The Keeper and The Dragons Ch. 12-13

Chapter 12

Centralmarket District, Oldtown

Katherine and Niamh walked up the cobblestone alleyway that switch-backed up the hill that formed central Oldtown. Horse-drawn wagons trundled by with their drivers loudly cursing at any pedestrians who impeded the massive draft horses pulling overloaded wagons. The pair had been climbing for hours toward city center along the twisting lanes and streets.

Townsfolk eyed them as they passed. Niamh told her to expect it. Strange beings in a neighborhood were automatically accessed for wealth and vulnerability. They must have seemed confident and capable, so after a quick appraisal, the predators ignored them.

Niamh had assured her that this was the way to the Dragon Bank. Oldtown's city center was built on a hill. Centralmarket district featured wide boulevards lined with ancient oaks and planted with profusions of wild flowers. Servants and tradesmen used the alleys so as not to inconvenience their betters.

Niamh explained that living space here was like gold and the wealthy liked to flaunt their success by devoting space to useless things like flowers and trees.

Katherine was only half-listening. Ever since Althea sent her to Oldtown, she felt like a duckling blindly following Niamh from place to place. She'd been feeling ignorant and vulnerable ever since she'd been assigned to partner with Niamh. She hated it. To make things worse, she hated this city. The smells and dirt were awful. The poverty absolute. Not to mention the actual psychic shock that came from the utter strangeness of the population. And that poor ragged little girl. Clover's reaction to M&Ms had cracked her heart and brought back childhood memories she thought were buried long ago.

"What's wrong with you? You haven't heard a word I've said."

"I was thinking about that little girl and her M&M's," she blurted out. Then took a breath and waved an apologetic hand. "Sweet Mother, I fucking hate this place. Ignore me. I'm in a mood. Tell me about the dragons. Kurt seemed nervous to be even talking about them."

Niamh laughed. "Don't you worry about that little munchkin. I bet it didn't take her more than five seconds to wrap Lan around her little finger."

Despite herself, Katherine smiled. "I won't take that bet. The big goof is so predictable."

"Most think that dragons are shifters like Kurt and I. They are not. They are beings of magical energy that can turn into humans. They are as alien as if they came from outer space. Their minds operate differently than ours do. They say the old one, the one they call The Bailong, the White Dragon, is a demigod. He might be for all I know. All I know is that he has a hoard that is the basis for Oldtown's currency. I do not know whether that's real or just legend, but since most beings believe it, that's all it takes for the bank's notes to be accepted everywhere as cash. His daughters run the day-to-day operations. Nobody messes with them. Beings believe even to talk of him brings bad karma. There is a neighborhood in the west that the contained headquarters of a guild that tried to cheat him. Now there are five city blocks glassed over, smooth as the surface of a pond."

They walked along in silence, while Katherine tried to digest what she'd heard.

"Katie," Niamh said. "Have you noticed that Lan's eyes change to differing shades of green, depending on his mood?"

"Oh My God, yes. I thought it was just my imagination seeing a trick of light or something. They do, don't they? I wonder why?"

"Who knows?"

"Have you spent any time with him?"

"How could I? Lately, all I do is go on monster hunts with you?"

"Oh yeah, I guess that's true. But I can tell you this. When this is over, that boy got some 'splaining to do. I'm fucking done with his stonewalling."

"Agreed."

That's when some being opened up with a crossbow from an alley. The only thing that saved them was the fact that the assassin was a terrible shot. The dart lodged in side of a wagon filled with sacks of flour.

Niamh hit the ground instantly. Saw Katherine standing frozen, gaping at her. Pulled her down just as another dart hammered into the wagon.

A muttered cantrip sounded and a ball of witch-fire floated above Kathrine's hand. "Where," she whispered savagely.

"The alley across the way."

She looked and saw a squat shape lining up for another shot. She instantly launched it. A shriek followed. Then the only sound was the bubbling snapping of melting cobblestones.

"It would have been nice to find out who sent him. Don't you know any other spells than full on melting?" Niamh grumped as the two of them cautiously regained their feet.

"So sue me. I get pissed when some being tries to kill me."

"Don't you have one of those shield spells that could cover us enough to figure out a counter-attack?"

Katherine gave her a glare. "Sure, if you want to wait five minutes for it to form. Mandy's the one who's good at that. You should have asked for her."

"Nah, she's too nice. Too soft-hearted. She'd be all 'oh my please don't hurt him'--besides she'd be all gooey eyed over Lan."

Katherine laughed. "Like you aren't."

"Bite me, bitch," Niamh said absently. She was thinking of the attacker. "Someone followed us from the tavern."

Katherine cursed. "Lan and his goddamn rolls of pennies. Sweet mother, this place is lawless. It's broad daylight."

"Come on, let's get up to the bank. The sooner we solve this thing, the sooner we can get back to Seattle. This place is on my last nerve as well."

Katherine nodded agreement. They walked on blithely, unaware they were still being shadowed.

Chapter 13

Northmarket District, Oldtown

The Vampire Luciana Marinus was a classic Italian beauty with long dark hair that framed fine-boned features. She appeared to be in her early thirties, but the darkness behind her big brown eyes belied that—she was far, far older than that.

In 966 AD, her father, the Duke of Naples, had married her off to a Magistros (high official in the Byzantine bureaucracy), hoping to secure favored trading rights. The ploy worked. Luciana was a political genius. She had cut her teeth on the twisted, vicious politics of the Italian city-states, so it came as no surprise that she soon manipulated her new husband into giving her his blessing to ply her art on his behalf. She soon made him (and her father) far wealthier than they ever dreamed possible and herself a major force in the murky politics of Constantinople until the day she made a misstep and found herself turned by a handsome Turkish vampire.

She ruled most of the gambling and prostitution in Oldtown. With a bribe here and a careful assassination there, she wielded power with a subtle deftness that New York's Tammany Machine could only dream of.

"Do you think he will come to your call?" asked her daughter, Hélène. While she lounged comfortably, utterly relaxed across the room on an ornate seventeenth-century settee, Luciana knew she was ready for any threat. Helen had five hundred years to acquire the skills to go along with her vampire strength and speed. Very few beings in Oldtown could stand against a fully matured vampire. The two of them had been together ever since Luciana had turned her after she found her near dead in a Parisian alley. One of Louis XIV's inquisitors had tortured her and left her for dead during one of the monarch's periodic purges.

The pair had moved around; the curse of immortality was constant relocation until they were lucky enough to stumble onto a half-forgotten thinning southwest of Paris in Vézère Valley. That portal led them to Oldtown. All roads lead to the ancient city.

"I do not know, if he will come." Luciana turned and asked her stone-faced Amazon bodyguard, "What do you think, Hera?" All of her inner circle conversed in Italian. Slaves had big ears. Paranoia was the norm in the Vampire's house.

Hera was a recent addition to her staff. A tall blond woman with a vicious scar bisecting her right cheek, she cocked her head to one side as if she were considering what to say. "I have never met him, but my sisters say that he said he would come. My people say that when the Shadow Walker says he will do a thing—he will do that thing or perish trying."

The Luciana saw Helene had doubts. She, herself, thought maybe-maybe not. Legends get overblown. She hoped he would come to her. She could use him.

When a servant ushered Lachlan Quinn into her study, she put down the ledgers she had been analyzing and studied him. The last time she'd seen him, he'd invaded her bedroom and tossed her a sack containing the head of her former associate, a slaver known as the Leprechaun.

She motioned for him to seat himself.

He nodded to Hélène, who looked back at him with eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"He doesn't look like much," she said in Italian.

"For mercy's sake, be silent, Hélène,"

The Vampire feared few beings, but she had a healthy respect for the unknown abilities of the man who stood calmly looking around the room. She saw his eyes return to her bookshelves and imagined he had to restrain himself from going over to look at them. His brilliant green eyes came back to focus on hers. His bland gaze was unsettling.

To her surprise, she felt attracted to him. The stories told of an implacable killer, but her vast experience hinted that he was more than a mere brute. She wondered if she could trust him. A dangerous thought. Nothing she had learned over a thousand years of betrayals had ever led her to believe she could ever trust anyone, especially a male. Nevertheless, the vampire thought wistfully how nice it would be if you had a man like Quinn, to watch your back and share success and failure—to face threat and resolve it. How less lonely would things be? Then she dismissed the thought. Trust invariably led to betrayal as interests diverged. But, she thought, she didn't have to trust him to use him.

Before she could start her prepared speech, he spoke. "Tell me about Wraith."

Shock blanked her mind. Her planned approach immediately derailed. She stalled, trying to get her feet under her.

"Wraith? What are you talking about?"

"The assassin. Come on, Mistress. No need to waste time coming up with some fancy story. Whatever you're thinking of selling, I'm not buying. Tell me, who would have hired Wraith to put a shuriken into your bodyguard?"

"It was an assassination attempt. Luckily, Clonie shoved me away. Unfortunately, she took the star in her side. I understand we have you to thank for her recovery." She hoped that would satisfy him. She would sooner part with gold than information.

"So, the assassin failed, then?"

"Obviously." she looked at him with scorn. "I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Quinn made no response to her sarcasm. He continued to watch her eyes steadily.

His gaze further unsettled her. Irritated and now and well off her game plan, she snapped, "What?"

"Mistress, I am not stupid. I know that assassin. She does not miss. Especially at two targets sitting calmly twenty or thirty feet away. Tell me the truth, or I will leave."

She sighed and surrendered. "I can only believe that the Dragon's Daughter was the supposed target. A poisoned throwing star would have no effect on me."

"Why were you meeting with her?"

"When you removed the Leprechaun and the Druid, we expected some chaos to erupt as the clans fought over the sectors they controlled. We had no idea how much, but after a couple of assassinations that garnered no advantage, I began to suspect that someone was fomenting the conflict. Oldtown is perilously close to a civil war. The Sidhe came to mind right away. They would love to see a civil war in Oldtown. I sent a message to Guang Pang asking her for a meet-up so we could discuss my suspicions. The assassin interrupted it. Now she surely must think that I hired the assassin. She will come for me. The situation is too dire for our feud. I need you to talk to her.

"She's no fool; surely you can get a message to her that you had no such intentions."

"We've clashed too many times," she said. "We've been adversaries for decades."

"It appears to me that the assassin was successful then."

Another shock surged through her. She had underestimated this man badly. She hadn't been this blindsided in years.

"Yes," she grated. "Wraith broke any chance of a detente. That's why I want you to go see the Dragon's daughter. Talk to her. I've a feeling that the Bank is the actual target of all chaos. That makes things larger than our petty squabbles. Something happens to the Bank and all of Oldtown explodes into chaos."

"Now why would I do that, Mistress? I don't need to get involved in Oldtown's troubles. All I want to know is who's paying Wraith. You must have some idea."

"I am not certain," she said, clenching her teeth in frustration. "I have people out asking questions. The obvious answer is a half-blood named Silverbirch. He rules the Carter's Guild. There have been rumors he has been trying to elevate himself from being merely rich to royalty. I am striving to remain outside of all this. I am happy with what I have. I have my hands full, holding on to what I have."

He raised an eyebrow. "Beings have made a run at the old dragon before, as I recall."

"Yes, but this feels different. More organized. More professional. Your particular talents will let you move with ease here. Go to the Dragon's daughter. She should have some ideas. Her spies among the guilds are far better than mine. And she should be able to give you a lead on your Assassin. Why are you so interested in Wraith? An old lover, perhaps? The past is so inconvenient, don't you think?"

She felt sooo much better seeing the shock in his eyes.

Take that, you smug bastard. I know about you and Wraith.

Hera, one of her daylight Amazon bodyguards, took that moment to knock on the door and enter.

She nodded to her master and spoke to Quinn.

"My sister is awake."

Quinn nodded. "With your permission, Mistress. I'll visit with your bodyguard a bit and then go beard the Dragon in her den." He looked over to Helen, smirked and said, "addio mia bellezza."

Her daughter's face paled to white with embarrassed humiliation. She had underestimated him as well. His Italian was flawless. Goodbye my beauty indeed. She saw the slight tensing of muscle.

Luciana shouted, "No Helen..."

Too late.

Her daughter was already in motion; face and body morphed into a twisted caricature of a human; her feeder teeth extended. Her movements were vampire quick—far less than an eye blink.

But not fast enough. Somehow, he had deftly slid aside. A whip-like silvery shape flashed into existence. As she watched in shock, it lashed at her daughter's heels and neatly severed both of her Achilles tendons. Helen shrieked as she crashed to the floor face-first.

An eye-blink later, she felt the silvery whip gently encircling her own neck.

"Hold yourself still, mistress, if you wish to keep your head."

Holy Mother of God, he was behind her. His whisper tickled her right ear.

"My friend gets twitchy when it's denied its prey. Did you get your curiosity satisfied?".

"Si signore," she nodded carefully, utterly relieved when the dragon whip uncoiled. It had been centuries since death had been so close. She revised her opinion of him once more. In her long years, she had met one or two beings too dangerous to be of use. Underneath that bland facade, Lachlan Quinn was one of them. Pure apex predator.

"Tend to your daughter. I mean you and yours no harm. I have no grudge against you two."

"Mi dispiace, giovane e bella donna." He apologized to the glaring vampire on the floor.

That his cold green eyes showed nothing except faint amusement unsettled her more than if he had ranted threats. She shivered. Had he wished it, she had not a single doubt that both of their heads would be lying on the floor. The knowledge of his capabilities did not offer comfort.

"Is any being your equal, Lachlan Quinn?" She asked.

He didn't answer, instead moved to join the open-mouthed amazon by the door.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She called out to one of her donor humans to attend her and went about the healing of her daughter.