Up In Smoke by Katie MacAlister
“But he won’t listen to me!” she wailed, her voice again thick with unshed tears. “Hahn has filled him with so many lies, Neptune won’t believe anything I say.”
I rubbed my forehead. “And just why do you expect Neptune to listen to me?”
“He’ll listen because you’re you, Mayling! You’re important now! You’re a celebrity!”
“What on earth are you talking about?” I rubbed my forehead again. One of the side effects of speaking with Cyrene was a tendency to headaches. “I’m no celebrity.”
“Sure you are. You’re all they talk about at the clubs—the dragon’s mate who is also consort to a demon lord. It’s almost as good as what happened to Aisling, although you don’t have a demon like she has.”
“I have you,” I said with irony that I knew would completely bypass Cyrene.
“And obviously that’s much more cool,” she agreed. “That’s why I want you to talk to Neptune. Everyone is talking about you, and he’ll listen to you because you don’t have an interest at stake. You just want to see justice done.”
“Even if he did listen to me, I’m not going to lie, Cyrene. The situation with Magoth and me had nothing to do with the reason you neglected your spring.”
“Of course it does! I was so worried about you!” she protested, and I sighed as I heard the sincerity in her voice. I knew that in her mind, she had fully justified her actions by using me as a scapegoat. I thought about arguing the point with her, but long experience with Cyrene had taught me one thing: she was going to win. Somehow, no matter how firm my intentions, I always ended up caving in and helping her. “All right, I’ll give him a call. What’s his number?”
“You’ll have to see him in person,” she said brightly, happiness brimming from her voice. “He doesn’t believe in cell phones. And you’re lucky—he’s in Portugal for a big surfing competition, so you won’t have far to go to see him.”
“We won’t have far to go,” I corrected, a note of steel entering my voice as I spotted Gabriel waiting for me at the entrance of the shop.
“We?” Cyrene asked, her voice almost inaudible.
“Oh, yes. If I have to go see Neptune, you’re coming with me.”
“But—”
“Where exactly is he?” I interrupted with ruthless determination. I might have to help Cyrene out of yet another sticky situation, but by the twelve gods, I wasn’t going to lose any more time with Gabriel than I already had. I’d make a very fast visit to Portugal, convince Cyrene’s boss that she was as innocent as she possibly could be, and return to Gabriel’s arms.
“The surfing competition is in Faro,” Cy answered slowly. “But really, May, I think it would be better—”
“I’ll meet you there . . . Let me think . . . I have a dragon meeting today, and although I don’t think there’s anything pressing on the calendar immediately following it, I would like a little time alone to reacquaint myself with Gabriel. How about we do this in four days?”
“I suppose that would be all right,” Cyrene said in a voice tinged with disappointment. “It’s so very kind of you to take time out of your busy life for me.”
I gave the phone a wry smile. “You don’t do catty well, Cy; you never have.”
“I know,” she said, sighing. “Four days is all right. I have a few things to do, myself.”
“What sort of things?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Oh . . . you’ll see.”
“Cyrene Northcott, if you are up to anything—”
“I would hate to have a mind as suspicious as yours; I really would,” she answered with annoying and completely unreasonable self-righteousness. “I’m not up to anything, as you insist on putting it. But I do have work of my own to do, you know.”
“Uh-huh. If you’d been attending to that a little more closely, and fawning over Kostya a little less, I wouldn’t have to make time for a trip out to see your surfer dude.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Much as I would love to bandy wits, I’ve got to run. Gabriel is standing all by himself looking utterly delicious, and I have six weeks’ worth of kissing to catch up on.”
“Mayling—”
“I’ll see you on Wednesday. And, Cy, please try to stay out of trouble until then.”
“You never used to be this mean to me,” she answered sullenly as I got up and headed for Gabriel. “I don’t think the time you spent in Abaddon did your character much good. I just hope you don’t think you can talk to me like that all the time and get away with it! I am your twin, you know! You wouldn’t be anywhere without me! You should really be thanking me for your existence rather than bullying me.”
I gently closed the phone as I stopped in front of Gabriel, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, the molten silver gaze so hot it all but singed. “Finished?” he asked.
“Cyrene isn’t, but I am. Take me home?”
He didn’t touch me, but he didn’t need to. The look in his eyes was all it took to start a fire at my feet. “I’ll take you, little bird, but it won’t be home.”
I smiled. I could get used to being a wyvern’s mate.
Chapter Seven
“So this is a sárkány. Would it offend you if I said it looks like any other business meeting?” I whispered to Gabriel as we entered a large ballroom of one of the most prestigious hotels in Paris. The room was filled with people, the vast expanse of chairs that stretched across most of the golden ballroom already occupied. At the far end stood a large conference table, at which were placed only four chairs.
“That’s what a sárkány is: a gathering of the wyverns to discuss weyr business.” Gabriel’s hand was reassuring on my back as we stepped off the elevator and entered the large room. “One moment, Mayling. I have something for you.”
He tugged me aside into a corner, Maata and Tipene using their bodies to block the view.
“What’s all this about?” I asked, confused.
Gabriel pulled a chain over his head. On the end of it was a large silverish oval locket, very thick, but finely worked. He put the chain over my head, tucking the locket into my shirt, nudging it down until it was nestled between my breasts.
“Keep it safe,” he said, adjusting my shirt slightly to show a little less cleavage.
“What is it?” I asked, touching the silver chain.
“It is the phylactery. I dared not leave it behind, and I hesitate to keep it on my person when Kostya may well show up. He has a tendency to attack first and ask questions later, and I would hate for him to see the phylactery while we were struggling.”
“But that’s priceless. I don’t want to be responsible for something priceless,” I said softly, not wanting to attract any attention. I tugged at his sleeve as he scanned the room. “Besides, it’s made of gold. Drake smelled it on me before, when I had it in my bodice—he’ll smell it on me again.”
“Not this time. He didn’t smell it this morning, and I wore it all through breakfast. The phylactery is contained in a very special housing made of platinum. He will not notice it.”
“But,” I protested, following when he started forward. “But platinum is more valuable than gold. He’ll just smell that and then everyone will know I’ve got something priceless on me.”
“Nothing is more valuable to a dragon than gold,” he answered, nodding as a couple of people greeted him. “Platinum dilutes the scent of gold. No one will know you are wearing it so long as you keep it hidden.”
I made a wordless noise of unhappiness, about to launch into a formal objection when he stopped me, leaning close to speak in my ear. “Mayling, the phylactery is beyond price. I could not leave it behind, nor can I wear it at this gathering. It is too dangerous. You must guard it for me until we are finished here.”
“But what if someone knows I have it?”
“No one can take it from you,” he answered with a flicker of emotion deep in his eyes. “I was not idle while you were in Abaddon. I knew this day would come, and
I stared down at my boobs in horror.
“Have no fear, little bird,” he said, tipping my head up to give me a swift, reassuring kiss. “I would not risk your life even for the Lindorm Phylactery. You are my mate, thus you are immune to the spells bound to it.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” I said, shrugging my shoulders a few times to get used to the metal lodged between my breasts. It warmed quickly to skin temperature but left me feeling very aware that a priceless artifact was stuffed down my bra.
Gabriel flashed his dimples at me and escorted me down an aisle that cut through the chairs, Maata and Tipene following silently. He stopped for a moment when a couple of people rose and greeted him, speaking in a lyrical but unfamiliar language.
I am not a nervous person by nature, but I will admit that the situation gave me a nearly overwhelming desire to slip into the shadows. The room was too brightly lit, however, the lights glittering on gold-paneled walls and matching golden furniture, and even off a gold and old rose carpet. I suspected the dragons chose the room as their meeting place more for the ambiance than for functionality, but none of that made me feel any more comfortable.
Covertly, I brushed a bit off lint off the black wool pants Gabriel had bought me that morning, tweaking the tight cuff of the blouse he had presented me with earlier, saying he’d had it specially made for me. It was a very soft, silky black material he called dragonweave, heavily embroidered with real silver thread and precious gems in an intricate design of fanciful dragons that leaped and danced around the shirt. It was very pretty, and although I admired it greatly, not to mention worried about wearing what must surely be such an expensive item, I didn’t think much about it until I put it on. Then I noticed that the black material beneath the embroidery had shadows in it—shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. Although the value of the shirt weighed heavily on my mind, prompting me to make a mental promise I wouldn’t go near anything that could be spilled on it, wearing the shirt made me feel different somehow, as if I was more than what I was normally.
“This is my mate, May Northcott,” Gabriel said suddenly in English, turning to present me to three dragons. They wore cloth bright with black and silver African designs, the man in a loose-fitting tunic and pants, the women in garments resembling caftans, with head ties made of the same material. All three murmured a greeting, their silver eyes oddly startling against dark mahogany skin.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said politely, knowing better than to offer my hand. Citizens of the Otherworld did not touch one another unless invited to do so, either overtly or indirectly. Too much could be sensed by skin-to-skin contact, and although I wasn’t sure the dragons followed such etiquette, I didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot with members of Gabriel’s sept.
“This is Eniiyi and Nkese,” Gabriel introduced the women. “They are from Nigeria. Eniiyi is a close friend of my mother’s.”
The older woman studied me for a moment, a curious look in her eyes; then without warning she enveloped me in a hug that threatened to squeeze the breath right out of me. “Kaawa will be pleased with this one,” she said as she released me.
I assumed Kaawa was Gabriel’s mother, wondering about the “this one” comment—had Gabriel brought other women home for parental approval?
Gabriel said nothing, just nodded and introduced me to the male dragon. “Cibo is from Botswana. He had business in England and stopped in Paris for the sárkány.”
“I cannot express just how pleased we all are to know that a mate has been found for Gabriel,” Cibo said in a clipped English accent. He didn’t hug me, but he did take one of my hands in both of his as he spoke. “Not only is he worthy of such an honor, it brings hope to those of us who have yearned for mates of our own.”
“Thank you. I will do my best to live up to the job.”
He released my hand, bowed to Gabriel, and returned to his seat. We continued down the aisle toward the long conference table, but before we got to it I asked Gabriel in a low whisper, “Is that all the silver dragons who are here?”
“Yes. We did not know until yesterday when you would be released, so there has not been time for other members of the sept to travel to Paris. Most of them live outside of Europe. Eniiyi and Nkese were here awaiting your arrival. My mother wished to be here to greet you, but her work kept her from coming. We will make a trip to Australia to see her soon.”
I glanced around, trying to estimate the number of people present. “There have to be at least two hundred people here. Are you saying all these dragons live in Paris?”
“No. Most are blue dragons, who live all over Europe. That group over there are green dragons, summoned by Drake. The ones at the back of the room are red dragons.”
“But our sept is really underrepresented,” I said, worrying about the imbalance of at least fifty percent more blue dragons to the other three septs. “Is that going to affect anything? And how did they all get here so quickly?”
“The numbers of members mean nothing in this situation; only a wyvern and his or her mate can speak at a sárkány. The other members are here just to see history being made. They assembled quickly once word was received about your release.”
“History? What sort of history?”
The doors at the back were flung open with a reverberation that echoed down the long room. We all turned to look. Kostya stood for a moment in a dramatic pose as he eyed everyone; then he strode down the aisle toward us, flanked by five men who I assumed were also black dragons. I touched the chain around my neck to make sure the phylactery was there, hidden away, relieved for a few seconds that Kostya was not accompanied by a blue-eyed brunette who just happened to have created me.
That relief was short-lived, as Cyrene bounded through the door next.
“I have come!” Kostya yelled in a dramatic manner, tossing his head so the sweep of dark auburn hair that had come down over his forehead was flipped back.
“Hello, everyone! Mayling! Isn’t this exciting?” Cyrene called, ruining Kostya’s big moment.
He glared at her.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Go right ahead, punkanoodle. I know you want to make a good impression on everyone.”
Even the sigh that Kostya heaved was filled with drama. “I told you not to call me that! It’s not fitting.”
“Sorry,” Cyrene said, looking remorseful. “Forgot. Go ahead, Kostie.”
Even at the distance we were from the door, I could see Kostya cast a glance upward as he obviously sought patience. Gabriel made an odd snorting noise, as if he was trying to hold back laughter. Normally I would have had a hard time keeping my own face straight, but I was more concerned about what Cyrene was doing here than the fact that her personality and Kostya’s were so obviously unsuited to each other.
“I have come,” the latter repeated in a loud voice. “The black dragons—”
“Greetings, fellow members of the weyr,” another voice bellowed, the doors at the far end once again being slammed open. A blond man who was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him marched in, two incredibly handsome men behind him. “The blue wyvern has arrived. Let the sárkány begin!”
Kostya spun around to glare at the man who had interrupted his grand entrance. “Sfiatatoio del Fuoco Blu,” he hissed, lifting his chin and glaring at the slightly shorter man as he approached.
“So that’s Fiat Blu,” I mused under my breath as I slid a glance toward Gabriel. All amusement had drained out of his eyes, leaving his face impassive as he watched Kostya and Fiat meet, but I knew he was not terribly happy to see Fiat. “Are you sure the phylactery—”
“I am sure. No one will sense it on you.”
“Konstantin Fekete,” Fiat said
“The black dragons do not beg!” Kostya said, and obviously would have gone off on one of the diatribes to which he was prone, dealing with the grand and glorious (if tragic) history of his doomed dragons, but Fiat caught sight of Cyrene at that moment and gave her a dazzling smile.
“And who do we have here? A water sprite?”
“Naiad,” Cyrene said with a startled glance at Kostya as she allowed Fiat to kiss her hand.
“Most charming,” Fiat cooed.
“I’m Cyrene. I’m with him,” she added, taking Kostya’s arm.
“Ah, but I can make amends for such a terrible tragedy,” Fiat answered, kissing the knuckles of her free hand again. “I have not had a naiad in my entourage. Why don’t you cast off the barbaric Kostya and allow me to show you how a dragon should treat a lady?”
“You dare?” Kostya asked, bristling with indignation.
“He’s just trying to rile you up,” Cyrene told him, retrieving her hand in order to pat him on the arm. “Just ignore it. You know full well I’m your mate and I’m not going to let any other dragon woo me away.”
Kostya’s frown cleared slightly.
“No matter how good-looking he is,” Cy added with a smile at Fiat.
The look Kostya shot her should have dropped her dead on the spot, but Cy is oblivious to that sort of thing.
“Mate?” Fiat asked, narrowing his gaze at her.
“Oh, no,” I murmured.
Gabriel leaned close to me. “She thinks she is a mate? Did we not disprove that point when we first met?”
“Yes, and yes. She swears she’s Kostya’s mate, and that the only reason she hasn’t exhibited any signs therein is because he’s not yet a wyvern.”
Gabriel shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“I assumed not, but you know how she is—once she gets an idea, she runs with it.”
Cyrene had been explaining her theory of mateness to Fiat while I was talking to Gabriel. Fiat shot Kostya a speculative glance, but neither said anything to burst her bubble. I had a horrible feeling that job would fall to me.