Dragon Soul
Page 7
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“Do the rooms have balconies?” Rowan asked, a dashing picture forming in his mind of himself being very James Bond by climbing down to the balcony below his and slipping into Sophea’s room while she was sleeping.
“Yours doesn’t. Mrs. Papadopolous’s does.”
Rowan instantly replaced the James Bond vision with one of him handily picking a lock and slipping into the darkened room that way. He ignored the fact that he wouldn’t recognize a lock pick if it bit him on the ass. “I’ll take it.”
Ten minutes later he was seated on a black-and-white-checked chair in a tiny room furnished with equally eclectic furniture, none of which matched, all of which had the air of being cast off from a previous century. He glanced at his watch, not particularly because he wanted to know the time, but because he had propped up his phone and was engaged in a video conversation with his sister Bee. “It’s almost six, and I’ve been awake for more than twenty-four hours. Do you think I could get a little sleep before you have me committing felonies?”
Bee’s lips thinned in irritation. “I can’t believe you’re whining about a little lack of sleep when the world is facing a massive catastrophe. No, not massive—world-breaking. Don’t you understand? Bael is trying to collect three tools that he’ll use to rule not just the Otherworld, but all those millions of innocent mortals out there. Do you want that, Rowan? Do you want the mortals killed and maimed because you were sleepy and wanted a nap? Because I’ll tell you right here and now that we don’t.”
A head came into view behind that of Bee. It was a man with shoulder-length brownish-blond hair who Rowan assumed was the dragon to whom Bee had bound herself. “Is this the Dragon Breaker?” the man asked.
Rowan flinched at the title. It had been a long time since he’d heard it, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.
“He doesn’t resemble you at all.” Bee’s dragon looked suspicious.
“That’s because I look like my mom, and Rowan is kind of a mix of Mom and Dad. Rowan, this is Constantine.” Bee smiled over her shoulder at the blond-haired man, and seemed to be distracted for a few seconds until Rowan cleared his throat.
“Is the Dragon Breaker refusing to help us?” Constantine asked Bee, frowning at the camera in Bee’s laptop. “He is obligated to do so. Every dragon knows that—the First Dragon himself said he had to assist dragonkin without protest until his debt had been paid.”
“My name is Rowan, and I’m here, aren’t I?” Rowan said somewhat acidly. “And you don’t need to go into old history. We all know who I am.”
“You are the Dragon Breaker,” Constantine insisted. “You killed four dragons with your magic.”
“I’m an alchemist—I break magic, I don’t make it. And I didn’t kill those dragons—they interfered during the process of breaking down a catalyst, and were destroyed because of it.” Rowan felt as if he’d been on the earth at least three hundred years. Had that horrible night really been twenty years ago? He shook his head to himself. If only he’d had the wisdom to stop the process before it had gone too far, before the dragons, in their lust for gold, had interfered… and paid the ultimate price for that interference.
“The First Dragon wouldn’t have bound danegeld on you if you weren’t at fault,” Constantine replied with irritating complacence.
“Look, I am not guilty—”
“Enough, Rowan. You too, Constantine. This is not the time or place to debate what’s happened in the past. Let’s have bygones be bygones, and focus on what’s important. Rowan said he’d get Bael’s ring—”
“I said I’d try to get the ring, but I’m not a thief or James Bond. My window doesn’t even have a balcony.”
Bee’s forehead wrinkled. “What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”
“Do you know what a lock pick looks like?” Rowan demanded to know, suddenly so tired that all inhibitions were long gone. So, evidently, was the filter between his brain and mouth. “Because I don’t, and I object to you sending me tersely worded texts asking me where the ring is when I am probably the least qualified person in the world to steal it. I’m a sociologist, Bee. I can explain to even the most isolated tribe who the white people are and why they are cutting down the forests, but I am not a thief.”
“You just admitted that you are an alchemist,” Constantine said, leaning his head in front of Bee’s. She whapped him on it and forced him to move. He resolved the situation by pulling her onto his lap, so they could both face the camera. “That ring is a magic item. You break magic down to its essential parts, and we want the ring unmade so Bael can’t use it. It’s just that simple.”
Rowan rubbed his face again. He eyed the bed with the lime green duvet dotted with what looked like ladybugs, and thought seriously about going to sleep for at least a week. “Nothing is ever simple where dragons are concerned. Speaking of which, you didn’t tell me there was a red dragon with the old lady.”
“I told you the red dragon demon guys were sure to be tracking her down,” Bee said pointedly. “Bael evidently went ballistic when the Papadopolous woman broke into his house in San Francisco and stole it, and I have no doubt that he’s got every demon and demon-dragon hybrid that he controls out looking for it. I’m not surprised if you saw some of them sniffing around her.”
“There were two of them, but that’s not what I’m talking about. The companion, the woman who has possession of the old lady—she is also a red dragon.”
Bee’s shoulders slumped as she gave Constantine a worried look. “Then it’s all over. Bael must have the ring back, and we’ll never find it now.”
Constantine swore. “The gods alone know what sort of security he’ll wrap around it…”
“No, that’s not what I said.” Rowan rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. “I’m sorry if I’m not making a lot of sense, but as I said, it’s been over twenty-four hours with no sleep. The old woman’s caregiver or companion, or whatever you want to call her, is the red dragon—and not a demon type, just a plain old red dragon—and she doesn’t seem to want to have anything to do with the two dragons who are tracking them. At least, she damn near screamed down the plane when one of the dragons tried to put a bracelet on the old lady.”
“Yours doesn’t. Mrs. Papadopolous’s does.”
Rowan instantly replaced the James Bond vision with one of him handily picking a lock and slipping into the darkened room that way. He ignored the fact that he wouldn’t recognize a lock pick if it bit him on the ass. “I’ll take it.”
Ten minutes later he was seated on a black-and-white-checked chair in a tiny room furnished with equally eclectic furniture, none of which matched, all of which had the air of being cast off from a previous century. He glanced at his watch, not particularly because he wanted to know the time, but because he had propped up his phone and was engaged in a video conversation with his sister Bee. “It’s almost six, and I’ve been awake for more than twenty-four hours. Do you think I could get a little sleep before you have me committing felonies?”
Bee’s lips thinned in irritation. “I can’t believe you’re whining about a little lack of sleep when the world is facing a massive catastrophe. No, not massive—world-breaking. Don’t you understand? Bael is trying to collect three tools that he’ll use to rule not just the Otherworld, but all those millions of innocent mortals out there. Do you want that, Rowan? Do you want the mortals killed and maimed because you were sleepy and wanted a nap? Because I’ll tell you right here and now that we don’t.”
A head came into view behind that of Bee. It was a man with shoulder-length brownish-blond hair who Rowan assumed was the dragon to whom Bee had bound herself. “Is this the Dragon Breaker?” the man asked.
Rowan flinched at the title. It had been a long time since he’d heard it, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.
“He doesn’t resemble you at all.” Bee’s dragon looked suspicious.
“That’s because I look like my mom, and Rowan is kind of a mix of Mom and Dad. Rowan, this is Constantine.” Bee smiled over her shoulder at the blond-haired man, and seemed to be distracted for a few seconds until Rowan cleared his throat.
“Is the Dragon Breaker refusing to help us?” Constantine asked Bee, frowning at the camera in Bee’s laptop. “He is obligated to do so. Every dragon knows that—the First Dragon himself said he had to assist dragonkin without protest until his debt had been paid.”
“My name is Rowan, and I’m here, aren’t I?” Rowan said somewhat acidly. “And you don’t need to go into old history. We all know who I am.”
“You are the Dragon Breaker,” Constantine insisted. “You killed four dragons with your magic.”
“I’m an alchemist—I break magic, I don’t make it. And I didn’t kill those dragons—they interfered during the process of breaking down a catalyst, and were destroyed because of it.” Rowan felt as if he’d been on the earth at least three hundred years. Had that horrible night really been twenty years ago? He shook his head to himself. If only he’d had the wisdom to stop the process before it had gone too far, before the dragons, in their lust for gold, had interfered… and paid the ultimate price for that interference.
“The First Dragon wouldn’t have bound danegeld on you if you weren’t at fault,” Constantine replied with irritating complacence.
“Look, I am not guilty—”
“Enough, Rowan. You too, Constantine. This is not the time or place to debate what’s happened in the past. Let’s have bygones be bygones, and focus on what’s important. Rowan said he’d get Bael’s ring—”
“I said I’d try to get the ring, but I’m not a thief or James Bond. My window doesn’t even have a balcony.”
Bee’s forehead wrinkled. “What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”
“Do you know what a lock pick looks like?” Rowan demanded to know, suddenly so tired that all inhibitions were long gone. So, evidently, was the filter between his brain and mouth. “Because I don’t, and I object to you sending me tersely worded texts asking me where the ring is when I am probably the least qualified person in the world to steal it. I’m a sociologist, Bee. I can explain to even the most isolated tribe who the white people are and why they are cutting down the forests, but I am not a thief.”
“You just admitted that you are an alchemist,” Constantine said, leaning his head in front of Bee’s. She whapped him on it and forced him to move. He resolved the situation by pulling her onto his lap, so they could both face the camera. “That ring is a magic item. You break magic down to its essential parts, and we want the ring unmade so Bael can’t use it. It’s just that simple.”
Rowan rubbed his face again. He eyed the bed with the lime green duvet dotted with what looked like ladybugs, and thought seriously about going to sleep for at least a week. “Nothing is ever simple where dragons are concerned. Speaking of which, you didn’t tell me there was a red dragon with the old lady.”
“I told you the red dragon demon guys were sure to be tracking her down,” Bee said pointedly. “Bael evidently went ballistic when the Papadopolous woman broke into his house in San Francisco and stole it, and I have no doubt that he’s got every demon and demon-dragon hybrid that he controls out looking for it. I’m not surprised if you saw some of them sniffing around her.”
“There were two of them, but that’s not what I’m talking about. The companion, the woman who has possession of the old lady—she is also a red dragon.”
Bee’s shoulders slumped as she gave Constantine a worried look. “Then it’s all over. Bael must have the ring back, and we’ll never find it now.”
Constantine swore. “The gods alone know what sort of security he’ll wrap around it…”
“No, that’s not what I said.” Rowan rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. “I’m sorry if I’m not making a lot of sense, but as I said, it’s been over twenty-four hours with no sleep. The old woman’s caregiver or companion, or whatever you want to call her, is the red dragon—and not a demon type, just a plain old red dragon—and she doesn’t seem to want to have anything to do with the two dragons who are tracking them. At least, she damn near screamed down the plane when one of the dragons tried to put a bracelet on the old lady.”
