Endangered Ch. 12

Eventually, after picking a few pieces of windblown trash from his fence, he decided to stop procrastinating around the property and go do something productive. Michelle could be relied on to find something to keep him busy, and if not, there was his stalling rune project to bang his head against.

Chris almost went to Susan, but he wanted a bit more time to get his head straight about what happened that morning. It was on his schedule to pick her up from work that evening anyway. Instead, he braved the windy streets and headed for the Compound, mindful of icy sidewalks.

Phasing would probably have been wise, but the idea of a brisk walk in the elements was now appealing. After two larger jumps like that, it was good to have a bit of a break and some honest physical activity.

He made for the cafe with the little garden that Annabel loved, it had grown on him too now. By the time he arrived, with sodden feet and a reddened nose, he was ready for a warm drink and a snack.

Two waitresses recognised, then fussed to seat him. The proprietor even came out of the kitchen to present the specials, turning the whole situation a bit cringe-worthy in Chris' opinion. He chose a creamy pumpkin soup with dipping bread, as well as a rich, real-chocolate mocha.

The notoriety and special treatment he received was awkward. Glancing around at the other patrons, it was clear he'd been noticed. Eyes lingered in his direction, conversations hushed to whispers as he became the topic of speculation. It seemed everyone in Reyla's territory had seen or at least heard of him by now, the dragon who pooped out magic faster than a unicorn with a bad case of diarrhoea.

He knew now that responding negatively to such attention would almost always go badly for him. Michelle had been trying to explain the psychology of it to him the other day. Chris just couldn't accept the unnervingly subservient looks in some of their eyes. On the other hand, when he thought too long about it, he tended to come to the conclusion that he sounded like a complete dickhead, whining about a few minor drawbacks to his otherwise blessed existence.

Surreptitiously, Chris pulled a tiny, intricately-stoppered vial from his pocket, tapped a few drops of concentrated anti-pheromone potion onto the varnished oak table in front of him. He didn't want to encourage anyone. Celebrity already did strange things to people, and that aspect of his physiology could sometimes blow up into more than a minor drawback.

It just amazed him how some individuals would come right up and start chatting away as if they were lifetime friends. Others seemed to turn meek in his presence, blushing, dithering, or refusing to meet his eyes even during regular interaction, like holding a door or brushing past each other in a shop. It threw him sometimes, and his dragon was no help at all. Having never been particularly outgoing or socially confident, Chris tended to turn inward, attempting to present a calm, rebuffing exterior.

The mocha arrived first, complete with fluttered eyelashes from his victorious waitress. As he enjoyed the first creamy, frothy sips, Chris took out his phone to message the brood. Annabel and Claire had set up a group for them all through Maginet, and he nervously sent out the news that the house would be ready for inspection that very evening.

Moments later, his phone began chirping the receipt of excited replies, and he relaxed to see that they were so enthusiastic. His worries were quite silly, but they felt real enough as they were washed away under a downpour of happy emoticons and digital over-exclamations. The girls fired back messages to each other until his soup arrived, by which time it was agreed that everyone's schedules could bend for the occasion and no one would be left out.

As he ate, he switched to browsing for news of forest fires. He had something special in mind for Claire. With his abilities maturing and experience stacking up, this plan wasn't out of reach if he could catch wind of the right circumstances. While it might be approaching full winter in Denver, in the southern hemisphere, one of the driest, warmest springs on record was simmering quickly into summer. Something was bound to catch ablaze, probably Australia or Argentina, if historical data was anything to go by. The western States were mostly out of danger for now, but next year, after the Revelation, Claire might find her hunger for flame put to the test if California had anything to say about it. For now, though, he just wanted to find her a modest, romantic wildfire getaway.

As if on cue that his time was up, Chris' phone chimed the moment he turned his attention toward fitting soup-spoon to mouth. The distraction proved disastrous, and it took a while to recover from the embarrassment of dribbling creamy-pumpkin down his chin. His cheeks burned as his fellow Beings caught every moment of his hasty cleanup. When Chris finally read the message and learned that his latest order from Reyla's new blacksmith was ready, he wolfed down the rest of his food, paid, tipped, and beat a hurried retreat.

At the back of the cafe, Chris was pleasantly surprised to find the rear garden just as warm and vibrant as it had been that summer. Suddenly he was regretful he hadn't thought to ask about sitting out here. Annabel would be delighted by this, and he was impressed by the glasshouse roof that had been skillfully installed to cover the walled-in area. A curious inspection told him that there was indeed concealed magic involved, but who would notice, human or otherwise, if they could enjoy their breaks in such a lush, peaceful surrounding.

Above, through the heavily slanted planes of glass and subtle spell, he could just glimpse a brightening sky through the windswept snow. The weather was turning in typical Colorado fashion, no doubt the sun would be blindingly bright before long.

The concealed entrance to Reyla's subterranean domain was disguised as an equipment shed at the end of the cafe's decorative gravel pathway. To the side of a quietly burbling fountain, Chris brushed past a veil of hanging ivy and slipped behind a false stone wall. The path narrowed, small bushes and wall-creepers thick around him now, as well as the tingling sense of magic at work.

Chris froze as he pushed aside a low-hanging branch of unseasonably blooming apple that leaned over the concealing fence. There was the dilapidated weatherboard shed and sitting beside it on a wrought iron bench, was the young vampiress, Amanda.

Neither moved for several heartbeats, the vampiress sitting stock-still, not even breathing. The surprise of their meeting was written on her face just as plainly as his own. Chris finally broke the stalemate by relaxing. Memories of their meeting were some of the more haunting from his first days as a dragon, but he was more confident now. A new vampire like her didn't pose a real threat to him any more, not on her own at least. How he would escape this chance meeting socially intact was another matter entirely.

"Hunh, I guess they've got you security types on all the doors and windows these days," Chris finally commented, trying his best to keep things non-awkward and failing wonderfully. He did manage to stop himself from scratching the back of his neck as he looked at her, but only after his hand twitched half-way to complete the treacherous motion. "I guess that makes sense."

"I enjoy this posting," Amanda took a careful breath to reply, the first maddening tickles of his scent invading her nostrils. She could handle this. The darkness inside her stirred, hungry, an involuntary shudder running over her tongue and down her throat. "It lets me get outside in the daytime. Well, mostly. Under the glass is better than nothing."

Thick saliva quickened in Amanda's mouth, and a tightness grew in her muscles, all the way down her neck and across her arms. It wasn't so bad, and she was freshly fed on harvested human blood.

"No invisibility yet? That must be tough," Chris nodded understanding. He was the one building an underground house, but that didn't mean he would ever want to be cut off entirely from the daytime like younger vampires were. "Oh well, I guess I'll be getting along. Things to see, and people to do, ya know? Shit ... I mean things to do and people to...."

Amanda couldn't help it, she actually chortled, an abortive attempt to swallow her own laughter. It was too much to see the giant of a man, all-powerful dragon of growing legend, reduced to this. He was a daily topic in her security briefings, his movements traced and his home constantly under covert guard. She'd felt the immensity of his magical presence more than once, though it was bottled away tightly at the moment. And yet, in an unguarded moment, he was still barely more than a stumbling teenager.

"Damn it," Chris sighed in defeat.

"I'm sorry, that was too funny," Amanda stood but didn't step forward. All she really wanted to do was make sure she hadn't upset him. It would be horrible to make fun of him for the presumably innocent slip-up, but the innuendo couldn't go ignored. "Go on in, please, I didn't mean any offence, but that was too much."

"Yeah, okay, sorry, I guess." Her smile was pretty, eyes crinkled in genuine mirth. It was consoling that someone at least got a little joy from his tongue-trip.

"Don't apologise, Chris," she called out behind him as he squeezed himself through the narrow doorway. "And please warn Lillian off, I fear she'd beat me to a bloody pulp if she smelled dragon on me."

That gave him pause, what would Lillian do in such a situation? He nodded thoughtfully, not yet trusting his ability with words, and began descending the dimly lit stairwell down into the magical heart of the city.

It was funny. Chris was okay with people he knew or had met several times. He was easily intimate with his mates. But in a new or awkward situation, he sometimes just locked up. There were no cues to read, no previous topics to draw on. Sometimes it felt as if he just started spouting nonsense, his tongue on autopilot and barely connected to his brain. Or names slipped by him seconds after introduction. Other times, especially when he was passionate about something, he felt confident, and people usually listened.

Down echoing stairwells, and along spartan well-lit corridors, Chris emerged onto the main concourse. This sprawling underground burrow was Reyla's true domain, and the market section her lifeblood in coin. It was noisy and vibrant with the sounds and smells of people going about their errands.

Something small zipped out from behind a nearby shopper and latched itself to his leg. Chris looked down, amusement mixing with mild alarm, and found a boy looking up at him. Wonder glimmered in those bright, youthful eyes. For a few stunned moments, Chris' thoughts chased themselves in shortening circles.

"Thomas?"

Enthusiastic nodding confirmed it. Chris' recognition met with fervent bouncing from the boy with the barely remembered features.

"You look ... well, better. Not nearly so thin, that's good. Are you howling at the moon these days?"

"Yes, Master Dragon, thank you," the boy spoke, giving Chris a slightly gap-toothed smile. "Thank you, thank you, thank -"

"It's alright, Thomas, seriously. Call me, Chris, remember?" Chris looked around fretfully as shoppers and stall owners alike stopped their commerce to watch. A veritable gaggle was forming, complete with extended necks and bobbing heads. Everyone down here was a Being, or at least an initiated Familiar. They all knew who and what he was, and were eager to gawk, or it certainly seemed that way. "I'm glad I could help so just don't worry about it. You're welcome."

"I promise I'll repay you one day," the boy continued unfazed, eyes worshipful of his towering hero. "I'll help people just like you helped me."

People were staring all right, expectant and waiting to see what the dragon would do. The boy's mother hovered nervously just inside the forming ring of onlookers. She looked like she was stuck between the choice of snatching her emboldened child away for discipline, or prostrating herself before the dragon as she'd done when first appealing for his help months ago. Chris prayed she wouldn't do either.

"Well, Thomas," Chris gently pried the child free of his jeans and slowly squatted so they could talk face to face. "I'm happy you feel that way, and I look forward to hearing all about your good deeds eventually. For now, how about looking after your Mom, alright? You can practice being a little hero for her before you sink your teeth into the rest of the world."

"Okay," Thomas glanced back over his shoulder at her, smiling and utterly oblivious of any wrongdoing.

"That starts with not running away from your mother in a crowd." Mom came forward and placed a calming hand on her child's shoulder. "He's a good boy really, just a little excited to see you again, Master Dragon. It's dragon this and dragon that all the time at home. Sorry."

"Yeah!" Thomas bounced under her hand. "And I can change with the rest of the pack now, it's so cool! You'll have to come with us one time."

"We'll see," Chris cajoled as he stood back up. The crowd bobbed and twittered, smiling nervously at him. It was like Thomas' worshipful eyes were infectious, and though his dragon seemed unphased, Chris just wanted to channel his inner cockroach and scurry off into the shadows.

"I meant to say ... I ... thank you, Dragon," Thomas' mother reached out and brushed a finger against the back of his hand. Big, glistening tears were brimming in her eyes. "It means so much to have Thomas whole again."

"Please, it's fine!" Chris was more forceful now, he really didn't want a repeat performance from her, with added tears. "Look, I've got to get going, but I'm really glad Thomas is okay. Let me know if you need help with anything in the future."

The words were out of his mouth before he realised what he might be committing himself to do. It was just a reflex, a placation to keep them calm and let him escape. Wasn't it?

"You mean it? Truly?" the woman latched on to his public declaration, awestruck by his casual offer of unspecified future aid. The spectators and shopkeepers murmured to each other in agreement, the young dragon's almost legendary generosity given even more credence in their eyes.

"I ... yes." Chris straightened, aborting a sigh as he realised there was nothing reasonable to do but push forward with his hasty promise. His gifts were there to be used after all, not squandered. Burning away Thomas' strange curse was nothing to be ashamed of, helping others was a constructive use of his magic. That was the goal he'd set himself. "Yes. Now, sorry, I really have to go."

"Oh ... I, okay, sorry to hold you. Thank you, Dragon."

"Thank you!" Thomas belted, waving madly from his mother's side.

"It's fine, you're welcome," Chris parroted again, backing awkwardly away down the underground lane of stalls and colourfully pageanted shops. He waved back, he couldn't leave the kid hanging. "See you."

Chris allowed himself a sigh once his escape was secured. He was deep in magical territory now. Down here, amongst the most blatantly undisguisable, Chris felt like a figurehead on the prow of some great ship. Beings parted before him, but he left a churning wake of whispers and curiosity in the flow of magical folk he passed.

These days there seemed to be a surge of new faces and extra bustle every time he walked through the compact mercantile quarter.

The outlandish abounded here, for until recently, no uninitiated humans who ventured into the Compound left with their memories intact. Down here, no one bothered to keep up their disguises unless they felt particularly modest or were just passing through. Whole families of some denizens lived most of their lives in these warm tunnels, rarely venturing out into the human city at all.

Turning left down a side-branch locally referred to as, 'Gnome Alley', Chris passed Reyla's exchange and valuation authority. His understanding was that the people working there filled a similar role to port or customs officials. On the right was the establishment that passed for a bank and post office, complete with a pair of bored security ogres. Their enormous wooden cudgels and magic-nullifying round-shields would make any but the most determined thieves think twice.

The trade of magical goods was regulated, documented, and of course, taxed. There was a whole tier system involved in classifying magical tidbits for trade or barter. It was designed to help keep track of the most dangerous or human-risky items and regulate just about every other conceivable exchange of goods according to Reyla's policies. Chris hadn't yet had time to delve deeper, his direct access to Reyla circumvented most of her protective bureaucratic padding. That was probably one benefit of this strange, near-feudal society. If you were on good terms with the head honcho, the usual red tape barriers tended to fall away.

Chris steamed onward, sliding by goblins, a sleekly furred panther-person, and a hovering trio of fairy folk, to list only the most notable. There was even a comically stereotypical orc, leaning arms crossed against a wall with a fearsome scowl on his blunt, underbitten features. Her features?

A blacksmith was hard to disguise in any city centre these days, let alone a genuine dwarven smith. So was an honest-to-goodness tannery and leatherworks, complete with staggeringly awful smells. But down here, in the heart of the Compound, person or profession need not hide.

The distinct ping of anvil and hammer could have guided his steps if he didn't already know the way. Chris felt that he might be slightly abusing his status with the newly arrived dwarves. Sure, they'd come all the way there in the hope of obtaining cheap crystals. He didn't think they'd planned on him pouncing and filling their docket with work the instant they opened shop.

That was precisely what he'd done, too. Their skills were just too handy not to monopolise right now. His first attempt at even basic forging of metals had convinced him not to stick his nose into yet another undiscovered world dominated by specialised knowledge, skill, and years or even centuries of experience. Therefore the newly gilded smith bore the brunt of his latest foray into the realm of practical magic.

Ever since Reyla had pointed him toward runes, Chris had been searching for ways to compensate for his abysmal grasp of spells requiring concerted concentration. The specific focus of mind, and measured application of magic required for manifesting most spell-fields by mental intent still far outstripped his discipline. Even basic shields and magical barriers were mostly beyond him. Though for the few moments he could maintain his concentration to raise one, they were potent.

Reyla had hinted it might take millennia to achieve the desired effect with his usual casting method, so he was determined to find another way.

He owed it to himself, to Annabel, Immi, and the rest of the brood to come up with a way to better defend himself. He also felt he owed some security to his colleagues at the fledgeling BIA who were already venturing deeper into magically dangerous situations.

He'd never forgive himself if little Amy was forced to deal with her mother's loss, even injury, by magic. Not if he hadn't yet tried to help provide some sort of protection. That was his job, after all, to provide magical support and advice. Who would tease him at work if something happened to Kat or Lisa? He owed the attempt to his brood, and to Susan after what she'd been through.

Therefore, with the help of his newfound economic might, two highly trained magical metalworkers were conscripted toward solving the first aspect of his runic problem, material. The second aspect, the occult aspect, was unfortunately still pending a success of some sort.