Dragonsapien

Dragonsapien

Jon
Jacks

Other New Adult
and Children’s books by Jon Jacks

The
Caught – The Rules – Chapter One – The Changes – Sleeping
Ugly

The
Barking Detective Agency – The Healing – The Lost Fairy
Tale

A
Horse for a Kingdom – Charity – The Most Beautiful Things – The
Last Train

The
Dream Swallowers – Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night – Jonah and the
Alligator

Glastonbury Sirens – Dr Jekyll’s Maid – The 500-Year
Circus

P –
The Endless Game – DoriaN A – Wyrd Girl

Heartache High (
Vol I)
– Heartache High: The Primer (
Vol II)
– Heartache High: The Wakening
(
Vol III)

Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg
–
Seecrets
– The Wicker Slippers – The Cull

Text
copyright
^©
2013 Jon Jacks

All rights
reserved

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Her mum and dad
didn’t seem to mind that Jake was human.

Obviously, it
could never, ever be
serious
– but surely a little fling
wouldn’t hurt?

And when he saw
her wearing this little green dress (she’d seen it in the shop
window – she just
had
to try it on!), well, perhaps even
Jake would realise it was time to take their friendship onto the
next level.

Celeste admired
herself in the changing cubicle’s full length mirror.

She pouted her
lips.

She tipped her
head slightly, letting her bob of blonde hair seductively hang over
one side of her face

She posed in
different positions, appreciating her good fortune in having such
long, slender legs, the green dress perhaps revealing more of them
than her parents would be happy with.

(They weren’t
going to be happy anyway; not when they heard how she was trying on
a dress in the shop. Normally, they arranged for everything to be
delivered to their apartment, where it could be tried on for size
in private.)

She checked
herself from other angles, making sure the dress didn’t pull up as
she twisted around.

It was
perfect
!

Jake would
love
it!

Would, she
hoped, love
her
!

She slipped the
dress over her head.

As she felt the
cool air of the shop’s air conditioning sweep across her back, she
released her wings, letting them expand. It was such a relief after
keeping them furled tight within their recesses all day.

The curtain was
abruptly whipped aside. A woman intently examining the dress she’d
brought with her almost stepped inside before suddenly realising
the cubicle was already occupied.

‘Oh sorry, I
didn’t–’

She froze, her
eyes wide with shock, with horror, as she took in the sight of the
huge, glistening wings.

‘No,
please–’

Celeste
instinctively reached out to try and calm the panicking
woman.

Just as
instinctively, she released one of her long talons.

The talon
effortlessly pierced the woman’s throat, cutting off any scream she
may have been about to make.

‘Oh my God, no!’
Celeste breathed, shuddering in fear as the dead woman’s blood ran
down the talon onto her hand.

*

Once again,
Celeste’s instinct took control.

She now acted
virtually automatically, with very little time for thought. Her
instinct was there to ensure her survival, the survival of her
species; she let it dictate her every action.

Despite being so
much younger and at least a head smaller than the woman, Celeste
effortlessly pulled the woman inside the cubicle, using the impaled
talon like a meat hook. She let the woman slump to the floor, her
talon slipping free of the soft flesh with a sickening
plop.

As part of the
same motion, Celeste’s other hand swiftly and forcibly plugged home
her handkerchief in the gaping wound, stemming the blood
flow.

Celeste couldn’t
recall when she’d reached over to her hanging jacket to quickly
root around in the pocket for the handkerchief. Just as she
couldn’t remember when she’d retracted her wings to give herself
more space to operate.

Her talon
withdrew back into her finger, completely vanishing into her
hollow, pneumatic bone structure.

She’d done as
much as she could for now to contain the problem; now she needed
Hincheley.

She pulled the
cubicle’s curtain back a little, peering out warily to make sure no
one else was around in the changing section’s corridor.

She stepped out,
drawing the curtain closed behind her, then making sure the other
cubicle was empty. She moved closer to the changing room’s open
doorway, looking out into the shop itself.

Fortunately, it
was a small shop, one that sold an exclusive range of clothes. One
her parents held an account at.

That’s why she’d
made the mistake of thinking she’d be safe using the cubicle. It
was a Wednesday, and few people visited it at this time of day.
That’s the only reason why she’d been able to persuade Hincheley
that, if she were quick, and careful, no one need see
her.

She’d been
neither quick nor careful.

And an innocent
woman had paid the price for Celeste’s stupidity.

‘Hincheley,’ she
hissed quietly in their own language, their own range of
sound.

As she spoke,
she released a fragrance of distress, of fear.

Although he was
sitting outside in the Rolls Royce he’d parked at the kerb,
Hincheley would hear her call, sense and understand the meaning of
the aromas; he would be here in a moment to help her.

‘Miss
Volance?’

Celeste
jumped.

It was the shop
assistant who’d spoken. She’d moved from behind the glass desk. She
was moving towards the changing rooms, no doubt wondering why
Celeste was anxiously waiting by the doorway rather than moving
back into the shop.

‘Do you require
any assistance, Miss Volance?’

The assistant
turned as the bell above the shop’s main door rang out.

Hincheley strode
into the shop, his immaculate, sheer-black chauffeur’s uniform
emphasising his straight-backed military bearing.

‘Oh, Richard.’
Celeste spoke as calmly, as breezily as she could. ‘Could you help
me a moment please?’

She’d called him
Richard, not Hincheley.

Hincheley would
recognise it as another sign that’s there was something seriously
amiss.

The assistant
frowned.

‘I’m sorry Miss
Volance, but there are absolutely
no
men allowed in the
changing rooms!’

‘Oh, but it
is
important, Sarah; and there’s no one else
around.’

Once again,
Celeste had deliberately used a first name, in this case to remind
the young assistant that the Volances were regular and prized
customers.

The young woman
frowned in puzzlement.

‘But didn’t I
just see–’

‘I just
love
this design, Sarah!’ Celeste interrupted excitedly,
holding up the green dress. ‘I’ll take it! And the rest of the
collection by the same designer; could you have them
all
delivered to our apartment for a private viewing? You know; the
usual arrangements?’

‘Oh yes, yes, of
course Miss Volance!’

The assistant’s
bewilderment had been instantly transformed into an exhilarated
imagining of the high commission to be made from simply organising
the Volances’ ‘usual arrangements’. They paid generously, tipped
liberally.

‘Would that be
for tonight?’ the assistant asked. ‘Around seven, as
usual?’

She had already
produced her pen and notebook. She either hadn’t noticed or could
no longer care that Hincheley had disappeared into the changing
rooms.

He reappeared,
his hard face typically stern, unreadable.

The assistant
wasn’t to know it, of course, but Hincheley had already hardened
his fingers in preparation for what he had to do next. His super
efficient lungs had separated the components of the air, pumped
oxygen under immense pressure into the hollow, perforated bones and
skin of his hand.

In a swift,
unexpected motion, he sharply jabbed his forefinger against the
assistant’s temple. At one and the same time, two fingers of his
other hand stabbed into the soft flesh of the side of her
neck.

She collapsed,
unconscious.

Celeste didn’t
need to be told what to do next.

Once again, it
was that instinct for survival that had taken control.

She was acting
almost automatically as she ran to the shop’s door. She closed it,
flipped the dangling sign so that ‘Closed’ faced out towards the
street.

Equally
silently, equally hurriedly and expertly, Hincheley effortlessly
dragged the assistant’s body across the floor until it lay behind
her desk, where it was out of sight of any passer-by.

‘Mop, bucket,
large plastic bags,’ Hincheley said coldly to Celeste.

Celeste nodded.
She dashed off towards the auxiliary room lying towards the rear of
the shop.

As she was about
to enter, she glanced back towards Hincheley.

He’d already
taken off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves.

He stepped
towards the changing rooms.

He flexed his
hands.

And a long,
razor-sharp talon extended from every finger.

*

‘That poor
woman! And her family too! God only knows how much they’ll all
suffer when they find out, Celly!’

Celeste’s mum
was understandably furious when she heard what had
happened.

‘And all because
you wanted to try on a dress, Celly! How many times have I told you
we can’t risk being discovered?’

Celeste hung her
head ashamedly.

What could she
say?

Not only had she
disobeyed her mother’s express orders – rules that she herself had
accepted as being essential – but it had also resulted in the death
of an innocent human.

And where was
that poor woman’s body now? Burning away to nothing in the
apartment block’s basement incinerator, where Hincheley had
immediately taken it as soon as they had arrived home.

Even Celly’s
hardened instincts hadn’t prevented her from recoiling at the sight
of the large carrier bags Hincheley had carried from the shop,
quickly and efficiently piling them in the back of the Rolls Royce.
She had felt nauseous, even close to fainting, as she had helped
him clean up the bloody mess left in the changing rooms.

As soon as the
cleaning was finished, and the mops and buckets were back where
they should be in the back rooms, Celly had filliped the door’s
sign back to ‘Open’. Hincheley had tenderly revived the still
unconscious Sarah.

‘Are you okay
Sarah?’ Celly had enquired innocently as Sarah had come around. She
had gently caressed the bruise on the young woman’s temple, pursed
her lips as if empathising with Sarah’s pain. ‘You banged your head
as you fell. You must have fainted – I hope it wasn’t because I’d
ordered too many things!’ she’d added with a girlish
titter.