Awen Storm Read online

  Patrika Tolbert tossed and turned in a troubled sleep. She had left Shalane Carpenter’s tour in Atlanta, and would rejoin her after her brother’s wedding. But in her dream, she was a man. And not just any man—a lizard-man in a dark cloak caught in an underground earthquake.

  Patty jolted awake. She peered around the bedroom and laid back, relieved. She was not in a strange city nor an earthquake. She was in her mother and step-father’s house in California.

  Holding her hands in the air, she inspected them and the French manicure she’d gotten the day before, then jumped up to look in the mirror. Her reflection was human, not lizard. Thank God.

  Shuddering, Patty climbed in the tall bed and stared at the ceiling.

  **

  Head propped on one hand, Ishkur, Nergal’s Vice Major, stared at the Fomorian connected to the target Shalane Carpenter. He’d been in the lab since early that morning, shaken from a drunken stupor by an assistant bearing word that General Nergal was somehow dead.

  Now Shibboleth, the warlord from Gamma Reux, was on his way to inspect Xibalba IX. More specifically, the experimental Human Domination program Ishkur had engineered for Nergal.

  Reaching for a beaker of strong chicory, Ishkur groaned. His head felt the size of an Octedron’s, and just as thick. But Shibboleth was coming. And from what Ishkur had heard of the infamous warlord, drunkenness was grounds for punishment by death.

  He chugged the hot liquid and his throat constricted further. What he needed was a good, stiff drink. Turning back to the connector, Iskur moaned and grabbed his head.

  The Fomorian’s body lurched, then quieted. Ishkur logged the movement. Most likely an involuntary muscle twitch. The connection between the Fomorian and Carpenter was deactivated. At least, for now. But the beast would remain here, kept alive by feeding tube—a prisoner until he died, or his usefulness ceased.

  Ishkur ran his tongue over his dry lips and checked the wall chronometer. It would be hours before Shibboleth and his crew arrived. Several hours. Plenty of time. One drink wouldn’t hurt.

  Reaching into his bottom drawer, Ishkur retrieved the bottle of Furroot he kept for such occasions. Unstoppering it, he tilted the bottle and guzzled the fermented fizz, letting it slide down the back of his craw. Replacing the cork, Ishkur belched and put the bottle in the drawer.

  He stared at the Fomorian and wondered what was to become of them now that Nergal was dead

  Draig Talav

  When Emily came to, it was darker than the darkest night and her head was one big, throbbing ache. She could no longer hear the steady thrumming that had meant someone was trying to rescue her. Had they given up already? How long had she been out?

  She tried to stretch her legs and found she couldn’t. Fear constricted her throat. Were they paralyzed? The fear intensified.

  Putting a cautious hand out, she started when the crystalline surface gave way beneath her palm. That was odd. She feathered her fingers over the faceted stones. Had she landed in a bed of quartzite? The wall heaved abruptly, freeing her legs. Then the quartzite burped.

  Jerking her hand away, she stumbled and tried to stand. Instead, she went sprawling face-first into the jagged rock. A sudden brilliance filled the room, blinding Emily. She cringed and clapped her hand over her eyes to squint between her fingers.

  And wished she hadn’t. What she thought was a bed of quartz was not. She lay atop a dragon, exposed in the glow of its fiery breath.

  Scrambling to the ground, Emily flattened her back against the granite wall. Flames sprang to life around the ceiling and the dragon fire ceased. When her eyes adjusted, she looked about frantically for a hiding place. But there was nowhere to run.

  Trembling, she faced the enormous creature. The cat Elder Hope had insisted the dragons were on Emily’s side. This one twinkled like a Christmas tree and bore little resemblance to a-Ur or the fire dragon from the zoo. It had soulful golden eyes that glistened with interest more than appetite. And without the neck ruff or spikes, it didn’t seem as intimidating.

  Emily relaxed a little, grateful for the light now that her eyes had adjusted. When it tucked its legs under in a stance reminiscent of her cat’s Buddha pose, she noticed it had no wings. Which struck her as funny. Uneasy laughter bubbled over though she pressed a knuckle to her bruised lips.

  The dragon peered at her with something akin to wonder.

  “Awen,” it sighed.

  The melodious notes landed in the chamber like pearls of hope. This wasn’t the first time Emily had been called that.

  Uncertain, she responded. “Yes?”

  Refracted color danced off the mirrored scales as the dragon dipped forward in a bow. “I am Talav, Queen of the Earth Dragons and Keeper of the Earth. At your service, Awen, as ever.”

  “You look different from the other dragons,” Emily sputtered. “Where are your wings?”

  The snake-like head whipped back in a roar, and the dragon reared on powerful hindquarters. “And where are your manners?”

  Stones dislodged and skittered down the walls to rest at Emily’s feet. She was reminded, a little late, that dragons are vain and easily offended. Or so she had been told.

  When Talav quieted, Emily apologized for her breach in manners. The fire faded from the queen’s eyes, replaced by a glow so brilliant Emily had to lower her lashes.

  “I’ve been searching for you, my lady.”

  “I am honored, wise one. Can you get me out of here?”

  Talav shifted. Light rainbowed off her jeweled breast. “Of course I can. But here is where you are supposed to be.”

  “Here? Hardly.” Emily wanted nothing more than to get out of here.

  “There are things the druids cannot teach. I will help you discover that which you seek.”

  Emily moved a step closer and collapsed against the wall when pain shot through her ankle and up her leg. “And what is it I seek?” she groaned.

  “A way to save the world.”

  The words floated on a puff of dragon’s breath that was warm and surprisingly inoffensive. And very familiar. Which on inspection, seemed absurd.

  “I have searched for you for four long years,” Talav explained. “You’re a hard one to reach.” Tendrils of dread shimmied up Emily’s spine. “Now, as prophesied, we are here at the end of the world.”

  Emily’s heart pounded and her throat tightened. “You know the prophecy?”

  “Aye.”

  Brushing her bushy hair out of her face, Emily leaned against the wall, careful to keep her weight on her good foot. “So you say. What do you know?”

  “I was there when the earth was made. And a thousand years ago, I heard the prophecy uttered.”

  “You were? You did?”

  “I was. And I did.”

  “Then you must know about my companions. Are they alive? Did they make it out?” Emily pointed to her ankle. “Can you heal my wounds?”

  “I can help.” The dragon blinked and the worst of Emily’s discomfort vanished.

  “You know magic!” She rotated her foot and touched her face. The gashes had receded and the pain was gone.

  “That’s not all I know, deary,” the dragon crooned.

  Desperation ratcheted Emily’s plea. “Then will you tell me about my friends? Can you save them?”

  “No deary, only you.”

  The cold enveloped Emily’s heart. She hung her head, wondering what to say that might change the dragon’s mind. Grief welled up for her father and friends. What if they were dead? Or dying? She thought of Da’s warning, his insistence something was wrong.

  Tears trickled down Emily’s face. Some savior she’d turned out to be. The zoo had been her idea. Perpetually pigheaded and mired in self, Emily had not listened. She had endangered them all.

  Huffing steam on already-glittering jewels, Talav produced a tanned hide from a nearby shelf and rubbed her scales lovingly. Her sad eyes flicked from her precious gems to Emily.

  “No, you are no savior. But you will
be. Or can be. That is entirely up to you.” Like a mother reassuring a child, the dragon’s tone was calm and soothing.

  But what had Emily been saying? Something about her companions.

  “They are no longer your concern, little wren.”

  The familiar epithet plucked Emily’s heartstrings. But she’d not be deterred. “Can you at least tell me if they are safe?”

  “Safe is a relative term.”

  Talav’s frustrating vagueness did not surprise Emily. All the animal Elders she had met during her brief, but eventful, druid training, shared the same annoying trait. Interpreting their words meant reading between the lines. And asking a lot of probing questions.

  “Are they alive?”

  “Alive, too, is relative.”

  Emily groaned on a yawn and fought to keep her eyelids open.

  “The sooner you learn these things,” the dragon waved a slightly-feminine forepaw around the cave, “the sooner we can get you out of here.”

  Fear congealed in Emily’s stomach. “So now I’m your prisoner? You said you would help.”

  “Shhhh,” the queen soothed, pressing a shiny claw to leathery lips. She began humming an ancient tune that filled the cave, as surreal as it was haunting.

  Emily opened her mouth to speak but forgot what it was she was going to say. All she could think of was a comfortable bed and a warm down comforter. She strained to stay awake, but her body relaxed. Her lids drooped. The tension drained out of her jaw, and her shoulders sagged.

  Despite her best efforts, Emily succumbed to sleep and floated on a bubble of bliss, buoyed by the dragon’s narcotic song.

  Concussion

  Through the fog of a raging headache, Lugh zeroed in on the beeping alarm. He reached for the snooze, but his arm wouldn’t move. Opening bleary eyes, he realized he was in a hospital bed with his arm strapped down. He strained to gather his thoughts. Why would he be in the hospital?

  Mitchell Wainwright appeared in his line of sight. And why would Mitch be here?

  “How are you, buddy?” His tone was solicitous, but Lugh’s once-friend was angry. At Lugh. Lugh turned his head away and groaned.

  “That good, huh?” the attorney growled. “Well, imagine how your Grand Druid must be feeling. Oh, wait. She’s probably dead and feeling nothing. Isn’t the high priest sworn to protect our leader?”

  Eyes clenched tight, Lugh lay there remembering.

  Every word Mitch spoke was true. Not only had Lugh lost the woman he loved, but he’d also lost Brian and Cu. And the disembodied spirit of Emily’s father, Hamilton Hester. The Order’s erstwhile leader.

  Tears escaped, first one, then another. Lugh let them fall. To hell with Mitch. It was a miracle Lugh hadn’t perished, too.

  “Don’t listen to him, Lughnasadh.” The southern-drenched syllables were those of Morgan Foster, the stately, but formidable, head of druid security and Emily’s aunt. Lugh turned his head, and the pain was like an exquisitely sharp dagger twisting in his temple.

  “We’re beside ourselves, Sugar. Including, believe it or not, Mr. Wainwright here. He hopped the first plane from Rome and drove straight to the hospital from the airport. Didn’t you, dear?” Morgan shoved Mitch, and the attorney grunted.

  Her quick smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Finn says you’re okay. Or relatively so. You have a mild skull fracture and a moderate-to-severe concussion. You won’t be out of the woods for several days. But you will live. Brian and Emily, on the other hand, are missing and presumed dead. Please tell us different, Lughnasadh. What happened out there?”

  In as few words as possible, Lugh recounted what he remembered, beginning with the earthquake. When he was done, the two druids remained silent. Morgan was drawn. Mitch seemed surprisingly upbeat, though Lugh had offered no new information. Lugh turned his face to the wall, gasping when the knife-edge seared his temple.

  A ghostly hand reached out to stroke his brow—warm, soft, and light as a feather—easing the pain. When Lugh opened his tortured eyes, the others were gone. The angelic face of his dead mother floated above him, singing, “Sleep, my little Lughnasadh, sleep.” A narcotic-induced slumber towed him under.

  **

  When Lugh woke again, the room was empty. A glance at the window told him night had fallen. He stirred and tried to sit up straight, but the leads and IV held him in place. He thought of ripping the needles from his arm and bolting from the hospital. But he was in Critical Care with a cracked skull and a severe concussion. Leaving now was a fool’s plan. And Lugh MacBrayer was no fool.

  Better to lie still. With rest, would come recovery. He stared at the low ceiling and wondered whose voice was in his head. Maybe the doctor or nurse had whispered it to him.

  But Brian and Emily were out there somewhere and needed help. His addled brain tried various rescue schemes, but not one of them changed the facts. He was too weak to do anything but lay here and heal.

  Lugh drifted for a while, unaware that he slept, and woke alert in the wee hours of morning. The monitors still beeped in the same monotonous tone. He looked around the room, taking in the IV trolley, empty Naugahyde chair, and the portable bedtable with its cup and pitcher just out of reach.

  He eyed the cup and tried to lick his thick, dry lips, debating whether to use the call button. But Brian and Emily had no water. Assuming they were alive.

  He put a tentative hand to his throbbing forehead and fingered the butterfly dressing. The gash was a good two inches long and cut across the corner of his right brow. His cheekbone felt bruised, puffy, and raw. Someone had said he’d lost a lot of blood.

  Lugh thought of their day at Zoo Atlanta and chills ran up and down his spine. The animals had declared fealty to Emily, calling her Queen Awen. Each had been reverent, bowing in its way. Never in Lugh’s life had he seen or heard anything like it. Not even in the tomes of druid lore he had devoured over the years.

  And to think they’d been celebrating when it happened. Emily’s spells had stopped both the earthquake and volcano, fooling them into believing the nightmare was over. Instead, it had sucked them into the earth.

  A tall male nurse bustled in. He flipped on the too-bright overhead light, and began checking Lugh’s bandages and vitals. “How are you feeling, Mr. MacBrayer?”

  “Awful,” Lugh croaked. Which was exactly what he deserved. “My head is throbbing and my mouth feels like sandpaper.”

  The long-limbed man poured water into the cup and held it so Lugh could drink from the straw. Commandeering it, Lugh slurped the entire contents and immediately wished he hadn’t. Brain freeze jabbed an ice pick through his already-aching skull.

  When it passed, he grinned weakly and held the cup out for more.

  With slanted brows, the young man poured, snapped the lid on and handed it back. “Careful, dude,” he ribbed good-naturedly. “Don’t hurt that pretty little head of yours.”

  Lugh managed a thin smile, sipped, and handed it back. A breeze stirred and Finn the resident neurosurgeon and Emily’s cousin, bustled to Lugh’s side.

  “Lugh-Mac, you scared the bejesus outta us. Welcome back. You’ve got one hell of a concussion.” He lifted Lugh’s hand between both of his and rubbed vigorously, conferring a welcome glow.

  “Will I live, doc?” Might as well get to the point.

  “I believe so. But we’re keeping you here under observation for a day or two.” Finn glanced at the antique tank Cartier watch hiding beneath the sleeve of his white coat. “I want you to relax and sleep as much as you can. We’re administering medium-chain fatty acids through the IV, and will soon begin the cold laser treatments. By the time you leave, you should be nearly new. A bit shaky until your body recovers from the beating it took, but well enough.”

  Lugh grabbed the druid doctor’s arm and held on tight. “Finn, I have to go after them. It’s our Grand Druid. And my brother’s kid. Mitch is right. This is on me. I’m the one that lost them. Get me out of here so I can find them.”

  The doctor too
k Lugh’s hand and leaned close. “No Lugh-Mac. Your only job at the moment is to get well. We need you. Let Morgan worry about finding Emily and Brian. Security is all over it.”

  Lugh’s agitation melted under the healer’s touch. Letting go of a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes. Morgan and the others would find his charges. Finn would get him out of here as soon as possible, and nearly as good as new. He’d said so.

  Cu’s regal face flashed in Lugh’s mind and a vice-grip wrenched his heart. His eyes flew open. He grabbed the hem of Finn’s white coat. “What about Cu? Did someone bring him home?”

  The doctor’s face sagged a little. “They took Cu to Jocko’s and put him in the back of the deep-freezer away from the food. He’s wrapped tight, and will stay there until you can give him a proper burial.”

  Tears sprang to Lugh’s eyes, then faded as the meds kicked in.

  “Night buddy.”

  The voice came from far away. Lugh drifted in a troubled land where he kept losing Brian and Emily to an avalanche, while Cu ran around him in a circle barking.

  Curiosity

  The tragedy unfolded on satellite television as Shalane Carpenter watched. The human toll was minimal, but Zoo Atlanta was split in two. An unknown number of animals were dead, with others free to roam neighboring communities. Civilian troops in combat gear worked to secure the area and rescue the living.

  Among the missing and presumed dead was Emily Bridget Hester, sole heir to the extensive Hester Empire. Shalane stared at the redhead, gut twisting. Why did she know that name? Two shock-eyed girls stuttered on camera through copious tears. They described seeing the heiress and a man fall into the crevasse, along with a boy the girls knew from school.

  Another eyewitness, Juan the zookeeper, had been fortunate enough to grab hold of an anchored tree root. He had dangled helplessly above the pit as the victims disappeared. In addition to the boy and Emily Hester, a security guard was missing, though his name was withheld pending family notification.

  One man survived—a miracle according to the paramedics. The camera panned to the bottom of the fracture zone, where the medics hoisted a thirty-something man with a bandaged head onto a stretcher. Workers toiled to extricate the bodies of a very large dog and a gorilla.