Heart of a Dragon (30 page)

As he walked toward the park, he left no shadow.
 
He moved carefully, making as little sound as possible, but at the same time he hurried his steps.
 
The fire in the mist had grown larger and brighter.
 
He had to get in, get Amethyst and get out, and he knew he had to do it quickly.
 
The instructions for creating the scroll had been vague on only one point.
 
They had said the effects did not last long, but the small segment of text that would have explained these limits had been smudged and indecipherable.
 
It was a gamble, and Donovan hated gambling.
 
With a softly mumbled curse, he stepped into the mist and disappeared.

~ * ~

Once in the park, Donovan noticed a lot of things at once.
 
There was a fire blazing in the center, and a circle had been drawn around that fire.
 
There was movement and activity everywhere, and he stood very still, taking it all in.

Central to it all was a sort of throne, a carved wooden chair with velvet cushions.
 
It was heavily decorated, its arms carved snakes, and the legs those of some large jungle cat.
 
It was a chair out of a nightmare, a museum quality nightmare.
 
He'd heard of similar pieces, but never actually seen one.
 
Anya Cabrera stood nearby, and he had no doubt that when things got into full swing, she'd be seated on that monstrosity overseeing it all.

Behind and to one side of the chair, another carved item had been added to the circle.
 
Donovan's heart nearly stopped.
 
A large stake, sculpted into scowling faces and strange creatures at the top, had been driven into the ground.
 
The stake was nearly eight feet tall, and Amethyst had been bound to its base.
 
Her arms were drawn around behind, and though she struggled, she was tied carefully and thoroughly.

There were five or six of
Los Escorpiones
prancing about the pole.
 
They didn't move like men.
 
There was something odd in their gait; their rhythm was erratic and too rapid.
 
Apparently the previous ritual's effects were holding, at least for the moment.
 
Donovan fingered the talisman beneath his jacket.
 
They wouldn't be able to see him, but if he made a miss-step and bumped into one of them, or the spell failed, and someone else was able to make him out, he was in real trouble.

Then he saw something that galvanized him into motion.
 
The younger woman, Kim, was making her way around the circle again, as she had at the junkyard.
 
She danced as she went, and he heard her voice chanting in an odd, rhythmic cadence.
 
Scented smoke wafted up from a series of braziers in her wake.
 
She was recreating the powerful outer protective circle from the junkyard, and if she completed that circle, there was no way for Donovan to be of any help.

Moving as quickly and quietly as possible, he rushed to where the circle was not yet complete and slipped inside.
 
Kim stopped, just for a second, and raised her head.
 
She looked as if she were sniffing the air – an animal with a scent to follow.
 
Donovan stood very still, just inside the circle, and after a moment, she shook her head and moved on.

Donovan turned and circled back the way she'd just come.
 
The only part of the circle that was free of activity was directly behind the stake.
 
He hoped that if Amethyst noticed his presence she could keep it to herself.
 
He had the feeling the element of surprise might be the only weapon left to them, and he had to figure out when, and how, to use it.
 
As he hid himself behind the stake, Kim etched the final lines of the outer circle into the dirt, and the smoke swirled up and around them, blotting out the world.

By evening, the clubhouse was alive with Dragons from all over the city and some from surrounding areas.
 
There weren't as many as Snake had hoped for, but in the confines of the clubhouse and surrounding yard, they felt like an army.
 
Snake stood aside, watching them, and knew that an army was exactly what he needed.
 
Even that might not do the trick, if Martinez was wrong.

He sipped his beer and listened to the conversations around him. Nervous fear rippled through their words.
 
Those who'd been in Santini Park remembered what they'd seen, and those who had not asked questions and listened to the stories, half-believing and half skeptical, of how Vasquez had been taken down.
 
They knew why Snake had called them together, and they had come because the colors on their backs and the oaths they had made compelled them, but none of them wanted this fight.
 
Los Escorpiones
had always been their enemies – bringing darkness to the Barrio and the streets that was unsettling and somehow unclean.
 
What Anya Cabrera had brought was much worse.

Just after sunset, Martinez reappeared. He had the boy, Salvatore, with him.
 
The kid didn't look like much, but Snake had seen the dragons.
 
He'd felt the energy, and he'd heard what Jake and Enrique had done.
 
There was power here – power that was in some way connected to himself, to those who followed him, and to the ancient, powerful creatures they'd bonded with so long ago.
 
How it could be true, he didn't understand, but Snake wasn't one to argue in the face of reality.
 
It wasn't a question of whether or not the painted dragons were good, or powerful, it was a question of whether he would accept them, and how he would deal with them.

Snake walked over and laid his hand on Salvatore's shoulder.

"So, we finally meet," he said.
 
"My name is Snake."

Salvatore's eyes were wide, but he didn't drop his gaze.
 
"I know you, Senor," he said.
 
"You are El Presidente of the Dragons."

Snake studied the boy's face for a moment, and then turned to Martinez.

"How about you let me and Sal here talk for a few minutes.
 
Alone?"

Martinez nodded, and Snake slid his arm around the boy's slender shoulders and led him back toward the clubhouse.
 
All around them, the Dragons watched, wondering what Snake was up to.
 
Some of them knew Martinez, and they spread what they knew.
 
Others knew of Salvatore, and the dragons he'd painted.
 
They also knew what those dragons had brought – power, magic, and death.

Snake led Salvatore to where Enrique's jacket hung, pinioned to the wall by the blade of a dagger.
 
He reached up and gently smoothed the leather so that the dragon was clearly visible.
 
Though it had lost most of its original magic, the painting was still magnificent.

"You know, Sal," Snake began, "when you first came
around and
gave
Jake
that dragon, I thought you were trouble.
 
The Dragons already had a patch, our colors.
 
I was against your fancy dragons, because the dragon symbolizes our brotherhood, our unity.
 
Yours are individuals, like the men who wear them.
 
They send a different message."

Salvatore's knees quivered, but he didn't lower his gaze.
 
He did not want this man to know ho
w truly frightened he was.

"
Then,"Snake
went on, almost as if he were talking to himself, "I saw how your dragons affected mine
, and
how they helped me.
 
Your pictures make dragons into powerful, magnificent dreams.
 
I've heard people talk about art all of my life, how it 'moves' them – I never gave it much thought.
 
Somehow your paintings capture a part of the man who wears them
and
mirror him.
  
You have seen this?"

Still uncertain of what Snake was getting at, Salvatore nodded.
 
He knew
that his dragons matched the men who wore them; that is how they came in the visions.
 
He couldn't have painted them any other way.

"We have a battle coming soon," Snake
said
, turning his gaze to hold Salvatore's.
 
"These are brave men, but we face
Los Escorpiones
, and this is a battle
my dragons
won't want to fight.
 
It's not that they lack courage, but this is an old war, and their fire
is dying.
 
I want you to help me."

Salvatore's curiosity overcame his fear, giving him the courage to speak.
 
"You wish me to fight?"
 
He asked.
 
"I am no fighter
, Senor
Snake, only a poor artist."

"No." Snake said quietly, and with conviction.
 
"You are not poor; you are a genius, and
 
I
don't want you to fight. I
want you to paint my dragon."

Salvatore's heart leaped.
 
Again he was without speech.
 
Such an honor!
 
Almost instantly the dragon began to form in his mind.

"But your jacket," he blurted out, "it has upon it the
patch
of
El
Presidente!
 
Where
shall I paint the dragon?"

Snake looked at him, a warmth Salvatore had never seen in his eyes.
 
"I don't want it on my jacket, Sal," he said.
 
"These colors have ridden there far too long.
 
I want a banner, a
standard; let's call it
a flag of honor.
 
And when we go to fight these
Escorpiones
,
I want you to carry that
flag into the battle at my side."

Now Salvatore's heart took wings!
 
This was beyond belief.
 
He stuttered several times before the words finally broke free of his tongue
. Snake did
n
'
t seem to notice.

"Such a dragon I will paint for you that it will seem a thing alive!"
 
He cried.
 
"Beyond my hopes have you honored me.
 
I, Salvatore Domingo Sanchez, will make you proud!"

"I know that, Sal," Snake smiled.
 
"You've got to do this fast, though.
 
It is my men to whom you must bring the life, not my dragon.
 
The battle will happen in
tomorrow night, maybe sooner.
"

"Then I must go and start -- I will be ready!"
 
Salvatore said.

There is no reason for you to go, Snake said softly.
 
"I've had them clear a space for you.
 
It's only a small room, but it's warm.
 
There is light, and room to work.
 
We'll make sure you have food.
 
I've talked with Martinez, and with Jake.
 
If you finish my dragon, and you fall, I'll be there to catch you before you hit the floor."

Salvatore stood very still.
 
Despite all his efforts to appear calm and brave, this was too much.

"I…I'll need my paints.
 
Martinez made them, and…"

"I'll send for them," Snake said.
 
"I'll get you anything that you need to do this, and to do it quickly.
 
You and I, we come from different worlds in many ways, but in others we are much the same. This fight – this battle I told you about.
 
It will be for the safety of our homes, and our streets.
 
It isn't just for the Dragons.
 
If Anya Cabrera and her followers get their way, and
Los Escorpiones
own the streets, there will be nothing standing between them and the rest of the city.
 
Do you know what a cancer is?"

Salvatore nodded.

"That's what they'll become.
 
They'll creep across the city like Black Death, eating everything in their path.
 
I think it's up to me, and to you, to stop them.
 
I think that what we do in the next few hours will define us both.
 
Are you ready for that Sal?"

Salvatore nodded again.

"I will do this thing," he said, "or I will die at your side."

Tears streamed down Salvatore's face, but he ignored them.
 
No one had ever spoken to him as an equal except, on rare occasions, old Martinez.
 
No one had offered him protection, or asked that he stand at their side.
 
No one had ever acknowledged him at all.
 
He met Snake's gaze, and the big man laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled.