Mad Lizard Mambo
By Rhys Ford
The Kai Gracen Series: Book Two
Kai Gracen has no intention of being anyone’s pawn. A pity Fate and SoCalGov have a different opinion on the matter.
Licensed Stalkers make their living hunting down monsters and dangerous criminals… and their lives are usually brief, brutal, and thankless. Despite being elfin and cursed with a nearly immortal lifespan, Kai didn’t expect to be any different. Then Ryder, the High Lord of the Southern Rise Court, arrived in San Diego, and Kai’s not-so-mundane life went from mild mayhem to full-throttle chaos.
Now an official liaison between the growing Sidhe Court and the human populace, Kai is at Ryder’s beck and call for anything a High Lord might need a Stalker to do. Unfortunately for Kai, this means chasing down a flimsy rumor about an ancient lost Court somewhere in the Nevada desert—a court with powerful magics that might save Ryder’s—and Kai’s—people from becoming a bloody memory in their Merged world’s violent history.
The race for the elfin people’s salvation opens unwelcome windows into Kai’s murky past, and it could also slam the door on any future he might have with his own kind and Ryder.
Table of Contents
Readers love Black Dog Blues by Rhys Ford
To Greg Tremblay who gives voice to my verbs and nouns.
THIS BOOK
and all books are for the Five—Tamm, Jenn, Penn and Lea—as well as my other sisters, Ree, Ren, Lisa, and Mary.
I also am ever grateful to Elizabeth North, Lynn West, Grace (my long suffering editor) and the rest of the DSP and DSPP staff who do their best to pull up my socks and wipe my face so I am presentable in public.
Also thanking the San Diego Crewe, my betas and the Guinea Pigs for their support and patience.
This book is dedicated to everyone who always wanted a dragon of their own but never really thought about how much work it would be cleaning up after it.
a‘a— rough, crumbly lava (Hawaiian)
ainle—multi-use word, can be hero, champion, angel or if used in certain context, wild cat (Gaelic)
ainmhi dubh—black dog (Gaelic)
ampulla—orig: vial, blister; slang: piece of shit, waste of a person (Spanish)
arracht—monster (Gaelic)
bao—an Asian-centric bread, usually a soft white yeasty bread (Chinese origin word)
bebé—baby (Gaelic)
beathach sgeunach—skittish beast (Gaelic)
bonito—handsome, masculine pretty (Gaelic)
chi wo de shi—slang: eat my shit, damn it (Mandarin)
chikusho—slang: damn it, fuck (Japanese)
deartháir—brother (Gaelic)
diu nei ah seng—fuck your family (Singapore slang)
fifl—idiot, fool (Old Norse)
gusano—worm (sometimes found in tequila) (Spanish)
hibiki—resonance, echo (Japanese)
hondashi—dried bonito (fish) flakes, mainly used for soup stock (Japanese)
Iesu—Jesus (Hawaiian)
Indios—indigenous Austronesian peoples living in Southern California / Mexico regions
jan-ken-po—rock, paper, and scissors (Hawaiian slang of Japanese phrase)
kimchee—pickled, spicy cabbage pickles, national dish of Korea. Also spelled kim chi or kim chee. (Korean)
kuso—crap (Japanese)
luranach—lover, intended (Gaelic)
malasadas—deep fried yeast doughnuts rolled in granulated sugar (Portuguese)
meata—gone bad, turned rotten (Gaelic)
miso—soybean paste, commonly used in soup (Japanese)
muirnín—beloved, sweetheart, darling (Gaelic)
musang—wild cat, civet, feral cat (Filipino-Tagalog)
nori—seaweed, usually pressed into sheets (Japanese)
paho‘eho‘e—ropy lava (Hawaiian)
peata—pet (Gaelic)
Pele—Goddess of lava, volcanoes, passion and general badassery. Not someone to be fucked with. (Hawaiian)
Saimin—Local Hawaiian word for noodle soup dish based on Japanese ramen, Filipino pancit and other Asian noodles. Possibly based on Japanese word
ramen
/
sōmen
or Chinese words
xì
and
miàn
.
Shoyu—soy sauce (Japanese)
siao liao—crazy, out of your mind, insane. (Singapore slang)
sidhe—fairy folk, also Seelie. Considered the “good” court of the Underhill faerie / elves. Pronounced she. (Gaelic)
sláinte—health, salute (Gaelic)
sona ba bi tsi—son of a bitch (Chamorro)
sucio—filth, dirty things (Spanish)
tik-tik—bulbous triangular taxi cab, single driver car with wide back to accommodate passengers, suspended above roadways by upper rails and trolley lines, resembles a rounder version of a 1976 Ford Pinto (Indian origin word)
unsidhe—fairy folk, also Unseelie. Considered the “evil” court of the Underhill faerie / elves. Pronounced un-she. (Gaelic)
“CARI!” I
screamed across the lava field, hoping the wind would carry my panic. The night was silent except for the rapid, furious beating of wings behind me and the frantic heave of my chest. Even the wind held its breath, waiting to see the outcome of its evening’s entertainment.
There was no sign she heard me. She was too far away and locked up tight, sitting in the Nova’s driver seat, waiting for me to emerge out of the fields.
A step or two later, a torrent of swirling winds kicked up from the shore, sweeping over the crinkled black landscape and into tight clefts of jagged peaks at the base of the Pendle range. The juts stabbed at the air, envious of the craggy mountains looming behind them, and snagged the interest of the smaller lizards on the draconian food chain. Dotting an upper mesa like dollops of stygian meringue, they provided a safe haven of sorts for the lesser beasts, a place where battles for territory and mates were raged under a sea of stars.
The rising wind was harsh, grabbing at my shout and whisking my panicked mewling off as if it never existed. Screaming into the wind was as useless as pissing into it, except you didn’t get a mouthful of pee when you turned your head.
Considering the dragon riding my ass, I’d take the mouthful of piss any day.
Cold air spiked my lungs. I kept my breaths short, huffing through pressed-in lips. Exhaling misty puffs, I kept up my pace, keenly aware of the hot wind steaming my trail. The
paho‘eho‘e
lava was uneven and probably slicing the hell out of the soles of my boots, but I kept running. Stopping was definitely not an option.
Not with the waves of hot, fetid breath gushing over my neck and the whispery swoosh of massive dragon wings slapping through the air behind me.
I tightened my hold on the egg, cradling it to my chest. Off in the distance and way too far away was a small white glow, giving me an idea of where Cari waited with her brother’s souped-up Nova hatchback. With any luck she’d listened to me when I told her to keep the Nova’s big-block engine running.
If she didn’t, then I was not only screwed but probably dinner. And if the dragon was still pissed off and hungry, she’d be second helpings.
Each flap of the dragon’s wings pushed a rush of air against my back, nearly shoving me to the ground. Its cry was furious, enraged at my intrusion or possibly that I was running for my life. Most dragons didn’t take kindly to their dinner beating a hasty retreat, and this one was no exception to the rule. The force of pushed air was enough to drive me to my knees, and running with a stolen winged lizard egg didn’t make things any easier. Dodging jagged rocks, I almost lost my knee to a boulder, and my jeans, already old, ripped. My shin stung, and the air burned down to my calf.
I couldn’t lose the egg, and if I fell, the elongated oversized lizard chasing me would have a helping of elfin tartare. The orb was almost too large for me to hold on to, but its ridged, swirled patterns gave me something to grip, useful when fleeing over sharp lava rocks.
“Guns. Need… guns.” I had them. They were hanging from their holsters on my thigh and side, but none of my weapons were going to do me any good. Not with my arms full. “Fucking dragon.”
I’d spotted the abandoned nest two weeks before while making a quick run through the grasslands below Pendle and stopped only long enough to confirm the bundle of broken sticks and rocks held at least two unfertilized prismatic dragon eggs. They were glorious to behold, hematite colors and curled over with bas-relief swirls. Snatching dragon eggs was a two-person job, and I’d needed to grab an egg before they fermented black. Hard to sell something that would run a crowd out if it cracked, and no matter how hard someone tried, they always cracked. Even hollowed out and cleansed, they retained their reek. No amount of bleach could cure that.
I couldn’t let it crack. Museums or private collectors don’t pay if their treasured eggs drive visitors from a room, and I needed the paycheck.
It would be suicide to glance back. I didn’t have time to check on the dragon’s progress. So long as I didn’t feel its teeth in any part of my body, I could consider myself the winner in my odd foot-against-wing race, but I never claimed to have much common sense. It was like picking at a healing tattoo. It was wrong and probably would mar the ink, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.
Sometimes it helps to listen to the little voices in my head, especially when they’re urging me not to look and to keep running. So of
course
I looked.
“Shit,” I muttered. I
knew
it was a mistake to look back, and I did it anyway, because the image of a frilly-headed lizard with tatter-ribbon wings needed to be the last thing I saw before I died. “
Iesu
, Kai!
Idiot
.”
Dragons come in all shapes and sizes. Some are bulky, wide-chested beasts with enormous wingspans, while others are long, sinewy lizards with horns and pearls in their foreheads. Brought over when the human and elfin worlds merged, they took up the top of the food chain and, thankfully for all of us bipeds, mated furiously but rarely fertilized their eggs. Unfortunately, some female dragons still took their nesting seriously, if only to protect their eggs long enough to become enormous balut. Only then did the nesting grounds empty of females, and the males swooped down to enjoy the buffet.
It was a prismatic dragon, but I knew that before I started my little adventure. They weren’t large as dragons go, barely six feet in length, and their triangular snake heads were man-sized, but they were still vicious on a good day. I’d just made this dragon’s day go to shit. It was past grumpy and into full pissed off.
Safe in the Nova, Cari honked its deep horn, helpfully assisting me in remembering how far away I was from being safe. The world spun and dipped in a crazy rainbow spectrum soup as my goggles tried to stabilize while I dodged and wove through the hill’s juts and dips. The full moon bleached away any hard shadows, turning the lava into a mirror shiny enough to reflect the stars.
I’d worn a pair of spectral goggles to protect my eyes from any gas flares and to push back the deep black shadows thrown up by the bright moon. The silvery drench was nearly daylight bright, and I could see well enough, but there was always the risk of plummeting through a lava tube and breaking my neck.
The goggles were a little heavy, and sometimes I wondered if they actually did anything, but any advantage they gave me over the terrain was welcome. One wrong step and I could be a smear on the inside of a pocket in the rock or, worse, fall into a thread of magma and broil.
With my luck, the egg would survive the fall, and Cari would only have to wait until the dragon grew bored. Then she could retrieve it.
Unless the dragon got me first, in which case, I’d wholeheartedly wish I’d met my end in a fall, because I couldn’t think of a worse death than being eaten alive. Since I’d been fed strips of my own flesh by my insane father before Fate blinked and Dempsey won me in that poker game, I figured I had pretty good ideas on what a good way to go would be.
Flying lizard food was
not
one of them.
The lizard’s scales sang a soft chaotic tune as she chased me. Her claws spat up chunks of sharp pumice as she fumbled and scrambled over the rocks. Prisms couldn’t get much lift, but her wings went a long way in carrying her weight forward as she gave chase. Their eggs were prized, hard cloisonné shells of rainbow stained-glass hexagons. They glistened and sparkled better than diamonds and were worth so much more to the right Stalker. The one I held in my arms was worth a fortune. Much like the two I’d left behind.