Plight of the Dragon (9 page)

“Kyra! You come back here right this instant!” her mother called.

“Kalrapura.”

Kyra paused at the sound of her dragon’s name called out by her father. She turned and focused on him. “What about her?”

“You are incomplete.” Bolsvck pierced her with his cold, hard stare. “You are missing your dragon soul.”
 

Kyra’s heart started uncontrollably flipping and flopping. “She’s fine. I have her.”

“Don’t lie to me, child.” Bolsvck advanced another step.
 

Beads of sweat trickled along Kyra’s hairline. She had the sudden urge to wipe her palms on her thighs. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to give away the lie she was hiding. As if not wiping her palms would keep her father from knowing the truth. He’d probably smelled the truth the moment he’d said Kalrapura’s name.
 

“We’re not leaving until you are fully restored.” Bolsvck’s face softened. “At least give us that.”

“You don’t need to do that. Sebastian has her safe, and we’ll get it all fixed soon enough. You don’t need to worry.” Kyra’s heart was racing and her head spinning, searching for a good excuse to make them leave.
 

“Do you have a place you stay? Someplace we can rest?” Queen Shui asked.

Kyra’s eyes widened, and her chin dropped. “For all of you? No. There are way too many. You need to leave.” Kyra started to pace, agitation getting the better of her. “Besides, my trailer burned down.”

“Trailer?” her mother repeated. “You were living in a trailer?”
 

“Now where are you staying?” Bolsvck asked.

Kyra stopped moving, turned introspective. She’d thought she would be staying with Sebastian, but now…now, she had no idea. Her trailer, her perfectly comfortable trailer was burnt and broken, and her best friend...She looked to the Ferris wheel spinning high above the carnival’s horizon, remembered the many times she and Sebastian hung out beneath its platform.
 

Beneath the Ferris wheel, they’d sit with his tarot cards and her bottle of whiskey, make up stories of the people in the swinging passenger cars passing above their heads. On the rare occasion, they’d bear witness to a carnie marriage, fellow carnies riding once around the wheel together. Once, she even allowed herself to imagine she and Sebastian tied that knot.
 

How she wished for those days again. Life had been good, before she’d let Marcus in. One dumb, simple act brought her life tumbling down like a juggler’s dropped balls.

Itty-bitty flashes of light burst here and there, then everywhere. The air smelled metallic.
 

Queen Shui swatted at the light. “What is that?”

“The carnival is about to move people and things around. Maybe she’ll boot your dragon tails out the door,” Kyra said, then mentally added,
One can only hope
.
 

New to the carnival, some of the dragons had yet to experience a shift. This move by Mystic’s was accompanied by many a dragon moan or cry or roar. Kyra could hear their sounds through the shifting swirl, and then she could not, as they were all swooped to new, different locations. Ones that were not hers.
 

A sigh of relief escaped her lungs when the carnival world came to a stop, and Kyra found herself standing in front of her restored trailer home. “Thank you, Mystic’s,” she whispered. Replacing her destroyed den was the second best welcome home gift Kyra could imagine. The magic of the carnival never ceased to amaze her. She wanted to hug the dingy little trailer. Kiss the cold, hard metal siding.
 

“This is where you live?”

Kyra jumped, turned around to see her parents. Her heart dropped into her gut, and her pilot light blew out. Cold, so excruciatingly cold.
 

“Our presence disappoints. So sorry, little dragon.” Bolsvck stepped onto her front patio, if you could call it a patio. It was an imaginary line in the grass where she had set up two chairs and a rusty table. Sometimes she and Sebastian would hang out there to watch the midnight fireworks show.
 

“It’s just…” Kyra hugged herself. “I can’t…” Rubbed her arms, up and down, and up again. “Can’t do this…” The grass came up to meet her far too fast. It too was cold and damp. Her parents rushed to her, had their hands all over her, their voices flickering in and out.
 

Queen Shui placed her hand on Kyra’s forehead. “She’s so cold.”

“She’s a Fire Dragon without her fire.” Bolsvck turned Kyra to face him. “She’s slowly freezing to death.”
 

Kyra eyes drifted close, and she whispered, “Sebastian.”

9

MIRACLE

Sebastian

What are you
doing here?” Sebastian shoved past his father. “Shouldn’t you be out reaping or something?”

“Is that any way to speak to your father?” Mortifier fell in step beside Sebastian, straightened his lapels.
 

Sebastian rolled his shoulders, wiggled his upper body, and managed to collapse the wings into nothingness. He was once again just himself—sorta. “It is, when the father is you.”
 

The crowd was thick, people swinging party favors of every possible design, cheering with delight, and throwing confetti into the sky. A few people pointed and gawked at him, but the majority moved about their business as if Sebastian’s transformation was an everyday occurrence at the carnival. Maybe it was. Maybe he didn’t look like a real dragon, not in his current state anyway. Or maybe, like so many things at the carnival, he was accepted as another act, another form of entertaining magic. A stray firework exploded overhead, pulling any remaining attention away from Sebastian. The fireworks were over, but the party was still going strong. Sebastian pushed through the fray, hopeful his father would get lost and be unable to follow.
 

“Will you stop for a minute and talk to me?” Mortifier grabbed his arm. Sebastian paused, glanced down at his father’s hold, then took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Thought I taught you to dress better.” Mortifier lifted his finger, indicating Sebastian’s thrashed shirt.
 

“I have somewhere to be. It’s really not a good time,
Dad
.” Sebastian stressed the word, making clear how little the man meant in his life. They were not friends. They weren’t even happy co-workers. There was almost zero respect between them, and in Sebastian’s book, that was grounds for zero relationship.
 

Although already standing straight and tall, Mortifier stood taller after his son’s comment. As if his entire body stretched toward the moon, so that he could peer down on his son even further. “Very well, I shall walk with you,” he said with a tip of his head. “And you can tell me what has happened here. What is going on with you?” He fanned his hand in a flamboyant gesture toward Sebastian.
 

Sebastian yanked his arm free. He was getting tired of people jerking and tugging him around. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.” He brushed at his arm where his father had held him. “Could you just go away please?” Sebastian said, throwing his hand up in a stop-don’t-follow-me signal, and started walking again.

Mortifier stayed in step. “I told you to stay away from the dragon girl. Why,” Mortifier’s hand clenched into a fist, and he shook it at his temple, “do you refuse to listen? Look at you. You have her dragon curled up inside you, squeezed in around your heart.” He talked with sharp, decisive moves, slicing and beating the air with his hand.
 

Sebastian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, searching for the calm Kyra had helped him find when the dragon first emerged from inside him. “Haven’t you ever felt for anyone besides yourself?” he asked. “Felt so strongly for someone that they became entrenched in your core being? In your soul? Became a part of who and what you are? Or have you always been this soulless creature?” With all the theatrics of a carnie, Sebastian gestured to his father.
 

The elegant and superior Grim Reaper stood in silence for a breath, his dark eyes revealing nothing, but Sebastian thought he detected something in the movement of a brow, the bat of a lash. “You may love her, I’ll give you that, but such love will be the end of you.” Mortifier moved ahead of Sebastian, forcing him to a stop, and seized both of his shoulders firmly in his grasp. “You must snuff that dragon out before it destroys you, burning you from the inside out.”

“I’m not going to do that.” Sebastian locked stares with his father. “If that’s the only reason you’re here, you may go now. Your message has been delivered and rejected.”

Mortifier released Sebastian, let his arms drop at his side, and began to laugh. “You are a stubborn one. I have to admit, I’m rather proud.” The laughing stopped, and his face fell deadly serious. “But the dragon does have to go.”

“I said
no
!” Sebastian’s response ran long like the tail of a circus tent flag, his gaze locked on someone else in the crowd. “What is he doing here?” Sebastian asked, pointing at Mr. Johnson.
 

“That’s a pretty interesting story, actually.” Mortifier placed a hand in his pants pocket and cocked his head to the side.
 

Sebastian stared at the Reaper with the ridiculous Mr. Johnson name tag. He imagined walking up to the man and punching him in the face. He had left Sebastian in that alley to be beaten by behemoths, and nothing good had come from that situation. Everything that followed ran through his mind in fast forward. Alice’s death, Alice being the sister of Sophie, the girl he’d reaped only days earlier. Both girls being daughters of some big military leader named Davies who didn’t like him much. Sebastian’s hand slipped into his pocket and found Alice’s pendant still there. What did that mean? Why was he holding on to the jewelry?

The exuberant mass around them began to somber. Sebastian glanced between his father and Mr. Johnson, wondering if what he was seeing was a physiological reaction to multiple Reapers being in one place. He never noticed it around himself, but now there were three—no, wait. His gaze was pulled a few feet to the left and right of Mr. Johnson. Five Reapers. A glance wasn’t enough, Sebastian was suddenly turning in a circle to check the entire scene. To the left of Mr. Johnson stood Mr. Brown, then Mr. Elder, and Mr. Cane. On the right, Mr. Lee and Mr. Vargas. That made eight Reapers, if he counted himself, and he had to count himself. He was a Reaper by nature. He had no idea if he was putting out vibes the Mystic’s party was picking up subconsciously.
 

Sebastian’s insides churned, acid and dragon tail. His fingers dug into the back of his neck and pulled at his hair. “Why so many Reapers, Mortifier? What’s going on?” His eyes widened, and he pinned his father with his stare.
 

“Told you it was an interesting story,” Mortifier said, a lazy and untrustworthy smile widening across his chieftain face. The six Reapers standing in a circle around them took a step forward.
 

Flashes reminiscent of mini firecrackers burst to life, the air within the circle and beyond crackling and sizzling with dots of fire. The waft of metallic air weighed heavily upon Sebastian, as did something else…the carnival herself, pressing into him? It was as if he were being pushed to the ground and spun around, the desire to hurl overwhelming. And then it was still. The carnival had moved them, and fast. To where, yet unclear. In a dizzy haze, Sebastian toppled onto his side and knocked into something ungiving, painful, and cold.
 

Next to him sat the red, weather-worn, wooden bench by the lake. The one in which Zeke could usually be found. The soft lapping of the water eased Sebastian’s quickened heart, and the smell of Zeke’s cherry tobacco gave him a sense of hope. He hoped Zeke would have a better answer than what the carousel had presented.
 

With a sigh, Sebastian rolled off his side and checked the perimeter. No Reapers nearby.
Thank you, Mystic’s
. His muscles relaxed, but his heart still ached a thousand dragon jabs to its core.
 

“You gonna come up here and talk to me, or sit on the grass all day?” Zeke said, nudging Sebastian with the end of his cane.
 

After Sebastian’s run-in with his father, Zeke was a welcome relief. Sebastian let out a soft laugh, a touch of madness evident in the refrain, and stood. “I’m getting there, old man. Don’t have a blowdown.” Acting confident and assured on the surface, Sebastian took a seat beside Zeke, but inside, it was as if Sebastian’s tents had been blown down, and he had no clue how to repair the damage, or if it was even repairable.
 

A snort. A cough. Then Zeke elbowed Sebastian. “You don’t need to pretend with me. I know your heart, and it doesn’t match the show you’re puttin’ on.”
 

Crossing his arms across his chest, Sebastian pressed into his chest with the heel of his palm. Pressed hard where his heart should be, only it had been clawed out by Kalrapura, or possibly gnawed up and devoured.

Not to be deterred by the silence, Zeke dropped his hand upon Sebastian’s leg and delivered a firm pat. “You’re hurting, son. Shall we talk about why?” He tilted his ear to better hear Sebastian’s answer.