Never Deal with Dragons (25 page)

One of the men stepped forward and gestured to a woman on his right. “Lydia, inform base we need to evacuate the dragons.”

I tried to get around the team but was stopped by a hand on my shoulder.

He looked to me. “We’ll need to keep you two here until we can scrub the area.”

“That’s fine. But can you tell me about the dragon. He was right outside the door. Big, black, flies.”
The most important thing in the world to me.
I stopped talking. I was sick with worry and babbling. I peered around the man, hoping for a glimpse of Trian. But there was nothing. Just an empty hallway.

The man looked at me through his plastic shield. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about a dragon.”

I felt my shoulders slump as the fight left my body. Suddenly I felt every bump and bruise. I waved a hand in vague acceptance. “Just do what you need to do.”

He nodded, and soon we were swarmed by people.

Chapter Twenty

I’d had almost no news of Trian. Emory’s new assistant, Sara, met me in the hall after the cleaning crew had deemed Emory and I safe enough to leave the office. She told me Trian had been unconscious when the med team had found him, and that he’d been loaded for transport along with the other dragons present at DRACIM when the biomaterial was released.

There was no word on whether any of them had survived.

With the dragons removed, I was allowed full access to the building, but the doctors had cautioned me not to leave the property until they could confirm I was no longer a threat.

With Emory out of commission—with the help of Sara and Melissa I’d had him held by security pending a formal investigation—his department was a swarm of panicked activity. As I couldn’t leave, I rolled up my sleeves and dove into the mess, looking for something, anything to take my mind off Trian’s well-being.

Sara was surprisingly unruffled by the sudden change in leadership. After backing me up with the guards regarding our former boss’s actions, she was quick to assist me in getting reparations under control.

“Russell says he’s getting calls from the media about the transported dragons. What’s our story?”

“Tell them we’re not ready to release any details to the public at this time, but we’ll have a press conference here at five. Do not under any circumstances give them any names of the victims. Have someone call the draconian medic and remind them not to share any information about the dragon’s identities or medical status unless the person asking can provide appropriate credentials.”

Sara nodded and turned to leave, but I stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Oh, and send a memo out to all the departments. If I hear of one person releasing information to a journalist, I will personally guarantee they won’t have a job come tomorrow. If I can’t get them fired, I’ll have them killed.”

Sara didn’t even blink at my words; she simply continued scribbling madly on her notepad. I couldn’t tell whether she thought I was serious about the murder or not.

To be honest, in this mental state, I wasn’t so sure myself.

“I want hourly updates from the cleanup crew. As soon as we’re allowed out of here, I want to know. Can you try again to get someone from Lord Relobu’s on the line?”

“Will do.” Sara tucked the pen behind her ear and scurried back to my—her—desk.

“Sara?” She stopped and turned.

“You’re doing a great job.” I walked over and held out a hand. “I appreciate the help.”

She grinned. “I appreciate the job. I’ve heard a lot about you from Emory.”

I raised an eyebrow, and we both laughed. “Yeah, I figured it wasn’t complimentary.”

* * *

I almost lost it at the press conference. Sara managed to track down the status of our sick dragons, but the doctor had been so rushed he didn’t have time to give her anything other than totals. Of the twelve shipped to their facility, only four were still alive. They expected to lose one more within the hour.

Standing at the makeshift podium that had been erected in DRACIM’s largest conference room, I blinked at the flashing camera lights and tried to focus. With a curious sense of removal, I read the statement we’d thrown together for the press, and opened the floor to questions.

A man from the local newspaper raised a hand. “What was Lord Relobu’s response to this attack?”

“DRACIM is staying in close contact with Lord Relobu as he makes his way back to the United States. For his feelings, I suggest you speak with him when he arrives.”

I nodded to a woman near the window. “How long until the biomaterial is completely contained?”

“Our team is working with the scientists at Shui-Tech to determine its reach and life cycle. We expect to know more within the next few hours.”

“Does DRACIM intend to seek damages for this attempted attack on humans?”

The reporter’s question startled me out of my trance. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Is DRACIM planning on pursuing payment from Lord Relobu for the attacks?” She looked at me expectantly, a pencil poised over her wired notebook.

I scanned the room. All the reporters waited for my response, clearly assuming this attack had been propagated by the dragons.

My, how deep our prejudices ran.

“Let me be clear. This attack was planned and executed by humans in an attempt to harm the entire Tulsa dragon population. The strike was made with no provocation by Lord Relobu or any of his people. If anyone should be paying damages, it should be the humans involved. Eight dragons, innocent of any wrongdoing, are already dead, and four others are currently fighting for their lives due to an airborne poison engineered to infect their species. Those responsible will be held accountable for their actions.”

A murmur rose up from the crowd as this news was absorbed.

Another man raised his hand. “Can you tell us the names of the dragons exposed to the poison and what their status is?”

His question pulled my mind back to Trian, and the panic returned.

“No, I can’t. I’m sorry. We’re done.” I stumbled blindly from the stage and out the door, until I could collapse against the wall. Heedless of my audience, I sank to the floor and let the tears pour. I wasn’t sure how long I sat there before a hand touched my shoulder.

“Ms. Banks?” I looked up to find the HazMat man I’d spoken with earlier giving me a concerned frown.

I sniffed and tried to dry my eyes. “Yes?”

“If you have a moment, I think I can get you out of the building in about thirty minutes. We’ll need you to change clothes and step through a decon shower, but afterward, you should be good to go.”

Hope soared and I jumped to my feet. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“Just stand here, Ms. Banks. After the shower starts, we’ll need you to stay under the water for at least fifteen minutes.” HazMat man’s sidekick, I think her name was Lydia, escorted me to the small decontamination room and placed me directly under a huge shower nozzle.

Despite my worry for Trian, and the fact that I was stripped down to my underwear in front of a stranger, I couldn’t help but take in my surroundings. I’d always known DRACIM had a decon room somewhere on site, but I’d never seen or heard of it being used.

It was surprisingly underwhelming. The decon room consisted basically of a small metal enclosure mounted to a trailer, equipped with a water hookup and a small dressing room adjacent to the area with the shower.

When I’d first arrived, Lydia had me peel off my coat and bodysuit so she could take it to the incinerator. It was stupid, I know, but I almost started crying again. The outfit was nothing I would have picked out on my own, and barring any other world-saving quests, I doubt I’d ever re-wear it. But right now, with Trian in a coma or probably dead, it was my only link.

I held my tears until Lydia closed the door and switched on the water. If a few slipped out while I stood under the tepid stream, I doubted she could tell.

After my fifteen minutes were up, Lydia poked her head back through the door. “I left a change of clothes for you in the dressing room.” She paused for a moment. “Do you need help changing?”

I smiled and shook my head. “No. I’m good, thanks.”

She gave my stomach one last glance. Even I had been surprised at the colors my skin had turned. I had a knot the size of my fist on my right thigh, and my stomach was as green as an oxidized penny.

I’ve got to stop wrestling with dragons.

As quickly as I was able, I squeezed into the tiny dressing room and stripped off my wet underwear. I wiggled into the yoga pants Lydia left folded on the small bench, and slipped my feet into a pair of house slippers. I guess it was too much to expect they’d have a pair of tennis shoes in my size.

I shrugged into the black T-shirt emblazoned with a cartoon dragon and the words “I’M WORTH MY WEIGHT IN DRAGON GOLD” and took the towel with me, running it through my hair as I half ran, half limped my way toward the parking garage.

“Hey! You Myrna? I’m your cab.” A man stood next to an idling vehicle just outside the garage entrance.

“I didn’t call a cab.”

“Your assistant, Sara something did.”

I grinned. Emory didn’t know what a treasure he’d received in Sara Reider. As I hopped in the backseat, I made a mental reminder to thank Sara with an enormous bouquet of flowers, or a truckload of chocolate.

I gave my driver the address and tried to relax. As we wove through the city traffic, I stared, unseeing out the window. Trian was dead or dying. I repeated the words over and over in my head, but I just couldn’t get them to penetrate. My tears had disappeared, leaving me empty. I felt like a hollow shell, abandoned in the sand.

My entire career I’d dreamed of traveling to exotic places, leaving my landlocked hometown behind for excitement and adventure. And when I’d finally done it, all I wanted to do was come back home. Now, it was so odd to look at the city I’d grown up in, and feel like a total stranger. The buildings might be the same, but I didn’t fit here anymore. All the things that tied me here were gone. Carol, my job, my dreams.

I jerked when the driver rapped on my window. “Hey, is this the place?”

I blinked and looked up. We’d arrived at DRACIM’s off-site storage facility, the only place big enough to house twelve sick dragons. Other than the occasional dermatology issue, dragons did not get sick, and their regeneration abilities made physical injury a minor inconvenience. They either died of old age—we only knew of one such death, one of the Australian dragon’s subjects—or because another dragon killed them. So when the biomaterial was released and the dragons fell, there wasn’t a hospital to take them to.

I took a deep breath. “Yeah, this is the place.” I thanked the driver and handed him some cash. I elbowed my way through the crowd of reporters huddled just outside the door. Ignoring their questions, I showed the guard the DRACIM ID Sara conveniently located in the bottom of my old desk, and stepped inside when he opened the door.

The place looked like a field hospital. Clotheslines spanned the length and width of the area, separating the large space into semiprivate “rooms.” A center aisle had been left open, presumably for easy transport of the dragons in and out.

Human nurses scurried from one room to another, pulling the sheets closed behind them when they left. For the number of people in the room, the noise was almost nonexistent. For good or bad, dragons had always been seen as invincible. The knowledge that they were not was a rude awakening for all of us. A heavy pall hung over the entire group.

“Henry Johnson. May I help you?” A man dressed in scrubs and carrying a clipboard stopped me before I could look for Trian on my own. He held out a hand in greeting.

I took it. “Yes. I’m Myrna Banks. I’d like to see a friend of mine. Trian Chobardan.”

He frowned. “That name doesn’t sound familiar. Do you know what shift he’s working?”

“He’s a patient.”

Taken aback—there weren’t many dragons with close human friends—he paused before responding. “Ah, of course. We don’t have the names of the dragons. Can you describe him?”

“Black.”

The nurse’s expression turned solemn, and I felt the blood turn cold in my veins. He took my hand. “I’m sorry, honey. He didn’t make it.”

Chapter Twenty-One

The room tilted. I heard Henry say something to me, but my brain wasn’t processing the words. “I need to see him.” I held the man’s hand in a vise grip, afraid that if I let go, I wouldn’t be able to stay standing. “Please. I need to see him.”

Face full of compassion, the nurse took me down the corridor, to the last partition on my right. He held the curtain aside and waited for me to step through. Trian lay unmoving just inside the room.

“I want to be alone, please.”

Henry nodded. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

I murmured thanks, but my gaze stayed on the body lying on a large pallet in front of me. Trian’s neck was curled near his chest, and a large claw rested on the sheet beside his face.

“Oh, Trian, I’m so sorry.” I reached out and laid a hand on his unmoving jaw. I caressed the long black snout again and again, praying that those deep golden eyes would open.

They didn’t.

I ran my gaze over his massive body. He lay on his side, covered with a series of cloth pieces hastily stitched together. Trian’s scaled tail dangled from beneath the impromptu coverlet, with the last two feet of its length hanging over the edge of the bed. Moving closer, I picked it up and tucked the appendage back against his body, smoothing the wrinkles from the worn sheet.

A large hole had been cut in the base of his neck, and the remains of a tracheotomy tube protruded from the wound. The sight of it bothered me, a stark reminder that his stillness was death and not sleep. I ripped off the tape and removed the tube, murmuring nonsense in his ear as I worked.

But finally, there was nothing for me to do. He was gone. And no amount of wishing would make that fact disappear.

I remember thinking, when we first broke up, that the pain would be easier if he’d died rather than left. But now, faced with the reality that the man I knew no longer existed, I realized I’d been terribly, terribly wrong.

Death was much worse. Much more final.

“Oh, Trian. What am I going to do?” I crawled onto the bed and lifted his claw, wiggling closer to his body until I was enfolded in his arms.

Were my actions crazy? Yes. But until they made me move, I was staying with Trian.

I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

* * *

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I woke to the sound of someone speaking in the room next door.

“Time of death, nine twenty-three.” The doctor sighed before adding, “That’s the last of them. Twelve of twelve. Dammit!”

There was silence, a brief scuffle as someone threw something to the floor in anger, and then the sound of monitors being switched off one at a time.

The doctor spoke to another person. “Have someone turn the temperature down in this building. We’ll need to call DRACIM to find out what Relobu wants done with the bodies.”

The sheets moved, and a man entered Trian’s partition. His eyes widened when he noticed my head peep from beneath the sheet, but his expression changed into one of pity. “Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but I’m going to need you to leave. They’re about to turn this place into an icebox.”

I pushed into a sitting position, and slid to the floor.

I didn’t want to leave him here. My chest ached with sadness. “I’m a dragonspeaker. I can call Lord Relobu about burial arrangements.” As far as I knew, Trian didn’t have any family. I had a vague intention of requesting permission to bury him myself.

The doctor glanced at my badge. “You’re a dragonspeaker?” He waved away the question as soon as he asked. “Of course you are.” As if the fact I was curled up next to a dragon could be explained away. “I’m Dr. Irving.”

I tugged at my clothes, trying to prepare myself to walk out the building. “Myrna Banks. Thank you.”

The doctor quirked an eyebrow in question.

“For taking care of them. Or at least trying.”

He gave me a tired smile. “It was the least I could do.” He looked at me directly. “They didn’t die for nothing, you know. We were able to get some samples that will help us develop a vaccine for the virus. At the very least we’ll be able to keep other dragons safe from this thing.”

“That’s good I guess.” I said it to be polite, not because I actually cared. My emotions were gone, burned out and covered by a heavy sense of nothing. I could function, yes, but I didn’t feel anything.

Dr. Irving didn’t say anything more; he simply held up an arm toward the hall. I started to follow, but before I left the room, I moved back to the bedside. Leaning down, I placed a kiss on Trian’s scaled jaw. “I will miss you so much.”

I ran a hand down his neck from chin to shoulder, tracing the large, gleaming set of obsidian scales. Then, before my tears spilled over, I straightened and gave him one last pat. I was two steps from the bed when I stopped.

“His neck!”

“What?” The doctor looked at me curiously.

“Look, his neck. There’s no hole.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t under—” His gaze whipped to mine. “The tracheotomy!” He rushed to the bed and lowered Trian’s claw to rest on the mattress.

We stared at the spot on Trian’s neck where a hole should have been. The scales were shiny and new—and covered his throat in an uninterrupted pattern.

“He’s healing!” The doctor pushed away from the railing and rushed out into the corridor. “Someone find me a nurse—we have one still alive back here.”

“Come on, baby, stay with me,” I whispered into Trian’s ear.

Soon two nurses came in, not even bothering to pull the cloth partition back in place after their entrance. One of them climbed onto the bed and leaned over Trian’s body, placing the cup of a stethoscope against the ridge of his spined back.

She listened for a moment and then frowned. “There’s no heartbeat. I don’t understand.” She tried the other side, but shook her head after a few moments.

The other nurse, Henry, hooked Trian to an electric heart monitor, and handed the cups up to the nurse on the bed. She placed them in the same position. When he flipped it on, we all watched the screen expectantly, hoping for signs of life.

Nothing. Tiny blips moved across the monitor in a regular pattern, but they didn’t look nearly big enough for a dragon’s heartbeat.

Dr. Irving confirmed my suspicions. “There’s no sinus activity.”

“What are the bumps?” I asked.

“Electrical interference I suppose. This machine’s been giving us trouble since the beginning. Henry—” the doctor turned, “—grab the bedside monitor from next door.”

Henry nodded, and seconds later the machine clattered its way to Trian’s room. The doctor switched out the leads while Henry plugged the machine into a power strip. The screen blinked to life. Tiny blips appeared, almost identical to those on the old readout.

An idea hit me. “Try his chest.”

The doctor looked my way. “Why?”

I talked faster, excited. “Because he’s not a dragon, he’s a dragon-morph. Half human. Maybe his heart is in the same place ours is.” I thumped my chest dead center, and regretted it immediately after. I’d forgotten my bruised rib.

Dr. Irving eyed me speculatively, likely trying to decide whether I’d gone off the deep end.

“I’m telling the truth.”

He bit his lip, then nodded. “Try the chest.”

This time Henry hopped on the bed. He popped the sensor cups from Trian’s spine, handed them to the doctor, and was just about to get down when Trian let loose a low rumble.

Henry yelped and leaped from the bed, a not-so-masculine shriek erupting from between his lips.

Trian groaned once more, then opened an eye. He lifted his head and tilted it slightly to the right.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

The doctor rushed over and placed his stethoscope against Trian’s chest. His face lit up in triumph. “He’s good. He’s good. Nice and steady.”

I looked down at the ratted T-shirt emblazoned with a grinning dragon. I choked on a mix of laughter and sobs. “What? This ol’ thing? It’s what all the dragonspeakers are wearing these days.”

“You’re worth a lot more than that.” And with his comment, he relaxed and put his head back on the mattress. “I don’t suppose there’s something to eat around here?”

I laughed again and turned to the doctor. “He wants something to eat. Mind if I borrow your phone to make a call to DRACIM?”

Dr. Irving didn’t even look my way. He and the nurses were too busy giving each other high fives.

While a huge grin on my tear-stained face, I took off to find a telephone.

* * *

Two days later, I flopped down on the couch next to Trian. He dropped the book he was reading and gave me a long kiss.

“Mmm. You’re home early.” His stubble tickled my neck as his mouth crept up to nibble on my ear.

“I left Sara to wrap up the details. You know, it pains me to do it, but I’m going to have to promote her soon.”

Trian laughed. “She’s been your secretary for only two days.” With Emory’s obvious involvement in the attack, DRACIM was scrambling to repair the damage done to their relationship with Lord Relobu. They figured offering me Emory’s old job, and placing me in charge of working with Relobu’s office to tie up loose ends, would be the best way to go about it.

I couldn’t complain; I loved the job. I had my own office with a drain! (And as of yet I hadn’t needed to use it.)

After Dr. Irving released Trian from the “hospital,” I drove him to my apartment for the rest of his recuperation. Though he sported a small scar where the tracheotomy was performed, Trian had otherwise healed completely. The doctor was still marveling over his survival, and Trian had lost more than a few pints of blood and other tissues in the name of science. The lab techs speculated that Trian’s dragon-morph situation and the resulting rise in his percentage of human DNA had saved his life, but they couldn’t say for sure.

I didn’t know about Trian, but frankly, I didn’t care. He was here, and he was alive.

I lay my head on his shoulder. “Talked to Bill again today,” I said, referring to Richard’s former secretary. “He said Relobu’s council voted eight to one in favor of Richard’s execution.”

Trian threaded his fingers through mine and lifted my hand for a kiss. “I’m so sorry, Myrna.”

“As the official DRACIM liaison, I could have formally requested he be tried in a human court. But his crime was against the dragon population. I couldn’t in good conscience block their pursuit of justice. Carol’s going to hate me.”

Trian smiled and kissed me once on the nose. “Oh. I forgot to mention. You got a call today.”

“Yeah?”

“It was Richard. He took Carol to a hospital in Budapest so they could look at her head injury. He said not to worry, because the doctors say she’ll fully recover.”

“Did you tell him about Relobu’s announcement?” After failing to capture Richard in Budapest, Lord Relobu had declared him wanted for treason. A reward was placed on his head, and over my huge objections, he’d named Carol as an accessory to Richard’s escape. Neither of them would be allowed back in North America without being immediately arrested. And because of the reward, they were essentially being hunted by the entire world.

Trian’s smile faded. “I did.” He paused. “I got another call from Relobu today.”

I sighed. “Let me guess. He wants to know when you can go back to work. So he can send you after my friend.”

Trian nodded. “I told him I needed another couple of days.” And then he’d be flying straight to Budapest.

I didn’t like it, but I wouldn’t ask Trian not to go. I’d find a way to get my friend safely back to Tulsa, and off of Relobu’s world watch-list.

“Well, no offense, but I hope Carol’s being discharged very soon.” But if Trian was anything, he was tenacious. It wouldn’t be long before he managed to track them down. “And it sounds like it’s time for me to use DRACIM to lean on Lord Relobu and see if I can get him to change his mind. At least about Carol.”

Trian kissed the top of my head. “I’m sure you’ll manage it.”

“Enough about work.” I slid Trian a sly grin. “Dr. Irving called today. Said you’re officially cleared for any and all physical activity. What do you say about testing his theory?”

Trian stood and led me toward the bedroom. “I think,” he said, pulling me closer and wrapping his arms tight around my waist, “Dr. Irving is a very, very intelligent man.”

* * * * *