Read Rise of the Poison Moon Online
Authors: MaryJanice Davidson
Tags: #Magic, #Fantasy fiction, #Dragons, #General, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Spiders, #Shapeshifting, #Epic, #Good and evil
Rise of the Poison Moon (12 page)
He sighed and turned to Catherine, the only other one there. “Help me make her understand.”
Their friend, already a dark green trampler, shook her reptilian head. “I’m not getting in the middle of this one, guys. You should figure it out soon, though: it’s almost three o’clock. I doubt anyone’s going to be late. We won’t get that lucky.”
“Susan.” He shot an edgy glance to both horizons.
“Uncle X asked me to come here to help talk with my mother. This is serious stuff. If you poke a camera into her face, she’s not going to understand. She’s going to think you’re mocking her.”
“I don’t want to ask her any questions. I don’t want to talk to her at all.”
“So why have the camera?”
Duh! So handsome . . . so brave . . . so, so dumb . . .
“To record what happens! To show everyone out there what we’re trying to do! I’m going to be real discreet, Gautierre. She’ll never know. You have to trust me.”
“To record what happens! To show everyone out there what we’re trying to do! I’m going to be real discreet, Gautierre. She’ll never know. You have to trust me.”
He was still sizing her up when a half-V formation of large dragons appeared to the west. This was Xavier Longtail and several other members of the Blaze.
At the same time, Catherine pointed to the east, within the dome. A solitary winged figure was high above, scouting the surrounding terrain.
“Looks like she trusts us about as much as we trust her.”
“I wish Jennifer had come, too,” he said.
Susan rolled her eyes. “Ember never would have agreed to show. We don’t need Jennifer, babe. You, Catherine, and I are strong enough to handle your mother. If any of her goons show up, we’ll fly off.”
They kept their eyes on Ember’s graceful descent. She dumped the air from her wings gradually, being careful to compensate for the reduction in tail size.
Susan flicked the camera back on, put it into her otherwise empty pocketbook, wedged the purse between her chest and left sleeve, and checked the lens to make sure it lined up with the hole she had cut. It was an old trick of undercover reporters—she’d seen it done on dozens of investigative “gotcha” news shows—but Ember Longtail had little experience of the world beyond Crescent Valley.
They landed simultaneously, Ember Longtail and her uncle Xavier, almost mirror images of each other across the barrier. He nodded curtly as the other Blaze members lined up purposefully behind him. Susan knew a diplomatic show of force when she saw one: Xavier was trying both to show Ember a friendly set of faces and also demonstrate that he had the support of the Blaze.
“Niece.”
She nodded back. “Uncle.”
“I regret so much time has passed since we last talked.”
“The last time we talked, you didn’t have anything intelligent to say.” She turned to Catherine. “I assume I have you to thank for this meeting?”
Catherine nodded. She had sent alligators all over town, hoping to find Ember or one of the gang.
“You’re Winona’s granddaughter. The one Glory hobbled.”
“I am.”
Ember looked her up and down. “You’re tough. Our group could use someone like you.”
“No thanks. I owe Jennifer and her mother everything. They saved my life, and my dragon self.”
Susan winced as Ember scowled. “Fine. Be a lapdog. And you.” She was speaking to her son now. “What have they done to you, my dear Gautierre?”
Well,
Susan thought,
there’s been kissing. Lots and lots of kissing. Oh, the humanity!
Susan thought,
there’s been kissing. Lots and lots of kissing. Oh, the humanity!
“What lies have they told you, what silly and stupid dreams have they dumped in your head?”
That we should wait? I’m not sure we should wait. Bad enough I’m under Big Blue; do I also have to die a virgin?
“Did they tell you that dragons and their hunters can live in harmony? That all you have to do is hold hands”—she shot a look at Susan here—“and you will attain peace?”
“She’s not a beaststalker, Mother. Her name is Susan. She’s a good person. I brought her here because I wanted her to meet the mother I loved, growing up.”
“I’m the same mother I always was. It’s the son who’s grown up to be a disappointment.” Ember looked Susan up and down, then ignored her.
Aw, come on! I spent almost twenty minutes on my hair, you insensitive bitch!
“You had your friend call the meeting, then. And you invited your great-uncle. Fine. Get on with whatever you have to say to me.”
“I assume you know that Jonathan Scales was killed yesterday.”
“I’d heard. Who was the lucky beaststalker? I’d be tempted to shake his or her hand.”
Susan stirred. Gautierre held out a hand to her and kept his focus on his mother. “It wasn’t a beaststalker, Mother.”
“Another dragon, then. Even better.”
“It wasn’t a dragon, either. It was Skip Wilson.”
She snorted a plume of smoke. “Skip Wilson? That slight drink of water who came to Crescent Valley with Jennifer Scales last year and insulted the entire Blaze? Wasn’t he supposed to turn into a spider someday and crawl under some sort of incredibly narrow rock?”
Xavier acknowledged her sentiment. “He never did look like much, Ember. But he’s dangerous, and he appears to have found a virtually unstoppable method of killing whoever he’d like dead.”
“Well, he appears to have found a virtually unstoppable method of killing whoever
I’d
like dead, as well. You’re not suggesting I help you stop him?”
I’d
like dead, as well. You’re not suggesting I help you stop him?”
“That’s up to us,” Xavier answered, motioning to the Blaze members behind him. “I don’t suppose there’s much you can do inside there. But it might help your son and his friends to survive if they didn’t have to worry about you and your crew firebombing them while we all try to figure out a way through this. If they didn’t have to keep Hank from hunting you down, as you burn away the precious resources remaining. If they could count on you as an ally looking for a solution instead of an enemy adding to their problems.”
Ember chuckled and raised her head to the sky. “Ah, Uncle. If you could only hear yourself today. Whatever drugs that murderous Georges bitch has fed you, I wouldn’t mind a gram or two of, for recreational purposes.
“You want me to make life easier for her, now that her husband’s dead? Now that her daughter is in this skinny-ass spider’s sights? Now that her legacy of murder is nearly over—you want me to show her mercy?”
“Show your son mercy, then.”
“He’ll have it. The moment he picks the right side. He can even bring his boring little whore.” Ember winked at Susan and motioned to the purse. “Make sure you don’t edit that line out, for your next news report.”
Before Gautierre could launch himself at her, she was up in the air and rocketing away.
CHAPTER 18
Jennifer
“Y’know, Mom, I’ve been sitting here for about forty minutes, waiting for the irony to get a little less thick.”
“I hear you.” She looked around the basement of police headquarters, which had become the new city hall since Skip Wilson destroyed the old one. “At least we’re outside the holding cells and not in them.”
Jennifer eyed her watch again. She kept a bland smile on her face; her mother did the same.
“So how’s Mrs. Gremmel feeling?”
“Diabetic patient? She’s sleeping better since we found a new store of drugs. I don’t know how much longer I can keep that going.”
“And baby Marshall?”
“Better. By a small miracle, he hasn’t needed much in the way of pharmaceuticals. We keep him warm with kangaroo care.”
“God bless the marsupials.”
This earned a smile—the first Jennifer had seen on her mother’s face since before the funeral. “I suppose I’m at least glad to be away from the hospital for the afternoon. Your father thinks”—she swallowed—“your father thought I’ve been running myself pretty ragged in there.”
“You’ve been doing awesome things, Mom.”
“And now, for a reward, I get to talk to Hank Blacktooth.”
Jennifer glanced around the shitty chairs, the dim room, the desk sergeant’s desk, now manned by a petite woman with short, carrot-colored hair slicked down like a helmet. Her dark eyes were enormous; she looked more like a child than one of Hank’s goons. She was pretending to flip through a fourteen-month-old issue of
Newsweek
while listening to every word. “He’ll listen, Mom.”
Newsweek
while listening to every word. “He’ll listen, Mom.”
“I hope so,” her mother murmured, settling back more comfortably in the hideously uncomfortable plastic chair. “But he’s never struck me as the listening type.”
Jennifer noticed Carrot Helmet frown at the magazine.
Hank Blacktooth, what a stoop.
(Stoop (n): abbreviated version of Stupnagel. Origin: an Elmsmithism for “big stupid moron who thinks he’s subtle but ain’t.”
e.g.: Hank Blacktooth was a stoop for making them wait outside his crappy makeshift office
.)
e.g.: Hank Blacktooth was a stoop for making them wait outside his crappy makeshift office
.)
They both knew Hank would agree to her mother’s request for a meeting. He would know about her husband’s death, and he would see it as (a) an opportunity to learn how to kill a dragon and (b) gloat.
They were okay with that (well, Elizabeth was okay with that); in return, they hoped to make him aware of the real threat in town.
Just as Gautierre, Susan, and Catherine were trying to talk sense into Ember Longtail across town, so she and her mother were trying to talk sense into Hank.
She hoped they were having more success.
“Maybe I should have gone with them,” she mused aloud. “Ember’s pretty vicious. It’s not like you need me here—you can take on any number of these idiots.”
“It’s important for you to be here.”
“Why? Hank hates me. All I can do is piss him off. Which I’m happy to do, I guess . . .”
Elizabeth held her hand. “It’s important for you to be here.”
“Oh.”
Gulp.
“Sure, Mom. Anything you need.”
Gulp.
“Sure, Mom. Anything you need.”
Carrot Helmet abruptly rose from the desk, marched past the empty holding cells, and disappeared through a door at the end of the room.
Jennifer glanced sideways at her mother, only to see her mother was glancing sideways at
her
. They shared a rare moment of perfect understanding:
freaks!
her
. They shared a rare moment of perfect understanding:
freaks!
“So did Susan tell you she and Gautierre found chickens? Chickens!”
“That
is
good news.”
is
good news.”
“Feral ones, apparently—”
Her mom laughed.
“I know—but they
are
, they’re feral because I guess they escaped from what’s- his-name, that really grumpy farmer on the east end of town . . .”
are
, they’re feral because I guess they escaped from what’s- his-name, that really grumpy farmer on the east end of town . . .”
“Max Featherstone. He wouldn’t sell, so there’s a Chipotle on one side of his field, and a Kentucky Fried Chicken on the other.”
“Now
that’s
ironic. As Susan would say . . .”
that’s
ironic. As Susan would say . . .”
“Oh, the humanity.”
“Right. Anyway, they apparently darted off during an Ember attack last year—”
Carrot Helmet was back. “Excuse me—”
Jennifer held up one finger, the way you hold off a waitress so you could finish your menu selection. “Anyway, so a bunch of his hens
and
the rooster took off, and made nests, and now there are feral chickens that don’t really belong to anyone, which means they belong to all of us. I bet they’ll taste all feral-ey. Mmmm . . .”
and
the rooster took off, and made nests, and now there are feral chickens that don’t really belong to anyone, which means they belong to all of us. I bet they’ll taste all feral-ey. Mmmm . . .”
Her mom chuckled again. “That’s great. We should scoop them up on the way back.” Her mom glanced up at the clearly irritated redhead. “What is it, hon?”
“Mayor Blacktooth will be a moment. He apologizes—”
“Oh, is he running late?”
Deep frown. “Anyway, he’ll be right with you.”
“Thanks. So anyway, honey, not only can you use the eggs for food, but you can grow certain cultures with them, which—”
“Dr. Georges-Scales?”
“Hmmm?” Her mother looked around absently. “Oh, we’re fine. We don’t need anything to drink.”
The redhead’s lips were pressed so tightly together, they’d disappeared. “I was going to remind you that you took care of my brother’s shoulder surgery. About three years ago.”
“Oh? Was he the ATV accident, or the car wreck?”
“ATV.”
“Sure. Mike . . . Mike Whittle.” Her mother’s eyes had gone vague while she tried to remember, then sharpened when she did. “He got out the day before his eighteenth birthday, right? No complications?”
The invisible lips relaxed and reappeared. Dr. Elizabeth Georges-Scales had a computer-like memory for patients, including names and birthdays, and Jenn could see the redhead instantly loosen up. “Yeah, it—it went really good. I mean, you did good. He’s, y’know, out there.” She gestured vaguely, a gesture they’d all adapted and used to mean Beyond Big Blue.
“I’m glad.” Her mother looked the woman up and down. “Is that a catlin?”
She glanced down at her left hip. “Yeah. You won’t believe this, it’s sort of a family heirloom.”
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