Plight of the Dragon (16 page)

FINDINGS

Marcus

What shall we
do, sir?” Darren asked Marcus.

Marcus studied the unconscious old man at his feet. “About?”

“About our men. About the closed portal,” Darren responded.

“We make do.” Marcus turned to face him and assess the situation. He guesstimated fifty or so of his men had made it through before the door closed, possibly ten or fifteen of Davies’s men. Some fought, but most scrambled into the cover of the carnival. Likely in search of their vexatious leader. Marcus’s steely eyes watched the scum disappear from view. The carnival lacked the luster of lights, making it dark, but not unmanageable. The early hour allowed for plenty of light for him and his men. The moon was full and the stars bright. The fact that it was always night at the carnival lost some of its appeal without the illumination of a million or more lights, but where lesser beings were concerned, Marcus and his men would use the new turn of events to their advantage.
 

Over the discord, a scream surged. Carnival patrons stood where the portal had been minutes ago. A woman held her hands over her mouth and turned away from the severed arm on the ground, burying her face in the chest of her companion. Panic erupted in carnies and patrons alike, triggering hollering and pushing in the vicinity.
 

Marcus’s jaw firmed. “Collateral damage is unavoidable.” He returned his attention to Darren. “We don’t need to defeat everyone here today. Cut off the head, and the rest will fall in line. Eventually falling to my will or falling to dust. Find me Bolsvck and Davies.”

“Consider it done.” Darren ran off to relay the orders. After connecting with the men, Rick and Chet and Toby glanced in Marcus’s direction with an affirming nod.
 

A howl cut through the night air, like dragon nails on steel. Sharp, startling, and stinging. “Damn supernatural freaks,” Marcus mumbled and marched into the mayhem of the carnival crowd. He’d only been here the one time and hadn’t gotten a proper look around, but figured if you’d seen one carnival, you’d seen them all.
How big could this place be?
He was the fish swimming upstream against the current. As he headed toward the attractions, everyone else moved toward the exit. After all, what fun is a carnival without any electricity to power the games and rides? Little did all these people know, there was no getting out. No portal. At least, not right now. Someone knocked into his shoulder. Marcus growled, heavy and loud. The crowd parted, offering him a large berth.
 

In the distance, he spied the Ferris wheel, remembered the first time he’d seen it. The day of the fire in the back lot by Kyra’s trailer. His chest warmed with the memory. Then he hesitated in his quest. He thought he was following a logical path, one Davies would have taken, and he probably was. Except, when he peered to his right, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity baiting him.
 

A few yards away, no longer lit yet still readable, was a sign promoting Mystic’s Magical Market. He couldn’t think of a better place to find that damn tarot-card-reading carnie fuck. A second later, Marcus was marching down the lane between tents and trailers promising reading via palm, stone casting, crystal ball gazing, and other such nonsense.
 

There were fewer patrons here, probably filed out already. Marcus took a deep breath and smelled the midway sawdust, animal dung, cotton candy, funnel cakes, overcooked hot dogs turning cold, kernel corn, Polish sandwiches, candy apples, and on and on. It was a never-ending pit of flavors and scents. But of the carnie he sought, not a whiff.
 

A torrid of scampering footfalls raced up behind him. “I think I caught Kyra’s scent back there,” Chet said and dropped in beside Marcus.
 

“We’ll get to her later.” Marcus paused, noticing the sign ahead. Tarot Card Readings, it said in large, colorful letters. Cards slipped and flipped under the name. An assortment of beaded crystal drops and brass bells hung along the entrance.
Pansy
, Marcus thought, and walked in with Chet at his back.
 

The room was dressed in dark colors with a forest of candles marking the walls, flickering haunting shadows all the way to the ceiling. A table sat center with chairs on either side, one large, worn, and overstuffed armchair on one side, and two smaller versions on the other side. The table was relatively clean of knickknacks. On the side of the table where Sebastian would sit, Marcus found a cubby hole attached to the underside. Within the hole, a deck of cards. Not knowing what possessed him to do so, Marcus pocketed the deck of cards.
 

“What are we doing here, boss?” Chet scanned the room with a curious ogle.

“Looking for that carnie kid; you know the one.” Marcus swept across the back of the room. There were no other rooms, only an exit out the back.

“Right, that kid.” Chet pushed out his chin, gangster style.
 

Returning a grin, Marcus slipped out the back. Behind the entertainment tent, placed somewhat out of sight, was a gypsy-like trailer. It was small and cramped, compared to the one he’d stayed in with Kyra. Guess the kid didn’t need much space. He marched up the steps and threw open the door. Moonlight spilled through open windows on all sides, allowing a dim view of cramped quarters. There was a place to sit, place to sleep, even a place to store his belongings. Marcus moved into the tight aisle, though his hair brushed the ceiling.
 

“Find anything?” Chet clutched the door frame on both sides and leaned in.
 

Doesn’t look like there’s much to find.
Marcus slowly scanned the area, then made a double-take. Beside the bed, almost hidden behind a small stack of books, was a picture of Kyra and Sebastian taken in the fun house. Heat exploded through Marcus’s blood like lava from a volcano. “Nothing,” he said and crushed the picture in the palm of his hand.
 

He was about to toss it and leave when something else drew his attention. Something shiny. And something someone had tried to hide, although not well. Not well at all. His hand slipped between two folded shirts on the shelf in front of him and wrapped around a hilt. What he pulled free was a dagger. Not just any dagger. It was the dagger the damn carnie had used against him in the Great Hall.
 

A deliciously wicked smile embraced his face and tingles of warmth washed over his body. “It’s going to be a good day, Chet.”

“Hey! What are you guys doing in Sebastian’s private trailer?”

Marcus slid the dagger inside his jacket and turned to see the wild carnie girl he’d helped save the day of the fire standing behind Chet. He and Sebastian had worked tirelessly to get her free that day. Traumatized by the event, she kept causing issues with the extraction using her ability.
What was it Kyra called her? Ah, Vortex Girl, that’s right.

Chet spun around and smacked his arm down on her shoulder. “Listen, girly—”

“Careful, Chet,” Marcus broke in. “That girl, she can—”
 

But it was already too late. Marcus’s warning went unheard. Chet was swirling in a vortex into Raj
ũ
n knew where. And then he was gone.
 

“Oops,” the girl said, not appearing the weeest bit sad, and took Chet’s place in the doorway. “Hey, I know you.”

Marcus narrowed his gaze and grinned.

15

FAMILY

Kyra

Does this happen
often?” Drakhögg motioned to the lack of light while his gaze meandered up and down the ladies’ curves.
 

“Are you for real?’ Talia snapped. “The carnival never shuts down. Never sleeps.”

Kyra rolled her eyes and looked away. Get away, was what she wanted to do. Standing in Drakhögg’s company was one of her least favorite things. Her gaze wandered over the dark stacks of props, magic books, and costumes. Jumping near the front of her to-do list now was finding out what had happened to the carnival. She had no memory of darkness ever befalling the magical realm, not once since she’d come to live there.

Kyra rubbed her arms. She wasn’t cold, per se, Talia’s potion was still working, but the air had grown a tad bit nippy. Talia noticed, grabbed a wrap from the bureau, and dropped it around Kyra’s shoulders. With a snap of her fingers, candles around the Magician’s space sparked to life. “Magic. Don’t leave home without it.” She winked and delivered a hubristic smile.

“Thanks, Talia,” Kyra said and contemplated what to do next.

“Don’t worry, blondie,” Drakhögg said, addressing Kyra. “You need not worry about a thing. I’m here, and I will protect you.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Kyra shot Talia a worried glance.

“Isn’t there somewhere you need to be? Looking for someone, weren’t you?” Talia asked with a snide smile.

“Yes.” He scratched his head. “But her trail has grown oddly cold.”
 

A massive crash resounded through the sea of tents beyond their canvas wall.
 

“What was that?” Kyra ran for the exit and popped into the midway, fumbling once on the skirt of her dress. Without the lights of the carnival, outside was dimmer than usual, but not disagreeable or difficult. The moon was bright and the sky, more an azure than an indigo.
Stars make the most romantic nightlights.
Kyra’s heart plummeted. Too bad she didn’t have any romantic interest with whom to share the moment. She bit the inside of her lip, stared at the movement of people.
 

A mixture of discord flowed outside the tent walls, people from all manners of life affected differently by the carnival’s power outage. Among the patrons, she saw bewilderment, annoyance, alarm. Emotions that moved them at a fast walk or run toward the main exit, clearing the aisles at the not-so-moderate rate of speed similar to the kiddie zone’s Express Train Ride.
 

Several lengths down, in the middle of the midway, as the crowd cleared, she could see the shambles of a smashed tent. Here, carnies lingered in a mumbling madness of words. Kyra’s hand flew to her lips, and she sucked back a breath. It was like no tent she’d seen here before. Where had it come from?
 

Mere feet away, at the outskirts of the growing mass, Chelsea sat in a curled ball. “Chelsea!” Kyra called out and took a step in her direction. Talia grabbed her by the arm, yanked her to a halt.
 

“She won’t know who you are,” Talia whispered at Kyra’s ear.

Kyra regarded Talia with irritation. “She might know something about that tent in the middle of the midway.”

“Aren’t you worried about being found out?” Talia pressed tight against Kyra, keeping their conversation private. “She’ll wonder how you know her name, when she’s never seen you before.”

Kyra’s fight lost steam and her muscles relaxed, but her anxiety did not. She stared at the small crowd collecting around the fallen tent-from-nowhere.
 

“What’s going on? Hell of a ruckus. Anything good happening?” Drakhögg stood behind them, observing the sight over their shoulders. Kyra tensed again.

“Drakhögg! Any sign of her?” Kyra’s parents and a few of their minions strolled their way, Ryhuu among them.
 

A flutter and pull attacked Kyra’s gut. She was about to find out how well her disguise worked. Only problem was, she had no idea how to act like a complete stranger.
 

“Lost her trail in that tent,” Drakhögg pointed to the Magician’s tent, “right before the lights went out. What’s going on with this place?”

Unadulterated concern illuminated Queen Shui’s irises. Bolsvck, on the other hand, not the type to wear worry anywhere visible, grunted. “I don’t like the way things are looking around here,” he said, coming to a halt a few feet away. Turning his head to the side, he sniffed the air.

“I really don’t like it,” Queen Shui said. “We must find her. Leave this dreadful place at once.”

“Couldn’t find her, huh?” Ryhuu chimed in, a snarky expression on his face.

“As if you had any better luck, slime-licker.” Drakhögg stepped forward, as if to challenge.
 

“Enough,” Bolsvck’s voice boomed. “There’s no time for your dragonling games. Remember what you are. Warriors, not dragonets. We must find Kyra and leave this place. I have a bad feeling.”
 

Drakhögg and Ryhuu lowered their heads.
 

Bolsvck’s eyes trained on Kyra and Talia. “Friends of yours, Drakhögg?”

Kyra opened her mouth to say something.

“Just met them. In the tent, sir.” Drakhögg stood tall and pointed toward the tent.

“We were just leaving.” Talia linked arms with Kyra, tugged back and away from the aggravated dragon clan. Kyra allowed it, knowing she didn’t belong there, not disguised as she was.

“Lord Bolsvck!” A man dressed to blend with the night—dark khakis, ribbed sweater—and loaded with weapons ran toward them.
 

With a grumble, Bolsvck crossed his arms and turned to face the approaching man. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”