Old Dark (The Last Dragon Lord Book 1) (17 page)

Lucan and the guards walked up a long set of stairs to an automatic revolving door. Above it, a brass insignia of a dragon head glowed—the mark of a building inhabited by a dragon in Abstraction.
 

“You may enter,” the insignia said. It resembled Moss. It rumbled to life and sneered at them. “Mr. Grimoire, leave your bodyguards at the door.”

“I prefer not to,” Lucan said.
 

The automatic revolving door stopped moving.
 

Lucan waited for the dragon to respond, but it did not.
 

“Fine,” he said. He tapped the bodyguards and they stood at parade rest.
 

The automatic door started again and Lucan walked inside. The doors ushered him into a huge lobby.
 

The first thing he noticed was the chill. Then the video screens.

The walls were filled with glowing screens. Some played the news; others, documentaries about the birth of Magic Hope City; and others, realistic, evolving maps of the western continent over the last thousand years, blooming slowly in time-lapse view.
 

Lucan’s shoes clacked on the shiny floors, and he heard his footsteps echo all the way up to the second floor, where a life-size replica of Moss hung from silver chains. The serpentine dragon was at least forty-five feet long, the size of a school bus.
 

The area had a museum smell—sterile, cold.
 

Lucan stood on a parquet floor shaped like a pentagram.
 

“Moss, you know I’m here.”

Silence.
 

“I’m on a tight schedule,” Lucan said. “No offense, but let’s get this conversation going, shall we?”

The floor rumbled.
 

Typical dragon theatrics. Lucan didn’t let it faze him.
 

The wall in front of him, covered in moss and bark, shifted and glowed, and two fiery red serpentine dragons exploded from it. They flew past him, crisscrossing each other as they streamed higher and higher into the air until they were specks in the atrium above. Then they descended slowly, laughing like pixies as they circled Lucan.
 

Red eyes. White manes. Young, high-pitched voices that made Lucan want to punch something. They were barely five hundred years old from the look of their slender, youthful bodies.
 

Moss’s daughters.
 

“Mr. Grimoire, why are you all business?” the dragon sisters asked at the same time. “Our father doesn’t make his decisions lightly.”

Meah and Mynthia hovered in front of him, intertwined together. They were twins. Meah had a rune shaped like a clef burned into her chest; Mynthia, a boxy rune that looked like a book.
 

“I’m running for governor,” Lucan said. “If your father changed his mind, tell him I’ll send him an invoice for wasting my time.”

“There’s no need to leave,” the sisters said in unison. Then they said nothing, staring at him.
 

Stupid dragons. They always did crap like this, trying to test you to see how you reacted. These girls were no doubt testing him for their father. He resented it, but realized he had to go along with it if he was going to get what he wanted.
 

“Then what do you want?” Lucan asked.
 

“The way to father’s heart is through us,” Mynthia said. “We aren’t clear on your views on the arts, Mr. Grimoire.”

So that’s what this was about.
 

“Last year, you expanded your product line,” Meah said, “and missed yet another opportunity to invest in the arts.”

“There are grimoires for science and technology,” Mynthia said, “Yet none for the humanities. Explain yourself.”

“You want music grimoires, I’ll give them to you.”

“It is not for us,” the sisters said, swirling around the room. “It is for the world, Mr. Grimoire. The world does not yet understand the gift we are to it. You have an exciting opportunity to showcase what a treasure we are.”

Treasure? Trash was a more accurate definition.
 

“You got it. Anything else?”

“Magic Hope University,” the sisters said. “We despise what the governor said last week. Professor Charmwell is doing fantastic work. To take money away from the humanities would diminish
our
influence in the city...”

Good God! They just wouldn’t stop! Their singsongy voices were beginning to annoy him and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could capitulate.
 

“You and I have mutual enemies in the governor. I don’t believe in taking money away from any place that needs it. Does that satisfy you?”

“Indeed, Mr. Grimoire...”

The sisters twirled around him. “We will give you our support, as long as you do not forget what we discussed here today.”

“Thanks.”

“Father! We are impressed!”

The twin sisters roared and flew back through the wall. They soared outside, over the city streets, singing as the crowd photographed them.
 

“Clap for us, children, for we have new art to show you...”

The ground rumbled again, threatening Lucan’s balance.
 

The wall of ivy and bark bulged. Lucan squinted at the wall and noticed the pattern of scales.
 

The entire wall rolled into a ball and Lucan realized his eyes had fooled him; there had never been a wall.
 

Moss rose into the air like a cobra, his head two stories higher than Lucan. The dragon looked exactly like his photo, except for his two rows of sharp teeth that gnashed in his mouth.
 

“Welcome, Mr. Grimoire.”

“Moss.”

“Don’t mind my daughters,” he said.
 

“I didn’t.”

“When you get to be an old dragon like me, you stop making personal demands. All your thoughts focus on your offspring. This, humans, dragons, and elves have in common. Do you have children, Mr. Grimoire?”

“I have a daughter. Her name is Madelaide.”

“Ah, such a lovely name.”
 

The dragon closed his eyes as if he were regarding the name. He moved slowly across the museum, as if flying hurt him.
 

“Let’s get down to it, shall we? I have seen you on television. I’ve watched your speeches. And I’ll be honest, Mr. Grimoire: I don’t like you or your positions.”

Lucan was tired of the dragon tactics. He wanted to turn and leave.
 

“Then why am I here?”

“Because fortunately for you, I happen to dislike the governor more than I dislike you right now. His recent policy positions have given my daughters some unsettling ideas. Me? I don’t care what he does. I’ll be dead in a thousand years, completely dysfunctional long before then...”

Dragons often lived for three to four thousand years. Lucan did the math; if Moss was alive during Dark’s reign, that put him around two thousand five hundred years, maybe three thousand. Lucan wondered what it would be like to grow old so slowly.
 

“Tell me: what did your uncle do to make you run for office?”

“Long story,” Lucan said. “And none of your business. But it’s not just my uncle.”

“Ah, yes, the aquifer. There’s that. But, Mr. Grimoire, there has always been the problem of the aquifer. It’s not a problem you’ll be able to solve in your lifetime.”

“It’s about time we start.”

“You’re ahead of your time,” Moss said. “But my, your ancestors have given you quite the handicap, haven’t they? Going off and killing themselves en masse like that. How long before elves can no longer use magic?”

“A few generations at most.”

“The world’s magical supply will be unavailable to your progeny, and no one will be able to cast spells anymore. Won’t that be a pity?”

“Like you care.”

“We dragons
do
care, Mr. Grimoire. For we cannot live in Abstraction without a society. The environmental disaster will affect us all, I can assure you of that. And I choose to put my support behind a candidate so deeply aligned with the welfare of all dragons in Abstraction.”

“I appreciate your support.”

“I will give my press conference tonight. I am expecting great things from you, the least of which is a new grimoire set for my daughters.”

Lucan started for the door.
 

“Mr. Grimoire—”

Lucan turned.
 

“If we ever have a trust issue, I hope you’ll have the goodwill to tell me in advance.”

“Something wrong?” Lucan thought of Old Dark. Yeah, he definitely didn’t want to bring
that
up. Some things were better left unsaid.
 

“I know your history. That’s what’s wrong. Do not embarrass me.”

“You got it, Moss.”

XXV

Miri and Earl pulled into an alley behind her apartment building, a narrow street filled with dumpsters and puddles.
 

She was still in her nightgown and robe; there had been other clothes at Lucan’s penthouse, but to her surprise, what she was wearing was the tamest thing in the wardrobe. She’d have to go a long time before she could push the lingerie images out of her mind.
 

Earl opened the door and got out. He surveyed the alley, and seeing no one, opened the door for Miri and guarded her as she entered the back door of the three-story building.
 

There was a restaurant on the first floor. As they hurried through a green hallway with peeling paint, the smell of pizza and fried chicken hit them.
 

It was familiar. She’d only eaten at the restaurant once, and it had given her food poisoning. With the magic shortage and all the environmental trouble, Miri was the organic food type. More money, better living. But the fried food did remind her of home, and after all she’d been through, she was grateful for the smell.
 

She led the way up a narrow staircase. Some of the steps had cracks in them. The lighting dimmed as they climbed.
 

“Watch your step, Earl.”

“Trust me, I’ve been in worse places, Miss.”

They reached the second floor. The sounds of the restaurant were just below—dishes clinking, a loud ceiling fan, an oven beeping, a group of people talking and laughing. The hallway smelled of mildew and old grease.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Earl said, “but I thought a professor could afford a better establishment.”

“I’m lucky to afford this,” Miri said. “Most of my pay goes to health insurance and a so-called retirement plan.”

Earl shook his head.
 

Her door was just down the hall.
 

They rounded a corner.
 

First she saw legs, then a torso.

Someone was sitting in front of her apartment.
 

She startled and reversed, bumping into Earl.
 

“What’s wrong?” Earl whispered.

Miri peeked her head around the corner.
 

It was Laner Tonsenberry, senior faculty in the Academy of History and Magical Sciences. A colleague. He was a human with elven blood in his history who had taken an interest in the magical arts. He was the only human on staff, and equal with the other faculty. Salaries were private, but Miri wouldn’t have been surprised if he made more money than her because Dean Rosehill liked his easygoing demeanor.

He had been an enemy at times. But ultimately, he was a friend.
 

He wore a white button-up shirt that was loosely tucked into brown trousers, and his curly auburn hair was a mess. He rested his head against the door, as if he had been sleeping.
 

He can’t know where I’ve been,
Miri thought.
 

“Carry me,” Miri said, jumping into Earl’s arms.

“Ma’am, I don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression of our—”

“Trust me.”

She felt his strong hands around her, and she let her head hang limp and tried to remember her college days.
 

As they approached, Laner woke up and wiped drool from his face. He cocked his head at Earl, but when he saw Miri, he stood up.
 

“Hey. I’ve been waiting for you all night.”

Miri rolled her head as if she was drunk. “Looooong night.”

“Who are you?” Laner asked. He gave Earl a look that seemed to say “What’s a human doing carrying an elven woman around?”

“I’m the designated driver, sir,” Earl said. After a pause, Laner nodded. The man did seem to be dressed for it.
 

 
“Oh, okay. Listen, Miri—”

Miri held out her hand; a pentagram on the door activated in response and the door opened.
 

They entered her apartment, a cozy studio. A divider made from rice paper separated her bed from the living room, which had white walls and books everywhere. There were piles and piles of books on anthropology, magic and art.
 

A gray cat mewed and ran away at the sight of the visitors.
 

A large bay window overlooked the street, which was empty except for a few parked cars. Earl set Miri on a couch at the base of the bay window. He stood by the door with his arms crossed, staring out the window and ignoring them.
 

“I never knew you to be a partier,” Laner said.

Miri gripped her head. Pretending to be hungover was surprisingly easy. “After our faculty meeting, I needed a few drinks.”

“Well, are you still sobering up, or have you seen the news?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The Ancestral Bogs. Something happened there last night.”

“So?”

Laner grinned. “But no one knows what happened, Miri. That’s the best part. The government seized the land and has invoked the Magical Lands Act. I know you’re pissed about the faculty meeting yesterday, but thank goodness we decided to endorse the governor, because he appointed Magic Hope University to aid in the investigation.”

Miri wanted to vomit.
 

“Per the law, the university has to respond within twenty-four hours and appoint a lead on the project, an individual with relevant experience and ability.”