Old Dark (The Last Dragon Lord Book 1) (22 page)

But he wasn’t scared now.
 

He was pissed. Every hour was something new, and the only way to deal with it was to fight.
 

He glowered at the great dragon curled into a ball in the cage, and said, “If you understand anything, know that I’m the boss around here. I don’t care if you were a dragon lord or not. The world has gone to shit, and it’s better that you live in a cage. Trust me.”

He heard faint voices.
 

The television set was playing the news.
 

“What is this, a hotel room?” he yelled. He grabbed the television and pushed it over. It landed on its side and the screen cracked.
 

Miri packed her purse and started for the door.
 

“And where are you going?” Lucan asked.
 

“I won’t be a part of this. I won’t sanction torture.”

He could tell that Miri wanted to cry.
 

Damn. She
was
serious. He couldn’t let her leave. If she did, he’d have no one to advise him.
 

Those familiar pangs in his stomach kicked in.
 

Dial it back, Lucan. Dial it back.

“Listen, I was a jerk,” Lucan said, jogging after her.
 

“Worse,” Miri said.
 

He blocked her path. “I’ve got big problems, Miri. And if I don’t do something, those problems are going to become all of our problems.”

Miri tried to push past him, but he ignored her.
 

“I might be the subject of a government investigation—all of us might. My uncle is suspicious.”

Miri’s eyes widened. “How?”

“Let’s just say a lot of stuff happened while you were sleeping.”

Miri’s phone rang. She pulled it out and put her hand on her forehead, pressing against it as if a migraine were coming on.
 

“I completely forgot. I’m supposed to give Dean Rosehill an answer.”

“An answer?”

“Magic Hope University was selected to conduct the investigation into the bog.”

“Miri! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t realize the government was after you.”

“What do they know?”

“They haven’t started anything yet.”

Lucan sighed. It was the first break he’d gotten since he found Old Dark. It was about time.
 

“They asked me to lead the investigation, but I said no,” Miri said.
 

Lucan walked around the room, thinking. “No. I need you there.”

“What!”

“I need to know what the governor knows. You can misdirect the investigation.”

“I’m not committing a crime on your behalf.”

“Fine. Then we all go to jail when my uncle discovers that we covered up the tomb.”

“You covered it up, not me.”

“You work for the university. My uncle is going to make sure he destroys you. Probably worse than me.”

Miri sighed. “What did I get myself into…?”

Dark lumbered to his feet. The after-effects of the spell were wearing off. He spoke through the muzzle, and his voice was tinny and muffled.

“Lucan Grimoire.”

Lucan turned toward the cage. “That’s me.”

“I demand a word.”

“I’m listening. Nice to see you can finally understand me.”

“When were you planning on letting me out of here?” the dragon asked weakly.

“No idea. Probably never.”

Dark wanted to roar, but the muzzle choked his throat. “Have you no mercy on an old dragon, Lucan Grimoire?”

Lucan wagged his finger. “Sure, I’ve got mercy. But I’m not falling for that.”

He pivoted toward Miri. “Well, what’s it going to be?”

Miri hadn’t been expecting any of this; it was obvious from her worried expression.
 

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“I don’t have a choice, Miri.”

A low, croaky voice from the television filled the space between them.
 

“How many skies must a dragon travel to reach enlightenment? These’re words I’ve’ll be remembering for the rest of my life, because a wise old dragon tol’em to me. I remembered the past tonight, even though the Magic Index was low and I had no reason to. As a matter of speaking, I think of the past all’a time, even though’ve made my life in the present, and lookin’ back is just too painful for a river dragon like me. But if you felt the hum in the air last night, you’ve’ll understand my memories. For I felt something. I don’know what it was, but when I seen the leveled trees and the big circle and the reporters all standin’ around scratchin’ their heads, I got a flashback to a memory…”

On screen, a tremendous green dragon reported from a weather studio. He had a chubby, round face with warts all over it, and a red and white iridescent tie hung loosely around his neck. He held a microphone close to his mouth with a webbed hand, and he barely fit in the studio.
 

He hiccupped, and a plosive sound exploded through the television speakers.
 

“Memories are all a dragon like me has sometimes, and I’ve’ll not forget them even if it means having to bear pain. For I can feel it in my webbed hands. Somethin’as awakened.”

Dark gripped the cage with two claws and said something that Lucan couldn’t make out.
 

He was whispering the dragon’s name.

“Frog … Frog … Frog…”

XXXII

Celesse eased her way into a hardware store. It was near closing time and a late surge of people flowed in and out of the lobby.
 

She had changed into jeans and a t-shirt. She tied her hair into a long ponytail and wore a baseball cap that she pulled low over her eyes.
 

The store aisles were packed with tall shelves that stretched at least thirty feet into the air. If you wanted something, you had to ask an elven attendant, who then used a special grimoire to call the item down. Otherwise, you had to use your own spells, and the store wasn’t responsible for anything that happened if you did.
 

Fortunately, she didn’t need anything.
 

Just subterfuge.
 

As she passed down an aisle, weaving around several humans carrying buzz saws, she hoped that nothing fell on her. There was no point looking up in a place like this; something was always hovering just over your head.
 

Hardware stores weren’t Celesse’s kind of place. She preferred luxury bars or the comfort of her own couch—or Lucan’s couch, depending on where she was staying. They’d talked about taking their relationship to the next level, but the election had put a stop to that. Now they were too busy to worry about personal matters.

Lucan was back at the factory trying to figure out what to do with Old Dark, and here she was, cleaning up his messes.

How much money did you have to have before responsibility kicked in?
 

She’d wanted him to say the right words, hold her the right way, make the right, sweet promises. But Lucan was Lucan, and she wondered if she could get okay with that.

She crossed into another aisle, narrowly missing a shopping cart with lumber sticking out of the front.
 

The lumberyard lay fifty paces ahead, open and exposed. It was raining, but the shelves of lumber glowed pink, protected by a waterproofing spell.
 

She wished she’d worn a hoodie.
 

Gunther Penrose would be there, and knowing how contractors like him didn’t mind the elements, he’d be waiting in the rain.
 

An automatic door slid open and she stepped into the rain. It fell gently on her shoulders and patted against her baseball cap.
 

She pulled her cap down and scanned the yard. Two forklifts were parked under an overhang, and elven employees sat next to them, waiting for the rain to stop.
 

The ground was slowly turning into mud and puddles. Her white tennis shoes sank into the mud and crunched gravel as she walked.
 

Where was he?

Out in the open were pyramids of firewood and tall mounds of pea gravel bags. The woody, earthy smell reached her and made her think of Lucan’s cabin in the woods, a cozy place hidden two hours from civilization.
 

The rain picked up and thunder rumbled in the distance.
 

She stuffed her hands into her pockets and walked into the rain.
 

A whistle came from her left.
 

She spun around and faced a dark aisle of two-by-fours and planks. A shadow moved near the end of the aisle.
 

She stalked down the aisle. When she reached the end, a voice said, “Stay there.”

She stopped. In front of her, several planks shifted, making an opening. Gunther Penrose’s blue eyes were peering at her from the other side of the shelf. He wore a denim shirt and had short, cropped red hair. He smacked a white piece of gum and chewed with his mouth open.
 

She didn’t care for Gunther Penrose. Rough around the edges, he had built many of Lucan’s factories and had a freewheeling way about him, and she never knew the best way to control him.
 

“You sure you couldn’t do this over the phone?” he asked.
 

“Yes.”

He grinned and chewed faster. “You know, your pretty nails might give you away in a place like this.”

Her nails were bright red, freshly painted yesterday. She hadn’t thought about that.
 

“I made it all the way here, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sexy in high heels, but maybe you should try the t-shirt and jeans style, is all I’m saying.”

Creep. How many times had he undressed her in his mind already? The very thought made her sick. “I didn’t come here to flirt.”

“Neither did I, actually.”

“You can’t have direct contact with Lucan anymore,” Celesse said. “Not after what happened.”

“Welp, tell your boy we got a problem.”

Celesse sighed. “You want more money?”

“Sheeeet. Lucan gave me more money than the last two jobs combined. That ain’t it.”

“Is it one of your subs?”

“No.”

“Did the burial go as planned?”

“No one’s going to find the remains of that tomb, trust me. You gonna let me talk or what?”

Celesse breathed with relief. If those exposures were taken care of, then there shouldn’t have been anything to worry about.
 

But she still felt a pit at the bottom of her stomach opening up, and she wanted the answer.
 

“Out with it.”

Gunther glanced around cautiously. “Remember the kid who was with us?”

“You mean the college kid?”

Tony Dyer. The elven student who had accompanied Lucan to the bog. Lucan had promised the boy cash, but he kept repeating that he wasn’t interested. Even Celesse had told him to take the money, but the boy wouldn’t take it, citing hope and change and honest politics and blah blah.
 

“He’s accounted for,” she said.

“He and his dad showed up at my office yesterday wanting to speak with your boy.”

“We’ve been on the campaign circuit.”

“Yeah, which is why they came to me.”

Celesse’s eyes widened.

“Kid had a change of mind.”

“Crap. I told Lucan that boy was trouble.”

“His father is demanding to meet with Lucan. If not, they’re going to an attorney.”

“Why an attorney?”

Gunther laughed. “Forgot to tell you—kid’s arm was in a cast.”

“We inspected him. He didn’t take a hit in the attack with the dragon. How can he possibly be hurt?”

“Welcome to my world,” Gunther said. “Don’t tell me you haven’t had people claim things against you that weren’t true.”

Celesse pulled out her phone and started to thumb a text. As her thumbs hovered over the screen, she remembered that her text message would have geo-data coded into it. She couldn’t betray her location if this got out.
 

“Gunther, thanks for the heads-up. Are we still good?”

“We’re good.”

Gunther walked away. His voice echoed down the aisle.
 

“Besides, that kid’s dad is a worse pain in your ass than I’ll ever be.”

Intermezzo

Magic Hope City bloomed into the rose of the western continent. What was once a small city on the western continent’s shores grew to a population of millions.
 

Because of its strategic location, the city attracted humans, elves and dragons, and the three races often found themselves in conflict.
 

Humans invented computer technology, which gave them the edge in intelligence.
 

Elves had mastered the most supreme spells, blessing every sector of the economy with improved efficiency.
 

Keeper dragons continued to moderate the aquifer levels, closing it off when the balance was threatened.
 

Crafter dragons repaired the land from the aftereffects of casting, filling in enormous craters that elves left behind. They also invented spells to counter the side effects of casting, which brought them into more frequent contact with humans and elves; one learned to feel both comfort and fear when seeing their silhouettes on the skyline.
 

But a band of elves challenged this prosperity.
 

These elves stood under the clear skies and watched the city swelling with magic. They listened to the predictions of a glorious future, but didn’t believe it.
 

These elves had been monitoring the aquifer levels, and had discovered that the constant casting and crafting was causing weakness in the earth. They predicted that a problem was coming. Urging science, they spoke of a world without magic, a withered place that could not sustain the population.
 

They forecasted doom.
 

Known as “The Returners,” they preached a more responsible society, one that found ways to cast magic responsibly without damaging the aquifer. If needed, they believed in going back to the land and giving the aquifer time to repair itself.