Awen Storm Read online

  It reminded him of his familiar Lamia and their female-issue, Lamalita. They loved nature and had taught Ishkur to appreciate its beauty. Snapping a picture with his handheld, he sent it to Lamia with a promise to make contact that evening. But first Ishkur would have a well-deserved drink.

  He left the chute and gagged. The stench of burnt flesh and rotting corpses was formidable, the devastation mind-boggling. Ishkur strode down the ravaged street, gaping at the eerie scene. The computer images had been nothing compared to the actuality. Charred skeletons were all that remained of the once-thriving city, save a few scorched buildings amid the smoldering ruins.

  Few living beings were about. Those that were, hurried along. An itch began at the base of Ishkur’s spine and crept slowly up his back. Spinning, he scanned the burnt-out doorways for signs of danger or pursuit. Encountering nothing but shadow and stink, Ishkur picked his way through the rubble with caution.

  Rounding a corner, he stopped short. In the middle of the street, a Draco feasted on the bowels of a charred Ecthelion. Disgusted, Ishkur drew his leather cloak close and hurried past, gut queasy.

  A flash of neon lifted his spirits. His insides eased. An ugly Draco-mutant leaned against the open pub door, cigar hanging from its cracked lips.

  “Two credits,” the bouncer muttered.

  Ishkur hesitated, unused to paying to enter a drinking establishment. He’d be shelling out plenty enough inside. Grumbling, he reached in his belt for coins. With credits, the computer would track his drinking and whereabouts. And Shibboleth was sure to be on his trail.

  Bellying to the bar, Ishkur ordered a Furroot. He chugged it and slammed the stein on the counter to signal for another. This, he carried to a dark corner. He claimed a stool at a high-top table and kept his head down, nursing his drink. He stared at the creatures occupying the bar. Only a handful were Draconian, the rest a hodgepodge of species.

  Ishkur sipped the Furroot and consulted his handheld. The attaché had located his companions. They had apparently debarked early to deal with a troublesome issue in the countryside. He grimaced, remembering the unscheduled stop. He’d been in the middle of an especially-spectacular winning streak. Patting the winnings in his belt, Ishkur tipped his mug and downed the potent brew.

  The itchy sensation crawled up his spine. Ishkur glanced around the room. His back was to the corner, but he still felt exposed. Knowing Shibboleth would be looking for him made Ishkur even more jumpy than usual. A shadow darkened the entrance and the tingling intensified.

  A tall Draca ducked through the door and hesitated to glance discreetly around the smoke-filled room. A cloak concealed her features, and it appeared she was alone. She stepped inside, made another sweep of the room, then disappeared behind the curve of the bar.

  A server moved through the crowd. Ishkur raised his glass for a refill. Moments later, the Draca reappeared. She muscled through the crowd and claimed a small table not far from Ishkur. With a quick scan of the room, she settled on the stool. The waiter brought Ishkur’s Furroot and bustled to the newcomer as she dropped her hood.

  Ishkur gasped. He knew that face. Her image had appeared in the base alerts, wanted for questioning in Nergal’s death. As his body had yet to be recovered, no warrant had been issued for her arrest. She glanced Ishkur’s way, and the itch grew stronger.

  A shrill voice pierced the hubbub from a gaming table in the back of the tavern. A weasel-like creature rose to challenge its opponent and the two tore at each other’s throats. One fell to the ground with a thunk, then the game continued. The din resumed.

  Ishkur stared into his bubbly brown Furroot. Should he confront the Draca? He guzzled the fiery liquid and decided against it. He had already signed his death warrant. Why bother doing a job he likely no longer held?

  At a commotion by the door, he looked up to see a Cerulean dressed in enforcement garb surveying the crowd. The merc spotted the Draca, and Ishkur coughed loudly. Her head snapped up. The Cerulean charged. Eyes wide, she reached behind her for a scythe-like weapon. Ishkur slid from his perch and rushed her table. Planting his bulk between it and the Cerulean, he raised his fists. The Furroot had kicked in, and he was spoiling for a fight.

  “This Draca’s mine!” he roared.

  The Cerulean hesitated, then retreated to the bar to eye Ishkur with malice born of greed.

  The Draca hissed in Ishkur’s ear, “I don’t need your help. I take care of myself.”

  Ishkur wheeled, spine tingling. Her voice, like her face, was familiar. “I am not helping. I’m taking you in.”

  The Draca extended her fist in greeting. “I’m Inanna. Have we met?”

  Ishkur returned the gesture, surprised when the Draca’s claw engulfed his.

  “I recognize you from the alerts. You’re Shibboleth’s female-spawn. You’re wanted for questioning in General Nergal’s death.”

  The Draca shrank away. “You shouldn’t believe all you hear. Who are you?”

  Ishkur drew to full height. “Vice-Major Ishkur of Xibalba IX. On assignment to Agartha. I am here to investigate General Nergal’s death. What have you to say for yourself?”

  The Draca blinked and stared past him at the door as if she would bolt. She was attractive, even with her recent injuries. It would be a shame to mar her features further.

  With a heavy sigh, she capitulated. “I am innocent of those charges. If you promise not to arrest me, I will explain my part. I am as much a victim as General Nergal. Who, by the way, is not dead.”

  That got Ishkur’s attention. “You know this how?”

  The Draca drained her glass and set it on the table. “Buy me a drink.”

  Signaling the server, Ishkur slid into a chair at her table and ordered two Furroots. They sat in silence until the Zynog set the drinks on the table. Half emptying his, Ishkur belched. Inanna sipped. After a long minute, she set her mug on the table and eyed Ishkur.

  “The Agarthan populace has no love for my sire. Should he try to impose his will, they will rebel. For that reason alone, I dare show my face. But how do I know you won’t turn me over to Shibboleth? Or kill me yourself? If you, Vice-Major Ishkur, cannot promise me safety, I must take my leave.”

  Ishkur rose and laid a fist over his heart. “In this matter, my loyalties are with General Nergal, not Shibboleth, though I am here at his command. My interest is in finding the truth. As long as you assist, I will not harm you. Nor will I turn you over to the warlord.”

  The Draca’s taut posture relaxed. She cradled the Furroot and took another sip, then looked up at Ishkur and smiled.

  His heart melted. He thought briefly of Lamia, then dismissed her from his mind. She would be bedding another if Ishkur lingered in Agartha long. He had no illusions about that. Inanna placed her hand on Ishkur’s knee. His groin tightened. He hadn’t bedded anyone but Lamia in a long while.

  He tried to listen to the Draca relate what had happened to Nergal the night he disappeared. But the tightness in Ishkur’s loin increased until his man part twitched. Licking lips that had gone dry, he reached for the Furroot and drained his mug, nearly choking when Inanna trailed her hand higher.

  A fire ignited in Ishkur’s groin. His member grew harder beneath its flap until his entire being ached. When Inanna’s clawed fingers untucked his cock, Ishkur’s breath caught. He gasped and leaned closer. Sensation washed over him, and the orgasm exploded. With a sigh, Ishkur slumped in his stool, loin tingling.

  A smirk played on Inanna’s lips. She licked her claws, one by one, then reached beneath the table. The Draca convulsed and her eyes rolled back. She squeaked a little, then slumped against the wall.

  Sitting up straight, she laid a wet claw over Ishkur’s. “Thanks. I needed that. Now, what were we saying?”

  With a supreme effort, Ishkur tore his attention from her lips and rearranged his man part. What had she been saying? Nergal was alive? Ishkur’s erection softened and retreated into its flap.

  “How do you know Nergal is alive? And w
hy I should believe you?”

  The Draca scoffed and took a large swallow of Furroot, eyeing him over the top of her mug. “I saw Nergal.”

  “When?”

  “The day of the earthquake. The day Shibboleth’s army marched through Agartha.” Inanna hesitated, eyes vague in remembrance. “I was in a doctora’s office waiting to be treated when Nergal appeared. It shocked me to no end because Shibboleth’s goons had bragged about killing him before they gave me these.” Her honey-gold complexion deepened, and she pointed to her wounds.

  “Then the quake struck. Nergal shoved me through the front door and ran back for the doctora. They barely made it out before the building collapsed. He took off in one direction, dragging her. I ran in the other. Everyone was seeking shelter from the quake.”

  “So, two days ago?”

  Inanna nodded.

  Ishkur pondered the implications. This could change everything. With Nergal alive, they could reassemble what was left of his army and challenge Shibboleth.

  Inanna twisted her hands together. “Nergal looked awful. If his internal injuries were as grave as his visible ones, he may not survive for much longer.”

  “Nergal is a survivor. That Draco has endured things over the years that would kill a lesser Draco.”

  Unshed tears gleamed in Inanna’s eyes.

  A chill ran up Ishkur’s arms. Did this lovely creature have a connection with the general? In spite of Lamia, Ishkur found himself hoping not. Then the kernel of an idea formed.

  “Can you take me to the doctora’s office where you saw Nergal?”

  An odd look passed over Inanna’s marred face. “I can, but it will be to no avail. That sector was demolished. What the quake didn’t destroy, the magma has burned.”

  Resolve congealed in Ishkur’s chest. Half his mission in Agartha was to find Nergal. So, find him, he would.

  Hope

  Wren’s Roost was an imposing, two-story Tudor Revival mansion built in the early 1900’s. Lugh parked his SUV in the circular drive and started up the brick staircase to find Hope, the druid animal Elder.

  As luck would have it, the Scottish Wildcat lazed in the sun on the top landing. One might easily mistake Hope for an oversized tabby. Only the animal Elder talked, and had been in and out-of-body for at least as far back as the original Awen.

  The cat stretched and blinked chartreuse eyes holding unspoken truths. The hole in Lugh’s insides shrank just a little.

  “Hope,” he said simply, a multitude of emotions riding on the one word.

  “You are troubled, Lughnasadh. Come. Speak.” Hope swiped at a shoulder with her scratchy pink tongue, and he settled on the steps beside her.

  “Cu is gone. He died in the quake. It—” his voice broke when sorrow flickered in the cat’s eyes. The wolfhound had been her faithful companion for a millennium. But Hope said nothing. Lugh swallowed hard and tried again.

  “Emily and Brian are missing. And I fear Hamilton’s spirit passed with Cu.”

  The cat stared off into the distance. “Emily is alive. If not, I’d be as gone as Cu. Or as gone as Cu appears to be. There are rumblings in the Otherworld about the Awen, and about the boy. They are both alive.”

  A fraction of the weight was lifted from Lugh. It was weird to hear Emily called by that name. Yet she was descended from, and a dead ringer for, the original Awen. He leaped from his perch, ready to search Hades or the moon if it meant bringing Emily and Brian home.

  “Any idea how to find them?”

  The cat wagged her head. “More than this, I do not know. Except that Hamilton’s spirit wanders yet. He came to me in the dark of night after the earthquake.”

  The hole in Lugh’s gut closed a little more.

  “Hamilton sensed something bad would happen. He warned me, Hope. I felt nothing myself, so I refused to listen.” He shoved his bangs out of his eyes. “I was caught up in Emily and my own selfish interests. I should have listened. I know better.”

  Lugh hung his head and the hair flopped into his eyes again. “I should abdicate the priesthood. I am unworthy of my station.”

  Hope scoffed. “Lugh, you did nothing wrong. As your Elder, I command you to cease worrying about Emily and your nephew. They will both be fine without you.”

  But he wasn’t convinced.

  The cat stood and stretched. “We have much to do to get ready for the invasion. Oh yes,” she said at Lugh’s sharp intake of breath. “The time grows short. The Elders whisper of a race of beings banished and forgotten long ago—monsters living inside the planet. They would destroy all human life and take Earth for themselves.”

  “But that’s where Emily and Brian are.” A two-by-four couldn’t have hit Lugh harder. He sank to the step from which he’d risen and cradled his head, wishing the pain would go away. His heart raced thinking of Emily and Brian at the mercy of monsters. “Hope, we have to get them out.”

  “There are more than monsters down there, Lugh.” Her fat tail twitched, stirring the thick Georgia air. “Remember the Tuatha Dé Danaan?”

  Lugh nodded. Hope peered at him until understanding dawned. “You mean the Great Ones? Is that who you think is under Earth with Brian and Emily?”

  “And Hamilton,” the cat nodded. “Lughnasadh, you must listen closely. Your path lies not below the earth. You must go with me to Beli to seek out the crone and the dragons.”

  Lugh recoiled. Dread curdled his stomach. “Not on your life. Beli is a myth, not a real place. I am not going on a dragon quest. Not now, not ever. No way.”

  Hope’s stare remained fixed.

  “No. Uh-uh.” Lugh shook his head vehemently.

  The tabby laughed, a thick, throaty sound that filled the space between them, and tickled the corners of Lugh’s lips. Soon he was smiling, then chuckling at Hope’s infectious gurgle.

  Something brushed against the cobwebs of his mind. His brother Jake had always believed in the existence of dragons. When Jake disappeared, Lugh had had a hunch that he'd gone searching for the mythical creatures.

  “Seriously, Hope? I can’t go traipsing around the world, searching for mythical beasts. I have a missing nephew. And Order rituals to perform. Beltane will be here soon. And even if we found Beli, assuming it exists, and the dragons, assuming they exist, it still won’t help us find Emily. Or help her command the dragons. There’s a forgetfulness curse. Remember?”

  “Yes,” Hope conceded. “I’m working on that. But I must go to Beli, nevertheless, and I can’t go alone. I require a human companion. And that must be you.”

  Lugh groaned and shoved his bangs out of his face. “I am not going anywhere. Not until we’ve found Brian and I’ve buried Cu. Plus, I have to make arrangements for Jocko’s. At least give me that."

  “Get your affairs in order. We have a trip to plan.”

  No Respite

  Brian and Ethnui's search for the missing Fomore yielded no clues. Days had passed since Brian last slept, and the exhaustion was getting the better of him. He could sleep on sharp stones at this point, but Ethnui showed him to a small bedroom.

  He plopped down to remove his sneakers and found it quite cushy. Crawling under the soft covers, he pulled them to his chin and sighed, grateful to finally stretch out flat. But he was too keyed-up for sleep.

  He eyed the dark ceiling, thinking of all that had happened since the earthquake and wondered if Lugh and Emily had made it out alive. Cu hadn’t. A tear trickled down Brian’s cheek to the thin pillow. He sent a feeler to Hamilton, who didn’t answer. Had the druid tired of him and jumped into Ethnui?

  Alarmed, he whispered aloud, “Hamilton? Are you there?”

  “I’m here.” The voice sounded far away. “Sleep, little raven. You’ve earned it.”

  Assured he wasn’t alone, Brian drifted off to a peaceful sleep in which mermaids romped in a deep blue sea, and a dragon swam lazily through their midst.

  **

  For the past two days, Hamilton had been intent on keeping alive Brian. Now the l
ad was asleep, and they were relatively safe. Ham was free to roam. He was certain Lugh had escaped the quake. But Emily was down here somewhere. He just had to find her.

  He entered the perilous Otherworld and combed through the zoo wreckage before diving beneath the surface. Skimming the rip-rap and large boulders, he reached the bottom of a dark cave and spied something. Hurrying to the spot, he found a scrap of material from Emily’s blouse. Encouraged, he circled the chamber. She was not here.

  Hamilton spotted a crack, and threaded through it to reach a corridor large enough for a person to walk. Presently it met with another passageway lit by smoldering torches. Thinking he’d found one of the Draconian tunnels, Ham sped along it, hoping against hope that he would find Emily alive. Better to be in the lizard’s clutches than crushed under tons of displaced rock.

  Eventually, Ham ended up in a large cave. Emily was not here, but her energy signature remained. He circled the room, and his spirit soared. This was no Draconian stronghold. No danger lurked in its rock walls. He was in a dragon’s lair.

  A dragon had found Emily. Which should mean his daughter was safe. Only where had the dragon taken her?

  **

  Emily rolled to her back in the small bed. She grounded for meditation and focused on reaching out to her father. Talav had said she could contact her family. It was time to try.

  Ignoring all else, she quieted her mind and thought of her Da presenting Aóme to her while conferring the title of Grand Druid, and him declaring his eternal love. She thought of the day he had transferred from his dying body to that of the wolfhound Cu. His first druid lesson was that same afternoon. He’d taught her and Brian to sing Amergin’s song, the one about Taliesin.

  Something inside Emily loosened, then her Da appeared. Only he looked like Brian.

  “Da!” she cooed. “It’s Emily Bridget. Are you okay? Where is Cu?”

  “Yes, I’m okay, but Cu is gone. I’m with Brian. Where are you?”

  “In the Bahamas on an island called Zephyr Cay. Talav, the earth dragon found me and brought me here, to a healer named Khenko Blitherstone. I’m glad you’re with Brian. I’ve been worried about you two. Where are you, Da?”