Heart of a Dragon (25 page)

Donovan and Amethyst followed quietly, and none questioned their presence.
 
It was only a few hours until sunrise.

Martinez met them on the corner a few doors down from the Dragons' headquarters.
 
Enrique was carried inside, but Martinez lingered.
 
When the three of them were alone, Donovan filled him in quickly.

"So, when Jake tried to break into that circle, it held?" the old man asked.

"And when
Los Escorpiones
tried from the inside, it failed," Donovan said.
 
"There is something here we aren't getting.
 
Anya is no magician, as far as I know, but neither is she careless.
 
What could she gain by letting the spirits out of the circle?
 
We assumed that she placed wards to help bind them."

"That would make sense," Martinez said, "but the
Loa
aren't bound by the same powers as other spirits.
 
I'm not certain their portal would be blocked by such a thing – not in the way you're suggesting."

"Then it has to be something else," Donovan said.
 
"I have some research to do, I think.
 
We need to go over this carefully and find what we've missed before it's too late – if it isn't already."

"You'll tell me what you find?" Martinez asked.

The two eyed one another for a moment.

"When are you going to tell me what you wanted the
Rojo
Fuego for?" Donovan asked.
 
"Where did the dragons on those jackets come from?"

"Soon," Martinez said.
 
"Give me a little time, and I will tell you everything.
 
We owe you another debt, it seems, for bringing these two home."

"You'd better get in there," Amethyst cut in, "or there won't be two of them.
 
It may already be too late.
 
I didn't bring the proper things for a healing."

"I will do what I can," Martinez said.

He turned and disappeared into the well-lit interior of the Dragon's clubhouse.

Donovan watched until the old man was out of sight, then turned away.

"We may not have much time," he said.

They turned and left the Barrio.
 
Donovan turned into a narrow street.
 
It was lined with curious old shops.
 
Amethyst glanced around, then frowned.

"This isn't the way back to your place," she said.
 
"I've never seen this street before."

Donovan stopped where a dusty stairway led down away from the street.
 
It was deeper than made sense, and with a grin, he started down.
 
He went down three steps, stopped, and Amethyst almost bumped into him as he took two back up.

"What are you…"

In the shadows at the bottom of the stairwell, a door appeared.
 
It shimmered slightly.
 
It was made of wood panels, and there was a dusty glass window near the center.
 
Donovan descended the rest of the way, reached out with one finger, and etched a symbol in the dust.
  
Then he opened the door and stepped through without a backward glance.
 
Amethyst stared for a moment, shrugged, and followed him into the darkness beyond.

They stepped into a tunnel; stone walls stretched off into the distance.
 
There were small alcoves to either side where candles burned.
 
Donovan gestured ahead with a flourish.

"Where are we?" Amethyst asked.
 
"This isn't a normal portal."

"It's older," Donovan said.
 
"Not too many know it's here.
 
I use it when I'm in a hurry, and when I don't want to be followed."

"Who would be following us?"

"I don't know," Donovan said, "but if anyone was, they aren't now.
 
It took me ten years to locate the sigil to open this, and another two years to find the proper stairwells.
 
There are half a dozen of them in San Valencez."

Amethyst shook her head.

"You're always keeping secrets," she said.

"I wouldn't want to lose all my mystery," he said.

He hurried down the tunnel, and as he went, he counted passageways to the right and to the left.
 
Finally, he stopped in front of one of the darkened entrances.
  
He spun three times in place and stamped his foot, then stepped forward into shadow.
 
This time Amethyst followed him without hesitation.
 
They exited onto another stairway.
 
Above them the night sky was dark, the stars blanked by the lights of the city.
 
Traffic passed nearby, and a horn honked.
 
Donovan led the way to the end of the street, and they turned into the alley behind his building.

"You know you're going to have to teach me," she said.

"Of course," he laughed.
 
"There is more to that tunnel than meets the eye – more than I've been able to discover.
 
Depending on how you use it, it can take you … many places.
 
I've been meaning to take you down there, because it's carved of stone – and because certain documents I've located seem to indicate that the original keys may have been formed of crystal."

"Now I'm intrigued," she said.

They climbed the back stairs and took the maintenance entrance.
 
There was no one in sight, and moments later the elevator opened on the thirteenth floor.

"Let's hope we find something quickly," Donovan said, opening his door and holding it for her to enter.
 
"A lot may be counting on it."

The heavy door closed behind them with a loud click, and the hallway faded to normalcy, empty and drab.

~ * ~

Martinez entered the room and went straight to where Enrique lay on a low couch.
 
He still wore his leather jacket.
 
Jake stood close beside him, as well as another man, slender and tall with very dark hair.
 
As he approached, Martinez laid a hand on the tall man's shoulder.

"Let me through, Manuel," he said.
 
"Give him room to breathe.
 
I will do everything that I can for him, but you're going to have to give me room to work."

Manuel stepped aside, but only slightly.
 
He had one hand on Enrique's shoulder, and he did not release his hold.

"You have to fix him," he said.

Martinez ignored this and knelt beside the fallen Dragon.
 
Enrique was pale.
 
His skin was clammy, and there was dried and clotted blood crusted on his shirt, and the inside of the jacket.
 
Martinez peeled away the shirt.
  
He drew a leather pouch from beneath his robes, detaching it from his belt with a quick tug.
 
He opened the drawstrings and pulled out a long, thin blade.
 
He gripped it and leaned over Enrique.
 
Manuel reached down and caught him by the shoulder.

"What are you doing, old man?"

Martinez shook him off and glared.

"If you interrupt me again, I'll have you removed," he said.
 
"You are here out of respect, offer me the same."

He turned back, lifted the soiled fabric of Enrique's shirt in one hand and began quickly cutting it away with the knife.
 
He worked carefully until the wound was clear.

"Get me water," he said.
 
"Clean rags."

Manuel turned abruptly and did as he was told.
 
Martinez laid a hand on Enrique's forehead.
 
He pressed his fingers to the man's throat.
 
The pulse was there, but it was very, very weak.

Snake stepped out of the shadows.
 
He stood by his fallen brother, watching over Martinez's shoulder as he worked.
 
The Dragon's leader's eyes were deep pits.
 
He obviously hadn't had enough sleep.
 
Lines creased his forehead, and his hand was gripped into a fist.

"We shouldn't have sent them off like that," he said.
 
"We should have sent more – all of us, maybe."

"It wouldn't have mattered," Martinez said. "More men would have died.
 
This was the only way."

"That's what you say," Snake said.
 
"It's not the way The Dragons live – not the way we die.
 
I should have been there."

Martinez turned and stood suddenly, facing off with the taller, younger man, but not giving an inch.

"If this was a normal night, and you were facing a normal enemy, I would have watched you go and waved as you disappeared.
 
You know better.
 
You know this isn't like anything you've seen before – it's like nothing that
I
have ever seen.
 
We are doing what we can.
 
I know this isn't your way – it is mine – and it is the only thing that has kept you alive this long."

Jake stepped forward.

"You should have seen him, Snake," he said quietly.
 
"It was like watching some kind of crazy science fiction movie.
 
Man, he ran up a wall of smoke.
 
That thing that stabbed him – that creature – that was no Escorpione.
  
They're fast, and they're bad news, but they're just men.
 
You and me, we've been fighting them all our lives.
 
The old man is right – and we should have been able to do more – but having the rest of you there wouldn't have stopped those things.
 
They poured out of that smoke like demons."

Snake turned away.
 
Martinez started to follow, but Jake shook his head.
 
The old man nodded and turned back to Enrique instead.
 
Manuel had returned with water.
 
The wound was uglier even than Martinez had imagined.
 
He cleaned it as well as he could, applied salve, and then, with a long, curved needle and coarse thread, he stitched the torn flesh carefully.
 
When he was done, he packed a strip of cloth soaked in water and a small pinch of herbs from his bag over the wound.
 
He bandaged the cloth in place, then laid his hand on top and closed his eyes.

He spoke very softly, and though there were several Dragons close enough to hear him, they could make out no words.
 
Those watching carefully saw that where his hand met the bandage, flickers of bluish light rippled across the fallen man's skin.
 
Martinez stayed like that for some time, and then suddenly, stood and staggered back.

He dropped to his knees, reached out to try and put his hand back on the wound, but he nearly fell.
 
Jake leaned down and caught him, holding him up off the floor.
 
After a moment, Martinez brushed his hands away gently, and stood.
 
He was shaky, and his eyes were dark.

"There is nothing more I can do," he said.

Manuel dropped down beside his brother.
 
The steady rise and fall of Enrique's chest had ceased.
 
His face was still, but peaceful. All trace of the blue light was gone.
 
Martinez stepped close again and brushed a fingertip across Enrique's throat. There was no pulse.
 
He waited a long moment, and then stepped back, shaking his head.

"It was too deep," he said.
 
"He should have died immediately.
 
He was strong – very strong."

Tears rolled from Manuel's eyes and ran freely down his cheeks.
 
He made no move to brush them away.
 
He leaned in and laid his forehead on his brother's chest, as if trying to hear something being whispered to him, or to draw the man's soul up and into himself.
 
To call him back.
 
His shoulder's shook, but he did not release the cry of anguish building in his throat, or give in to the sobs that threatened to shake him apart.

He stood very slowly and left the room.
 
The others stood in ranks and watched him leave in silence.
 
Moments later the back door of the clubhouse slammed.
 
Snake stepped in from the next room and walked to stand beside Martinez.

"This has to end," he said.
 
"We can't live like this – I can't lose more of them.
 
First Vasquez – now this.
 
I understand the road.
 
I understand the engine on my bike, and the wind in my hair.
 
I understand that I have to fight, and that I might die.
 
This…I don't understand any of it."