The Candlestone (3 page)
Billy roared with laughter. Bonnie held her fingers over her lips and turned crimson. Following her lead, Billy tried to stifle his own laugh, letting out a snort through his puffed out cheeks.
Walter continued, exaggerating the accent even more. “Naw, he don’t have no phone. Why in tarnation wood I want to go and tawk to that critter on the phone? Yew caint send no pickshures over the phone. What kine of fool do yew take me fer?”
Billy snatched the pretend phone from Walter’s hand and held it to his ear. “I’m sorry, ma’am. He’s a bit loony. We’re sending him back to the electric shock room now.”
Bonnie folded her hands in front of her and feigned a snobbish air, her eyes closed and her nose raised. Her lips trembled between a frown and a smile. “Well, while you two, ahem, gentlemen decide who’s the more loony, I shall be in my room writing my English essay. I suggest that you do the same. Evening is at hand, and it is due on Monday.” She started walking out, maintaining her stern librarian frown, but she burst out laughing and hurried down the hall.
Bonnie flipped on her desk lamp. With Billy’s mother out late, the Foley household had opted for an a la carte dinner. Bonnie had brought in a sandwich and salad from the kitchen and placed them on her desk blotter along with a tall glass of water. Although it was time to relax, she kept her wings hidden in her backpack, choosing to endure the discomfort rather than risk someone popping in on her while she perched on her chair like a freakish bat.
After kicking off her shoes and socks and changing into a comfortable set of sweat clothes, she sat at the desk and chose a felt-tipped pen from her collection of markers in the middle drawer, pausing a moment to read the calendar hanging on the wall directly in front of her. She leaned forward and carefully drew a dark “X” on today’s date, the second Saturday in January. The box for Sunday was already filled, a happy face surrounded by pink and yellow flower stickers. At the bottom of the box a caption read, “Adoption Day!”
Bonnie deposited the felt pen in the drawer and pulled out a three-ring binder, a fat notebook stuffed with paper. The first hundred or so pages were filled with flowing script —her journals, a number of writing assignments, and a sizable collection of stories and poetry. Although Billy and Walter shared a computer for their written work, Bonnie preferred the feel of setting pen to paper and letting her words pour out from mind to hand. Her script revealed her moods —the weightiness of the day exposed in dark, heavy strokes, or happiness riding the page on sweeping loops and roller-coaster m’s. The blank pages summoned her eloquence more than any word processor ever could. And clacking on keys just wasn’t the same. Computers produced too many distracting beeps and pop-up windows to get any thoughtful work done. No, this way was much better, the soothing slide of her lovely silver Papermate on the crisp, white sheet.
Tonight, as she wrote her essay entitled, “Counting the Cost,” her uneven script meandered, frequently slipping below the rule line. Dark ink blotches told of her weariness, and her supper remained barely touched. Through bleary eyes she stared out the window at the thickening fog. The clear, breezy evening had given way, and a cooling blanket of rich mountain air had seeped into the valley in thick soupy layers. The short days of winter had brought once again an early sunset, and mist shrouded the last remnant of twilight. Darkness had fallen, and even the porch lights were swallowed by the engulfing gloom.
With her eyelids drooping like heavy curtains, she jerked her head up. Her eyes flashed open at the sound of a call, her name whispered in a long, dying echo. It was soft, yet urgent, as though a loving hand had rung the dinner bell to signal suppertime while she was playing in a field far away, or the wind had picked up the call and carried the syllables to her ears, lengthened and distorted, but still distinct and familiar — Mama’s voice.
Bonnie looked around. No one else was in the room.
She had heard that same voice several times over the last few weeks and had assumed her mind was playing tricks on her. She missed her mother so badly that part of her brain thought she was still around, in the next room making the bed, or in the kitchen cooking dinner, or in the rocking chair ready to read her a story. Although the voice sounded sort of like her mother’s, it wasn’t exactly the same —somehow it carried the chill of a haunted house.
With no hope of staying awake at her desk, Bonnie got up and slid her window open. The breezeless air outside allowed the mist to seep into her room in wet creeping fingers, caressing her face with damp coolness and sending shivers across her arms. A faint trace of wood smoke tinged the air, a sure sign that the mountains had lent their freshness to the valley.
What a great way to shake off her sleepiness! Although darkness had fallen, it was a little early to go for a fly. She usually waited until late at night when everyone was asleep, but the fog would surely keep her hidden. She climbed out the window and onto the roof, a trick she had perfected over the last few weeks. Since her second-floor bedroom was the only one that faced the rear of the house, it was perfectly placed for her covert escape.
Bonnie took a deep breath of the wet, cool air, and, glancing all around to verify her privacy, she unzipped her backpack, letting it dangle until her nimble wings pushed it off. Once freed, her dragon wings unfurled and spread out behind her body, the span extending more than twice her body’s length.
Her roof escapes were times for solitude, unhurried respites for introspection and prayer. She sat just above the eaves, pulling her knees up and admiring her surroundings. She loved how the upper branches of the trees drank from the gray, hovering mist. She marveled at how birds flitted so differently in a night fog, with rapid wing beats and without chirp or song.
As darkness wrapped her body, she threaded memorized verses through her mind, allowing them to come out in whispered song. She especially enjoyed singing a passage from a psalm of David, having set it to a tune herself during one of her many rooftop visits.
Whither shall I go from thy spirit?
Or whither shall I flee from thy presence?
If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there:
If I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.
If I take the wings of the morning,
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
Even there shall thy hand lead me,
and thy right hand shall hold me.
If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me;
even the night shall be light about me.
Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee;
but the night shineth as the day:
The darkness and the light are both alike to thee.
With a long, satisfied sigh, Bonnie rose to her feet and climbed to the apex of the roof. Her flying experience told her that fog layers are often shallow. She hoped to be able to cruise above them, finding light in the moon and stars. With a mighty flap and jump, she was off! Propelling herself nearly straight upward, she catapulted into the mist, her hair and face dampening as she flew. She pushed onward, beating her wings against the cool air and watching, but the wet vapor persisted, thinner as she flew upward, but still too murky to be safe.
Not wanting to get too high and fearing she wouldn’t be able to find her way home, she leveled off and began flying in a small circle, peering downward for any hint of light. She felt she was swimming rather than flying, streams of water soaking her hair and dripping into her eyes.
Bonnie had no doubt that she was higher than the trees; her only concern was how to land. After a few more seconds, she spotted a light down below. It was small, but bright enough to pierce the fog. She let her wings extend fully and glided toward the steady beam. As she approached, she thought she recognized the glow as a neighbor’s halogen yard lamp. She would have to act quickly, land on the run, stuff her wings into her sweatshirt, and sprint about one block home. She folded in her wings and went into freefall, planning to unfurl them again just in time to parachute to a soft landing.
When she came within fifty feet of the light, it moved! It wasn’t a yard lamp at all; it was the glow of a car’s headlights! What should she do? It was too late to abort her landing. She was falling too rapidly.
Bonnie spread out her wings and pulled against the air, flexing her mighty canopy in the dark gray mist. She drew one wing in slightly and swerved, zipping just in front of the moving car’s windshield and angling toward the curb. The car brakes squealed. With her legs already running, Bonnie’s bare feet hit the ground, but she toppled forward, rolling into the roadside grass. Before she could get up, she heard the car door slam, and footsteps pounded on the pavement. She was stunned, feeling stark naked with her wings exposed and no hope of hiding them in time. Should she run? Should she wait, hoping the fog would mask her presence?
Then, from the dark shadows of a hundred nightmares, a tall specter strolled out of the soupy mist. Bonnie’s eyes shot open, and she gulped.
“Daddy!”
Chapter 2
Bonnie jumped up to run, but her father caught her wrist and pulled her back, grabbing her other arm to hold her in place. His hands felt like iron clamps, and the pain of his clenching fingers stiffened her body.
“Settle down,” he said. His voice was forceful but not coarse. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Right,” Bonnie grunted. “Tell that to my mother.” She drew back her foot and kicked him in the shin as hard as she could, stinging her bare toes. He let out an angry yelp and shoved her backward, making her fall heavily on her bottom. With a flap of her wings, she was up again, leaping into the sky. Her father grabbed her ankle and jerked her to the ground, this time throwing her onto her back and pressing her hands against the cold grass.
Bonnie knew she was beaten. Her father had always been athletic, with strong, toned muscles and an agile body, and now he seemed more powerful than ever. With her unusual genetics she was stronger than a lot of grown men, but she was no match for him, and with her wings crumpled between her back and the ground, she had no hope of escape. Trying to breathe under his crushing weight, she gasped. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll scream!”
He slapped his hand over her mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just listen to me!” She shook her head violently, let out a muffled scream, and then tried to bite his hand. She read hot anger in his gray eyes. Sweat beaded along his brow, making his short red bangs stick to his forehead. He pushed against her cheeks with his fingers, squeezing them against her teeth. He made a shushing noise, his face so close she could smell his coffee breath. “If you’ll just be quiet and listen, I’ll let you up. Don’t be stubborn. There’s a lot you don’t know, and I have news about your mother.”
Bonnie’s arms fell limp, her eyes wide open, the stinging pain jolting her into compliance. Her father slowly released the pressure on her face and smiled. “I thought that would cool your jets. Are you going to be quiet and listen?”
Bonnie nodded and tried to calm down, but she couldn’t stop her gasping breaths.
“Good.” He stood up and helped her to her feet.
She brushed herself off and then glared at him, trying her best to show distrust and anger at his rough treatment.
“Your mother hid your tracks well,” he began. “I was still trying to find you in the foster system when the ad showed up.”
Bonnie took a deep breath and folded her arms in front of her chest, trying to hold back her tears, but she couldn’t keep her voice from shaking. “Mr. Foley and I thought an ad was the best way. We hoped you wouldn’t see it. The state said we had to make an effort to notify you.”
He let out an agreeable laugh. “Your plan almost worked. I didn’t see the ad, at least for a while. Someone told me I should be checking the papers for an abandonment summons, so I went back and found it, about two weeks ago now.”
“Two weeks? Why didn’t you call?”
“I had to prepare. I had a lot to prepare. And I wanted to show up in person and surprise you.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, squinting and putting her hands on her hips. “I’ll bet you did.” She wanted to stay on the defensive, to be tough and uncooperative, but his comment about her mother burned in her mind. She just had to ask, but she crossed her arms again and looked away, feigning disinterest. “So what’s the news about my mother?” She glanced back to catch her father’s expression.
He stared at his feet. For the first time he seemed hesitant, unsure of what to say. He lifted his gaze, and his expression turned soft, his brow rising and his eyes wandering. “I assume you think she’s dead.”
Bonnie’s heart skipped. She could hardly breathe. She almost choked on her response. “Of . . . of course, she’s dead. I saw her die.”
His penetrating eyes and her exposed wings made her feel like a naked lab rat. He had always had that effect on her, staring at her as though his gaze could pierce her soul.
“You’re not a doctor, Bonnie. You only thought she was dead. When I found her, she was near death. Her vitals were almost imperceptible. But she was alive. Badly wounded, to be sure, but alive. And she’s alive now.”
Bonnie’s chest heaved. Now she knew she would cry. “I don’t believe you!” She trembled, her face contorting and her voice cracking. “If she were alive she would have found me. She knew how.”
“I’m sure she would have, but she’s been in a coma. We have pretty high hopes, though. You know how strong she is, and being an anthrozil, she has more strength than normal humans.”
Bonnie frowned and narrowed her eyes. “Anthrozil?” She had heard that name once before from Devin, but she didn’t want her father to know she recognized it. Her suspicions now rang true. Maybe he really was in league with the slayer. “What’s an anthrozil?”
“It’s a name I came up with for what you are. The DNA seems to indicate that somehow you’re fully human and fully dragon. You have the complete code for both species. ‘Anthro’ is a common prefix for man, and I got ‘zil’ from ‘Godzilla,’ the movie dinosaur. Anyway, your mother still has some of the toughness of the dragon species in her, so she managed to survive.”
Bonnie’s defenses began melting. She wanted to believe her mother was alive. She wanted to go back to a normal home with a real dad who wouldn’t treat her like a science experiment. But it just couldn’t be. She couldn’t trust this man, this awful monster she had learned to despise. For months and months she had blamed him for her mother’s death. Wasn’t he the one who had used them like guinea pigs? Hadn’t he led the murderers to their home? Couldn’t this be another trick to bring her back into his lab and possibly into the clutches of the dragon slayers?
He held out his hand. “Your mother calls for you, even from her coma. Maybe if you answer, it will help her wake up.”
Bonnie’s hands trembled. There was a voice! She had heard it so many times! Her legs grew weak. She felt tears, hot and wet, joining the cold misty dew on her cheeks. “I . . . I don’t know what to think.” She sniffed back a sob. “I don’t know what to believe.”
Her father nodded and sighed. “I understand. I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you. I was suspicious of that Devin character when he started asking questions about your mother, but I never told him about you.”
Bonnie wiped her tears with her knuckles. “How long did you know Devin?”
“For quite a while. He was interested in DNA research and proved to be very knowledgeable, so I let him team up with me. Since dragon DNA is remarkably similar to human DNA, the research was complicated. I thought our combined expertise would help me pursue my goals, so I told him about my anthrozil theory. When he first learned that I was using dragon blood, he demanded to know where I was getting it. I refused to tell, of course, but when his demands became increasingly violent, I let some information slip and he found your mother.” He lowered his head and shifted his weight uneasily. “I’m just glad my mistake wasn’t fatal.”
He extended his hand again, his fingers trembling. “Come back with me,” he said, tears forming in his eyes. “Maybe together we can right this wrong. I couldn’t do it by myself. Maybe you can call her back from the dead.”
Bonnie stared at his hand, the hand she had feared for so long. Now it reached for her to take it in hers, to be led away from a life she loved and into the unknown. How could she trust him? Maybe it was all a lie, a trap to bring her back to his awful lab, to be jabbed again with needles, to have her blood drawn time after time after time. But how could she not go? If there was any way his story could be true, that her mother really was still alive and she could possibly help her, she just had to do it. Wasn’t it worth the risk?
She lifted her arm and began to stretch out her hand. The rough tussle had forced her sleeve up toward her shoulder, staining her arm with grass and dirt. As she raised her bare forearm into the glow of a nearby streetlight, she saw tiny white scars, the remnants of dozens of needle marks.
He reached out farther to take her hand, but she drew it away, stepping backward in the same motion.
“No,” she said softly.
“But —”
Bonnie stepped back again and her voice strengthened. “No! No, I can’t!” She turned and shot into the air, her wings exploding into flight.
His voice shouted behind her, muffled and distorted in the fog. “I’ll come back in the morning. Think about it. You may be your mother’s only hope.”
Bonnie found the roof and landed softly near her backpack. She hustled to put it on, breathing heavily and sobbing. When she pulled the last strap tight, she climbed back in the window and wiped her face with the dinner napkin. She stifled her crying and looked around the room, wondering what to do next.
What could she do? Who could help her now? This was her legal father wanting to take her home. She wasn’t sixteen yet; she had no right to declare emancipation.
Haunting memories of emotional tortures streamed back in flashing visions and vivid detail—the look in her mother’s eyes and the deep gash in her abdomen, a replay of her last words gurgling in blood, and the weeks of lonely journeys from home to home in search of someone who would take in a scared orphan who was hiding a terrible secret.
“Don’t let . . . let them find you,” her mother had said as she lay dying. “There’s another dragon . . . I’m sending you to find him. Don’t come back here unless I call for you.” With a last burst of strength, she cried, “Now run, dear child! You know where to go!” She sighed a last breath and made no other sound. And Bonnie ran, ignoring the tears, the horrible pain, never looking back, never stopping. In the last few weeks, with the Foleys opening up their home to her, she felt like she had finally stopped running, but the pursuing demons had now caught up, and they cast their dark shadows on her very door.
Bonnie repeated the words to herself. “
Don’t come back here unless I call for you.
” And now her mother had called, or at least that’s what her father said. And she had heard her call, that voice crying deep within her soul that she thought was just her brain cracking up. Now she felt the phantom sound as an irresistible pull, a loving voice begging her to believe. But why should she believe? Her father had lied so many times before, pretending to be a loving husband and father while fostering an alliance with a demon. Why should she believe him now?
But what if it’s true this time? I have to help her! What choice do I have? I can’t just abandon her.
The thought of hiding brought feelings of darkness, the same loneliness she had suffered in the foster homes, and it made her feel ashamed and cowardly, like she would be turning her back on her mother in her time of desperate need. The decision was too awful to make, and who could possibly be wise enough to help her? Nobody on earth could ever understand all her feelings.
A poster on the wall caught her eye, the same poster that had helped her so many times in the past, a drawing of an angelic girl praying on her knees by her bed. The little girl’s eyes were focused upward, and the caption said, “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” Bonnie had grown accustomed to that pose herself, but this time she would pour her heart out like never before. She had no choice; she had no understanding of her own to lean on.
Falling on her knees, she folded her hands on her bed, allowing herself to weep out loud. With her backpack securely hiding her wings, she had no fear of someone walking in unexpectedly. She just cried out to God, her words cascading from her mind and her feelings pouring out in heartrending sobs.
My cup of wisdom is poured out, my Father, empty and dry. My heart aches. My very bones feel crushed by this burden, a shadow falling on my soul like Sheol’s dark loneliness.
Her prayer went on and on, her eloquence natural and free flowing, the product of her dragon-influenced mind and maturity. As she prayed she felt the warmth of relief, the soothing blanket of God’s love wrapping around her chilled soul. She had already been through worse struggles. She could get through this, too. Although her aches were being assuaged with a spiritual balm, she cried on, the release bringing cleansing satisfaction, the joy of being held in her heavenly father’s arms.
With his easel turned away from the studio door, Billy sat on a stool, his pencil fine-tuning a facial detail on his sketch paper. Every once in a while, he glanced up at the closed door, wary of a surprise visitor. Although he had a dragon’s ability to sense approaching danger, he still felt slightly paranoid. This was his secret project, one that poured out a mystery in his heart. He sighed and shook his head, pressing an eraser on a lower part of the portrait and rubbing out a line.
I can’t remember exactly what the blade looked like.
He pushed the stool back, and, blowing his heated breath on his cold hands, he surveyed the entire picture. Bonnie stood in a flowing white robe, her wings fully expanded. With her arms outstretched, she held a glowing sword, but not in battle position. The blade rested in her palms as though she were presenting it to whoever was studying the portrait. With her eyes blazing blue, she seemed to beg that it be taken and used by her valiant knight.
What was it about Bonnie that was so different? Was it power that blossomed in her spirit? Was it peace? Yes, she practically gushed with peace. Even with all the problems she faced, she seemed to walk in a garden of serenity. Billy longed to walk the same path, to find peace even as he struggled over the loss of his father. At least if his father were truly dead, he could cherish fond memories. Instead, his father’s shadow lurked in the shape of a winged monster, and its haunting presence never let him rest. Every time he thought about his dad, he could feel the boiling cauldron in his belly, a deep-seated anger that sometimes took control of his mind. He felt abandoned, alone. If there was a God, why did He take his dad away?
A gentle knock sounded at the door. Billy flipped the page to his drawing of Hambone. “Come in.”
Walter’s nose appeared first, protruding through the opening. The hinges creaked in the otherwise quiet house as Walter’s whole face appeared.
