Dragon Skin (3 page)

“Stephan are the Davorian girls as pretty as they say?” Brianna asked. I think she was worried about the night before us.

“Not as pretty as some from my homeland,” I said with a smile. “But yes they are beautiful.”

“Oh.” was all she said.

I smiled to myself. “Of course, they’re not as pretty as the women of Autsland,”

“Where is that,” she asked.

“On the far said of the Davorian dessert is a high mountain range. On the other side is a green land with mighty rivers flowing down to a deep blue sea.” Her eyes grew big; she’d never been more than a few miles from her Uncle’s home.

“In these rivers,” I continued “lives a mighty lizard called the
crocodilia. This giant lizard has no magic, doesn’t fly, nor does it breathe fire. But some say that once killed, if done properly, it looks just like a Dragon’s skin.”

My Brianna didn’t say anything, her smile slowly matching mine. There wasn’t much to say. Sometimes the story is enough.

The End

A Demon's Nightmare

Chapter One

Landon Marshall was harder than ironwood and sharper than Damascus steel. That might be why God came to him for help.

Head down, his hands buried in his pockets and shoulders hunched, the big man plowed through the cold wind. The weak street lamps threw everything into black and white. Casting shadows across the tight brownstone houses. The desolate road sparkled with an early mist as his boot steps echoed off the parked cars. 

Landon Marshall was pissed, never a good thing. He spit into the gutter, trying to rid this feeling of pent up frustration. He'd just lost his job. He had forty two dollars and his last condom in his wallet, and the landlord’s final notice sitting on the kitchen table at home.

Things couldn’t get much worse. Of course, every time he had thought that in the past, he’d been proven wrong.

It shouldn’t have been that big a deal. Some punk had been hassling a girl, barely old enough to be in there legally. Landon being Landon had told him to back off.

The idiot, not liking being told what to do by a mere bartender, took a swing. Not smart, as anyone with any brains could have told him. Landon had fifty pounds of solid muscle on the guy and at six four, a good five inches. So he’d laid the punk out, simple, one swing, case closed.

That should have been the end of it. But it seemed the jerk was the nephew of some guy that Manny owed a lot of money to; the bent nose kind of money.  Case reopened and Landon was on the street.

He pushed the hair out of his eyes and his hand back into his pocket. Oh well, it was time to be moving on anyway.
I never saw a sight that didn’t look better looking back
. Keep telling yourself crap like that and you might start believing it, He told himself

A little part of him, buried deep down, had hoped it would be different here, but nope, not to be. Head down he continued home.

An unexpected of movement, a glimpse of something not right, down the side alley caught his eye. Something big and leathery flickered beyond the green dumpsters. Landon hesitated, this wasn’t his problem, and it wasn’t his issue.
Leave it alone
he told himself and then proceeded to ignore his own good advice.

Someone turned on a bathroom light on the third story bathing the alleyway in a week glow. There was enough light for Landon to see the three attackers converge on a solitary figure. Punching and kicking him relentlessly. He heard the hard crack as fists hit face and boot connected with knee.

The man crumbled like a stack of blocks and lay on the pavement without moving. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Landon yelled, realizing how lame he sounded as soon as the words left his mouth. All he really wanted to do was to let them know they were being
observed and that the smart thing would be to run away. He didn’t really expect it to work, but you never knew.

All three of the attackers turned to stare at him as if he were that three headed dog Cerberus from Hell. Their faces full of surprise and hopefulness.

Landon started down the alley. Instinctively his hands formed into fists and his shoulders straitened. The mood he was in tonight, a fight might be exactly what he needed. For the first time he caught a glimpse of the victim. The man looked to be about a hundred and twenty years old. With more wrinkles than a dried raisin and age spots the size of casino chips. He had a fine gossamer swatch of pure white hair shielding a balding head and brown eyes that seemed to sparkle in the weak alley light.

The man glanced at Landon from the ground, his bloody lips parting in a weak smile of broken yellowed teeth. How had this guy taken those hit and survived? Landon wondered. There was no way that had been faked. You can’t recreate that special sound of fist hitting flesh.

A red rage descended over him like a thick fog. Everything was shut out except the three young men high fiving each other at their accomplishments. Obviously not professionals, but way more than amateurs. His stomach rolled over as he rushed in, what had he gotten himself into this time?

He hit the first teen with a shoulder in the gut, knocking him into his buddy then followed with a quick right to the remaining attacker. The connection of his fists with the other guy’s cheekbone sent a shiver of excitement down Landon’s spine that registered through the fog.

“AAAARRRGH” Landon yelled at the top of his lungs and threw an elbow into a solar plexus before stomping down on an instep. He twisted and turned, throwing punches that connected, kicks that hit home and a head butt that burst a nose into a crimson shower of blood.

The attackers got their licks in too. A fist connected with Landon’s right eye and staggered him for a moment. Giving another attacker time to try and tackle him. He turned and used the punk’s momentum to throw the guy head first into a brick wall. The teenager collapsed on the spot.

Twisting back, Landon faced the other two. They stood there, sucking in huge gulps of air like wheezing bellows. Then their eyes drifted out of focus and looked over his shoulder, behind him. As he watched, the color drained from their faces like cartoon thermometers. He actually saw the blood drop like an Otis elevator as a look of terror shot through their eyes.

Landon gulped in more air and briefly looked over his should to see what was going on.

The old guy had gotten up and as Landon watched, the man started to change. First by growing taller, standing up straighter. His hair started to thicken and convert from white to a straw colored blond. His skin turned from pale yellow to a healthy tan as the thousands of wrinkles started to disappear like stars of the eastern sky in the early morning, one after the other they vanished until he stood there with a flawless complexion.

Landon whipped around fully to face this creature. For surely no man could change like that. Even his cloths changed from a ragged patchwork of Salvation Army rejects to a charcoal Italian suit of the highest quality.  The man rolled his shoulders as if someone had just removed
a strait jacket. His eyes lost that cloudy cataract appearance and became crystal clear blue like a high mountain lake as he smiled with perfect teeth.

After only a few seconds, a tall very handsome man of about twenty five stood where only moments before a crooked old geezer had lain. The man shot his cuffs and pulled each shirt sleeve into perfect position then looked down at his pants and ran a thumb and forefinger over the creases to make sure they lined up correctly. When he was done he straightened and straightened his sky blue silk tie as if he was looking into a gold plated mirror.

Finally satisfied with his appearance, the blond guy smiled at Landon and dipped his head in a quick thank you.

A scuffle and muttering behind him had Landon whipping around again in time to see the two remaining attackers retreating, dragging their fallen buddy down the alley. They couldn’t seem to get away fast enough. Landon felt an overwhelming desire to join them. He turned back to face this, this?  … He didn’t know what and that frightened him to his core. Instead he clinched his fists and adjusted his feet. Preparing to run if necessary, fight if he had too.

“Hello Landon, My name is Michael,” The blond man said sticking out his hand like they were meeting at an uptown dinner party.

Landon looked down at the offered hand. The nails were manicured but the palms had old calluses. This guy looks like he stepped out of magazine cover and wouldn’t know the first thing about working with tools. Those calluses made him hesitate a moment before forming any first impressions.

He stuck out his hand and shook the other. The grip was strong without being all macho about it. The man looked him in the eye.

“Michael what?” Landon asked.

“Just Michael,” The man said with a smile. “Thank you, I was wondering when you would show up.”

Landon felt lost and confused. He didn’t feel the threat or worry he should have been experiencing right then in those circumstances. He felt almost at peace.

“Listen, we need to talk,” the man said as he threw an arm around Landon shoulder, bringing him in for a slight hug.

A blinding white light exploded in Landon’s head and knowledge poured into him like a river flowing over a damn. He closed his eyes and shook his head trying to clear it of visions of winged angels and puffy clouds danced behind his eye lids.

Everything settled and he knew.

Michael, Arch Angel of God.

Then for the first time in a rather adventurous life. Landon Marshal fainted like a southern belle on a hot day.

Chapter Two

Landon woke up knowing that everything about the previous night had been true. The sounds from a New York street bubbled up to his apartment. The distant siren and much closer car alarm reverberated through his head.

It hadn’t been a dream. The guy really was Michael. Not just any angle, but an Arch Angel. One of the head guys.

The knowledge was as sure as knowing the sun came up in the east and set in the west. His gut clenched and he had to swallow hard to stop from throwing up. He broke into a sweat and looked down at his shaking hands. It was like waking up with the worst hangover in his life.

He rubbed his right eye and winced at the tender pain where the kid had clocked him then made his way to the living room.

Expecting to find Michael asleep on the couch or even better, gone. He was disappointed to find him sitting at the kitchen table finishing off a big bowl of Cap’n Crunch with a glass of whiskey on the side,
not a combination you see every day
. To top it off, the man, correction, Angel. He looked like he’d stepped out of GQ Magazine, not a blond hair out of place. Still wearing the same suite and blue tie from last night, pressed and ready for action. This whole angel business appeared to have some advantages.

Michael looked up, spoon in hand and said, “Have you tried these, they say they stay crunchy in milk, but they don’t really. Still they’re unbelievable,” His spoon dipped down to grab another bite.

“Yeah unbelievable,” Landon said, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d hoped it had all been some type of weird dream, but no, the man/angel was sitting there eating the last of his breakfast cereal like a little kid on a Saturday morning.

Making his way over to the coffee machine, he started brewing the first pot of the day. What was he going to do with this guy? Company his skin crawl plus he didn’t like sharing what few things he had. One of the many lessons he’d picked up from his first stint in what used to be called reform school.

To top it off, the guy was an Angel; he’d proved it last night. Landon hadn’t been drunk, he’d seen it with his own eyes. The man was a true, sent from heaven Angel.

“So, what are your plans?” Landon asked, pouring himself a cup of black coffee and letting out a sigh of contentment with that first rush of caffeine.

“Plans?” Michael said, his eyebrows scrunching in thought. “Oh, you mean for the near future, I plan to defeat the evil darkness about to settle upon this world. But first do you have any hot dogs?”

Landon ignored the question and straddled a seat at the kitchen table across from his visitor. He sipped his coffee, absorbed the life giving aroma of the coffee and looked at his guest over the rim of the cup.

“Listen, we need to come to some kind of understanding here," he said. "One night was okay, but I can’t have you crashing here on a permanent basis. Hell I don’t even know if I’ll be staying here. You never know when I’ll get the urge to move on.”

The spoon stopped half way between bowl and mouth as Michael appeared to weigh what Landon had said.

“Oh, we won’t be staying much longer; a few days should be enough. How about Bar B Q ribs, do they deliver those?” Michael asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought of a new tasty morsel as he reached over and drained the whiskey.

Landon Marshall’s blood began to boil. He'd nurtured a Mr. Cool reputation, never flustered, always maintaining a calm, and detached distance.  But enough was enough.

“Listen, I am done. You don’t decide where and when I go. I realize you’re an angel and all. But it’s time for you to leave. I've got things to do. You’re going to have to find someplace else to crash.” He stood with his feet apart and fists clinched ready for action, staring at the, Angel, across the table.

Michael appraised the man then stood up and placed his cereal bowl in the sink, rinsing it out. He turned and opened the refrigerator door, pulling out two long neck MGD beers from the six pack container. Holding one up, he silently offered it to Landon, who shook his head. Shrugging his shoulders, Michael returned to the table with both bottles, opened one and took a long pull.

“God that’s good,” He said, placing the half-empty bottle back on the table in front of them and gesturing for Landon to sit down.

“Who said you could drink my beer?” Landon asked as he sat down and reached over for the other bottle. It might be eight in the morning, but it wouldn’t be the first time he drank his breakfast.

Michael reached over and opened the refrigerator again, showing a full six pack, the previously empty slots filled with new beers.

“Stop doing that,” Landon snapped.

“What?” Michael asked.

“Miracles,” Landon said, taking a drink from the bottle.

“I’ll tell you what, let’s talk and if you want me to leave afterwards, then I will, no fuss. But you’ll have to drive me to the nearest Denny’s,” Michael said.

Landon’s shoulders slumped. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to enjoy what the Angel had to say. But considering that a few hours ago he hadn’t even believed in angels. It was the least he could do. Besides, no way was he driving to Denny’s.

“OK, go ahead, but make it fast,” he said, leaning back as he folded his arms and waited.

“It’s simple really," Michael said, Holding the beer bottle with both hands he took a deep breath. "Lucifer is getting a swelled head, getting a little big for his breaches as they used to say, wants to fly the coop. You know, all the normal metaphors. So I get sent down to put him in his place. It happens every so often and to tell you the truth, I’m getting a little tired of it. I mean, come on, you guys don’t care. No one believes in evil anymore, not true evil.”

“It might be good for you all to see what happens when we’re not around." He continued. "Believe me. That whole “God is dead” thing would not be an issue. There wouldn’t be enough churches in the world to hold all the new believers falling to their knees if Lucifer had free roam of the place.”

“What would happen if Lucifer took over,” Landon asked.

Michael chuckled. “These guys make the NAZI’s look like cub scouts. They’ll take the rape, pillage, and kill thing to a whole new level.” Michael took another long drink from his beer. “Genghis Khan once said ‘The greatest happiness is to scatter your enemy and drive him before you, to see his cities reduced to ashes, to see those who love him shrouded in tears, and to gather to your bosom his wives and daughters.’ Where do you think he got the idea from?”

Landon’s mouth hung open, any appearance of cool having long since left the scene. He sat there in shock. “You mean, just like that, God’s two mightiest angels have a major dust up, and if you lose, Lucifer rules earth? And you want me to volunteer to help?”

“Technically, you don’t have a choice in the matter; you’ve been selected and will therefore be my assistant.” Michael said, looking a little chagrined.

“What do you mean that I don’t have any choice, isn’t there such a thing as free will?” he asked. Nothing pushed Landon’s buttons more than being told what to do, especially by people he barely knew. His blood began to boil again, how dare this man come into his home and tell him he had to help?

Michael snorted in derision, “Of course there is, for everyone except you and me. We don’t get to choose. Or as your Tennyson said many years ago, theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die.”

“What if I said no? What would happen?”

Michael chuckled and shook his head. “Think about it, do you really want God pissed off at you? I know I don’t. Do you want the Devil with full dominion over this world and all who inhabit it? Believe me, you don’t. That’s how it’s done. Tip the scales so far one way that you really don’t have a choice. You can get anybody to do anything, when the alternative is death, slavery, and eternal damnation for the entire human population. This isn’t tidily winks.”

Landon sat there, stunned, like a wrung out dish rag, limp and lifeless.

His mind flashed back a few years. He’d been jumped by a group of skin heads back in Portland. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time and mouthing off to the wrong person.

He’d gotten his licks in though, breaking one kid’s jaw and maybe a few ribs in another before they got him down and put the boots to him.

They’d beaten the hell out of him. It'd been the only time he’d ever asked for God’s help. He’d been sure they were going to kill him. At the bottom, in that deep well of despair, he’d prayed for the first time in his life to a God he didn’t believe in.

All those times in foster care, those long lonely days in
Juvie, he’d never prayed. Not until then. Every part of his battered soul had begged for rescue, but the men continued to kick and punch him until he lost conscience.

He’d been surprised to wake up in a hospital with more tubes than an old TV. He’d always wondered if God had stepped in and stopped them from killing him. Maybe this was the reason why?

“No, that’s not the reason." Michael interjected around an Oreo cookie he’d found on the counter. "They got tired of beating you up. It seems you’re a hard man to kill Landon Marshall.”

“God da….. Don’t do that, you can read minds too?” Landon yelled, standing up to get away from the abomination across from him.

“NO! no,” Michael said, holding up both hand, trying to gentle him. “Well technically no. God does, he feeds me the information when I ask for it. If he’s okay with the request that is. If it bothers you, I won’t ask again.”

“Bothers me! Of course it bothers me. Don’t do it ever again. Hear?” Landon said, his eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring.

“Yes of course,” Michael said without a trace of contriteness. “Where were we, oh yes, Lucifer getting uppity. Well anyway, as I was saying, The Dev…. Hey you got pickles right? I saw them in there.”

Before Landon could answer the man was out of his seat with his head buried in the fridge. “Yes! Kosher, great,” Michael exclaimed as he pulled out with a pickle in one hand and an open jar in the other.

“Mum, the woman who decided to use spoiled wine to preserve cucumbers was a true genius and not bad looking I might add, deserving of full praise and blessings. God I love Kosher,” he mumbled behind a mouthful of pickle.

Sitting back down as he finished the first pickle and pulled another from the jar.

Exhaling a huge sigh of frustration, Landon shifted in his chair but kept quiet. Afraid if he said anything it would set the weirdo off in another direction again.

Finishing the second pickle, Michael said, “So at the right place, and right time, when I am fully prepared. I will call forth Lucifer and we will battle once again. Unless I decide not too that is.”

Putting down the pickle jar, he finished off his beer and grabbed another from the fridge. “I mean that whole free will discussion earlier has got me thinking. What would God do to me right? He has a gazillion other angels. One of them could do the job couldn’t they?” Michael said, then thumped his fist lightly into his chest and let out a small burp. His smile of satisfaction made it look like he’d given birth to twins.

Placing his elbows on the table and burying his head in his hands. Landon tried to figure out what was going on. How had he gone from part time migrant bartender to being mixed up in this mess?

Had he just talked the Archangel Michael out of fighting Lucifer? Was the world now doomed because he’d asked a simple question? This stuff was so far out of his understanding. He was like a little leaguer facing Nolan Ryan in a bad mood. It could only end badly, probably for the migrant bartender.

Looking up, a thought crossed his mind. “Hey, how come God lets Lucifer run around? I mean God has the power to do whatever he wants. Why send you down here. Why not take care of it himself? And why even have evil in the first place. Don’t give me that ‘you have to have evil to have good crap’. Believe me the depths of bad are so much more than the highs of good.”

Michael looked up and smiled faintly. “You know, I asked him the same question one time…”

“And?” Landon said, holding his breath.

“Well, he gave me that look, you know?”

“No I don’t, what kind of look. What did he say?”

“Oh you know that look, like you’re a puppy who’s been caught chewing on his slippers, cute, but don’t do it again.” Michael said, looking wistfully off into the distance.

“That’s it. You explain all of the evil in the world by a puppy reference. Are you out of your mind? All of the suffering, the pain, the loneliness, and you talk about slippers.”

“I guess you had to be there,” The Angel said with a shrug of the shoulders. Then a smile lit up his face “Hey, Pizza? Do they deliver at this time in the morning, do you prefer deep dish or regular. I can’t wait to try out the stuffed crust.”

Landon threw his hands into the air then brought them both down hard onto the table. “Will you shut up about food? Concentrate. Okay, God’s not going to take care of stuff, sending you down here instead. So why do you need help, and why me?”

A flash of anger crossed Michael’s eyes as the two men, correction, man and angel stared at each other in a contest of wills. Neither of them moved, both of them realizing this was one of those moments that would define things. Finally, Michael nodded his head and looked away. “Very well, I will focus, but you have no idea. It is only in this form that I can have these things. I have five new senses and want to enjoy them,” he said, licking his lips. “It’s like I was blind, and now I can see. And I’m going to lose everything again. So yeah, I’m going to enjoy them while I can.”