of any of this. Unaware that vampires were among us. Unaware of werewolves and angels and alchemists. And witches.
I only wanted to go for a run, I thought. That, and no more.
“You say you were attacked ten years ago, Sam?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to kick that sumbitch’s ass?”
I laughed, but it came out kind of funny. I laughed it again, and now, it definitely came out funny. In fact, it came out as a sob, and now, I quit trying to laugh and found myself crying into my hands, sitting there in front of Jacky, in his back office. Except, of course, he wasn’t sitting there for long, was he?
No, he had come around the desk and pulled me in close and held me tighter than I deserved, and he kept holding me, even as I turned my face into his shoulder, and stained the crap out of his shirt with my flowing tears...
Chapter Eight
“Are you done blubbering, lass?”
“No,” I said, and held him tighter.
I heard him sigh, but he continued patting my head. I wondered briefly if my hair felt cold, then nearly laughed at the thought of it. These days, I kept a semi-permanent shield in place to block my thoughts. The shield was a bit of a pain, but better to keep it in place, then have errant thoughts slipping out.
“Did you just say something about your hair being cold?”
I sighed. Apparently, when I cried like a baby, my shield wobbled a little.
I pulled away. “No, Jacky. You heard my thoughts.”
He opened his mouth to speak. Then closed it. Then opened it. Then closed it again.
I said, “Why don’t you sit here?” And I eased him down into the chair I’d just been using.
“Sam,” he said, finally finding his voice, “I heard your voice, but really. It was almost as if... you were thinking for me.”
“A scary thought, to be sure,” I said. “But yet, another example of who I am.”
“So you’re saying this is all real, Sam?”
“I am. Unless it’s not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, a part of me thinks I might be imagining all of this. I might be, in fact, crazy.”
He laughed and wiped his brow. He blinked a few times at his own pale hands, the backs of which were mostly covered in age spots. “Is there room in your padded cell, because I’m seriously thinking I’m losing it, too. I mean, did I just see what I thought I saw?”
“You did, Jacky.”
“Your hand, let me see it again...”
I showed him my palm.
“You mind?” he asked.
I shook my head and he traced the rapidly-healing scar with a none-too-steady finger. He pressed the scar, pushed on it, and finally leaned down and examined it.
“Doesn’t seem fake, Sam.”
“Ya think?”
He next examined my nails, and I was certain no one, not even Anthony and Tammy, had examined them so closely. He ran an increasingly shaking finger over my right index nail. Tapping the tip. Looking under. Examining the cuticle. He saw, as I saw, a thickly grotesque nail that reached a little beyond the tip of my finger. A sharp triangle that I did all I could to hide from the world. Why the long, sharp nails, I didn’t know. But it spoke of the evil within me. On that note, I thought of the man I’d met many months ago, a man I had not seen, a man who was not a man at all, but the king vampire, so to speak.
Dracula.
Wasn’t he also called the Dragon? Wasn’t Dracula, in fact, translated as “Son of the Dragon”? His father, if my shaky history was correct, was Dracul, which, I’m guessing, probably meant Dragon. And didn’t dragons have claws, too? And didn’t I sprout claws every time I summoned the giant bat within me, Talos? But maybe Talos wasn’t a bat after all. Maybe Talos was a dragon, too. Or maybe something in-between.
I didn’t know. But it felt right...
Jesus, was I, too, a dragon? Even if only sometimes? And what, exactly, was a dragon? A flying lizard? Did that mean, I dunno, that I could breathe fire, too? Or, rather Talos, could? And weren’t Talos and I one and the same when I summoned
I only wanted to go for a run, I thought. That, and no more.
“You say you were attacked ten years ago, Sam?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to kick that sumbitch’s ass?”
I laughed, but it came out kind of funny. I laughed it again, and now, it definitely came out funny. In fact, it came out as a sob, and now, I quit trying to laugh and found myself crying into my hands, sitting there in front of Jacky, in his back office. Except, of course, he wasn’t sitting there for long, was he?
No, he had come around the desk and pulled me in close and held me tighter than I deserved, and he kept holding me, even as I turned my face into his shoulder, and stained the crap out of his shirt with my flowing tears...
Chapter Eight
“Are you done blubbering, lass?”
“No,” I said, and held him tighter.
I heard him sigh, but he continued patting my head. I wondered briefly if my hair felt cold, then nearly laughed at the thought of it. These days, I kept a semi-permanent shield in place to block my thoughts. The shield was a bit of a pain, but better to keep it in place, then have errant thoughts slipping out.
“Did you just say something about your hair being cold?”
I sighed. Apparently, when I cried like a baby, my shield wobbled a little.
I pulled away. “No, Jacky. You heard my thoughts.”
He opened his mouth to speak. Then closed it. Then opened it. Then closed it again.
I said, “Why don’t you sit here?” And I eased him down into the chair I’d just been using.
“Sam,” he said, finally finding his voice, “I heard your voice, but really. It was almost as if... you were thinking for me.”
“A scary thought, to be sure,” I said. “But yet, another example of who I am.”
“So you’re saying this is all real, Sam?”
“I am. Unless it’s not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, a part of me thinks I might be imagining all of this. I might be, in fact, crazy.”
He laughed and wiped his brow. He blinked a few times at his own pale hands, the backs of which were mostly covered in age spots. “Is there room in your padded cell, because I’m seriously thinking I’m losing it, too. I mean, did I just see what I thought I saw?”
“You did, Jacky.”
“Your hand, let me see it again...”
I showed him my palm.
“You mind?” he asked.
I shook my head and he traced the rapidly-healing scar with a none-too-steady finger. He pressed the scar, pushed on it, and finally leaned down and examined it.
“Doesn’t seem fake, Sam.”
“Ya think?”
He next examined my nails, and I was certain no one, not even Anthony and Tammy, had examined them so closely. He ran an increasingly shaking finger over my right index nail. Tapping the tip. Looking under. Examining the cuticle. He saw, as I saw, a thickly grotesque nail that reached a little beyond the tip of my finger. A sharp triangle that I did all I could to hide from the world. Why the long, sharp nails, I didn’t know. But it spoke of the evil within me. On that note, I thought of the man I’d met many months ago, a man I had not seen, a man who was not a man at all, but the king vampire, so to speak.
Dracula.
Wasn’t he also called the Dragon? Wasn’t Dracula, in fact, translated as “Son of the Dragon”? His father, if my shaky history was correct, was Dracul, which, I’m guessing, probably meant Dragon. And didn’t dragons have claws, too? And didn’t I sprout claws every time I summoned the giant bat within me, Talos? But maybe Talos wasn’t a bat after all. Maybe Talos was a dragon, too. Or maybe something in-between.
I didn’t know. But it felt right...
Jesus, was I, too, a dragon? Even if only sometimes? And what, exactly, was a dragon? A flying lizard? Did that mean, I dunno, that I could breathe fire, too? Or, rather Talos, could? And weren’t Talos and I one and the same when I summoned
Similar Books
