Endangered Ch. 11

"We'll be fine," Chris whispered into the shell of Claire's ear as he sensed the tension mounting inside her. "They'll be perfect, I just know it. How could they not with parents like us?"

Claire dropped the doctor's gaze, unable to contain the small smile growing on her lips as Chris began diverting her gathering worry with playful nibbles against her neck. She couldn't believe how brazen he was in front of Dr Chang and his nurse, but it was working, and she loved him for it.

"Ahh, I see you two are becoming distracted. Nevermind, I need a break myself after all that. Claire, I'll arrange a one on one visit in a few weeks once I've had time to do a bit more research myself. On that note, I think I'll go collapse for a bit. Congratulations, everyone."

"Thank you, Dr Chang. I really mean it," Chris said sheepishly as the man turned to leave. "If there's anything I..."

"Don't worry about it, Chris. It's my job."

Harold made drunkenly for his office, he was exhausted. Behind him, someone let out a happy squeal, and he could hear excited plans for breaking the joyous news being thrown around for discussion.

He almost made it to his receptionist to cancel a few non-urgent appointments that afternoon before he was accosted by the damn woman once again. She was a tenacious one, he'd give her that. Brilliant too, if he was feeling generous. Brilliant, but still somehow twisted. Right now he didn't have the fortitude to deal with another of her question sessions, requests for equipment, or solicitous urgings for samples from his patients.

"Dr Mayer, look... I'm sorry, but I'm exhausted and don't have the willpower for you right now," he forestalled. Her desire, whatever it was, never had a chance to be voiced. Then a wicked little opportunity for payback sprouted in his tired brain and he turned around and beckoned the scientist to follow him back the way he came. "You know what? I do have something you'll be interested in, but you're going to owe me big time for this one. I'm talking at least a month or two without going complaining to Lady Narlakis that I'm not providing you with adequate magical support."

Ruth and the dragons were still excitedly reliving the unexpected news when he paused in the doorway with the lean, greying scientist in tow. Harold couldn't help noticing the gleam that seemed to enter his unsavoury colleague's eyes as she saw who was there. Her already excellent posture notched up one final level to her parade-ground best at the sight of the dragon family.

"On second thought. Chris, you remember Dr Mayer?" Harold started before they noticed his return. "She's been bugging me for days to somehow get you into the MRI. So, as a personal favour for going above and beyond, please lend her a little of your time for the sake of my well-deserved nap."

"But I..." Chris started to protest.

"Cool, thanks," Harold was surprised by his own casual confidence as he turned to Dr Mayer beside him and handed her his access card. Perhaps he was beyond caring in his exhausted state. "You kids have fun now, but bring it back with a full tank. So help you if she's dinged-up."

***

The first order of business was to husk the ditríff. In the familiar, cozy den of her indoor pavilion, Susan worked slowly, carefully to revitalise her dangerous little charges. They took a brief soak in warm water, loosening the outer skin layers of their tulip-like bulbs. Donning a pair of thick leather gloves and safety glasses to protect herself from any acidic mishaps, the witch spent a few minutes gently abrading with an old toothbrush. Dirt and oniony skin layers came loose, exposing the first hint of greenish flesh beneath.

When she lifted them up to the light for a better look, their tiny white roots were already starting to wriggle enthusiastically in response to the pampering.

There was an enclosure for each, into which she placed a bed of moistened sphagnum. A generous sprinkling of crushed quartz crystal came next, a ready source of magical energy to encourage their sprouting. With each bulb nestled securely, she spritzed liberally with a nutrient solution. On went the foot-high bell-jar containers, clamped firmly in place.

The little terraria were placed on a heated pad underneath a wholesome, powerful light source. There were air valves on top of the glass domes, which she opened just a crack so that they could breathe. Under the stimulus of warmth and light, the hazardous occupants should be set to gradually awaken from dormancy over the next few days.

Susan stood for long moments just watching the quiescent ditríff, distracting herself from the heavy burden of her imminent decision. There could be no more procrastinating.

The ball of dark wax rested ominously behind her on the spill-stained potions workbench, retrieved from a long-sealed, hidden compartment in the bottom of one of her chests. Now, exposed to the light of day for the first time in over a decade, it seemed to loom ominously at the edge of her magical scenes.

Susan's hands came sternly to her full hips as she turned to face the thing, a determined scowl on her pretty brow. Perhaps her imagination was running wild, but surrounded by glassware and bottles of dried ingredients, it both thrilled and terrified her.

She almost lost her nerve, but the bowl of water was already starting to steam above her bunsen burner, its blue flame flickering merrily. That heat was echoed in the uncomfortable warmth of the lesh stone, and in the throbbing pain of her ruined foot as tiny slivers of fragmented bone slowly teased themselves back together. With an angry huff, the dark-haired witch took up her colander and scooped the wax ball quickly into the steaming water bath. It was done.

Intent blue eyes didn't leave the slowly rolling, bobbing orb for a moment. Black wax began melting quickly under a gentle simmer. It sloughed away, liquifying to form dark bubbles on the surface, merging ever larger. Soon enough, a discrete layer of the oily stuff lay atop the steaming water. With gentle motions, Susan used the colander to slowly dunk the shrinking ball, watching for the first hint of the promised vial at its core.

A quiet clink of glass on stainless steel finally announced that her vigil was over. Careful of scalding her fingers, Susan transferred it back to her workbench and pried the remaining softened wax open, revealing a sigil-engraved capsule. The inch-long, sharp-ended magical prison was made entirely of glass. Two tiny, exquisitely crafted cones of transparent silica fused perfectly together at their bases by magic. The pea-sized inmate waited placidly inside, oblivious that its lengthy incarceration was about to come to an abrupt end.

Susan recognised her grandmother's hand in the runes for insulation, stasis, and magical nullification etched on the curved surface. It was a primitive, yet effective magical construct. Simple was often best with runes, unless you were a true expert in that particular arcane art. Agatha's work stuck to that principle, keeping nosy spells out, and interminably containing what rested inside. The dark wax made sense to her now, blocking light as the spell and glass could not.

The dark green, almost greyish resident didn't seem intrinsically dangerous. Susan held the magical repository by its ends between finger and thumb for a closer look. Its surface had an intricately gnarled, almost woody appearance. Small grooves and crevices flowed, merged, and subsumed around and around as if the little sphere were in fact made of a highly compressed network of tough filaments coiled inward on themselves. The vivid sketches of the sueth-azoah's victims depicted in that gruesome elfin book made the witch suspect that this might, in fact, be the case. Perhaps the true kernel lay somewhere within the protective fibres. Or maybe the filaments themselves were the vegetative germ of the ancient jungle creeper. She couldn't know, as there had been no depiction of a seed in that obscure text, only sketchings of...

Susan shuddered and closed her eyes, fighting to banish the image that sprung into her mind's eye. It wasn't pretty to imagine your own desiccated corpse. Nor a twisting, arthritic stem of knotty, interweaving vines reaching slowly skyward from the rictus of a screaming mouth to produce a single, delicate white flower. Anger fuelled her resolve and she refused to acknowledge that as her fate. Not with Chris' magic flowing strong in her veins.

The delicate vial shattered with a satisfying tinkle on her first attempt, the dry sueth-azoah seed rolling a little way across the bench before it came to a reluctant halt against a beaker. Apprehension and anticipation put her on the verge of hyperventilating now as she took off her lab coat and safety glasses.

Lacking a better tool for the job, she took up one of the longer slivers of glass. Pausing only for one final instant of fearful reluctance, Susan turned off her bunsen burner, and plucked the dark seed up, hobbling over to her wicker sofa.

With her foot in such a state, it was a relief to finally lay out the meagre tools for her amateur operation and lay down on the soft cushions. Beside her on the coffee table lay a small hand mirror from her purse, the sharp sliver of glass, two large quartz crystals brimming with dragon-tinged energy, and finally the knotty little sueth-azoah.

It was awkward lying on her front, but after undoing a few buttons on her shirt and pulling it down over her shoulders, she eventually arranged the mirror in one hand to satisfying effect. With her head turned to the side, cheek pressed into the couch's fabric, she could catch a view in the mirror as her other hand probed gently at the base of her neck.

Susan felt downward across a few bumps of her vertebrae and onto her upper back. Her fingers pressing into the soft depressions on either side, approximating the diagram she remembered from that accursed text. There didn't seem to be much padding above the ridge of bone, she'd definitely lost a little weight recently. Chris' attention and the often strenuous exertions he demanded of her seemed to be whipping her metabolism into overdrive.

She spared him one final apologetic thought as the glass bit sharply, slicing a shallow gash through pale skin, unleashing a gentle trickle of red. This was for herself, not him, she rationalised. With shaking, bloody fingertips, the witch dropped the improvised scalpel and reached for the seed. Quickly now, for the eager thing began to writhe in her trembling grip at the first touch of vital lifeblood. Susan reached to the base of her neck and settled the seed into the jagged incision, holding it gently in place.

Within moments, a crawling, tugging sensation spread across the area. Susan watched in the small mirror's reflection as the greenish-grey seed seemed to gather her spilt blood unnaturally around itself. It visibly seethed now, writhing like a den of winter-snakes, uncoiling and slithering slowly into the warmth of her flesh. The sensation intensified, first making her want to scratch at the area. Then, as the infant plant began to truly insinuate its thirsty tendrils into her tissue, it clutched painfully at her magic and drank.

Her gasp of pain and shock was cut short the instant one of its tiny hyphae-like roots infiltrated her spinal column. An involuntary seizure of spasming muscles preceded the wave of paralysis that flowed down her body as the greedy thing tapped her like a well and sucked hungrily. Her panic rose as she realised she could no longer move below the seed's intrusion. Her breath was coming fast, the pain in her foot forgotten, paling in comparison to the ripping apart, the devouring of her very magical essence. It was all a terrible mistake, she realised too late. The book had never mentioned anything about this!

In her final moments, Susan had the foresight to snatch up the crystals, transferring one to each hand as the alien presence began spreading upward too. She could still feel every ounce of pain as the creeper started spreading its woody tendrils more boldly through her body, following some ancient genetic blueprint to seek out pockets of magic.

The panicked witch was soon powerless to do anything but lie there and hyperventilate ineffectually as it took control. Mind scrambling at the prison of an unresponsive body, Susan could only voice a plaintive gurgle of terrified protest. The itching, wriggling shoots burrowed upward under her skin. Uncaring, and intent on the mass of fear-taxed neurons it could sense nearby, the sueth-azoah sought its host's brain. Behind fluttering eyelids, Susan's consciousness rebelled as her magic was consumed, converted in its entirety to fuel the rapid growth.

An alien presence pushed at the back of her mind. It was undeniable, unresistable. Her thoughts struggled against it, but it entered her in the slow, inevitable way a tree's roots crack pavement.

The witch's sanity retreated, fleeing sentient thought in a terminal effort to preserve itself. In her final moment, Susan got a glimpse of the creature that consumed her.

It was old, so old. Cool and placid as it woke from long, lightless slumber in juxtapose to her terrified mental scrabbling. And it was happy, content to spread its roots in fresh, fertile new soil. Then, nothing.

The sueh-azoah eventually spread it hungry rootlets to every corner of the magic-rich host. The mesh of fibres was already starting to differentiate, thickening into tougher bundles around the contours of bone, branching into intricate sheaths to wrap around delicate blood vessels and nerves. It threaded outward into soft tissue, ever thinning and refining until its microscopic root hairs worked their way up through pores. It finally breathed air, exchanging gasses after what felt like an eternity of dark nothingness.

Wherever it went, through bundles of muscle, through delicate organ, and the calcified lattice of bone, the sueth-azoah did its best to contour and integrate to the existing structure. It tasted as it went, sampling complex biochemistry and adjusting its own patterns to match.

Magic greeted its roots wherever they roamed. Its slowly stirring, instinctive memory could not recall a time when its parched wood was so thoroughly wetted with the stuff of creation. It had a wild, primal taste to it too, excellent nourishment. A delicious, yet terrifying flavour of power that did not belong entirely to the empathic host.

The primitive patterns of plant-thought took on a warmer tone of satisfaction. Near glutted and content in the instinctive knowledge that this would be a fruitful joining, it slowed its headlong grab for energy. It had more than enough now to reform its seed if the living vessel could not survive.

Slowly, as it meshed with its new host, the sueth-azoah became aware of its surroundings. More specifically, it felt the brimming power of yet two more potent sources of magic clutched in its fingers. Dark tendrils ruptured outward from pale skin, enmeshing the two crystals in a more secure embrace, supping slowly. It began to sense more magic of various quality and origin nearby, but it had more than enough for now. The witch had wisely provided enough for a complete germination, there was no need to start digesting her tissues. Perhaps there was even enough to last for a whole season, if they conserved their magic.

But where was the sun? It longed to feel that precious warmth after so long in the dark, to bask and absorb that delicious radiance. That was all that was required now, all that held back what promised to be a most complete, wonderful joining.

With halting, jerky motions and glazed eyes, Susan Baryst's 5'6" form picked itself up of the sofa and shambled haltingly out of her little pavilion.

The sueth-azoah became aware of the damaged limb-flesh as the host's nerves fired protests of pain. The generous host was damaged, possibly in danger. Its slow thoughts quickened in defensive anger, sweeping the witch's head left and right. It was ill-suited to interpret the complexity of nerve impulses on its own. The bright scene before it was confusing, moist air, a host of pollen on the warm, slowly circulating breeze, and verdant, jungle-like growth under rows and rows of... false suns.

The thing stared uncomprehendingly, awed by the magnitude of the magical feat for long minutes. The sun must have set and risen many, many times for such a strange spell to be devised. It could feel the nourishing warmth radiating onto its skin, but the sueth-azoah was mistrustful. The healthy growth of so many magical brethren spoke to the potency of this strange magic, perhaps that was where the witch got her power? But it was not fooled. This was no true sunlight, and it would not do for the joining. It must continue the search, fearful now that perhaps something had happened to the daylight-god. For why else would the hosts create such a complex, wasteful spell if the sun's rays had not abandoned them.

With ease, the damaged host-flesh was surrounded and supported by new filaments. They worked their way smoothly through connective tissue, without rupturing any more of the host's cells. Tiny secretory nodules began to bud in the tissue around the wound, disgorging a cocktail of nutrients and proteins matched to the host's genetic blueprint. Others still began rallying the immune system, accepting toxins and broken pieces of the host for reconstitution into useful nutrients. Above the worse damage, a rough, greyish bark spread across blackened skin, expanding to encase the lower limb in a perfect supportive shell. Yet more filaments nudged bone slivers carefully back into alignment in preparation for reinforcement during the host's next period of rest.

Satisfied for the moment with the healing process, the ancient plant resumed its search for the all-powerful, eternal sun.

***

"I can smell him on you!" Petra hissed accusingly as she hovered over Dr Mayer's shoulder to watch the MRI display.

On one screen in the array, a camera showed a view of Chris lying patiently in a hospital gown, entombed in the white depths of the expensive piece of imaging equipment. His bulky body barely squeezed into the scanner's barrel, but they'd made it work. Another monitor was just beginning to resolve a few confusing greyscale images of some section of his body.

"She's been sampling the product," Claire agreed, narrowed green eyes glinting disapproval.

"Maybe she needs a reminder that she's not his broodmate," the blonde continued with menace. "I'm not above a few friendly taps if the message isn't getting through."

Emelia chuckled, ignoring the posturing dragonesses, using the mouse to click through a series of setting options on the console. Her apparent nonchalance drove the pair to step away into a muttered conference of quiet gesticulations. The truth was, Emelia just didn't care. His protective mates only had one valid point of leverage over her, and it wasn't a back-alley-beatdown. If they couldn't figure it out, she wasn't about to tell them.

The MRI began to thunk and whistle loudly, collecting another short series of test images as she began to instruct the program, selecting the field of view, slice, phase, planes, and a host of other parameters which would hopefully elucidate the structure of his soft tissues. If his anatomy was half as fascinating as his biochemistry, she could collect enough data to write a few hundred research papers. But the part of his body she was eager to delve into contained a most fascinating biochemical mystery. Analysing a dragon's physical constitution was all well and good but...

"You're imaging his cock!" Petra bleated indignantly as her next suspicious glance at the screens finally registered the Dr's intended target. The cross-section of bundled muscles and dense bone of his thighs were well defined by the machine's radio-emissions, a fainter cut-through of a fleshy tube rested above them.