In the Shadow of Dragons (Aftermagic Book 1) Page 6

  “At least I’m actually qualified for this,” she snapped. “I hunted for years before the Eclipses. All you did was pretend to fight for the cameras.”

  The naked rage that infused his features sent a jolt of fear through her. She half-turned and grabbed the hilt of her sword, convinced he’d actually try to kill her. But he didn’t say a word. He slammed the stall gate open, swung himself onto the stallion and snarled a command that had the animal tearing from the stables in record time.

  Shuddering, Teague headed for the saddled filly. She’d probably gone too far with that last comment. Too late now, though.

  They could deal with hurt feelings after they got through the Eclipse.

  CHAPTER 8

  Yukon Street Clinic

  August 8, 10:14 a.m.

  Naomi had given up bringing patients back to the exam rooms for their shots. They had a rough system in the crowded lobby, where the air conditioning couldn’t keep up with the heat generated by the press of bodies. Aileen checked people in at the desk. Once their records were updated, she gave them one of the smiley-face stickers Naomi kept around for the kids, and they took a seat in the lobby — if they could find one. Then she and Bernadette circulated with crash carts, giving injections, trying to make sure no one waited too long.

  It was a little more than an hour until the Eclipse, and they still had a line out the door and halfway down the block.

  Naomi had just finished swabbing the upper arm of an older man sitting near the door — Frank Robinson, a semi-regular patient she was treating for arthritis — when there was a minor commotion from outside. She looked up in time to see Officer Good Time himself pushing through the crowd, headed straight for her with a nasty leer. “Good news, Doc,” Greg Swain said as he approached. “I got myself reassigned here. Little mix-up this morning, but you can relax now.”

  She made herself stay calm as she let go of the patient’s arm and straightened. Already the people closest to them were pulling away, spooked by the armed asshole in the uniform. “Give me just one minute, Mr. Robinson, and I’ll finish you up,” she murmured, patting the man’s shoulder. She took a step toward the BiCo officer. “You need to leave this building,” she said. “Right now.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m out of here in two shakes.” Swain grinned and leaned aside, looking at the old man still seated behind her. “Just a quick routine check. Looks like I’m just in time, too, because you were about to waste a dose of HeMo.”

  “What—”

  Before she could get the rest of the sentence out, Swain darted past her and grabbed Mr. Robinson’s arm, pulling him out of the chair. The old man stumbled and almost fell. “You see that?” Swain jabbed a finger at a fading bruise near his shoulder. “Magesign. I’ll have to take him in.”

  The muted soup of conversation in the lobby sloshed to a halt. Mr. Robinson blinked once and tried to pull away. “It’s just a bruise,” he said in trembling tones. “I fell in the bathroom yesterday.”

  “Awfully perfect-circle for a bruise, old man,” Swain said. “Come on.” The officer pulled him toward the door.

  Naomi’s jaw clenched. “Stop. You’ve made your point.”

  “My point?” Swain laughed as he pushed the door open. “I’m just doing my job. Doc.”

  For a few seconds, she was too furious to react. Long enough for Swain to get Mr. Robinson outside. Once the door closed, fresh gasps and murmurs buzzed through the lobby, and everyone tried to pack themselves further away from the entrance.

  “All right. This ends now,” Naomi said aloud. She looked for Bernadette, spotted the flustered white-haired nurse on the other side of the room, and waved a hand to get her attention. “I’m not letting them do this,” she called, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Keep going, all right? I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Bernadette nodded an acknowledgment, and Naomi slipped through the door.

  Outside, the line of waiting patients had bunched into a tight-packed mass near the building. A half-dozen BiCo security cars lined the curb. Swain and Pearce, his partner from yesterday, stood at one of them cuffing Mr. Robinson. “It’s a bruise!” the old man insisted in a high, reedy voice as his feeble struggles decreased. “I hit the toilet plunger when I fell, that’s why it’s a circle! Please—”

  Pearce struck him in the side with a baton, drawing a cry of pain. Mr. Robinson slumped over and fell to one knee. “Shut up and hold still,” Pearce snarled.

  “Hey!” Naomi half-jogged toward them. “Damn it, let him go! He’s not a Changer.”

  Swain turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow. “Such language for a doctor.”

  “Language should be the least of your concerns right now.” She reminded herself not to scream, not to get physical or act crazy. Men like Swain enjoyed riling people up. “You’re violating this man’s human rights,” she said. “That is a run-of-the-mill bruise, not Magesign.”

  Pearce snorted a breath. “Says the lady who was trying to treat someone with Magesign just yesterday,” he said. “In our opinion, it’s Magesign.”

  “In this case, my opinion counts more than yours.” She leveled a cold look at the other officer. “I’m a medical professional. You are professional assholes.”

  “Oh, that’s it.” Pearce raised the baton still in his hand. “What do you think, Swain? Cold-cock, or Mace in the face?”

  Just then, the unmistakable sound of a running horse washed over them. The patrol officers reacted instantly — Pearce replacing the baton on his belt, Swain helping Mr. Robinson to his feet.

  Naomi followed the sound and tried not to groan aloud at the approaching armored figure on horseback. So they were getting a Knight after all. Last year one of the younger ones had hung around for about an hour, doing halfhearted crowd control, and then taken off once the Eclipse started. She didn’t know his name, but at least he hadn’t hurt anyone. Hopefully this was the same guy.

  The rider halted the horse on the sidewalk, about ten feet away, and dismounted quickly. His armor was gold. She could only think of a few Knights who wore gold armor, not that she kept much track of the latest BiCo fashions. But she knew at least one gold-wearing Knight she absolutely didn’t want this to be.

  When Naomi got a look at his face, the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

  It was him. Sawyer Volk.

  Sawyer stopped and pulled his winged helmet off, tucking it under an arm. The man looked awful — ‘rode hard and put away wet’ was the phrase that came to mind. “What the hell’s going on?” he said, staring at the officers before his gaze moved to her. There was no recognition in it, but there wouldn’t be. He’d only heard her voice.

  Her ‘pretty’ voice, she thought with disgust.

  “You the doctor here?” he said to her.

  Her lip curled. “No. I’m the plumber.”

  Sawyer’s brow furrowed. He shook his head and turned to Swain. “What’s the problem?” he said with a nod at Mr. Robinson. “He inciting a riot or something? Because he really doesn’t look like much of a threat.”

  “No, sir. He’s showing Magesign.” The officer sounded almost scared, and Naomi had to suppress a laugh. At least Sawyer Volk was good for something. “Right here,” he said, pushing the old man’s sleeve up.

  Sawyer looked, and then scowled thunder. “That’s a bruise, you idiot. Get him out of those cuffs.”

  Both officers scrambled to do his bidding.

  Sawyer raked a hand through his hair and turned to Naomi. “All right, Mario. Here’s the deal—”

  “Mario?” she said.

  “Plumber. Super Mario Brothers? Never mind.” He gave a heavy sigh. “Listen, BiCo designated a bunch of temporary shelters this year, and your clinic is one of them,” he said. “That means people can stay here during the Eclipse, and you’re on lockdown until it’s over. No one in or out. Understand?”

  Her mouth wanted to fall open. “Are you kidding me? I’m not equipped for refugees.”

  “Yeah, no shit. Tha
t’s why I’m here. Allegedly.” There was something dark and bitter in his tone. “Just do the best you can, and I guess I’ll handle the rest, Doctor … ?”

  She folded her arms. “I’m just a member of the public, Mr. Volk. With a pretty voice.”

  His eyes widened a touch, went dark. “So it’s Doctor Naomi Talbot,” he said. “Perfect. Just fucking perfect.”

  “I’m surprised you remember my name. I didn’t think you were sober enough for that.”

  A muscle along his jaw twitched. “I’m sober enough to know I don’t like you,” he said.

  “Funny. That’s not what you said last night.” She ignored the way he stiffened, the way his eyes flashed. “And in case you’re wondering, those problems I tried to mention? They’re standing right behind you.”

  Sawyer turned to look at the patrol officers, who’d released Mr. Robinson to wander back toward the clinic in a daze. The people still standing outside, who’d seen the whole thing, helped the man to the door and directed him inside. “You two,” he said. “Your names.”

  Swain flinched a little. “Greg Swain and Daniel Pearce.”

  “Swain and Pearce,” Sawyer repeated, as if he was remembering the names. “All right. Go back to your unit base, and stay there. I’ll deal with you when this is over.”

  They both moved at once, though Swain paused to send a hot glare at Naomi before he got in the passenger side of the patrol car. When they drove away, Sawyer frowned and looked over his shoulder at the huge black horse still standing on the sidewalk, right where he’d left him. He gave a low whistle, and the horse trotted toward him.

  Naomi cleared her throat. When he looked at her, she said, “If you’re expecting a thank you, enjoy the wait. Because it’s not coming.”

  “I wasn’t expecting one.” The horse stopped just behind him and nuzzled his shoulder, and he reached back automatically to grab the reins. “Get back inside, Dr. Talbot,” he said. “And remember what I told you. At 11:38, those doors close, and they don’t open again until the sun comes back.”

  “Great. Thanks.” She spun on a heel and stalked toward the clinic.

  “Dr. Talbot.”

  She stopped and looked back. “What?”

  “About last night…” His features relaxed, and for a second she thought he might actually apologize. Then his face hardened again. “Nothing. Forget it,” he growled, stepping back to swing easily onto the horse. He tapped with his heels, and the animal broke into a run down the sidewalk.

  Naomi sent a fervent wish at his retreating form that he wouldn’t come back, and then headed inside to finish her job.

  CHAPTER 9

  Bishop, Wyoming

  August 8, 11:35 a.m.

  The Great Wall of Bishop was in sight, about a hundred-yard dash down the rocky incline of the ridge they’d concealed themselves behind. Noah could see the door that the informant had told him Julian Bishop would emerge from near the end of the Eclipse. In fact, he had a fairly decent view of the entire walled city — the blocks of cookie-cutter homes his father used to call McMansions, the strip of exclusive stores and restaurants for Bishop residents only, and the concrete-and-glass monstrosity that was the BiCo Research and Production Facility.

  It was a tight-run city, practically a military base, populated entirely with BiCo employees and people rich enough to buy their way in. But it hadn’t always been that way. Before the dragons, this place had been a rambling, unincorporated suburb that just happened to be near a small research lab. Then Royce Bishop cloned a kidney, and the Bishop Corporation spread like a plague, eating up land and buying out surrounding homes. By the time magic happened, the ‘town of Bishop’ was already turning certain people who tried to live there, people who had been living there, away.

  And now this. An oversized gated community with its very own poison factory.

  Noah and his team were just south of the city, basically in the ‘back forty’ of Bishop. Nothing but relatively flat, unoccupied land and the occasional rocky outgrowth between here and Hell’s Half Acre. Normally they took the ATVs out on runs, but they couldn’t count on any machines working during the Eclipse. Peyton Willett, their resident healer and nature mage, had convinced a small herd of wild horses to provide transportation. The animals waited in a natural cave just below the ridge.

  “One minute.” Blake Ashcraft tapped his wristwatch and pointed at the sky. “I’m definitely turning into a were-tiger this year. I can feel it.”

  Darby elbowed him. “Nobody turns into a were-anything, you moron.”

  “I will. Just watch me.”

  “Hush,” Noah said with a faint smirk. The magic surge that came with the Eclipse was completely unpredictable. Sometimes nothing happened, though they could all feel the magic. Sometimes a few of them had new Magesign forming a lot faster than usual.

  And sometimes there was a full transformation. Rapid, and painful.

  Blake coughed once. “Here we go,” he said in a more subdued tone.

  The darkness fell in a wave, a slow blink from glaring sunlight to dull red haze. Noah clenched a fist against the pressure of the magic — a vice that squeezed from all sides, trying to enter a body that wasn’t built to handle it. At least the pressure would ease in a minute or so. The only one it didn’t seem to bother was Diesel, who stood with his eyes closed and head back, soaking it in.

  To his left, someone screamed. Indigo dropped back from the line and rolled on the ground, contorting sharply and trying to slap at her shoulders.

  “Indy!” Her brother Silas broke away and sprinted for her, grabbing her just before she could roll onto a sizable spray of loose, sharp stones. She bucked in his arms, but he held tight. “What is it?”

  “My back,” she gasped. “Hurts…”

  Noah headed toward them, gesturing for Peyton to follow. He could already see her shoulder bones lumping and contorting beneath her shirt. “You need to turn her over, on her stomach,” he said to Silas. “Now.”

  Frowning, Silas laid her gently on the ground. Indigo shuddered all over, then jerked stiff and cried out.

  The back of her shirt thrust up, forming two tents at her shoulders.

  “Jesus,” Noah muttered as he knelt next to her. “Sorry, sweetie. This is no time for modesty.” He pulled a dagger from his boot and slit the shirt down the back, then lifted it gently over the protrusions. Bony, ragged nubs, almost like spinal cords with knobs on the end, covered with fine white bristles.

  He sighed and looked at Silas. “I think she’s getting wings.”

  “Wings?” Indigo laughed weakly, but it turned into a fresh shout of pain as the nubs lengthened again. Trickles of blood dripped from the holes in her back where the wings were emerging, and tendrils of purple-red Magesign seeped like ink in jagged lines across her skin. “Great. Always wanted … to be an angel,” she gasped.

  “If I stop the bleeding, it’ll just keep starting again,” Peyton said softly from behind Noah. “But I can control some of the pain.”

  “Okay, that’s good. That should help.” Noah returned the blade and straightened. “She has to get back to camp,” he said. “She can’t stay out here like this. We have no idea how long it’s going to take.”

  Silas nodded, reached down and took his sister’s hand. “I’ll bring her back.”

  “All right,” Noah said. “Peyton, you go with them.”

  “No.” Indigo tried to push herself off the ground and failed. “You need her here, Noah. What if someone gets hurt?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “You need her more. We’ll be fine.”

  “Hey. Don’t I get a say in this?” Peyton rolled her eyes. “Noah’s right,” she said. “It’s going to hurt a lot more than it does now, and you might bleed worse before it’s over. We’re not losing anyone today.” She looked at Noah. “Right?”

  “Right. Go on, now.”

  Silas and Peyton helped the stricken Indigo stand with an arm around each of their shoulders, and they moved slowly toward th
e cave and the horses. He watched them for a moment, and finally turned back to the rest of the group. “Time for a vote,” he said. “All in favor of calling this off, since we’re down three people.”

  Not a single hand went up.

  “All right, then.” He plodded back to the ridge line, where Diesel clapped his shoulder in silent encouragement. Sledge and Isaac, leaning on their swords in the shadow of a sizable boulder, nodded in unison, and Oscar gave him a thumbs-up.

  Darby fist-bumped his arm. “We’ve got this,” she said. “I mean, we’re not even trying to take him down, right? Just rattle him. Unless we can take him down, in which case I’ll gladly put a bullet right between his eyes.”

  “You know those things aren’t going to work,” Blake said. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll take him out for you.”

  “Yeah. With your slingshot.”

  “At least I know mine’ll still fire. Oh — hey, check this out, Bliss.” Blake pushed a sleeve up, revealing a wavy black stripe pattern of Magesign on the underside of his forearm. “Tiger stripes. Told you.”

  Darby snorted. “Well, you’re not a were-tiger.”

  “Next year, then. Just wait.”

  Noah tuned them out and closed his eyes, trying to calm the sizzling bundle of nerves lodged in his gut. Losing three people before they’d even launched the attack was a serious blow, and his already shaken confidence was crumbling fast.

  Whatever this key was, it’d damned well better be worth it.

  CHAPTER 10

  Yukon Street Clinic

  August 8, 11:45 a.m.

  The blinds on the lobby’s six windows were drawn against the eerie red darklight outside, but Naomi kept peeking through one of them that looked out from the front of the clinic just the same. The Eclipse held a dread fascination she’d never been able to shake since the first time she’d witnessed it. And then the dragons. It was one of the last times she’d seen Scott, too.