Smitten (34 page)

Watatsumi recognized dragon fire, and while he was puzzled by its appearance here, it remained a mystery to determine later. First he needed to put it out. He drew in a deep breath and then he released a swirling jet of tidal water. The waves washed over the building and through the blasted windows, dousing the flames in an instant.

“Well I’ll be damned.” The fire chief stepped forward and stared. “You extinguished everything.”

“And I am pleased to do so,” Watatsumi replied. He retook his human shape, kimono perfectly in place, and stepped toward the ruined storefront.

“Wait a minute. You can’t go in there, it isn’t safe,” the chief said. He argued weakly, a half-hearted attempt to uphold the duties of his job despite witnessing the impossible feat of a water dragon putting out a fire.

“An acquaintance of mine owns this building, and I would like to know if she survived. I assure you, there is no effort you may take to stop me, so play nice and wait your turn.”

“If this is a crime scene we can’t have you going in there, er, sir.” The chief made a last-ditch effort, and Watatsumi admired him for it.

“I promise I will not disturb anything. Unless I must. This is a witch’s den and there may be magical hazards in place your men are not trained to tolerate.”

The fire had consumed all of the wards and protections, obliterating any defenses the witch may have left over her haven. Watatsumi stepped through the steaming wreckage.

“This must be where the fire began,” Watatsumi murmured. The front room was unsalvageable. Nothing had been spared the fire’s wrath and the metal framework of the building had been affected, ruining the support beams. The entire building would have come down if the fire had burned hotter or longer.

It started in the center of the space, leaving a blackened scorch mark on the floor. Deeper grooves of blistered, charred wood radiated out where the fire had initially tried to spread but had been contained. Whatever Agnes used to protect her building had put up a daring fight, but lost in the end.

The stench of dragon fire filled the air, masking the scent of the perpetrator himself. As Watatsumi moved beyond the storefront into the rear offices, he found jeweler displays with melted glass and ruined contents. He followed his senses into a ransacked office, its desk tipped over, precious contents strewn over the soggy rug. Waterlogged books awaited him on shelves and a hidden safe door hung open.

Witches are known for hiding secrets in plain sight,
he thought. All of the books, save one, had been damaged when he quenched the flames. He pulled the single dry book from the shelf and ran his fingers over the spine. It hummed with hidden magic, powerful for a human but child’s play for a dragon sorcerer.

As if tuned to the book, other items in the room buzzed in harmony. The first was a silver wolf figurine with emerald eyes. It pulsed in his hand, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. Beneath the safe, buried in piles of mushy, disintegrating money, he discovered two gemstones — a sapphire and a black diamond — with the same rhythmic beat. A palm-sized crystal ball and an amethyst geode made up the final two objects bound to the spellbook.

He gathered the strange collection up and gave the store a last glance-over. The humans outside were starting to come in, but he had what he wanted. There was no sign of Agnes or her apprentices, not even a pile of ashes.

Work done, he opened a portal to his home and stepped through.

Chapter 25

Despite the warm presence of Max’s hand on her tummy, Ēostre slept like crap the morning after Fafnir’s confrontation. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about his behavior, his mannerisms, and the outright hostility toward Saul unsettled her more than his actual return. Fafnir had never loathed their child. He’d never hurt Saul’s feelings and had only shown him love whenever he was in their lives.

My Brigid,
she thought again, letting the words echo through her mind. The solution was on the tip of her tongue… but behind a wall her stressed mind couldn’t crack.

Dragons never returned from the dead. But he had. Fafnir had loved his family, especially his son. Now he loathed them.

It was unusual for Maximilian to remain in bed past noon, but White House employees had gradually begun to acclimate to what they called “Dragon Hours” by beginning the office day hours later than usual. Max and Ēostre discovered most of the staff appreciated the opportunity to sleep in, and their silent support touched him deeply. On top of the approval from his employees, a few top advisors claimed the president’s unusual schedule improved the response time for communications with foreign leaders, especially with those in Asia and the eastern parts of Europe.

So he slept in beside her, Ēostre tucked against his chest with her head beneath his chin. Sometimes she pretended to remain asleep long past the hour she awakened, basking in the warmth of her husband’s body.

“I know you’re awake,” Max whispered. His arm squeezed her tighter, then his fingers skimmed down her ribs until his palm cupped her lower tummy. “What’s on your mind?”

“You,” she teased. Ēostre traced a fingertip of the back of his knuckles and listened to his even, deep breaths behind her. Technically, it wasn’t a lie. He and their babies ruled her thoughts, but she couldn’t get Saul off of her mind.

How could Fafnir hurt him so deeply?

“Was it this part of me?” Max asked playfully, nudging with his hips. He was hard as stone behind her, the thick girth of him cradled perfectly between her thighs.

“The entire package, but especially that part of you.”

“We still have some time before work calls us for the day.”

As if jinxing his words, the phone rang. Ēostre frowned at the cellular on her nightstand, but she dragged her toes over Max’s shin again, encouraging him. “One second.” Ēostre placed the device to her ear after pressing the button. Her husband stilled behind her with limited patience. “Hello?”

“Ēostre, it’s me,” Chloe greeted her. “We need you guys here as soon as you get a chance.”

“What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“No, nothing has happened yet, but Watatsumi arrived a moment ago with news he’d like to share with all of us.”

“We’ll be there,” Ēostre promised. “Thank you.”

“No problem. See you soon.”

Ēostre clicked the phone off and set it aside. She twisted around to look at her husband, who’d already withdrawn from their bedroom play, sensing that the call was important. “That was Chloe. Watatsumi returned to the manor and has news. He’d like us to meet with him there if we’re able.”

“I suppose we should get up then and see to it. I’ll make sure any meetings I have are rescheduled.”

Ēostre took her time brushing her teeth and washing her face, but as she dressed, her nerves tore at her. Tension kept her gut coiled tight and knotted her shoulders until Max stepped in behind her and circled her waist with his arms. She dreaded the news.

“No matter the news he’s brought for us, I’m behind you. I’m with you every step of the way.”

“I know. It’s only that I’m…”

“You’re worried about Fafnir. So am I. It is my deepest hope, Ēostre, that we can help him. He… didn’t seem well. Physically well,” he said with emphasis.

Ēostre whirled to face him. “You noticed, too?”

“How could I not? I had to jump between both of you.”

While she dressed, Max handled calls and consulted the security agents assigned to them. In less than thirty minutes, they were prepared to step through the portal to Drakenstone Manor to handle a “personal family emergency” in which the agents, shifter or not, were not permitted to accompany them.

The quaint, open floor plan of the living room greeted them, but her son and his wife were nowhere to be seen. They tracked them down to the sunny solar where there were no shadows for anyone to hide within. Fafnir’s magical talents, especially the ability to hide in darkness, had survived his death unharmed.

Saul embraced her tightly and guided her to a chair. It didn’t take long to determine Watatsumi had already shared his findings with them. Their grim faces told Ēostre everything.

“Ēostre, Belenos, my apologies for calling you at this hour.”

“No, no need to apologize. Please, just tell me what happened, Watatsumi.”

“As you wish. An anonymous delivery was made to me from the antiques store owned by the hag, Agnes. No note, no letter, only a ceramic red dragon. I, of course, went to the store afterward to see what I might discover.”

“And…?”

“Agnes is missing and her Boston store was burned to the ground. By a dragon.”

“I know. News of it reached me last night because an enormous blue dragon—” Max straightened in his seat. “That was
you?
I spent hours dealing with your shit. But how does her store have anything to do with Fafnir? Are you suggesting he snuck away and did it himself?”

“No, I am not suggesting he stole away in the night and did it himself,” Watatsumi said politely. “What I am saying is that I know why Fafnir has not been himself. Listen to me, both of you. Listen to me clearly.”

“What is it?”

“That thing is not the mate you knew and our beloved friend. It’s a corpse. Fafnir never returned to life when the volcano exploded.”

Ēostre sharply inhaled. “That isn’t possible. We both saw him walking. We both talked to him. If Fafnir never returned to life from hibernation, why is he beneath my son’s home living in the hoard we built with our own claws?”

“He is the undead, Ēostre, neither deceased nor truly alive. I have researched many books in the time since I left Drakenstone Manor, hoping to find an answer to this miracle.”

“And this is the only one you’ve found?”

“The only one,” Watatsumi said. “We both saw Astrid’s reaction to him. We both know she is a special child with an unknown, unique gift. I have a theory. I’ve spent many centuries of my life researching our kind and the unique traits which set us apart from other magical creatures. We alone are excluded from the wheel of life. Once a dragon is dead, we do not return to flesh and blood. We aren’t reborn as the witches, dragonslayers, and many other souls who complete the cycle do.”

“We become energy,” Max said. “We’ve discussed this before.”

“Correct, my friend, but we have company who does not understand,” Watatsumi said with a gesture to Chloe. “We become part of a greater force, dispersed throughout this world to protect every soul, every person, every tree. We are each comprised of two parts, a bestial nature and a calmer aspect. Just as Ēostre brings gentle rains to nourish the earth, she is also the fierce storm.”

“What does this have to do with Fafnir?” Ēostre asked.

Watatsumi pulled out a book and several items from his pack. “I discovered these in Agnes’ shop. This tome, this vile book of shadows, details how to capture souls. And these?” He gestured to the wolf figurine and various gemstones laid out on the table. “Each one holds a soul. Or at least a piece of one.”

“No… that’s cruel,” Ēostre breathed. Max clenched his jaw.

“Tell her the rest, Watatsumi,” Saul said gently with sorrow in his eyes.

“I believe Agnes attempted to capture Fafnir’s soul in a phylactery. But a dragon’s spirit is far too large for such tricks. It would be comparable to holding a lake in a bathtub,” he explained. “Only a portion could be contained. Fafnir’s body should have turned to stone after he was interred, becoming one with his surroundings, but instead, it entered a sort of magical stasis, likely due to the magical connection to the vessel. In short, the magic tethering his soul to the stone has confused his body, and it no longer knows whether it’s dead or alive. It is in the in-between.”

“Like hibernation?” Chloe asked.

“Yes. Most of us choose to hibernate once we have grown exhausted with the world or feel the need for prolonged rest. But this was not a hibernation. I believe someone possesses the phylactery, and has loosed his soul to serve their own agenda.”

I won’t cry,
Ēostre thought stubbornly.
I’ve shed a century of tears for Fafnir and I won’t cry now.
Instead, she dragged in a shuddering breath and raised her chin. “What can we do?”

“He must be put back to rest and his soul released. The longer it is imprisoned, the darker it will become,” Watatsumi warned. His silken robes rustled with each step toward the open window. “And it may take several of us to do it. As Fafnir is already deceased, we will have to destroy this undead body so the remnants of his soul have nothing to adhere to. Unless we can find the phylactery.”

“Why can’t we find the phylactery?” Saul asked.

“I believe Agnes may be dead. Death is the only reason I can suspect for why the witch’s favorite lair was left unattended. When I consulted with several of her sisters in the coven, they confirmed their belief that she’s no longer among the living.”

“Can they call her in a séance?” Max asked.

Watatsumi shook his head. “No, it’s too late.”

“Did you find out who sent you the figurine?”

“No. Her apprentice claims no knowledge of the piece. Someone else wished me to find her dark secrets without revealing themselves. Someone who either assisted her, or at least had the knowledge and never reported her.