in tatters. Keening in distress, I rolled around so that Molly was tucked into my arms and I set her down at the junction of branch and trunk in a large pine tree just before I hit the ground.

I rolled. Legs and neck, wings and tail hitting a rocky ledge and bounced up and over. In an avalanche of rocks, boulders, branches, dirt, and gravel, I fell into a narrow canyon. Bouncing off one wall and into the next.

I was a pinball going tilt, unable to stop my descent or to drag my claws into the wall or catch hold of something with my tail to arrest my tumbling.

At last, I hit the bottom of the dark cleft between the walls, the trickle of water the last thing I heard.

# Chapter 28

Raven!

_Ray-_ vaaaannnn _!_

_Ray-_ vaaan _. Vaan! Vaan! Vaan._

The echo wormed its way into my ears. I heard it. As I heard the faint trickle of water nearby. The slither of snakes on grit. Of mice scrambling through tunnels beneath me.

The soft pad of a curious coyote's feet and the ticking of its claws. I heard the deep groaning of the earth as she slumbered beneath me and the sharp crie-crie-crie of a hawk floating above me.

I did not hear my own heart beating but I felt it thudding in my ears and chest almost louder than a drum beat.

I groaned in misery and barely heard that yet when I tried to move, the sound I made echoed off the stone walls and silenced all the life around me. The silence was pregnant. I closed my eyes. I did not want to know how badly my body had suffered or why Cherelle's magic had eaten away my wings so that I could no longer fly.

The clatter of falling stones roused me. A mini-avalanche of boulders and gravel rained down the slopes and pinged off my back. I reflexively raised a wing and screamed at both the pain and sight of the lacy remnants of my mangled wings. All that was left were the rib bones that stiffened the flight membranes. If the wings remained that way and did not grow back, I would _never fly again_.

I was wedged into a narrow four-foot-wide cleft in the stone mountainside. Twisted over on my right side, I was stuck with my hips and one shoulder pinned against the granite and sandstone of the rock cliff. My weak right arm and tail were the only parts of me that still moved. Even my head and neck were pinned so I could not move them, jammed tightly under my wing and front legs. I was blind because my good eye was underneath and jammed into the creek bed. At least my nostrils and mouth were not buried in water or dirt. I would not suffocate or die of thirst. Just hunger. Or shock.

I pushed against the walls of rock with my arm and tail, struggling mightily to free myself, to gain an inch of freedom. Although I was sore, nothing seemed to be broken. That had been my greatest fear - that I would have re-injured those limbs I had broken while human.

I waited. Afraid to yell in case the soldiers and Mages were searching for me. I lay there, nearly upside down and worried that the blood rushing to my brain would eventually kill me. Until I realized that it was unlikely a dragon would have the same circulatory system as a human. Probably it was more like a bat's.

I dozed. In a stupor. I could not tell day from the night; the cleft was deeply shadowed and neither sunlight or moonlight made its creeping way to the bottom where I lay.

I grew thirsty. Sucked up what water I could from the thin trickle. Time passed, and I treated my boredom by explosive bursts of energy trying to lift my bulky body free. Each effort grew progressively shorter and weaker. Days passed. The temperature dropped at regular intervals and low enough to make me shiver. From those changes in temperature, I could deduce that it was night time during those periods. It did not rain but the wind picked up and howled like an angry wolf down the ravine and over the walls.

My thoughts skittered up and down my brain like the wind, never settling on one thought for more than a few seconds. I could only assume that I'd hit my head hard enough to scramble my brains because it took me two days to remember that I had control of my change to human form.

" _Newid fy Ddraig y dynol,"_ I chanted and fell two feet lower, splashing in the tiny creek. Naked, cold, wet, and weaker than I expected, I lay there until I could push myself into getting up. I let myself gain a measure of strength before I moved and when I'd girded myself up to that point, I drew my knees up, rolled into an upright position. With my hands and knees supporting me, I waited until I let my brain reach a functional level that told me I was cogent.

"Ahhh shit," I murmured and stood on wobbling legs. Using the walls for support, I checked my surroundings. The confines of the ravine were granite and sandstone in layers of red and yellow, narrow at the bottom and widening as it rose over a hundred feet above my head. I could barely see a slice of sky, gray and gloomy, its only effect on the floor of the canyon was to make the shadows move across the walls like ghosts. The sun brought no light to me nor illuminated any part of the chasm.

There were some hardy bushes and clumps of grass growing in the sporadic cracks where dirt had gathered, falling from above. Buffalo grass and sagebrush. I worried about flash floods and the high-water marks in the canyon warned me that if such a thing occurred while I was unfortunate enough to be in the way, I would drown. The water line on the canyon walls was over fifteen-feet high.

The floor of the canyon was scoured smooth, sandy and with little gravel. What boulders had been washed down by flash floods were the size of a VW and blocked my access unless I climbed over. The trickle of water that remained was no wider than a hands-breadth and disappeared under the boulders.

The chasm went straight forward for a hundred feet before it began a series of twists and turns; sometimes growing wider and at other times narrowing until it was all I could do to squeeze through. At one point, it was so narrow that I could not pass my shoulders until I tore them, and the blood lubricated the stone making me slide with no friction.

I sweated, salt dripping down into my eye and burning me. I blinked and rubbed at it, noting that the fake eyeball was still in place. I hadn't lost it as the dragon nor when I'd changed back to my frailer body.

If it was warm enough for me to sweat, the temperature in the gorge had to be in the hundreds. I went up-canyon in the hopes that the gully would gradually shorten, and I could climb out. I didn't find any place like that when I retraced my route. In fact, the gulch ended in a sheer cliff face that rose two hundred or more feet straight up.

I walked, crawled, and slid for hours down the gorge until I reached the other end. Here, the walls were not perpendicular but vertical with a slope of over 60˚. I studied the north face and thought that I might be able to free-climb my way out. At least halfway up but after that, I wasn't sure if I could stretch far enough to reach the next hand or foothold.

I would have given a year's worth of freedom for a rope and one piton. Or the ability to change back into the dragon on my own. Even without wings, my talons would claw me out of the gorge, up the slope in a heartbeat.

I prayed that Molly was safe; that she had not been picked up by Cherelle or the military, that she had not fallen from the tree or been injured in any way. That Whit and his uncle were not racing towards us, in a vain attempt trying to rescue us.

My stomach growled, reminded me that it had been several days since I'd last eaten and I felt it in the weakness of my arms and legs, the light-headedness as I went from standing to sitting. Or when I bent down to scrape a hole in the sand of the wash looking for more water.

I kept walking hoping to find a way out, but the chasm just kept breaking off into smaller and narrower channels until I was facing a tunnel no wider than my arm. There was no way that I could climb out or continue.

Backtracking, I returned to the North face, the only spot where I had even a snowball's chance in hell of climbing out. The first few steps up onto the rock face were the worst. Once I was committed, I didn't have to force myself to keep going like I had to start. My bare feet and fingers clung to the surface of the stone with tactile agility, surprising me. I had no fear of heights, just closed-in spaces and that took a back seat to where I was hanging then. When I looked down from my halfway point up the vertical wall, the view sobered me. If I fell, it would be fatal.

Rest breaks were every 15 minutes or whenever I had reached a point where my feet had the best leverage to hold me without strain.

Twenty feet from the edge, I hit the stickiest part. I could neither go higher nor sideways and there was a bulge at the rim which would require me to flip my legs up over my head and pivot off my hands, roll and stand on the top of the cliff. I knew I couldn't do it; my shoulder wasn't strong enough and the stress on my digits was becoming untenable. My muscles quivered and the thought of falling terrified me. I looked up and saw a crack in a darkness that suggested a hole big enough for my fist. I thought maybe I could leap high enough to reach the crack, jam my fist in and get that much closer to the lip of what was essentially an upside-down bowl. The trouble was that once there, the rock above was smooth and seamless without any place for me to find a grip. Absolutely nothing to rest my feet on so all my considerable 190 lbs weight would be hanging from one clenched fist.

Before I could make that decision, I heard the soft sounds of leather or cloth scraping on stone. I froze. Not knowing if one of the soldiers or Cherelle had found me. I was sort of protected from view by the overhang but that also prevented me from observing who or what was making the noises overhead.

Dust trickled down, followed by small pebbles that bounced off my head. I stifled a complaint, lest that it was an enemy and heard me. I blinked what dust I could out of my eye without being able to wipe it since I had use of only one hand. Widening my eyes, I stared as a vaguely familiar face leaned over the lip of the edge on his belly.

It was a Native American and he wasn't alone. He had brought three other men with him, all from the same Apache tribe. They were dressed in tan duck trousers and Carhartt coats; perfectly camouflaged for the mountain and dry brush that surrounded us. Two carried backpacks and the other had emergency gear in one of those black soft-sided cases.

"Hey," he said and grinned at me. "Need a hand?"

"Molly?" I asked in a near panic. My arms trembled with the release of adrenalin.

"We found her. She's okay," he returned hastily. "Are you injured?"

"No, not bad. Not until I fall from here and that depends on how long you leave me hanging," I said sarcastically.

"Oh, right." One of his buddies dropped a blue and white nylon climbing rope over the edge. I didn't have a free arm to wrap it around both legs, my waist and upper body in a makeshift climber's harness. So, the smallest man, a teenager slid down next to me and placed a harness around me, making sure that it was snug across my thighs and waist. The boy climbed up as easily as if he were climbing the stairs at home. After that, I sat while they hauled me up, a limp and worn-out package delivered to Terra firma.

# Chapter 29

The first thing he did was hand me a canteen. I shook it and took a shallow sip. Water. Tasting of minerals and warm but welcome all the same. I drained it, pulling it back from his protest as he warned me not to guzzle or risk vomiting. They seemed surprised when that didn't happen. They were also careful not to stare at my nakedness.

"Orji, right?" I asked as one of the men began to run his hands down my flesh. It wasn't uncomfortable, his fingers passed gently over my bones and joints. I realized that he was searching for injuries. He was young - younger than I, his black eyes solemn but he had a small smile on his lips.

"Relax," he said. "I'm a paramedic in Flagstaff."

I must have looked puzzled. I thought I'd circled back to Vegas. He explained further. "Orji called us, and I came down to help search. We're all brothers. He's a...what you call a Shaman. He recognized you when he picked you up at the B&B and took you to the Casino. He knew that there was a Sniffer inside and warned us we might be needed. He tracked you to Phoenix and warned our people to keep an eye out for something strange."

"Yes," Orji said softly. "I knew that you were something...unworldly. A being from the Spirit World. There are heavy rumors circulating the entire globe about you. Wizards and Warlocks are descending on Las Vegas from the East Coast Council, the West Coast Consortium and from the Asia's. Policemen from New York and the Military's P.R.E Bureau. They had set up a trap to force you down near here because of the military base."

"PRE?"

"Phenomenon and Rare Events. It came into existence sixty years ago when _you_ were here the _last_ time." His eyes roamed my face and chest. "You look good for your seventies."

"I'm not seventy-years-old _or_ in my sixties. Where is Molly?"

"She's at the Rancheria. That's a small village hidden in the mountains north of here. A day's hike. Think you can make it? If not, one of us can go back and get you a horse."

I looked at my bare feet and skin, already pinking in the brutal sun. One of his brothers pulled off a backpack and handed it to me. Inside I found a complete outfit including underwear, briefs, still in its plastic wrapper. And a note from Molly stating that she was okay. Safe. She had packed me protein bars - a dozen, beef jerky and more water.

I smiled. Ate before I dressed, and they made no comments as I devoured every bit of food and water she'd packed for me. It felt good to be clothed. As I pulled the flannel shirt of drab green over my shoulders, I heard their collective gasps and drawn-in hisses of shock yet not one asked about the still livid scars on my back.

The way down off the escarpment I'd fallen as the dragon was a scramble on a slope of scree - loose gravel that made footing treacherous, rocks bouncing from above and below me, pelting me on the arms and back of my head as I was doing the same to the two brothers in front. We went down on our butts, hands, and heels at a fast crab-like pace. I was grateful when we reached the bottom of a sandy wash where the footing was much easier.

The rest of the hike was following game trails up and down slopes but nothing too physically challenging. They stopped frequently for water breaks, but I suspected they were more for my lack of endurance and weakness. The two-day ordeal and the fall had taken its toll on me - I was tired and sore by the end of the day.

One minute we were walking between two narrow, reddish walls of rock and then it flared open to reveal a small meadow of about five acres. It had grass, peach trees, and a handful of adobe houses with flat roofs covered with mesquite twigs woven so tightly that they repelled water. As for water, I heard a spring bubbling up out of the ground behind one of the houses and there was a well lined with fitted rocks with its own hand pump drawn into a wooden trough.

Chickens ran underfoot and there were two horses grazing down the meadow. Several people were standing in the open doorways that lacked a closing of any kind. For the most part, they were women and I saw no children. Women from middle age all the way to well-aged. Some wore traditional Native garb and others were dressed in loose-fitting jeans and work shirts with the cuffs rolled up to the elbows. All of them had dark hair and either brown or black eyes. Faces straight out of the Old West.

I searched for Molly and it wasn't until we stepped foot in the small central courtyard between the houses that I saw her. Sitting on a wooden bench with her head bent over a tiny gray-haired elder, she was holding the woman's crippled, arthritic hands and performing her healing magic.

"Molly!" I cried gladly and attempted to run but my treacherous feet tangled, and I skidded to an ignoble scramble that nearly brought me chin first to the ground. I was suddenly and totally exhausted as if the last three days' trouble had come at me all at once. The brothers held me up as Molly leaped to her feet and ran to me. The minute that she placed her hands on my arm, I felt her magic soothe me. To my surprise, she hugged and kissed me before she checked me for additional hurts.

She brought me inside the one-room cabin and had me sit on a rope bed that was strangely comfortable. The bed was covered with a beautiful hand-woven wool blanket.

"Raven," she said happily. "You're not hurt."

I grinned, suddenly light-hearted now that we were together and still free. The old woman and brothers all crowded into the small room and introduced themselves.

Orji, I knew. His brothers were named Charlie, Florian, and Inon. Inon was the paramedic and Florian the youngest. It had been he that had roped down to help me. The old woman was Tito Amelda, their great-grandmother. She suffered from debilitating arthritis; a real sorrow as she was one of the most famous weavers in the Southwest. Her rugs had sold for over hundreds of thousands of dollars but the last time she could handle her loom had been ten years ago. She had made the beautiful rugs in the room before her hands had become too crippled.

She spoke, a curiously harsh language yet melodic and Orji translated even though I understood her – another trait of the dragon. We had the ability to understand all the languages of man and animals. She asked her kin about me, why did the white world want me so desperately?

"Because he is a creature from the Spirit World, a mighty talisman," Orji explained. "A being of great power and prestige. Their wizards and shamans want him as a battery to call upon as they work their magic spells."

"But how can he be censored if he is so powerful?" she puzzled.

I answered in her tongue. "I was brought here by a wizard who thought he had bespelled a demon, trapped me within a pentagram and collared me with incantations using my blood and flesh. He bound me to his will and made me his servant, nay, slave. I cannot break free until he wills it. Nor can I go home until he releases me. When he brought me forth from my...plane to this world, the spell took my memories from me. I do not know how to get home should I ever be free to do so."

"And Molly?" she asked.

"Molly is the sister to the wizard and mother of my friend, Whit. She is the reason that he brought me forth. She was taken by their magic bureau for reasons I do not know," I explained. "Her brother thought to use me to gain her release."

"Are you a wizard, warrior or shaman? Beast or god?" Amelda returned and Molly took my hand to tug me to my feet. I followed her willingly out to the courtyard where she had everyone step back from me until they were safely out of range.

" _Ddraig y draig,"_ she chanted, and my transformation was swift and painless, my wings marred no longer. With a glad roar, I opened them to their full length and beat them against the air pressure, lifting a dozen feet off the ground before I settled gently back at Molly's side. I told her the other phrase and she used it to make me more manageable. I fluttered over to the hitching rack and hooked my rear legs firmly onto the cedar log and preened. The sun felt good on my scales and I glimmered brilliantly in the fading light.

Their faces reflected utter astonishment, as did Molly's. They called me Gaagé, which they told me meant Crow. She had not yet seen me in my dragonet form, yet she knew enough not to call me 'cute.'

It was obvious that they had no idea that I was a dragon, they had expected a wizard who cast spells or a healer like Molly. Or perhaps a demon such as Callimachus had thought he'd conjured up from the planes of Hell.

"Could he carry a rider?" Florian asked diffidently.

"More than one at a time. But only in the larger version," I answered, and he sputtered in total disbelief.

"You talk! Speak English!"

"Of course, I talk," I laughed. "Both as a man and a dragon. Why would I not?"

"Because you're an animal!"

"Oh, sure. Like dragons belong to the flora and fauna of Shadow Earth. Draconis Dracon Europa, the Latin classification. Right up there with unicorns, talking Sphinxes and griffons."

"Would you...could you...give us a...flight? Ride?" Orji asked for all of them. I looked around and at the sky. Shook my head.

"I'm afraid the witch would sense me. Or see me, on radar or satellite. If this place is hidden, it's best that it remains that way."

Amelda spoke. She said that there were spirit guides who'd blessed the valley and kept eyes from seeing or finding a way in or returning to where the seeker had begun his quest. The quest for the lost gold. Knowing the reputation of the Superstitions, the number of people who had been lost or killed looking for the Lost Dutchman's Mine and the gold, I was not surprised to hear that this place was thought to be cursed, hidden and sacred. I knew precisely where the gold was, my dragon's nose knew the scent of gold, as well as I knew my own. I did not state that, of course.

Molly decided that it was far safer for me to return to my two-legged form and I was grateful to return to the cot and stretch out. I fell asleep and she did not wake me for supper. I slept straight through to the next dawn. While I was asleep, I dreamed. Strange dreams in color that were bizarre and finally organized themselves into a coherent story. Like a film. I was lying on the cot, but it was no longer in the small house. Instead, both the cot and I were floating in the night sky made brilliant by stars. Shooting stars went by my head with startling regularity so I didn't pay attention after a few hours nor did I wonder why I was floating on a bed in the sky.

Molly was there, a shadowy figure behind me and Orji, his brothers, and the old woman all hovered near me. On wings that had come straight from a Swallowtail Butterfly. They flapped in slow, measured beats that pushed the nearby stars away from us.

"Pretty cool," I said to them and Amelda hushed me with a rude word.

"Shut your yap and listen," she chided. I was affronted. I didn't usually get talked to in my dreams. "This is the only safe way for your friends to speak with you. The boy, his uncle, and friends are under surveillance by witches and police and are coming this way to reach you. If they find you, the sniffers will, too. If they try to call you, they will trace your location, even hidden. You must find them in the dream world and tell them to wait wherever they are so our people can get to them first."

"How do I do that, Oh Great Oz?" I asked.

"I will guide you to them. Think of whom you which to speak," she ordered.

I thought of Whit and the bed and I whizzed through the night as if we had wings. I followed a luminescent trail left by the moon as it skittered before me. It brought me straight down the old highway Rt. 66, to the big green dinosaur that was an iconic landmark on its route. Sitting on the T-Rex's head was Whit and hugging its rear legs were Jax, Cal, and Lorican Stone. All of them were somewhat insubstantial except for Stone. To my surprise, it was Stone that spoke.

"Raven." His face lit up as he peered at me from beneath the T-Rex. "You're alive."

"Pretty much obvious, Sherlock. The old lady said I had to warn you. Don't come to Vegas for me. Stop wherever you are and hole up. They know you're coming; it's a trap."

Amelda smacked me on the head for calling her an old lady. I complained, and she told me to show respect. "What? I'm dreaming. I have no control over my subconscious!" I whined.

Stone interrupted. "We're almost there. Vegas. We heard reports that you were killed – blown out of the sky by a powerful witch. Callimachus was afraid that Molly was with you."

"She was. I wasn't. Don't come," I repeated feeling the dream fade. "I'm not in Vegas anymore. Phoenix, in the mountains. Promise me you won't come, or I'll blow flames up all your asses."

His face, the bed and a frowning Amelda faded as the night sky gave way to a brilliant dawn as it broke through the open door of the house. Rays of light fell across my face and I rolled over onto my back to look up at the seamed and wrinkled face of the Dream Weaver. She grunted and departed as if I were no longer of interest to her, but I saw the slight gleam in her eye and a tiny smile on those stern lips.

# Chapter 30

Breakfast was stringy meat folded into tortillas. Goat from the taste of it. Coffee strong enough to float a horseshoe, no milk or sugar. Fried bread dough. I ate everything and all of it, it was more than filling, it left my stomach warm and happy for the first time in days. I didn't even have to get out of bed to eat. It was table and chair in the tiny home. Once I was done, I went in search of my rescuers and Molly. I found her out back where a huge wooden, old-fashioned loom occupied the best place in the courtyard. A shaded corner with enough room to sit and visit in comfort yet still work the shuttle.

Amelda was explaining in softly accented English how it worked as she set up the weft and warp lines that formed the foundation of all cloth. Her hands flashed between the white linen cords and the shuttle, weaving red and black threads of native wool in the beginnings of a design. I had a suspicion that it might include a black dragon.

Her hands were clean, no sign of swollen knuckles, contorted finger bones or any pain in her movement. Molly's magic had cured her arthritic joints. I looked around and saw no one else.

"Where is everyone?"

"Orji had to go back to his classes and Inon had to work a shift today. Florian and Charlie are herding sheep," Molly announced. "Churro sheep. Very ancient breed almost bred out of existence by the Army."

"Sheep? I thought that was a Navajo thing. I didn't see any sheep," I said.

"There's another canyon meadow beyond this one. That's where the sheep graze and the boys ran them along your back trail to cover your tracks in case anyone tracked your fall down that cliff. You left a big mess. They want you to stay here until the heat's off and the P.R.E. looks elsewhere," Molly said.

"I can't stay here. Whit, Cal, and Stone are on their way to Vegas looking for us. They're being followed by agents, cops and the magic fraternity. I warned them not to come but I don't know if he'll listen. Your brother doesn't strike me as the type to heed a dream. And besides, he still thinks I'm a demon out to eat them. Especially since the dream came from me." I paused. "If they come ahead to Vegas, he'll encounter that cop that's interested in me and he knows what I look like as a human, he knows Jordemayne's license plates, his ID and hence his name. I'm sure he knows all about your family and friends and has photos of all of you. The only thing I'm not sure of is if they know I'm the dragon, either the large or the small version. Or both."

"What do you intend to do, Raven?" she asked.

"I need to warn them. Somehow. Get them to turn back. Without using a cell or landline or leaving a trace. Got any ideas? Besides another dream?" I glanced at the Dream Weaver who favored me with a scowl. "No offense, ma'am."

She spoke in her tongue and I translated it for Molly's sake. "She said that I should take my Spirit guide form. I can't, the dragon is too visible and leaves a powerful magical aura that is easily tracked."

She spat and said in English, "you have another form that you used once. Do you not remember? You were a four-legged beast, a racing mule that many sought to capture. No one looks at a mule when they are searching for a boy. Or a dragon."

I took exception to the 'boy' but vaguely remembered being an equine and I recalled breaking a foreleg in an escape attempt. I almost ended up as mule meat.

"Molly could easily ride a mule out of the mountains and no one would waste a second glance at you," Amelda agreed. "Darken her skin with dye, change her clothes to a skirt and blouse, she could pass for a half-breed Apache woman."

I nodded. Did not know the phrase to change me but Amelda used her own witch magic to work the spell.

It took longer than going dragon and I felt it more – the lengthening and stretching of human bones and muscles into equine. Once again, my clothing did not come with me but Amelda gathered it into neat folds and packed it into a backpack which she tied around my neck. As always, the collar converted with me and reminded me that I was still a slave and bound by his desires. It became a bridle and reins made of shiny patent leather.

"What a mule you are!" the Apache _curandero_ admired. Seemed she appreciated a good horse more than a _'boy.'_ She stroked my neck and walked around me, observing every part that was exposed. She chuckled wickedly. "Don't let a _caballero_ rope you, boy or you'll lose those fine _cojones_ to gelding. Nobody leaves a jack mule whole."

I shivered and tucked my balls close. Pawed the ground. She took pity on me and had Molly practice the phrase to make me equine until she had it down perfect. Molly was kind enough to change me back into a human where I would not be exposed to the wicked old woman's eyes. I hurriedly dressed, and we discussed how we would leave the Rancheria to seek out her brother without getting caught. Our best option, she thought was to get one of the younger brothers to bring us out to a place where we could contact Whit and arrange a meeting.

Most of that day I rested, ate, and generally did nothing. Not because I wanted to be lazy but because we had to wait until the boys brought in the sheep. They wouldn't leave them alone and unattended because of the coyotes and a small pack of wolves that had wandered up from Yellowstone. They also wouldn't come in until nightfall and there wasn't anyone available that could go out and tell them to come in earlier.

I took my turn at the loom when I grew bored of sitting. There was something very soothing about the back and forth of the shuttle, the timelessness of the act and watching the slow steady progress of the wool as it created a design.

Each geometric shape told a story and Amelda explained what each meant as she drew the entire design in the sand at our feet. She pulled the colored sand from tiny bottles hidden in her pockets. A sand painting every bit as exquisite as the finished rug would be but much more ephemeral.

After that, I ate, slept for a couple of hours, and then took a walk down to the horses where I petted and crooned to them. Most of the time, animals and especially horses, feared me; even in my human skin but these horses were more curious and did not shy from me. More than likely, they were used to hunt and trained to carry dead game which would make them less afraid of my strange scent.

The sun finally went down with that rapidness that one found in the lonely quiet places of the west and the moon rose as the bobbing heads of a hundred or more sheep and the boys came back into camp. I heard the bells long before we saw them, bells hanging from the neck of the lead ram and the barking of the sheepdogs as they herded the entire flock into corrals backed up against the west wall of the rock cliff. The boys' quiet murmurs came easily to my ears. Campfires lit up the ground and the women came out to feed the boys and listen to gossip.

I saw the glow of a cell phone and aimed for the hand that held it. Florian, the youngest was reading the texts while he shoveled food, frijoles, and tortillas into his mouth.

"You get reception out here?" I was skeptical.

"Nope. Nearest tower is 50 miles away. I'm just reading the ones stored from last week when I left town," he answered.

"Your girlfriend?"

"Yeah. You have one?"

"Dunno. I think I remember that I had a fiancé, but I can't remember her name or what she looks like."

He shot his eyes to Molly. "She's a foxy lady. Hot."

"She's the _mother_ of my friend," I protested. "Almost old enough to be my _mom!"_

He swallowed. "Ever do it as the dragon?"

I rolled my eyes. Grimly, I answered him. "I'm human. One of a kind where I come from although I was born here. There are no other dragons where I live. I was born human, not a dragon."

"How did you become...dragon?"

"I was murdered. Beaten, abused and raped. When I died from my injuries, I was resurrected as the Black Dragon to protect the Realm and the King and Queen. But I wanted to be human again, I wanted my body back. I wanted to be able to hold a girl, kiss her and dance on my own two feet. To grow up, marry, have kids. Work. All that was taken from me.

"I had two good friends who hated to see me suffer, had known me before I died. They searched for a...spell to create a new form, to make me live again. It worked, and I lived in this new body that had never seen or felt any of those horrors that had killed me. Until the wizard pulled me from my home to this Shadow," I said, the anger rising in my blood.

"He, this wizard did this to your back?" Charlie whispered.

"I lost count at 19. Passed out. He punished me for trying to break his geas and trying to kill him," I added.

"What's a geas?" Charlie wondered.

"It is a binding promise that cannot be broken and is cemented by blood or flesh. If you attempt to break one, it can trigger a curse."

"Do you have a golden hoard such as the legends speak of?" He asked, and both waited for my answer.

"No. I don't need or want gold although I can both sense and smell it. I do know where your lost mine is, but I have no interest in plundering it. Nor would I ever reveal its location unless your leaders tell me to do so," I promised. I turned my head as Molly joined us around the fire.

"Raven needs to reach the city and warn my brother not to come after us. We need your help to get back on the road out of here and intercept them. Can you do this?"

Florian looked excited. "As the dragon? Will you fly?"

I shook my head. "The minute that I take to the skies, they will know and pinpoint me. The same for any contact with Whit or his uncle's phone. Probably Jaxon's, too. I don't think they know about Stone, I figure he is safe enough if we call from a burner."

"You have to get out of the mountains before you can get a strong signal," Charlie said. "It's a two-day hike out to Pima. That's a small native village just this side of Vegas. It has the closest tower unless you have a SAT phone."

"No. Too easy to track for the NSA," I shook my head. "As for a two-day hike – how long if we're horseback?"

"One day, maybe. But there aren't enough horses for all of us."

"I won't need one, nor will Molly," I said, and she explained as she changed me into the black mule and then back again. I literally changed so quickly that my clothes never had the chance to fall off for which I was grateful. I was getting tired of winding up naked in front of total strangers.

We sat around the campfires and they told stories of their native legends while Molly related tales of ancient wizards and Celtic witches. I knew a few ghost stories that both groups said sounded remarkably like the Headless Horseman and Michael from Friday the 13th. Perhaps they were, my head was full of stories and legends from both Amber and Earth.

Molly fell asleep first, her head pillowed on my shoulder. I sat still and watched the coals glowing red and then white-hot before they darkened to gray ashes. In the quiet darkness, the boys retreated to their beds and I heard my name called again.

Raven.

Raven, can you hear me?

Take my hand, Raven. Come home.

When I looked around, no one was there to call my name. The boys were long gone to their cots and Molly had wandered away to her own bed while my mind had drifted off.

I stood up, scanned the night sky, a vast bowl of velvet noir and brilliant stars, the soft darkness of the meadow and saw nothing out of place. I went to my own bed and wrapped Amelda's masterpiece around me. To the smell of clean wool, sage, and pine, I fell asleep.

# Chapter 31

Charlie woke me early by shaking my shoulder. I saw that it was not yet dawn but almost. The moon was setting in the west and the faint traces of golden sunlight and rosy peach heralded the rise of the sun. It provided just enough light for me to see. He was dressed in tan with flat soled work boots on his feet. Around his shoulders, he had hung a backpack and his climbing gear.

"We should leave soon, Gaagé," he spoke softly, calling me the Apache name for the big black crows. "It is best to get an early start, so we can hit the worst part before the sun reaches noon. There is no water for the horses once we cross Rabbit Gulch."

"Molly?" I looked over to where she had slept, on the rough couch made of cedar limbs. It was empty. She had managed to wake and leave without waking me. To do that without triggering my dragon reflexes took incredible stealth and guile. Or magic.

"She's helping Florian saddle up. There's one for you, too."

For a moment I wondered if he meant a horse for me. No, he was talking about a saddle.

"Hope it fits," he mumbled. "Mules have narrower backs than horses and no withers to hold the saddle on." He paused. "Tito said you're a jack. Not cut. You don't get all stupid like a stud horse?"

"If you think I'd let someone cut off my balls..." I stopped. Just the thought was enough to make me want to vomit. He looked green, too.

"I wonder how the horse feels about it?"

"Next time, ask him," I retorted and got to my feet. Over the back of the only chair in the small house rested another coat that I shrugged into for the pre-dawn air in the tiny valley was bitter cold. We watched our breath puff out as we walked down to the corrals were Molly and Florian were just finishing tacking up the two geldings.

"This is Tsosie," Florian said. "He's a Dun gelding. 8 years old. He's a good cow horse, trail horse, and game packhorse. He'll pack out deer, bear, or cat. The sorrel is Chico. Sixteen, he's a bit hotter; he ran wild on the range until he was 8. Inon caught and broke him all by himself. He'll do anything you ask of him. Both are sure-footed and know their way home." He pointed to the narrow 'A' fork style saddle with a thin horn and deep seat. Plain, it was rigged center-fire and looked as if the seat was hard as a brick.

"That should fit a mule. Will you be barefoot?" At my nod, he continued, "tell me if your...hooves hurt. There are a lot of volcanic rocks we must travel over. The horses need shoes, or they go lame." He picked up the dun's hoof and we saw the metal shoe nailed on. It had toe and heel caulks to grip the rocks and keep their feet from slipping.

"We can wrap leather on your hooves if that happens but don't wait until you go lame. Can you speak when you're..."

"A jackass? Have you ever heard a horse conversate? No? Well, mules don't either," I teased. "But, I can spell."

"Like _magic_ spells?" Even Molly looked interested in my answer. Slowly, I removed my clothes, folded them, and handed the pile over to Charlie who packed them away into saddlebags.

Standing in my underwear, shivering in the cold, they saw me in the breaking light. Every scar, welt, black and blue and mottled green healing bruises were visible for their searching perusal. They were shocked. It was obvious that they had not seen what being a slave to an unkind master had wrought, nor would I wish that on anyone. I was still not sure what had come to me before Callimachus, but I was damn sure what _he_ had done. Before they could say anything, or I could speak, Molly changed me to a mule.

I stood stock still while they brushed me, not that I had any dirt on my plush black coat, but I supposed they did not want any hairs to lay the wrong way and pinch or rub under the saddle blanket. It was a beautiful one, all in blue and black, handmade by Amelda 25 years earlier but still thick and comfortable as when it came off her loom. Next came the saddle and they were extremely careful how they placed it on my back. Neither throwing it up or hitting me with stirrups or cinch. I couldn't say I enjoyed being girted tightly but neither kneed me in the belly although I did have an irrational urge to hold my breath.

I was already bridled. No bit, just a beautiful braided headstall with a bosal noseband and soft cotton reins. That was very unusual for a mule who tended to wear some of the most God-awful and severe bits known to horsemen.

I pawed the ground and all three laughed as they read what my hooves had traced in the sandy dirt and buffalo grass.

HURRY UP

THIS AINT NO RODEO

Molly climbed on and I waited impatiently for the brothers to mount and lead the way. Amelda and her family came out to watch us ride off. Before we started back out of the meadow, I turned around despite Molly's hand on the reins and carefully lowered myself to the ground on one knee, bowing my head to the ground in respect and thanks. She smiled and blessed us even as she called me a jackass. We rode off in single file.

For a goodly part of the way, we retraced the path we'd followed in, keeping to the trails that neither sky-lined the ridges or climbed the hills. We rode the river bottoms and canyons. If I hadn't used my nose to smell the trail, I would have gotten lost a dozen times for the canyons bore a remarkable similarity to each other.

Florian was the more loquacious; he named the canyons, ravines, and gullies as he pointed out the wild plants that had medicinal and spiritual purposes. I, however, was more interested in snatching every clump of grass or leaf that came my way and it became a game to see if I could get it before Molly could prevent me. In the sparse growth of the river bottoms, there was Johnson grass and cottonwoods. With few of either. Growing on the rocky sides were grama grass, buffalo, lechuguilla, mesquite, and cactus.

Florian warned us about the cholla. He called it jumping cholla and the merest brush sent two-inch-long thorns into joints that would fester and lame man or beast. If that wasn't bad enough, the prickly pear cactus had both large spines and tiny hairs that penetrated the skin and itched worse than fiberglass. Duct tape or glue spread on the skin was the easiest way to remove the hair-like thorns.

We saw the bird called ' _paisano_ ,' meaning 'friend' in Spanish, what the locals called the Road Runner. They flew, ran underfoot and were intensely curious about me. Once, we watched it catch, kill, and eat a small snake. With brutal efficiency.

The first Diamondback I encountered sent me up on my hind feet in a panic until I remembered that Molly was on my back. Luckily, she was a better rider than I was a mule. Both Charlie and Florian's horses let the snake slither off into the brush, acting like my panic was totally unnecessary. It left me feeling ashamed of my own phobia.

"Afraid of snakes, Gaagé?" Molly sympathized and stroked my neck. She too had adopted the Apache name for Crow and had called me that as the mule. I came down on all fours and dumped manure on the spot where the snake had disappeared into the brush.

We stopped for lunch and all three dismounted to give the animals a break. Charlie checked hooves and girths for sores, loosened the cinches as he tied the two horses to a clump of thick brush. Me, he left loose, the reins on my neck for he knew that I had no intention of wandering off.

Lunch was sandwiches, meat wrapped in the flatbread, chips, and water. Molly offered me the same, but I snacked on the sparse grass within my reach. Lunch took a total of ten minutes, tops. Finally, Charlie asked if we were ready to go on. I nodded and all three mounted and we did ride.

The walls of red sandstone rose over our heads for hundreds of feet before it broke the sky. Dust stirred under our feet and choked everything. The heat became oppressive and both horses and people sweated. When I didn't, Molly grew worried and said something about heatstroke. It wasn't until I stopped and dragged my one foot through the sand to leave a message that she was relieved.

DRAGON→NOT FEEL HEAT

"That makes sense," she said. "I read on the Net that you flew into the heart of a fire and it didn't harm you."

I bobbed my head and trotted to catch up as both boys disappeared around a sharp corner. When I reached a spot where I could see them, I stopped in amazement. Laid out before me was a vast twisted plain of black rock that reflected the sun back with glaring ferocity amid the desert landscape broken by rolling sandy hills that were oases of life. If you considered dry brush, cactus, and sagebrush life.

There were thickets of cholla that were so impenetrable, I wasn't sure if my dragon body could push through it. There were trails made by ATVs, but they were so intertwined that unless you knew your way through them, you could wander for days and never find the way out.

From the carcasses of old 4-wheelers and dirt bikes lying in pieces off the trail, I was sure there were also forgotten bodies baking to dry bones in the maze. To even get to the plain, we had to climb up and over a huge ridge that was cut through by more of the obsidian. I could see the trail, a thin ribbon of brown that went up in a zig-zag fashion and challenged those with a fear of heights. From any point on the trail, your feet would hang out off the edge and the fall was from fifty to three hundred feet down. The climb itself went from 30 feet above sea-level to over three thousand, nearly straight up.

"We have to go up there?" Molly was aghast. Charlie nodded.

"It's not as bad as it looks. Both horses have done it several times. Wouldn't try it in the dark, though. Okay? Everyone ready?"

At our nods, we started up. Charlie had us keep at least a horse length apart, just in case one of the horses slipped. I was particularly careful as I placed each hoof on the trail that was no wider than 18". Within minutes, the two geldings were dark with sweat and we hadn't even started up the worst of the slope.

Both boys didn't dare turn around for fear of disturbing the delicate balance of his weight in the saddle, but Charlie made sure he kept up a running encouragement to each of us; including the horses. I also planned to switch to dragon should one of us slip, if Molly could say the phrase fast enough. I could catch them, horse, and all before they fell to the canyon floor. I prayed that such an act would not be necessary.

It took until the early afternoon to reach the flat summit where all three stepped out of the saddle and let us breathe. I included. The climb had been almost as taxing on me as the horses. My hooves had not been torn, they had the same hardness and density as my dragon scales, but the horses had thin cuts and scrapes on the bulbs of their hooves and torn their pasterns from brushing against the basalt. Their shoes had left white scars on the black rocks, leaving evidence that we had come through here.

"Whew," Florian blew out his cheeks. "I'm glad that's over. You know, a famous western writer once wrote about this trail. His character took it in the dark during a thunderstorm. I wouldn't have, not even if my life depended on it."

It was a relief to start down the other side, a much shallower, less dangerous, and easier route. There, we could ride abreast and talk. The disadvantage of this trail was that we were openly visible for miles and although I could see the entire valley spread out before us, I could not see if anyone was hidden in the brush waiting to ambush us.

Once down on the Flats, Charlie kicked Tsosie into a shuffling trot. We followed as he wove his way from one ATV trail onto another, a confusing crisscrossing of washes and dirt paths torn up by narrow gauged tires. I also saw the tracks of dirt bikes.

We trotted for fifteen minutes and then walked for thirty, alternating between the two for several hours. It seemed strange that whenever I looked up, the distant line of mountains on the horizon never seemed to get closer.

There were straight lines of the black rock, and in places, the lava had collapsed forming sinkholes. Florian said that they were lava tubes formed when the lava overhead cooled while the inside flowed, leaving a hollow behind. In the places where the tube had collapsed, grass, desert flowers, and trees grew on the rich soil that had accumulated as the wind had driven soil across the plains. They were rainwater collectors and seeps could be found in some of them.

I was thirsty and caught the faint whisper and scent of water. I imagined the horses smelled it, too. They had sweated more heavily than I so needed to replace it more urgently than I did.

By 3 pm when the sun had reached its zenith and the hottest part of the day, a wind picked up blowing sand directly in my face. I smelled diesel, burnt rubber, fried food, and chlorinated water; the scents of civilization. The three of us picked up our pace and broke through the line of brush cleared to expose a paved highway. Not a frequently used or major one from the looks of it. Pot-holed and its lines faded to nearly invisible, I wasn't expecting to see any sign of traffic, but the occasional pickup drove by and beeped at us. No one inside those vehicles seemed at all surprised that three people rode out of the desert and were on their way into town.

# Chapter 32

The town of Pima was small, too small to be called a city and somewhere between a village and a town. There was a goodly amount of businesses open down the main street; low adobe buildings and tall false-fronted functioning old West establishments that came straight out of the movies. The bank and the funeral home were the only two structures that were made of brick; the tiny Sheriff's station was a pre-fab and didn't even have a jail.

There were half a dozen side streets lined with houses; several offered B&B accommodations. I learned why once we rode up to the outskirts of town and I read the brass plated Highway sign that told the legend of the Lost Dutchman's Mine. Pima was a tourist town much in the same way that Roswell was for ETs. It catered to those whose dreams of getting rich hadn't been killed off in bars, lotteries, and Las Vegas.

There were quite a few out-of-state cars parked at the grocery store, post office and real estate office. More were parked in front of the town hall and the Sheriff's substation, but we didn't see a cruiser anywhere. Florian said that there was only one deputy on duty and he usually patrolled the four hundred square miles of highways and back roads rather than stay inside the non-air-conditioned station.

Charlie and Florian turned down one of the side streets, called Candelaria which after a hundred yards petered out to a dirt and crushed rock road. Fenced on both sides, the livestock kept behind the five-strand barb wire were the ugliest cattle I had ever seen. Horns that were bigger and wider than their bodies and those were long-legged and scrawny. Spotted in black, red, and yellow, they looked as if they had to fight for every ounce of fat on their bodies. They looked mean, too. I wondered how one would fare against the dragon's temper and hunger. Hell, I wasn't sure I'd want to eat one, probably poison me. I snorted, and Charlie looked where I had.

"Texas Longhorns. Some of their horns are over six feet from tip to tip. Meanest, toughest cattle you ever want to not meet on the range but by God, they can walk fifty miles for a bit of grass and survive on next to nothing. Only cattle that can survive out here without irrigation and feedlots."

Desert scrub took over with less and less grass. We rode down the center median which had the most grass around, but it was dry, brown, and clinging desperately to life. At the end of the dirt, we came to a rundown, sunbaked and sagging trailer. Parked near it was a ten-year-old pickup truck in forest green, the US Forestry Service decal gone, painted over but you could still see where it had been.

Charlie dismounted, followed by Florian and they led the horses out back behind the trailer where there was a solid Morton barn. The area was clean, no garbage, old tires, or rusted trucks hanging around buried in the weeds. The inside of the barn was spotless, the typical horse layout with a central alley, two rows of box stalls and out back, a lean-to shed where the curious longhorns gathered to watch us. I saw a round bale in the paddock where horses had eaten it half down but there were no fresh piles of manure. Neither I or the horses smelled any others nearby.

The two unsaddled and turned the horses loose into the paddock where they promptly rolled, shook the dirt off and wandered off to the water trough where they drank deep. Both boys kept an eye on how much they consumed and watched to make sure that neither colicked. When they were satisfied that all was well, the horses went for the round bale and stood hip-shot as they ate contentedly.

I stomped on a fly and nudged Molly with my big head. "Sorry, Raven," she woke up and pulled my tack off, throwing the saddle onto a nearby stand. That's when I felt it, the same burning tingle on my nose where the bosal/collar sat. I brayed and rubbed my head frantically against the wall as the leather burned. If I could have shrieked, I would have but mules' throats only let them make groans of pain.

All of them turned around to stare through the open barn doors as a military jeep skidded to a stop. Behind that was the sheriff's cruiser with the deputy driving and a woman's head showing next to him in the passenger seat. Riding shotgun.

Molly picked up my reins and the burning faded until it was bearable. We watched as four men in uniform, two in suits and the deputy exited their vehicles and marched inside the barn. My heart sank when I saw that one of the suits was that Detective, Steele from New York and the other was the man I'd punched with the mop handle before I rescued Molly.

"Evening, Charlie, Florian," the deputy said genially. He looked like a refugee from an old western movie, right down to the high stovepipe boots. He had lank brown hair and eyes, under his hat I would bet he was going bald.

"Just get in from a tour in the mountains?" He raked his eyes over Molly and me. Undressed her with his eyes. I pinned my long ears back as Charlie put a hand out to stop him from coming closer.

"Don't, Matt," he said. "Don't come any closer. Gaagé is a jack mule. He doesn't take kindly to strangers."

The deputy looked me over. "Shore enough. Got quite a set of huevos on him. He yours, ma'am?"

"Yes, he's mine," she said coolly.

"You handle this big black jack mule all by yourself? In a bosal? How do you get him to stop without a chain curb? Bet he's a son-of-a...gun," Deputy Matt smiled but she just stared him down. "He'd be worth a lot of money around here if he was cut," he offered.

"He's worth more just like he is," she said flatly. "Be careful, he doesn't like men."

"What can we help you...gentlemen with, Matt?" Charlie prompted.

"We're helping Colonel Ryan from the base and Detective Steele out. Seems like they lost an important drone out in the mountains. Flew in from Vegas and went down near Pine Cone Canyon. I told them that you two are the best trackers and guides out here.

"Deputy Matt Csikas, ma'am," he stuck out his hand. Quicker than he could retract it, I seized three of his fingers, bit and broke them. He cried out and tried to snatch them back, but I spit them out before he could hit my teeth.

"Son-of-a-bitch! Fucking beast!" he yelled and reached for his pistol. "That bastard is dangerous and needs to be shot!"

Steele stepped in and pulled him out of range and as no one apologized, we waited for the situation to defuse. Charlie did that by asking questions of the Colonel and ignoring the deputy. Steele steered him back to the cruiser where the woman in the passenger seat took over.

"How much does it pay?" Charlie asked. "How many days do you want to be out? I normally get $250 a day to guide, minimum of 12 hours. More if we camp overnight. The horses are extra. Maps of the lost mine are free."

"We're not here for the gold mine," the Colonel said sharply. "We've looked for the drone via satellite and by helicopter. Couldn't find a trace of it except that we know it came down near Black Snake Wash, off Rabbit gulch. There's a substantial reward for the person who locates it."

"And brings it in?" Charlie asked innocently.

"There's a possibility that it is radioactive, the power source is nuclear and may have split its shielding when it crashed," the other suit added. I recognized him. It was the one who had walked into my mop at the complex. I thanked God that Amelda had done Molly's makeover so that she couldn't be recognized. She had even come up with a pair of colored contacts that had turned her green eyes to brown.

"And you are?" the Colonel asked Molly to identify herself.

"Chindi Harris," she said. "People call me Cindi. I'm a student from the Archeology Department out of Tucson, studying the American Indian culture in the area."

"You're named for an evil ghost?" the officer asked. He did not introduce the other men with him, they were obviously MPs and there for back-up.

"No worse than Rose Bush, Dusty Rhodes or Ima Hogg," she shrugged. "We just came back from Rabbit Gulch, didn't see anything."

"Our animals are tired, and my cousin isn't here, or his horses. He must be out searching, himself. You can leave a note or Tet Williams could take you out. He has extra horses and needs the work. His place is out on 2244."

I wanted to see who the woman was and if she was the reason that the collar had flared to life. Someone in this group had magic, was concealing it yet the bridle had activated to warn me of its presence.

"What kind of animal is this?" Steele asked, walking around to my blind side. Once again, I was grateful to Molly for insisting that I get the new eye. Steele seemed surprised or disappointed when he did not find an empty orbit.

"He's a mule. A jackass. That's a cross between a donkey father and a horse/mare mother. They are stronger, smarter and more sure-footed than a horse," Molly said flatly. "Gaagé's mother was a thoroughbred racehorse and his father a Catalonian jack. He was bred to race and did, winning every one of his starts. Now, he's black-listed and we can't race anywhere anymore."

I curled my lip and tried to step on one of their toes, but Molly would have none of it. She grabbed my reins and led me towards the back stall where she sent me in and tied me to a ring. She proceeded to brush the sweat stains off my coat. I leaned into it; the brushing felt good on sore muscles and I involuntarily twitched my whole skin as a fly decided to bite my tender cheeks. She slapped me on the ass and said with satisfaction that there was one less horsefly to bite me.

We listened as the Colonel tried to persuade the boys to take them out on a rescue mission and were finally convinced that if they could arrange for more horses, Charlie would take them out to the Gulch the next morning. They asked about using me and he told them that I was a one-person mule which meant Molly. If anyone else tried to get on me, I'd buck them off and more than likely would savage the fallen rider. After muttering threats and curses at my rump, they departed the ranch before I could get a good look at Deputy Matt's passenger.

All three of us watched them drive off and before Molly could say anything to change me, I butted her on the lips. Once they were out of sight, I wrote in the shavings on the stall floor.

DON'T CHANGE

WITCH ONE FELT POWER

MAYBE WOMAN?

"Don't change you? Okay? One of them was there at the place you found me. I remember him. A real asshole, they called him Mister Whitman. I sensed a magic aura, too. But it seemed muted, not very powerful," she hesitated. "I didn't see a woman."

DEPUTY PASSNGR

"She's the only one who didn't get out of the car," Florian added. "I saw her face. She was pretty but older. A black-haired woman with blue eyes. She... shimmered, especially when she touched his hand where you bit him, Crow."

I had a suspicion that it was Cherelle but how she knew where to find us had me worried and puzzled. Unless she had somehow tagged me when I was the dragon. She could follow the dragon essence. Yet, it was not strong enough for her to realize I was the big black mule. If she was here, then Aldi MacAfee and General Simon could not be far away.

"What are we going to do, Raven?" Molly's eyes were huge and worried. "Can we make phone calls if those people are in the area? They'll come back tomorrow. We can't hang around here."

I wrote more on the floor in the shavings.

TRAILER? DRIVE AWAY?

Charlie nodded. "I can borrow a two-horse from my neighbor, but we can't drive you if we have to take them to the mountains tomorrow. Can you drive a stick and a truck and trailer?"

She dipped her head. "I love horses, I used to ride all the time when I was a kid. My dad and brother taught me how to drive with a trailer in tow. Won't you need the truck tomorrow?"

"No, we never use it to trailer out to the trailhead, we ride out much the same way we came home. It enhances the experience for the treasure hunters. And we never take greenhorns up the Ghost Trail, too dangerous. Let me call my friend, Sally, and ask if we can borrow her two-horse. Florian will go get it and we can feed Gaagé before you take off. You need to eat, too. I'll write directions that will keep you off the main roads where they will look if they suspect anything." He showed Molly where the grain was kept and while she fed and watered me, he went inside the house trailer.

I stopped munching and dug into the ground. Molly said, "what, Raven?"

LOOK AT PLACE. DUMP. LEAVE MONEY. HIDE IN FEED BIN.

"I don't have it. When the boys found me, they picked it up and told me that they would hold it until I asked for it back. I haven't had a chance, yet."

I shrugged and finished the sweet feed and started on the alfalfa as Charlie came back with maps, a cell phone, backpack, and a huge wad of money.

"This is yours, Molly. We found it in your clothes when we picked you up. Some of it was under the tree. It's a little over 20K.

"The nearest city where you could reasonably hide is Tucson. I would head there. It also has a large horse population and you'll blend in with the truck and trailer. The way I've mapped out for you does not have any Brand Inspection Stations, so you won't be stopped for that. Legally, you should have a Coggins report on the mule, but I don't think anyone will pull you over, they know this truck and trailer. Drive all night, don't stop except for gas and only at the big truck stops. Don't stop until you're out of state. If you can and you think it's safe, you can call the Flagstaff Fire Department and ask for Inon. Tell him you're safe but not where you are. Leave a cell number but reverse it."

Molly was worried more about them than us. They would be in the company of the shitheads that had kidnapped her and threatened me. When Florian returned with the trailer hitched to the truck, Charlie went out to check lights and hitch. That's when Molly placed the cash in the feed bin and covered it with more grain. They loaded me in the roomy two-horse and hustled her down the drive before we even had time to say goodbye.

# Chapter 33

Standing in the back of the trailer as the miles flew underneath the tires was soporific and boring. My mind didn't go over all the details of the last few weeks but instead, was mired in the thoughts and sensations of being a four-legged hybrid cross of horse and donkey. I dreamed of lush green fields and corn, running for the sheer joy of it and rolling vigorously to rid myself of itches on my back. In that fashion, the miles and hours passed without me losing my mind.

The collar had become a halter and lead tying me to the trailer hitch ring and was in a constant warning state – a sensation like that of a mild sunburn. Annoying but not really painful to my ears and nose. It meant that there was magic, or spells being done somewhere around me. I wished that I could see more of the road, but my view was limited to the plexiglass window in front of me. All I saw was the back end of the forest-green pickup.

Molly stopped after four hours and pulled into a truck stop – a small convenience store with a diner and eight covered gas pumps. Diesel for the big trucks that were parked off to the side. She parked under the canopy and that lowered the temperature in the horse trailer by ten degrees.

She ran into the store and came out a few minutes later. I could smell the soap she'd washed her face with and her eyes were brighter. She must have used icy water. Opening the escape door, she checked on me.

"Whew, that's a relief," she sighed. "I had to pee. How are you doing? Need the bathroom? Get out and stretch? Water? Is it safe to change?"

I declined all, just wanted to know where we were, so I stuck my head out the door and bobbed it up and down until she got the idea. "Where are we? This is Camino Ridge, we passed the border into New Mexico an hour ago. We're almost to Santa Fe. You think it's safe to call your friend or change you back? I sure could use someone to talk to me and keep me awake. Or better yet, help drive."

I didn't know, especially since I could still feel the essence of power all around us. I looked past her at the truck stop, the variety of cars and 18 wheelers. I didn't see anything that resembled unmarked police cars, sheriff department cruisers, or government car pool vehicles. Nothing out of the ordinary – just pickups and the occasional SUV. Most of the plates I saw were from Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. One from Colorado. My eyes could not discern any auras, yet I could _feel_ it all around me. I had a sudden thought – maybe Deputy Matt's woman passenger had stuck a locator spell on either Molly or me. There was no way that they could have bugged the trailer and the truck had been under constant view by the boys and Molly the entire time that the group had been there. I wanted to ask a million questions and was frustrated that I couldn't. I also knew that I was safer not changing to another form because that surge of magic force could be felt.

Molly was so attuned to my feelings that she knew something was bothering me. "What is it?" she questioned. "Do you sense something? Are we safe yet? Should I try calling Cal?"

I could answer yes or no but that didn't help much. I wasn't sure _what_ to do. Since we had been shoved into the truck so fast the boys hadn't stocked up on feed, hay, or water for me. No buckets either. Molly opened the tack compartment and found that at least there was a 5-gallon bucket she could use to haul water to me. I watched her walk off, swinging the pink plastic against her skirt. She went as far as the side of the store where there was an outside spigot.

As she filled it, a cowboy in a battered straw hat offered to carry it for her and took the heavy bucket before she could protest. He came over to the trailer and his eyes widened as he saw me.

"Holy cow!" he stuttered. "That's the biggest darned mule I ever seen!"

"He's a beauty, isn't he?" Molly said and stroked my neck. "He's out of a TB racehorse."

"You ever race him?"

"I'd like to, but no one will put money up against a mule. They laugh at us. But, you know, he's been clocked at the half-mile two seconds faster than American Pharaoh."

"I've raced Quarter horses on dirt tracks," he grinned. "I know a few good ol' boys that would put up money to prove you wrong."

"Yeah? How much?"

I snorted and shoved her, I didn't think that was such a promising idea, but Molly ignored me. She walked off with him and I watched them exchange papers, phone numbers most likely and then he drew directions on the back of the paper for her. She watched him climb into a big blue dooly and he waved as he drove past. Dust stirred, and she came back to my side, lifting the water in so I could drink but I knocked the bucket over in agitation.

"Listen, Raven. It's a clever idea. We can hang out on his ranch and no one will know where we are. I can use his phone to call my brother and pretend that I have a horse for sale. His ranch isn't far, and we can make some money, too."

She was pissed that I'd spilled the water and refused to get more. I bucked in the trailer and set it to rocking, the tie went tight, yet I could not snap or break it. I could not say the words to change me, not in the mule body, their lips were not meant for speech. I kicked and reared so much that other people gathered around, giving advice on how to get me to quit. I heard her say calmly to those people that I was just having a temper tantrum and would get over it.

When I didn't stop, she leaned on the side and said quietly, "Raven, stop. You're attracting attention. You think people won't remember this? And talk about the big black mule in the Forestry truck with Arizona plates?"

I stopped, sweat pouring off me and groaned. I'd put holes in the steel from my hooves and gouged the metal at the front of the trailer. It creaked as the rubber springs settled under my weight.

"Good boy. Now, tell me why you don't want to hide at his ranch. Do you recognize him? Is he one of the...fraternity? How could they know we would stop here? Why wouldn't they have put a squad in place to capture us? Not just send one good old boy in boots and a ratty hat?"

I huffed and rolled my eyes. Really, all I could answer was yes or no. Did she think I could talk? Write my answers in the manure at my feet? I tapped the mats and she nodded.

"Oh sure. Let you out and have all these people watch as you hold a conversation with me. It's bad enough that I'm talking to you like this. I can pass this off because everyone knows crazy horsewomen talk to their animals.

"I'm tired, Raven. We rode all day and I've driven for six hours straight. I need to sleep, take a shower, and eat. You need to graze and get out of this trailer. If you have any better suggestions, I'm all ears. No pun intended."

A sheriff's car pulled up alongside the trailer and the window zipped down. A lean, dark tanned face with gray eyes and short black hair leaned out the open window. A blast of air-conditioning came my way. He was Molly's age and had an engaging smile. A pair of worn spurs hung from his rear-view mirror.

"Need some help, ma'am? I heard the ruckus you..." He looked into the still open escape door. "Jee-zus! A mule! From the way that trailer was rocking, I thought you had a big old Quarter horse in there."

"Nope. Just a mule."

He eyed her outfit, the long voluminous skirt, her dark skin, and brown eyes. "You Apache?"

"Half Navajo. I'm on my way to the east coast. To deliver the mule."

He stared at the truck, trailer, and her. I knew the next words out of his mouth would be for the paperwork that allowed her to travel across state lines, which she did not have. No Health Certificate, proof of ownership or bill of sale, no Coggins test that read negative. He shut his mouth and nodded. We both watched him drive off and Molly shook after he was out of sight.

She turned, slammed the door closed on me and seconds later, I heard the truck start and lurched as she drove off. She left the pink plastic bucket behind, I saw it as we went past the gas station heading in the opposite direction than when we'd arrived.

Molly drove long into the night. The flashes from passing vehicles would light up the interior of the trailer and then would go dark. It annoyed my eye so that when a new one approached, I shut my eyes until it would pass. Several times, the truck would drift towards the center line or go off the shoulder and I knew that she was falling asleep at the wheel. This frightened me. Not only would she be killed but I would have no way to get out and help, if the crash didn't kill me, too. I tried to warn her, kicking the doors but too much movement could also send the trailer into a spin. Finally, she pulled off onto the shoulder and I waited.

The sound of her footsteps on the gravel was a wonderful thing and I brayed anxiously as she leaned in the back of the trailer. Nodding my head up and down I lipped the lead and pulled.

"Raven, I'm exhausted. I can't drive another foot. Can we stop here so I can sleep for an hour? Is it safe?"

I flipped the lead again and she opened the gate behind me, untied me and threw the lead on my neck. I backed out. Grabbed her skirt with my teeth and led her into the stand of pines back off the small highway. Loblolly pines, with red barks and crowns that were seventy feet over our heads. Pine needles under my feet and we made no sound as I found a small hollow underneath a fallen trunk. Knelt and pulled her gently down next to me and she wrapped her arms around my neck. She was asleep in seconds, my body warmth keeping her comfortable, her skirt covering most of my haunches. I was careful not to shift and hit her with a solid hoof or cannon bone. I rested, somewhere between sleep and awakening doze. Nothing could sneak up on us from the rear and I would hear it either way.

The morning came, crisp and cold. I could see my breath in the air and Molly's I felt against my chest. Her head was tucked between my two front legs and she was curled into the hollow below my belly. She had moved restlessly during the night, but I had not. I could not move until she untangled herself from me. I did not want to, it felt right, good that she was there. My emotions overwhelmed me, I wanted to be human, so I could do more than hold her. Yet, I knew that what I wanted was wrong in so many ways. I drew my head down and kissed her, forgetting that I had a mule's head and lips.

She came awake with a start, slapped my face away and laughed.

"Wow. Talk about morning breath, Raven. Do mules brush their teeth?" She held my lips apart and peered at the large grazing teeth. I flapped my lips and nudged her. She stood up and stretched, her breasts pulling at the material and I watched her with unabashed admiration.

"I feel so much better. We're somewhere around MacNeil, off of Rt. 666. There should be a place to eat and get gas. I only have a quarter tank left. This truck eats gas like a semi."

I went off a few feet away and stretched so I could pee, and she politely turned her back, but I suspected it was more so that I didn't splash her. She found her own spot and I kept my ears open until she was done, and we returned to the truck. The spot she had chosen to pull over was a good one. Just off a slight curve, with a broad shoulder to pull off on and a dirt road that led into the state forest. Huge red pines and no undergrowth. Not much traffic on the road as it had been decommissioned and was no longer maintained by the interstate highway system. I wasn't thrilled about the designation of the road, 666 had always been one of those numbers that made cold chills visit me. Like owls hooting in the night, black cats staring at me from under ladders and haunted mirrors breaking when I passed by, I had an unusual array of superstitions to which I ascribed.

Walking back to the truck, I waited until she opened the gate and I hopped in. We drove off. Before she had gone very far, we were on a road that went towards the small town of MacNeil. Feed store along the railroad tracks, bank, tax preparer's office, two insurance agencies, a Chevy car dealership; library, town hall and ten other small businesses all lined the one main drag. Three diners and I was surprised that such a small town could support three eating places. The side street had a small round park with a gazebo and notices for a rotary pancake breakfast before Elections. MacNeil even had a small regional airport and a one-bed hospital. No buildings were over three stories and it had that old-time Western feel.

There were three gas stations, chain places that offered convenience stores where you could buy everything from beer to worms. She picked the one closest to the feed store, so she could get both gas and feed at the same time. She called back to me as she went inside.

"I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

I snorted and brayed, my top lip flapping my displeasure. She laughed. Several people passed the trailer and peered in the side rails to poke at me. A couple of teenage girls actually petted me, and I was deliberately gentle with them. Especially when one cute blond pulled on my ears and baby-talked in them.

Molly's voice sounded scared as she warned them away and she seemed surprised that I was behaving. Really, what's not to like when pretty teenage girls are willing to fawn over you?

They made small talk as she filled the truck, over $70 worth of gas. I wondered how much cash from the casino was left. Between what she'd spent on gas, given to the boys, and lost when we ditched, I bet it wasn't much. Molly asked the girls to keep an eye on me as she went to the feed dealers. She came out with a cart loaded with a 50 lbs bag of sweet feed and two bales of green alfalfa.

The girls helped load the feed in the bed of the truck, opening and dispensing grain with a couple flakes of alfalfa. I was fed and munched away with my ears cocked to listen to them gaggle, Molly told them that I was a racing mule and that she was delivering me to a buyer on the East Coast. They were impressed that she was driving all that way by herself.

They sat on the open tailgate and kicked it as they waited for me to finish. No one beeped to get Molly to move her truck; the station wasn't that busy. Molly checked on me and slapped her forehead. "I forgot to get a water bucket!"

She ran back inside. When she came out, she had a purple 5-gallon plastic bucket and she filled it from the water hose at the pumps. Offering me a drink, I drained the bucket and it took two more before my thirst was satisfied. The minute that I swallowed the last sip, I knew something was seriously wrong.

Cramps twisted my gut. I turned around to stare at my flanks as sweat darkened my coat. I groaned and pawed as the pain rocketed through me.

"Oh, no!" the tiny blonde whispered. "He's colicking!"

Molly blanched. Opened the gate and led me out onto the grass where I stood shivering violently in pain, just before my knees buckled. I lay down and tried to roll.

# Chapter 34

The veterinary hospital was outside of the town on the old highway; a modern structure with a soaring cathedral ceiling and glass windows that faced south and took up the whole southern façade. Behind the fancy front were the dog kennels and in my pain, I heard them howling and barking as if they too, felt what I did.

The blonde and her friend had come with Molly to show her where the clinic was and directed her to the rear of the fancy building. There were barns, sheds, and a huge parking lot where big rigs could easily turn around. They treated everything from hedgehogs to emus; their specialties were horses and cattle.

Molly had used the tiny girl's cell phone to call ahead and even in my distress, I noticed the odd look when she told the blonde that she didn't have one of her own.

The vet and a vet tech met us at the rear of the trailer. Before I could blink, I was unloaded and brought into a large room with padded walls, a hoist overhead that looked capable of lifting a two-thousand-pound bull and floors covered with thick rubber mats.

The vet shook Molly's hand and introduced himself. His name was a murmur that I didn't catch because the pain chose that moment to escalate. I groaned and tried to go down, the relief afforded by thrashing outweighed the knowledge that it might cause my bowels to twist or rupture. The DVM listened to my gut sounds and seemed to be less worried.

"What did he eat, Ms. Harris?" he asked Molly.

"Some sweet feed I just bought at the feed store in town. Alfalfa and he drank quite a bit there, too. But we drove from Tucson without stopping for water. I offered earlier but he wouldn't drink, he knocked the bucket over," Molly said. I could tell that she was worried.

"I'm going to give him a shot of Banamine. See if we can quiet the cramps. I'm pretty sure that it's a fairly mild case of gas colic and because we caught it so early, not that serious. I don't suspect a twist, his pulse is a bit elevated, but his temp is normal. I'm going to tube and oil him just to be on the safe side. We don't want him to roll, so keep him on his feet.

"Easy, boy." He paused and patted my neck as he straightened from listening to my belly. He looked underneath. "He's entire? A mule? How do you control, handle a jack mule?"

"Gaagé has a unique temperament, Dr. Hollis," Molly's voice trembled. "He is the perfect gentleman. Most of the time. When he does act up, it's not because he's horny."

The tech wiped my neck with alcohol and slid a 16-gauge needle in the vein until blood back-filled the syringe. She pushed the sedative in slowly and immediately, my head drooped, I shifted from hoof to hoof as if I were going to fall over. The cramps were still there but I no longer felt them.

My lower lip dangled, and drool slipped from my teeth. When I saw the vet draw on a plastic sleeve, I felt a frisson of unease. I knew what that signified, and my adrenalin spiked, over-riding the drugs. If he was planning to stick his hand and arm up my rectum, I was going to plant both of my heels on his face.

"Gaagé. Please. Behave," she whispered in my ear as they backed me into a chute. Adrenaline took over and I lunged free, staggering for the door. Their hands reached for me, but I shoved them aside. If they were surprised that I knew how to open a sliding gate, they didn't have time to dwell on it as I managed to outrun and outmaneuver all of them.

It was like playing chicken with the added advantage that I knew the rules. I did not back down when one of the vet's assistants stepped in front of me trying to block my path. I went through or over them. The more I ran, the faster the sedative wore off and the closer I came to full coherence. I made it all the way to the road and took off down the shoulder, running with my head turned back so I could watch to see if they had caught up.

As I galloped beyond their reach, I knew one or more would figure out that chasing me on foot was foolish and would turn back for a vehicle in an attempt to catch up and cut me off. So, it was in my best interest to hide.

There were fields on both sides of the road, fenced off so that cattle could graze in safety. Beyond the fields were wooded areas leading up to the mountains. I wasn't sure what they were called, but I was certain I could lose myself in them.

I stopped dead on the road and shook my head. Something was _wrong_ with me. To even contemplate leaving Molly on her own was the stupidest thing I could have imagined. All I could say in my defense was that the thought of a man reaching inside my guts had me in a true panic. Worse, I had no way to explain that to Molly, not with all those other people around me.

I wanted to be _me_ again. As Raven, I could vomit and treat my upset stomach in ways that a mule could not. In ways that did not require such an invasive procedure. I could deal with a tube down my nose into my stomach, men wanting to _geld_ me, but the _other_ –

Molly pulled up in the truck, the tires smoking as she slammed on the brakes. She leaped out before the truck was finished sliding and screamed at me, spit flying from her lips. I stood there, my head hanging, my ears drooping making myself look as pitiful as I was capable. I let her wind down and then rested my chin on her shoulder. I blew a soft snort and wrote in the dust.

SORRY

BAD MEMORIES

I was RAPED

She read the words in the sand and her face turned white. "Oh my God, Raven! I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Before I could stop her, she changed me back to my human self and drew me into her arms. I did not care that I was naked as I stood shivering with fear and anticipation. Or that I was cold as the chilly wind fluttered around the sand at our feet.

She kissed me. Kissed the tears off my cheeks, took my hand and tugged me into the cab of the truck, wrapping me in a blanket. I was in shock, I think because I did not protest when she did my seat belt, went around to her own side, and got in.

Leaning over, she kissed me again and drove off. I fell asleep, my head turned towards her so that I could see her as my eyes closed and again when they opened. I did not wake until she pulled in to the Best West motel two hundred miles and another state later.

I

"Raven, wake up." Molly still had that tender tone in her voice but the spark that I'd seen in her eye was gone. The hope that I was going to get closer to her had faded as the miles piled up. My stomach felt better but there was an ache in my chest. Empty and shaky. My head had a pounding headache that made thinking a real chore.

"We're here," she said softly and slipped the key out of the ignition. She opened her door and the dome light came on, illuminating her face and throwing shadows everywhere else.

"What time is it?" I asked, sleepily, pulling the blanket tighter around my body. She exited so I pushed my door open, making sure that all of me was covered by the blanket. Neither of us had stopped so I could get dressed.

"1 a.m. I've already registered. We're in room #230. Can you walk? It's upstairs."

She waited calmly at my door, holding the frame as I slid my legs out. As I stood up, I waited, making sure that I _could_ walk. It seemed that any residual effects from the mule's colic had resulted in just a mild stomach ache and a massive drug hangover.

"I'm okay," I said. "Sore belly. Hungry and thirsty. Really sucky headache."

She steered me towards the two-story motel that was built of plain tan bricks, a building that had absolutely no character or charm. In fact, it looked very much like an institutional prison or bank building.

She led me inside to a central corridor with numbered doors on either side of the hallway. 230 was on the left side upstairs and two down from the EXIT sign. Behind the fire door was a small lobby with vending machines and an ice maker that produced clunking sounds that could be heard three rooms away.

She opened the room with an electronic keycard. Inside was a generic room with two queen-sized beds covered with bland tan bedspreads with a nightstand between. A lamp twisted like a unicorn horn sat on the nightstand with a phone. The top was faux marble. Halfway decent carpet under our feet and a large bathroom with a walk-in shower, double sinks on a long vanity. A full-length mirror behind the sinks showed two weary and filthy people.

The look Molly gave me said it all, but she closed the door and locked it behind us. She held up one finger and pointed to the shower. My throat closed with a huge lump that I could not swallow. The front of the blanket stirred as I began to swell and throb as she raised her eyebrows and licked her lips. Her lovely green eyes raked me up and down, lingering on the bulge beneath the blanket.

It was a race not to get our clothes off but to see who could enter the shower stall first. We kissed all the way there, tearing at her clothes, our lips locked against each other, our tongues live animals scratching and clawing for dominance.

I pressed my entire body up against hers, the swell of her breasts inciting me. She turned on the shower. The pulsating head pelted my shoulders with stinging beads of hot water, but it was nothing compared to the other heat I felt.

She took me in her hands and I swelled beneath her firm grip; an erection that was as hard as I could stand and seemed to both please and awe her. I uttered a tiny squeal against her throat, she giggled and pressed her pelvis into me. I didn't care that she was older than me, or even that she was Whit's mom. She was beautiful, she had heart and she had rescued me from death and humiliation. And truth be told, I was only 19 and thinking with my peter not my head.

Molly guided me, and I was humbled by her generosity and her gentleness. It was obvious to her that I was not a virgin but also not well-skilled in the art of love-making. As I slid into the moist heat of her body, she gasped and clenched with muscles so intimate that I nearly died right there. She locked her legs around my waist and I nuzzled her beautiful breasts, my hands occupied with holding both of us up.

She moaned, little breathless gasps of pleasure and as the intensity built, I was hit with a flush of heat. It took me precious moments to realize that it was not from my body responding to an impending ejaculation but a warning from the collar.

I struggled to cope with two crises – trying not to drop her or stop thrusting. I stopped moving and staggered backward out of the shower stall. I let a dazed Molly slide gently to the bath mat and fell over onto the floor, digging at my chest and pulling at my neck. My heart was on fire; as if an Aztec priest had reached inside and torn out my beating heart. I clawed at my chest, leaving bloody furrows down my ribs as I howled in agony.

Molly grabbed my hands, her breasts dangling in front of my face, but I could no longer admire or touch them.

"What's happening, Raven?" she cried in alarm, her sexual flush paling to white.

I writhed on the floor as the fire in my chest kept up, not abating. It reached the point where I could no longer endure it. With a moan of relief, I passed out.

II

I came to, several times and each time, Molly laid her hand on me, the pain grew worse, intensified and I bawled. I yelled until my throat was raw; no matter what she did, her touch brought me no relief, no healing just the burning agony. I thought that hellfire had invaded my body and was eating my insides out. It was only when she backed away from me that I found a lessening of the pain.

My throat was so raw from screaming that I could barely speak: I managed to say a few words that brought tears to her eyes. "Cal...collar. Punish for...touch you."

"How?" she cried. "How can he know? How could he structure his spell that way? Why would he dare to restrict my life to his wishes? I'm not his child or his responsibility!" Her eyes flashed fire and I pitied Cal when he found us. I knew that he would, the collar told me with its wakening fury that he was coming, and the promise of another lashing made me wish I were dead. Or back in the military's hands. I could not, would not endure or survive another.

"Molly. He's coming," I said weakly. She snarled.

"Let him come. I'll fight him, I won't let him hurt you, Raven. Not again."

She was dressed in jeans and flannel shirt, her feet in running shoes. All brand new. Her skin was as fair as when I'd first seen her; no longer dyed a dusky red. Her eyes were as green as glass without the contacts. I wanted desperately to hold her, to finish what we had started and the instant that my body reacted to those thoughts, I was punished.

"Raven," she said urgently. "You can't scream any more. I barely convinced the other guests that you weren't dying in here. Whatever it takes, keep your voice down or we'll be thrown out." She gave me a wadded-up washcloth and I stuffed it in my mouth, biting down on the cloth so I could keep my howls muffled. She cried as she watched me suffer.

"We can't stay here. They're tracking us. The manager will report us to the police."

I struggled to get up and found that I was dressed as well. Sometime during the time that I was unconscious, Molly had clothed me. It must have been very difficult, putting clothes on a limp body was not easy.

Jeans which weren't pulled up all the way, my zipper and waist snap were open and unzipped, my shirt was a flannel in blue plaid that had been pulled over my head, but she hadn't managed to push my arms through the sleeves. Tube socks on my feet but no shoes. There were a pair of Asics in the corner with the price tag still on them. I finished the job she had started, my body aching in every place _but_ one.

The collar jabbed me with intermittent pokes to spur me and in abject misery, I hunched over sitting on the edge of the bed and waited for my fate to be determined.

# Chapter 35

They came several hours later but we had already left. Molly and I checked out, heading for the truck when the manager came out and told us he had called the cops. Molly gave him the finger and peeled off as he ran after us throwing curses.

The collar's punishing spikes took away my appetite and neither of us wanted to or had eaten. Molly decided to hit the road and put us further away from all pursuit, even further from Cal and Whitford. I knew that wasn't really an option, but I was too sick at heart to fight her.

She had peeled out of the parking lot and headed to the Interstate, the first time on it since we'd left Vegas. She made excellent time on the broad highway, able to push the truck over 85 mph. We still towed the trailer, on the off chance that we might need to hide me as the mule once more. I didn't tell her that I would rather take my chances as me.

We hadn't gone very far, perhaps three or four exits up the Interstate when I gasped and reached for the collar. My hands held it and smoke wisped off my fingers and neck. The smell of burning flesh made both of us retch. My face must have been horrible to look at, for Molly slammed on the brakes and pulled over into the slow lane. She took the next pull-off which happened to be a text stop and where the State Police had set up a make-shift weigh station.

She made an abortive attempt to pass when she saw the Troopers but was already committed on the off-ramp. And there we saw them. Standing in plain sight with his arms outstretched, his palms flaming, and his face equally lit with rage was Jordemayne. I slumped on the seat, my heart almost bursting out of my chest, my back on fire. I couldn't speak, nor breathe and my agonized eyes caused her to slam on the brakes again. She threw the truck into Park and ran out, leaving the door ajar. The buzzer kept time with my throbbing hurts. I barely saw her strike Jordemayne, yet I heard her screaming curses at him. The pain and fire lessened but I was too weak to move. I wanted to run but could only sit there and wait to be punished.

Their voices raised loud enough for me to hear them, Molly's overriding her brother. My door popped open and Whit's horrified face stared at mine. He reared back and punched me in the face, hit my nose and I felt it break. I would have laughed at his own painful thrashing, as he surely broke his own hand, but I was too caught up in my own fresh pain.

Blood and tears mingled as they poured down my cheeks. I saw stars, passed out in a haze of black, crackling noises and fading voices. Chilly air roused me, and I was outside, dangling off the ground hanging from Jaxon's tight grip, semi-conscious.

Molly was there, pulling at his hands and kicking her brother, all the while lambasting them with her words. State Troopers were holding both Cal and Whitford, another attempting to restrain Molly. Still others were threatening Jaxon if he didn't unhand me.

The big man let go and I crumpled to the ground, blood, and snot messing my face and shirt. I lay there in a heap until one of the cops knelt at my side. He asked me questions, but his words made no sense.

No one moved me. I drifted, coming up to hear snatches of conversations that made no sense, bright flashing lights that speared my eyes and hurt my head. I was there, but not all the way, semi-conscious but out of it.

Someone was cutting off my clothes and I tried to fight them. They were brand new and I wasn't sure if I'd have the opportunity to replace them. I was sick and tired of losing my jeans, of being naked. I clawed at the hands, but they simply pinned them against my sides.

A young dude's face loomed over mine. He wore dark blue, almost black uniform with a heavy coat that was hanging open. It had reflective stripes on the sleeves and back that glowed in the harsh lights rotating red, blue and halogen white. I shut my eyes on the chaotic sight, unable to cope with what was going on. He kept asking me stupid questions. I wanted to answer him but somehow, I'd forgotten the correct replies. He turned to the enormously tall cop dressed in dove-gray with a Sam Browne belt and cool hat. From my strange position, he looked twelve feet tall and I realized that it was because I was lying prone. How I got there kept me puzzled for minutes.

"His nose is broken, jaw fractured, and he's definitely concussed. His BP is off the charts, his pulse is over 200 and he's burning up. We need to get him to Mercy, STAT."

"Not Mac General?" the cop asked.

"Not complaining about your docs, but he needs a Level One Trauma Center, especially due to the head injuries. His eye is not responding to my light. Amarillo's the best."

"He needs Life Flight?"

"No. We can transport by bus. He's stable for the half hour ride. You taking these others in to Hennepin?"

"The woman attacked her brother. Said quite forcefully that the boy's injuries were caused by him. The teenager is her son and he's the one that punched the vic in the face," the trooper related. "On top of that, there's a BOLO and a warrant out on the woman, her companions if any, the vic and the kid. We're to hold, notify the FBI and the PRE."

"PRE?" His voice was sharp. I wondered why those initials caused a reaction in the paramedic. My brain had cleared enough for me to name what he was, but I still hadn't made the connection as to what he was doing with _me_. "So, these people are part of those...kind? Sorcery and witchcraft?" He sounded wary.

Leaning over me, he adjusted the O2 mask and tightened the straps around my chest, legs, and waist. I was on a stretcher. I wondered if I had been in an accident and looked for the driver. My brain felt addled. My face hurt. I must have asked a question, because the EMT told me to relax.

I had no recollection of being lifted onto the stretcher or the last few minutes before that.

"Are you a sorcerer? Warlock? Conjured demon?" he asked, fingering something around his neck. He pulled it out and the lights glittered off a gold charm on a heavy chain rope. A charm used to ward off the effects of malignant magic. I tried to shake my head, but any movement sent a crescendo of pain through my face, jaw, nose, and cheeks. My eyes were swelling shut to match the distended nose. My jaw would not open and when I tried to speak, an agonizing stab shot through my skull.

"Don't try to talk," the EMT said gently. "Your jaw is broken or dislocated. Can you breathe okay? I gave you some Fentanyl, but I can't give you any more or your breathing may be compromised."

I couldn't draw air in through my nose; it was clogged with blood, the bone skewed to the side and my sinuses blocked by bone chips and clots. I had to suck air in through my mouth. It panicked me; I was afraid that I would suffocate so I was hyperventilating, making me dizzier than I already was.

"What's your name? How old are you? Are these people your family?" he asked but it was Molly that answered him.

"His name is Raven Murphy. He's 19 years-old," Molly said angrily. "I need to go with him!"

"You're all going to jail," the cop said. "After that, we'll see where you wind up."

I floated up and the stretcher stopped with a jerk and then a second bump as I went rolling down the pavement into the back of an ambulance. Before the doors closed, the EMTs turned around to the sound of several helicopters. The wind from their rotors gusted grass, dirt, and clothes to a frenzy.

The entire rest area lit up with the intensity of their search lights. One by one, the Six Black Hawks landed until there was not one inch of the lot not occupied by one of the six. The side hatch was open, and gunners held the entire group, EMTs, Troopers, Molly, and her family in the sights of automatic rifles.

The forward movement by the ambulance crew stopped as armed soldiers leaped from the nearest three helicopters and surrounded the ambulance. They held everyone under guard. Before I could blink past swollen eyes, before I could _see_ anything, the collar warned me of what was coming.

The dark-haired woman shoved everyone out of the way and stood over me. I could barely see her, but I could smell her scent and rage. I knew that the others she commanded were not far behind.

Cherelle hissed at me and reached for my throat, only to contact the collar which flared to light, warning her but it did not burn me. She drew back with a cry of pain, turning to Callimachus.

"Release him, Callimachus Japheth Jordemayne," she demanded. Her eyes flashed brilliantly, the same color as what was bleeding off her hands as she clenched them in fists.

"No. Not even in death," he said calmly.

Her eyes flickered to Molly and Whit. "What about them? Will you trade your family for his bondage? For their lives?"

"If you kill me, he dies. If you hurt my sister or nephew, my man-servant or anyone in my enclave, he will turn on all of you. Worse yet, he will be loose from my control. A rogue demon on this plane. Do you wish to risk that?"

She sneered. "A mini-dragon is no match for me or my magicks. And the First Tier are waiting to take _him_ and _you_ on."

Cal stared at her. No one had told her about my larger size? I tried to sit up but between the pain meds and my condition, I just couldn't summon the strength. My quiet words in Welsh did not reach Cal's ears but _Molly_ heard them. She leaned against the short, stocky Trooper and spoke the words that I had taught her.

" _Raven, yn Ddraig. Lladd pob un ohonynt!" (Raven, Dragon be. Kill them all!)._

Instantly, I was the dragon in all my glory and rage. No pain marked me and the straps holding me to the stretcher ripped into shreds as the gurney collapsed under my new weight.

I grabbed Cherelle before she could throw any spells and heaved her through the air with all my ire, not caring if or how she landed. Plucked all four of them in my limbs and took off to the accompaniment of bullets flying from the soldiers. The cops were too stunned to retaliate at first, but as I gained altitude, they popped their puny handguns at me.

I tossed Molly and Whit on my back and she grabbed the reins steering me back to the group on the ground. She was trying to get me to destroy the choppers, but I had no fire to burn. I was afraid to go low enough to rake the rotors with my talons and besides, I had to disable them, so they could not follow and attack.

I tossed Callimachus from my back leg to my front, not caring that he was free floating, or that he might fall until I plucked him back out of the air. Jaxon hung quietly, his weight a clear strain added to all the others. Bringing Cal up towards my face, I stared at him.

"Can you disable the helicopters?" I growled, and his hair flew from the force and volume of my question. He winced and would have held his ears if I hadn't pinned both arms to his side.

"Can't you blow smoke at them?" he snapped.

I growled. "Don't think I can't bite your head off or drop you. No, I'm all out of methane. Are you out of magic spells?" I was sarcastic, which probably didn't help the situation much. I flew on, keeping an eye out for pursuit and put as many miles between us as I could.

The trouble was that we were over the Panhandle of Texas – nothing between us and Canada except for a three-strand barbwire fence. The land was pancake flat; I could see for hundreds of miles. The only thing that stood out was a low line of dark hills that reflected in the sunlight.

Molly yelled, "head there, Raven! That's post-oak country!"

"Why? What's that? I need to get you all someplace safe to hide," I returned. They winced, my voice was loud but then, I was excited and upset.

"Post-oak isn't oak," she snapped. "It's _basalt_."

" _Ahh."_ I put renewed vigor into my wings and picked up the pace. All told, the four of them really didn't put much of a strain on my dragon body or strength, they were just awkward to carry.

We reached the basalt and what it turned out to be was an outcropping of rock that fractured in linear columns. It ran for miles and was miles deep and almost a hundred feet high. Ranchers split off the pieces into 4", 6", and 8" 'posts' and used them in lieu of wooden or metal t-posts. They never rotted and once sunk in the ground, were there forever. You could actually see the history of barb wire on the posts, all the way back to the original two-strand, 4-point barbed wire that fenced in and tamed the Wild West.

I set them down in a hollow dug out by ranchers a hundred years before we came and tore more chunks loose, shoveling them down my gut as fast as I could. I burped and small streams of flames burst from my nostrils.

Whit said shakily, "Raven, look." He pointed behind me and there were black dots on the horizon.

I froze. Looked at Molly and Whit. Cal and Jaxon. Decided what I was going to do. "Can you get yourselves out of here if you're hidden from them?"

He nodded. I pulled free four of the largest scales from my keel; large enough to completely cover each one of them, if they squatted beneath it. I placed them in each's hand. "They reflect any imaging device, radar, sonar, IFR and magic. They can't scan you if you're under them, their eyes and instruments will not see if you're hiding beneath. Wait until I've led them off before you call for help."

I leaped up and flew to meet the oncoming horde.

# Chapter 36

They met me over halfway back, far enough from where I'd dropped Molly and her family. I didn't waste time dickering with them, I opened fire on the lead chopper. Pun intended. To my surprise, my flames parted around the entire group of flying machines as if the lead ship was an icebreaker parting the frozen seas.

One gunship slewed past me with a rush of air. I knew that they were after Molly and the others, but I didn't worry about them, I knew that they were safely hidden as long as they kept their heads and remained hidden under my scales.

We danced, the helicopters and I. The pilots attempted to get above and below me at the same time, to encircle me but as agile as they were, I could still out-maneuver them. I had the added advantage in that they wanted me alive and I did not care if every one of them died.

I dove, keeping the helicopter on my right from flying too close, not that it ever stopped firing on me. The rifle was a large bore, .50 caliber Barrett, and the gunner let loose two-shot bursts at me. The 5" long bullets bounced off my scales, but they packed a meaty punch that made me grunt.

I looked hard at each Black Hawk, my eye piercing inside the blackened cockpit. I was looking for Cherelle, assuming that she was the one casting spells protecting the gunships.

When my chest burst into flames, I nearly fell out of the sky in shock. She was on the ground in an Army Humvee surrounded by men dressed in black suits with no markings, carrying wands and staffs that glittered as they shoot off colored fire. Colored in green, blue, orange, and white. It was the green fire that hit me, and it _hurt_.

All were conjuring, the air crackling around them like a lightning storm of immense fury. I flamed them with the same results. The wall of fire split around them, set the grass ablaze, spreading rapidly across the flat plain. Smoke billowed. They were not affected by my flames or the thick smoke that veiled them from my eyes.

A deadly black gunship sliced through the smoke and nearly clipped me. I wasn't sure who was more surprised as the gunner let loose, and tracers lit the way straight towards me. At the last moment, I ducked under the helicopter to meet a black fist made of denser smoke. Instead of gliding through it, the fist smacked me out of the sky.

I tumbled tail over horns until I hit the ground, with an impact that rattled both my teeth and every seismograph within a hundred miles. Not to mention that I plowed into the dirt a furrow three-feet deep and six-hundred-feet long before I came to a stop.

Stunned, I lay there for a moment and that gave the remaining ships time to ring me. I didn't wait to see what their plan was, I reared up on my hind legs, caught the underside of the nearest helicopter and flapped my wings, pushing both of us back into the air.

I wore the Black Hawk like a turtle shell, knowing that the others would not fire on their own men. To my shock, they did. The helicopter to my right shot rockets from tubes hanging below their landing struts. They looked like giant sparklers as they approached me, but I wasn't taking any more chances. I blew a spectacular set of flames a hundred feet long that met the rocket's warhead long before it reached us. The shell exploded with less than major fanfare, a dud. What they had hoped to accomplish with such a puny weapon puzzled me. The only effect that I noticed was a thin gray mist that settled all over my body.

Cherelle and her wizards sent spell after spell to negligible effect. I blew most of them up such as the giant web, torrents of water that I turned to steam, blasts of lightning, sucking the wind out from under me. She even used the freeze spell again, but I melted her ice before it touched me.

Dodging the fire from the gunships was an intense and exhausting fight. I tried to lead them further away from Molly and the others and to some extent, my tactics worked. We were 50 miles past where I had dropped them, closer to the city of Amarillo and not farther than I had planned to take them.

I wondered if the inhabitants of the Texas metropolis were paying attention to the fireworks going off outside their city limits.

I twisted my entire body around. With it came the chopper I still held in my claws, its rotors beating frantically now that it was upside down. I heard the turbines whining, the screams of the pilots as I slung the helicopter in the same way that you would play snap-the-whip. Black Hawk One plowed into Black Hawk Four in a truly epic explosion and blew up, sending shards of metal, splinters of plastic and missiles of human bone in far-flung directions. Several hit me, bouncing off; many with a disgusting splat that reminded me that it had once been a living being.

The last gunship retreated a safe distance and I could give my undivided attention to the witch and her cohorts. It was a mistake, the moment I turned my back, the gunship fired one of those web rifles and it hit me at the junction of my wings where they emerged from my shoulders, forcing and holding them in the upstroke position so I could no longer flap. I struggled to tear free but like before, the incredible strength of the material was more than my dragon muscles and power could handle. The position the gunman had chosen was probably the most perfect he could have picked, the best place where the small amount of webbing could do the most damage.

I rolled in the sky, trying to reach it with my talons and although I was as flexible as an acrobatic snake, I could not reach it with teeth or claws. I wasn't even sure that I could have torn it lose if my face or feet had encountered and adhered to the webbing if I _had_ reached it.

I wailed. Hit the ground on my back, head flopping and unable to right myself once I landed. Worse yet, I fell on part of the remains of a Black Hawk.

I'd hit hard enough to kill anything smaller that a dragon but because my wings were stuck open and glued together, falling on them crushed the bones, destroying the membranes and ribs that let me fly. It was infinitely worse an injury than the spell Cherelle had used before.

I keened in distress and pain, a noise that rolled across the plains and caused all those within hearing distance to cover their ears as tears ran from their eyes. Wetness gathered beneath me and the smell of Avgas filled my nose. I pushed with broken wing ribs, scrambled with my feet, and dug furrows in the ground with neck and tail. Finally, as the remaining soldiers approached, I was able to push enough to get a set of toes and talons into something and flip over.

Once on my feet, I no longer felt so helpless. I could run and dig. Dragons could dig further and faster than a badger. If I could disappear underground to find a cavern. If I wasn't afraid of tight spaces, that is.

In my fight with the helicopters, we'd flown beyond Cherelle's sight and power. I looked around. No gunship in view, so assuming I was too injured to move, they had left to retrieve the witch. I had only a scant few minutes to make my escape.

I stood on all fours, my wings a crumpled, bleeding mess behind me. No longer pinioned upright, they lay on my back, dragging to the ground. Lay in shattered pieces of bone and leathery skin, on my back and down my sides, dripping blue blood that smelled of iron and copper. Every inch of movement caused white-hot agony, especially when I tried to tuck them out of the way, so I couldn't step on them.

The wind heralded her arrival. My eyes grew wide and alarmed as the giant black fist was now a giant man the size of a mountain looming over me. In place of a pair of legs, it had a tornado's base and form. Swirling within it were pieces of fence posts, basalt, helicopter, and human parts. Strands of barb wire. Occasionally, some strange piece of debris was flung off to impact the ground.

I turned tail and ran. I had battled elementals before, my shaky memory told me. But not alone and never wounded, unable to fly. Dragons were faster than they in the air and even though I was a fast runner on the ground, I could never outpace it. To think that I could outrun an air elemental was the height of stupidity.

The last remaining Black Hawk reappeared in front of me, sending a missile towards my face. It exploded several hundred yards in front, making me veer off to the side. After a few more that came no closer to hitting me, I realized that they were herding me in a specific direction. Herding me and using the air elemental to keep me from turning back.

I was light-headed, hurting and desperately worried about Molly, Whit and even Jordemayne. I worried that they had remained safe and hidden. At that point, I had doubts that it would be me returning to pick them up.

Ahead, glittering in the bright sunlight, I caught my first sight of the massed Army that they had set up in the time we had been fighting.

Rows upon rows of APCs, Humvees, tanks, and more gunships. Even anti-aircraft guns sat on both sides of an open space the size of a football field. A box ringed by huge spotlights towering five stories high. Inside that area, nothing was left but bare sand. From the size of the field, I assumed that they had known about my larger version or the military had grown increasingly adept at putting together operations at the drop of a hat.

My body felt increasingly heavy, each step an effort to drag forward and put down. I slowed unwillingly, and the elemental nearly crawled up my butt. As I turned to blow fire at it; an amorphous arm extended and swatted just as I reared onto my hind, mouth gaping flames. At the last moment, I saw that its hand was not empty. Like its bottom half, its hand held debris of various sorts. Whether by chance or design, a twenty-foot piece of rotor blade was tucked into a giant fist and impacted my chest. Right at the point where I had pulled the scales which I had given to the four, the only place my body was vulnerable to puncture..

The hardened steel alloy slid into my chest like the javelin in a joist, tore on bone and came out my back. I hung there, spitted like a kabob until the thing's revolutions tore the blade loose.

I fell limply, thick streams of blue blood gushing out of both holes. Torrents of it. I could not move except for the twitching of my feet as my brain screamed at my body to move.

I heard a scream, a woman screaming and took it for my own. But it was not me screaming _'NO'_ at the top of my lungs just before my eyes closed. I was aware of my mouth filling with blood, so much that I couldn't breathe. Sounds quieted, sight was gone. Scent – all I could smell was the bright coppery taste of blood. The only sensation left to me was cold. Cold ground under my body, cold chills as the blood drained from me. Eternal quiet. Endless darkness.

# Chapter 37

The soldiers in the last Black Hawk were the first to approach the body of the black dragon. Several fired bullets into the creature's eye and were surprised when the bullets bounced off, hitting two of the men in their leg and torsos.

The witch's commands made them cease but not lower the muzzles of their weapons and they watched in silence as she ran to the carcass. Blood no longer pulsed out with a heartbeat, it dribbled, adding to the lake around the dragon. Its scales gleamed still although the open eyes were dull, one more so than the other. No breath came from its nostrils as she placed her hand on the hole the size of her head.

"No-ooo," she whispered. _"NO!"_ The wizards joined her, their faces masks that neither could decipher. One approached Cherelle and laid his hand on her clenched arm.

Aldi MacAfee said nothing, but regret chased fleetingly across his mien. Behind them, the elemental dissolved into a puff of air, leaving behind a pile of distorted metal and broken humans.

In its place, the air shimmered. A man stood there. Tall, handsome. Dark-haired and dressed in a business man's expensive three-piece suit. He exuded an air of cold menace and princely confidence as he stepped forward. In his fingers he toyed with a Tarot card.

Cherelle's eyes caught the incredibly life-like drawing on the colored card. Instead of one of the normal Major Arcana, his card showed both the Black Dragon and a beautiful teenage boy in black jeans and t-shirt, standing in the dragon's shadow. It was plain that both were the same creature.

The man spared them only an icy glance before he walked up to and knelt at the dragon's head. His long, slender fingers gestured, and the blood spilled on the ground in a lake _poured_ back into the ghastly wounds puckering before their eyes.

They watched as the Prince for he could not be a man, reached underneath the dragon's limp body and lifted. By the time the man had climbed to his feet, he no longer held a _dragon's_ body but a _teenager's_.

His head hung low until the man shifted him so that the boy rested against his chest, his bare legs down his side. The boy was unclothed but covered in blood, the huge wound in his chest visible to their eyes.

His voice was quiet yet every one of them heard it and shivered. "What have you done to my son?"

Cherelle stepped forward. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"I am Merlin. King of Chaos and you have brought war to your Shadow by murdering my son." He looked down at the still, quiet face with tenderness. "Raven. Let us go home."

The air shimmered and from that shimmer, a gloved and armored hand reached forth which the King of Chaos took hold. He walked forward and disappeared, leaving nothing behind but questions.

I

I felt it. The minute, the second that we crossed the shadows into Amber. Although I knew that I had died, some spark that was forever the magic of Amber shuddered into fire inside my soul and brought me back. I gasped as air filled my lungs and some warmth returned to my limbs. I knew that I was being carried in someone's arms, but it was all I could do to keep breathing.

My chest rose and my back screamed with pain, my moan was the breath of a whispered inhalation. It was enough to stop the man in his tracks. His shout hurt me. It brought a flurry of attention as he began to run. The movement jarred me, made me faint and I didn't waken until I was laid on a soft surface.

Bits and pieces of the next few hours or days came back to me. I was in a soft bed. My bed in the Palace, set up as a hospital room complete with medical equipment. Faces that I knew loomed over me, made me afraid. I became so agitated that the doctor made him leave. The King. Random.

I remembered the doctor. A displaced surgeon from Earth who preferred Amber and was the Royal Physician. He knew me well for I was forever getting into scrapes that required his expertise. He had treated me in the body that had died, been there for my funeral and welcomed me back when I returned with the help of my friends.

My friends, Roelle and Marcus. Commander Tegan and Rinlon Peel. They came to see me, hold my hand, and beg me not to leave. The Queen came and my grandfather, Corwin. They sat with me for hours although I was not aware of it.

They told me I cried out my accusations against Random, they told me that they were not true. They told me that I begged them to save Molly, Whit and the others but knew not what I meant.

Next time that I came awake enough to comprehend anything, it was dark yet there was the comforting glow of candles in my room. Two figures were seated in a chair at the foot of my bed, reading. I recognized both. Rinlon Peel and Commander Tegan.

Standing over me taking my pulse was Dr. Eric Flauvel, the Royal Doctor from Earth Shadow. He wore a wide smile, but I didn't really notice as I was floating on a tide of morphine induced euphoria.

"Raven. Welcome back. I'd ask how you feel but I can tell from your pulse and your eyes." I raised an eyebrow and fluttered a hand toward my chest. "Something skewered you. Nearly fatal although Lord Merlin said it _was_ fatal. He said you were dead when he picked you up. No blood pressure, no heartbeat, no breath sounds. Not to mention he was standing in a pool of blood six inches deep and twenty feet around."

If he was asking a question, I had no answer. Couldn't shrug. Any attempt to try brought waves of sharp, stabbing pain that ate through the drug's haze.

"I sewed up your back, re-inflated and repaired your lung, sewed up the artery in the left side of your heart, gave you four units of blood, zapped you six times and voila! Good as new."

He grinned. I vomited. He rolled me swiftly onto my side as I tried to scream and inhaled puke. I choked, couldn't breathe, and watched him grow smaller and darker as my image of the real world went away.

II

My next memory was of falling out of bed onto a cold black and white tile floor. There was a thick rug, but I missed it and my two guards were sleeping, kicked back in their chairs. The noise I made as I fell and dragged my sheets and medical equipment woke them with a start. Brought everyone else into the room but my father, Tegan, and Corwin.

Dr. Flauvel gave me a shot and carefully, the two shamefaced men lifted me back onto the bed. The doc put back the nose prongs that carried my oxygen and the cool air rushed into my depressed lungs.

"Raven, you have to stay in bed. Not move an inch. You aspirated vomit and have compromised your lungs. You have pneumonia as well as severe chest wounds. How did you break your nose? I reduced the fracture as best I could, but it still impairs your breathing."

I looked the room over, noticed the missing family members, made some kind of noise to which Rinlon translated. "He wants to know where his father and grandfather are?"

"Preparing for a war,'" the doc said calmly. Considering that it was his shadow that was about to feel the full force of Chaos' military might, I was surprised that he seemed unaffected. I tried to get up again and the doctor made a sound of impatience. He gave me another shot in the IV which I noticed I was wearing for the first time. I shuddered and tried to fight but the waves of the sedative pulled me under.

III

My hands went to my throat and found it free, no collar, no leash. Neither on my neck or any other part of my body that I could reach. All I felt was the bandaging around my torso and a hospital gown laid loosely atop me. I was covered with clean, soft sheets and my favorite down comforter. I felt a huge burden leave me and the cool lightness of relief. I was not bound anymore.

There was a fire chuckling and popping merrily in the stone fireplace, throwing shadows on the faces of two men I did not know. They were standing at the door instead of residing in the two chairs at the foot of my bed.

When they saw that I was awake, they opened the door, bowed, and escorted the King into my room. I cowered and tried to push against the headboard so that I was sitting up. Random rushed to my side ad gripped my hand tight enough to bruise.

"Raven, relax. I'm not here to hurt you. I would never hurt you. What you heard from Sergeant Radford Aragon was a lie and there is no Aarone Ruinredder in his employ. It was an illusion sent to you by a powerful wizard not of Amber but from Earth. He found a book that described Amber and a spell that could draw forth one of its creatures. That is who the Sergeant talked with, not I. Because you were drunk, this wizard was able to override your dragon perception and human protections."

I shook my head. It no longer mattered how I arrived there, what mattered now was that I stopped a war before it began. To that end, I began preparations to escape my jailors, return to Earth Shadow, rescue Molly, the others and stop an unnecessary war. And, I wanted to hold Molly once more.

# The End.

#

