Cheyenne Magic, page 10
part #2 of American Dragons Series
With their families safe, Aria drove the Bronco to the Marriott Fairfield Inn in Ogallala, but Steven argued against her choice. “Listen, Aria, yeah, we made a couple hundred dollars from those knuckleheads at the bar, but we shouldn’t blow so much money on one night. We should stay at a budget place to make our cash last. We just don’t know how long it will take Bud to grow our money—assuming he can.”
Speaking of which, they hadn’t heard from their new consigliere, and he wasn’t answering texts. Tessa thought that was a little strange, but she wasn’t going to stress about it. And she had to agree with Steven. Without a steady income, it was best to make any money you had last.
Aria frowned. “But I like comfort. These motor hotels don’t sound like they are very comfortable.”
“Better than the back of the Orange Crush,” Tessa offered with a grin. Her lust screamed that she was being stupid. If they just booked a room at the expensive hotel, well, the sex would come sooner. However, she had just enough control of her libido to follow Steven’s lead.
“Fine,” Aria conceded, folding her arms across her chest, a slight scowl painted across her face.
They found a crappy little motel on the outskirts of town called the Traveler’s Roost. The place needed a paint job and some serious redecorating. It was a ramshackle U-shape of rooms that badly needed to be condemned. And, the manager didn’t have many teeth, and the ones he had were a bright yellow. But … it was also only $39.95 for the night, which was a total steal.
After putting on a little charm, Tessa got them into the room at the far end—and she managed to pay in cash without having to offer up a credit card or an ID. Not too shabby.
A few grubby kids watched them go in, not a parent in sight.
Once inside, Aria sighed heavily. There were two double beds with thin mattresses topped with clearly stained bedspreads. A little bathroom was stuck off the corner. Tessa knew, from experience, that it would be a mold farm, a place where fungus went to die. And rot.
“First rule of a crappy motel room,” Steven said glancing around, “is not to look under the bed. And don’t take off your shoes until you’re actually in bed because feeling the grime in the carpet can be gross. Remember, we’re only here for one night.”
“Also, don’t touch the bedspreads,” Tessa added. “I’m just glad we don’t have a black light because this place would glow like a supernova.”
Aria looked like she wanted to ask Tessa to cast another spell, to levitate her off the carpet and then right up out of the room. Was that a bloodstain near the door? Steven was right. Best not to look at anything or think very hard about how underpaid the cleaning staff was. On the plus side, the place did have the sharp chemical stench of cleaner, which was better than the alternative.
Actually, that smell and the dilapidated room got Tessa going again. She’d dated a married couple for a while, nice people from Denver’s polyamory community. None of them had very much money, and the couple spent what they did have on babysitters for the night. Tessa had gone with the couple to cheap motels for their playtime.
The memories and the day’s events sent Tessa’s libido into the atmosphere. She was out-of-her-head horny. She drew back the bedspread to find sheets that looked clean—though, again, best not to study them.
She then lay on her back. It was pretty clear what she wanted. She wiggled out of her jeans, not bothering with her shoes or shirt. Bottomless, she asked, “Who’s first?”
Steven drew Aria over to her. Aria gathered her dress up around her waist while Steven helped her out of her underwear. The thick tension of expectant lust filled the motel room.
Aria moved over to straddle the barista’s face. Tessa’s eyes were glued to the cleft between Aria’s slim thighs. For a second, Tessa felt like her desires would kill her. She couldn’t believe how lucky she felt, to be with this gorgeous woman and this incredible man. She thought of how easily Steven had put the biker down. That was why she’d flashed the men. She’d felt safe. And she’d felt a little bad for taking their money. Might as well give them a little extra for their trouble.
And she knew those guys would be jerking their gherkins at the memory of her. She loved being sexual! And she had the perfect partners to explore her sexuality.
She pleasured Aria while Steven kissed the Indian woman, both working on Aria until she was crying out in ecstasy.
Then, much to Tessa’s delight, Steven stepped out of his pants and offered her his shaft. She’d tasted the woman in her life and now she could sample the man. At the same time, Aria tore off her dress. Still in her shoes, she slinked around the bed. Tessa had to take a break from sucking on Steven to admire the woman’s tight ass, one cheek rising, one cheek falling, as she walked. Aria’s heels made her calves look so sexy.
A fresh spike of lust hit Tessa. Was Aria going to return her oral favors?
She was. Tessa lifted her hips off the bed when Aria’s warm, wet mouth found her special spot. An instant later, she felt an orgasm sweep through her body like a hurricane.
“She’s ready for you, Steven,” Aria said, cocking an eyebrow. “I made sure of that.”
“Yes!” Tessa cried. “Steven, I need you in me. Please, do it hard. I need it hard tonight. Being here, being in that bar ... I need you.”
Steven swiveled her around. And then he plunged into her core, filling her up. It was the perfect feeling, holding him deep inside her. Even better? The delicious friction of his pounding until both were satiated, full of Animus, and then it was Aria’s turn. Steven made love to her while Tessa watched, kissing them both, playing with all their bodies.
They went at it for hours until they collapsed on the same bed. But Aria, after her sleepless night, soon left to sleep alone on the other double bed.
Tessa curled into Steven’s arms and listened to his breathing, felt his heartbeat, and reveled in his warmth. She thought about her conversation with her sister. Was she becoming monogamous? Was she willing to throw away her wild life to settle down with Steven and Aria? She didn’t think so—she was just wired to love lots of people. Then she thought about the other women that would soon be joining them. Tessa knew that some of them, like Mouse, would want to sleep with Steven alone. Others, though, others would be open to group sex.
How many? A half dozen? More?
Just the thought of other beautiful bodies and other quirky personalities put another spark in Tessa. Before she even tried to go to sleep, she gave herself one last bout of bliss. That probably wasn’t a good idea. Buzzing with Animus, she was wide awake and couldn’t seem to switch her brain off. Suddenly, she couldn’t help but think about the fact that they were still on the run, outgunned, and in the veritable shit.
Next, her mind turned to her pair of Colts—the Peacekeepers. She needed more bullets for them. Luckily, they lived in the United States of America, so finding ammo wouldn’t be a challenge. Though, admittedly, finding magical ammo might be. But she’d craft bullets to keep her and her loved ones safe if that was what it took. That, in turn, led her to a new thought. Was it possible to imbue regular ammo using the magic of the grimoire? Quickly, she called up the skill tree, then envisioned the grimoire, focusing on the spell section, which happened to be her specialty as a Magician:
Veneficium (Right Wing of the Dragon)
Magica Defensio
Magica Cura
Magica Impetim
Magica Incanto
Magica Divinatio
Magica Porta
Magica Incanto—or sorcery to imbue items with magical power—came after Magica Impetim, which were definitely attack spells. Idly, she wondered if it was possible to leap over to a new ability in the skill tree. She wasn’t sure. Aria and Steven were sleeping, so she didn’t ask.
Hell, she was going to try. Maybe if she couldn’t, she’d simply fail, no different from how Steven had trouble using the Inferno Exhalant.
She slid out of bed, got a scratchy thin towel from the bathroom, and put it down on the carpet in front of the bed. She then sat cross-legged in the meditation pose. Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, she relaxed and focused on the Animus filling her chest.
Then she whispered, “Magica Incanto,” triggering that ability from the skill tree.
Agony filled her. She actually felt her spirit tugging away from her body. Dammit. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
She remembered the segment “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” from the Fantasia movie. Messing around with magic came with dire consequences. Death loomed. Her heart rabbited away even as her mind snapped shut and perspiration broke out along her chest and back.
She was unconscious before she hit the floor.
۞۞۞
Rhaegen Mulk walked into the holding cell to find his Magician, Gideon Scaramanga, literally the drinking the life’s blood of a now-dead convict from his butchered throat. The ground was littered with two dozen bodies, all tattooed men, all handcuffed, all glassy-eyed and dead. The fearful sweat and the mortal fluids of the men still stunk up the place. But blood on cement also had a specific, pungent odor.
They were deep under the Federal Corrections Institution in Englewood, Colorado. It was basically a concrete cube, buried in the heart of the earth. A place specially made for Mulk and the morally questionable things that war made him do.
Gideon’s wooden-handled steak knife lay on the floor. The wooden handle was covered in gore, hiding the scorch marks on the knife. Mulk knew the history of Gideon’s secret toy. The steak knife had been part of a collection from Gideon’s family, who were all dead now, killed in a house fire. Gideon insisted that he hadn’t set the fire—that it had been a bizarre accident—but Mulk didn’t quite believe him. Gideon had grown up in Little Rock, Arkansas, but came west after being ejected from half a dozen foster homes.
For ten years, Gideon had floated from job to job until Mulk met him, a human who didn’t want to be human anymore. A greed for power dominated Gideon Scaramanga, and he didn’t care where it came from or what he had to do to get it.
He was the perfect specimen for Mulk, who found magic distasteful and a tad frightening. It wasn’t long before Gideon became his chief sorcerer and the unspoken leader of the Terror Trio. Speaking of which, Karlos Butcher, the Morphling, and Kai Charon, the Warling, both stood outside the concrete room. They were holding a terrified Sabina, still blind from taking twin drops of magma in her eyes. He’d brought her … just in case.
“Drinking their blood, Gideon?” Mulk asked. “Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”
Gideon rose from the dead man, his pale face red from his horrific feast. “Sometimes I like the blood in me, Master. Sometimes I think it gives me Animus. It doesn’t, I know, but I like how I feel when I drink the last of their essence.”
Mulk shrugged. He didn’t care about the theatrics. He just wanted results. “Fine. Now, find Steven Whipp. Tell me everything there is to know about him.”
“Magica Divinatio!” Gideon gibbered. The gaunt man’s eyes glowed a vicious muddy red like old blood clots. “Such power. Such magic, covering him, stopping him. Ancient magic. Portal magic. Dangerous. Forbidden. Stars. I see stars.”
“What does that mean?” Mulk demanded.
Gideon’s mouth hung open, a strand of drool slipping down. “I don’t know,” he muttered after a long beat. “Unclear. So unclear. Milky. Milky with stars. The infinite. It is what I have seen before. It’s not enough, Master. The souls of two dozen men are not enough.”
“Bring her in,” Mulk said.
Butcher and Charon dragged Sabina forward. She curled up her nose at the stench, her lips trembling in fear.
“Yes,” Gideon hissed. “Her. Bring her to me. Her damage. Her blood. Her Animus.”
She yelped. Whimpered.
“Yeah, I know,” Butcher said. “It makes me hungry too.” Butcher had been a street fighter in Mexico City, but had run from the drug cartels to the United States, and finally Denver. Butcher had always considered himself an animal, so becoming a Morphling hadn’t been too far of a stretch for him.
Charon was silent. He was displeased by this act, Mulk knew, and yet, he’d follow orders, all the way to grave. Charon had been another lost soul, a disgraced mercenary who had been ejected out of the French military. Out of all the mercenaries that Mulk had worked with over the years, Charon had been the most willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. Even if it meant losing most, if not all, of his humanity.
“Cast the spell,” Mulk ordered his wounded Magician.
“Magica Divinatio,” Sabina murmured. Her eyes blazed with a white light.
“Hold her tight,” Gideon whispered. He bent, found his steak knife, and then grabbed Sabina’s wrist. He jammed the dull steak knife into her arm. White light leaked from the wound along with a fair amount of blood. That light swept around the room, turning pink and then red as it struck Gideon’s eyes.
“Yes!” the strange Magician uttered in a strangled voice. “Yes, the milk of the stars is gone. And I see. I see!”
“Not alone.” Sabina said the words, but it was Gideon’s voice that emerged from her mouth. “Not alone, Mulk. You weren’t alone when you destroyed Drokharis. It’s his magic, Drokharis magic, that held me at bay. This Steven Whipp. He is not the son of Joseph Whipp. He is not the son of Florence Whipp.”
That name, Joseph Whipp, hit Mulk like a hammer. He remembered a tall, thick man, always quick to laugh, throwing cards onto the green felt of a poker table. A gambler. Joe Whipp had gambled with them, with Mulk and Stefan Drokharis. For a bit, Mulk had enjoyed high-stakes poker games, but the novelty soon wore off. That was why the name had been so familiar. He’d met Joe Whipp, a human, definitely a human. Steven couldn’t have been his offspring.
Both Gideon and Sabina spoke now, at the same time, with the same voice. “A secret child. A baby. The scion of a fallen house. Drokharis. Steven Drokharis.”
A strange new feeling filled Mulk’s belly. Was it regret? No. Doubt? No.
It was fear.
He hadn’t felt fear in a long, long while. His heart beat faster. It became hard to breathe. He hadn’t wiped the Drokharis filth away completely. There had been a baby. Well, that explained why Steven Whipp was so powerful.
The twin voices rose to a fever pitch. “Almost there. From the grave. Stars in the grave. Stars in the grave.” Gideon cackled madly and then howled, like he was in excruciating pain. Sabina wept blinding white tears. “Our graves are in the stars. I have to see. I have to find him. I need more!”
The gaunt Magician stabbed Sabina’s arm again. Considering how much she was bleeding, he must have nicked a vein. More Animus poured out of her, filling Gideon. “There. Through the veil of stars. Into the secrets of the grave. Not alone. My master, you didn’t murder alone. I see him. I see Rahaab. I see what you did.”
“Enough of that,” Mulk thundered. “Do not look into my past. You will not speak of Rahaab. You will find Steven Whipp, now. You will find him, and then we shall kill him—this last Drokharis whelp.”
“There. Near Nebraska. Still in Colorado, but only just,” Gideon whispered, voice hazy. Dreamy almost.
Sabina slumped to the floor, bleeding out, certainly, from the gashes on her arm.
Mulk couldn’t have cared less. “Can you find him again?”
“I have him,” Gideon said, a cruel smile spreading along his paper-thin lips. “I see him clearly. He is with his women, but we shall murder them. I will drink their blood. I will feast upon the heart of the Drokharis child.”
“Not if I get to him first,” Butcher mumbled in a low voice.
A final wave of energy swept through the room. Gideon’s eyes returned to their normal, colorless gray. His grin widened, showing off his army of yellow teeth. “This was a good night. And Master, what I saw, the name I spoke, I will not speak of it again.”
“You better not,” Mulk growled. But now that Gideon knew about the conspiracy, about all the players on the chessboard, Mulk wasn’t sure he could let the Magician live. Perhaps, once Steven Drokharis was dead, Gideon would have a tragic accident.
He didn’t need to worry about Sabina. She lay in a heap, just one more corpse surrounded by corpses.
The price had been steep, but now he knew the true name of his enemy.
Even better? Gideon and the Terror Trio could search him out and ambush him at their leisure.
“Do you know where Mouse is?” Mulk asked Gideon.
“Still in Denver, on the west side, in Arvada. She’s been in the same place for a bit. Should we kill her first?” the Magician asked with a hungry gleam in his eye.
“No, we can deal with her after we kill the Drokharis child. Find him, my Terror Trio,” Mulk said. “Take three of my wives, find Steven Drokharis, and kill him and everyone with him. No survivors, you understand?”
“Of course. But you aren’t going to join us?” Kai Charon asked. “I would think you’d want the kill.”
Mulk frowned. Things had grown infinitely more complicated now that the true identity of their prey had been revealed. “There is a matter I must take care of. And quickly. With even one Drokharis alive, our Primacy is in danger.”
“From only one Dragonsoul?” Butcher questioned.
“From the last of the Drokharis clan? Yes. And from the name Gideon spoke and the name you all will not remember.” Mulk’s very life depended upon his next actions. He’d thought he’d done the job well twenty years ago. However, it seemed that Stefan Drokharis had played one last, fatal card. But that was Stefan, always winning poker hands with some hidden hole card. Even from the grave, it seemed. Mulk had given up poker for a reason. He hated losing.
TWELVE
Steven tossed and turned all that night. Something was off, and it wasn’t the ridiculously thin mattress or the chatter from people in the room next door. The walls might as well have been made out of cheap toilet paper. Every time any of the toilets flushed in the entire motel, he’d hear it. And could he smell it too. Best not to dwell on that. The mildew stink battling with the smell of disinfectant was odor enough for him.
