Ironspell : That Dragon Was in No Way My Fault Page 2

  “Oh shit.” I had forgotten that subscription magazines often come out months ahead of their newsstand date. “Look in the new mail piles. It just came out for subscribers.”

  “Where? I don’t see anything.”

  I looked behind the counter and in a few drawers. “Not here.”

  “What about this closet?” Jimmy jiggled the handle to a locked door.

  I stared at it. I couldn’t wait for the store manager and if that was the supply closet, I needed to get in there. “Stand back.” I recalled the phrase from the lock pick article I read in Better Wizardry and Magical Gardens I memorized for entering when I didn’t want to bust down a door as a cop. “Aperta ergo ianua clausa.”

  The door clicked open and we stood face-to-face with a store clerk who trembled in a corner of the small closet. The kid couldn’t be more than 17 with a lanky body, pimply face, and wide brown eyes. He wore the typical blue zoo vendor vest with a name tag that said “Kevin” pinned to it.

  “Police officer,” I said in my most official voice. “Where are your latest copies of Wizardry Today?”

  “Uh, what?” The kid blinked at me.

  “He’s out of it,” Jimmy said. “I think I see it. It’s got a blue dragon on it?” He dove in and grabbed a magazine bundle.

  “Hey! That’s zoo property!” Kevin said.

  “Put it on the DPDS bill,” I replied as the werewolf plunked it down on the counter and tore off the plastic wrapping the bundle.

  The scent of fresh newsprint assailed my nostrils and I pulled out a copy. Thumbing through it, I gave myself a paper cut which stung worse than the burns I received from the dragon torching. “Yee-oww!” I squealed and stuck the cut thumb in my mouth, tasting blood.

  “Seriously, dude?” Jimmy said. “Where’s the spell?”

  I flipped to the page still holding my thumb in my mouth. I skimmed through the article, until I found the sidebar that had the list of spells. “Okay, got it.” I winced as I pulled the page out of the magazine. I hate defacing print copy.

  I pulled a fiver out of my wallet and slapped it next to the magazine. “Keep the change, Kevin!” I shouted as we ran out the door and to the building’s front interior.

  The dragon had slagged most of the building’s front. The door was a piece of melted and twisted metal that still radiated heat. I turned to Jimmy. “Stay inside. This could get messy.”

  “No way, dude.” Jimmy smiled, his teeth showing unnaturally large bicuspids for a human. “I wouldn’t miss this show for all the world.

  “As an officer of the law, I’m ordering you stay back.”

  Jimmy crossed his arms. “And what? Arrest me? You and whose army?”

  I met his feral golden gaze and chuckled. “Yeah, you’ve got me there. Let it be on record that I did warn, and even order you.”

  “Nobody orders weres around except the pack Alpha, and you ain’t him.” Jimmy carefully stepped around the shattered glass and reached out to give me a hand through the twisted door. “Don’t go macho on me, cop. I heal fast; you don’t.”

  I took his hand and he pulled me through. It was like hanging onto an iron rope with what felt like claws, even though he was clearly in human form. This wasn’t the first time I was glad the werewolves were mostly on humanity’s side.

  We scanned the skies. Like most March days in Denver, the air was cool but the sky was blue. With the exception of the ever-present brown cloud that cloaks the city. But no dragon. The Denver Zoo appeared to be the picture of serenity with the unicorns frolicking in the pasture and the kelpies diving in their tank. The smoking rubble made my chest tighten a bit, so I pulled the inhaler from my pocket and took a puff. Jimmy eyed it. “Asthma,” I said.

  “An asthmatic wizard cop?” The werewolf raised an eyebrow.

  “Hey, even Superman has kryptonite.” I pointed out.

  “So, where’s the dragon?”

  That was a good question. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe we should see if the pack killed your sorcerer yet,” Jimmy offered. “He was pretty lame, shouting how he was the reincarnation of Lester Growly…”

  “You mean Aleister Crowley?”

  “Yeah, that was what the dude said he was. You think he is?”

  “Doubt it.” I paused. “He’s nuts if he’s claiming he’s Crowley. Let’s see if we can’t find that dragon.”

  “How?”

  “Call it.” I took a deep breath, despite the pull in my chest, and read the spell required to call the nearest dragon. “Vocantem et draco!” I said, and ended it with coughing fits. Not my most stellar performance.

  A screech pierced the air. Apparently the magic worked, asthma or not.

  Chapter Five

  The dragon rose up from wherever it had been and made a beeline—or rather, dragon-line—right to us. It was a big red-gold firedrake with enough maturity to be able to light not only a camp grill, but an entire forest ablaze. Its yellow eyes glared balefully at me as it swooped down to make a meal of whomever summoned it.

  Even Jimmy looked impressed. “Now what?”

  “Here comes the tricky part.” I consulted the page I tore out of the magazine. “Heu draco denter, habere talem crustulum?”

  The dragon snorted and two jets of smoke issued from its nostrils. I heard the distinct rumble of flames as the dragon prepared to barbeque us.

  “I don’t think that worked.” Jimmy ran and dove through the mangled entrance doors. I couldn’t blame him, but there was no way I’d reach there in time. Instead, I turned to the dragon.

  “Nemo, malum draco! Non crustulum!” I spoke with my most authoritative voice. “Vide quid feceris. Malum Draco!” I pointed at the slagged building.

  The dragon looked at the building and then lowered its head. Its forked tongue flicked out and licked me. Trying not to freak out over being licked by a gigantic lizard, I walked forward and gently petted its muzzle. It nosed me, nearly knocking me off my feet. But the love was there, so I couldn’t argue. Well, not that I would argue with a 25-foot-long firedrake.

  “Is it safe?” Jimmy peered from the twisted doorway.

  “Depends on your definition,” I said, rubbing the dragon’s brow ridges. “I wouldn’t come out here, though. He’s still pretty touchy.”

  The dragon looked up at me adoringly. “Who’s a good dragon?” I crooned to him.

  “You guys need a room?” Jimmy smirked.

  I turned to him. “Is the were pit open to the sky?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Because I think I have a way to deal with the not-reincarnated Mr. Crowley.”

  ~ * ~

  Climbing aboard a dragon is a lot like climbing onto a big chicken. Neither are really made for riding. All the books out there about riding dragons are pure nonsense. If you sit on their neck just in front of the shoulders, you screw up their balance and make it difficult for them to fly. You can’t sit properly between their wings, because where are your feet supposed to go? You sit behind the wings and you get beaten to death with air and have an extremely lumpy ride with their spine ridges. Their backs are so broad, you practically have to do the splits to keep on. Or you can ride sidesaddle and slip off anyway.

  So, in order to ride him, I had to kneel, putting each knee on either side of those very sharp spines and pray I didn’t get bounced so I wouldn’t be singing falsetto any time in the future. I then had to crouch and grab some of those spines at the base of the neck to hang onto. One good jolt and I was either castrated or impaled. Most likely both.

  On the plus side, the dragon and I were now buddies. Although he didn’t speak words or even form words with telepathy, we had a bond that was somewhat empathic through the magic. As I suspected, the deranged sorcerer had freaked the firedrake out and casted a confusion spell over the beast. The taming took out the spell, but unfortunately for my partner, it had happened too late. And we still had a hostage situation and a pissy magic user to deal with.

  I sent Jimmy back to the weres
to give them our plan. Apparently the sorcerer was more concerned with his hostages and not the number of weres coming and going out of the pit. Amateur. Since the were pit was open, flying a dragon in and taking out the sorcerer was the best option. I wasn’t concerned with the sorcerer feeding the people to the werewolves, per se. I was more concerned with him throwing people down into the pit and getting them screwed up like he did with the other officer. The dragon would at least keep him entertained.

  But I needed some defense other than a shield to keep the sorcerer divided between me and the dragon. I should’ve taken the entire magazine, instead of the one page. Live and learn, I guess. I flipped the page over and saw nothing interesting: just a full page ad to learn telepathy. The dragon looked at me as I knelt on his back, trying to find anything worthwhile to use against the sorcerer.

  Why don’t you try a fireball spell?

  I jolted, nearly sending the spine spikes through my nether regions. “Who said that?”

  The dragon nosed me and met my gaze. I did.

  “You? I thought you were empathic, not telepathic.”

  The dragon chortled, nearly knocking me off my precarious perch. Our bond is strengthening. You’re Ironspell, right?

  “Uh, yeah.”

  You can call me Smog.

  “Smaug, like the Tolkien dragon in The Hobbit?”

  The dragon shook his head. No. Smog. Like the Denver brown cloud. My parents didn’t like me.

  “I like you just fine.” I shrugged. “I only wish you didn’t torch my partner.”

  Oops. The dragon did look contrite. Sorry about that. You know how to do a fireball spell?

  “Not really.”

  Oh, it’s easy for someone like you. Just say “globus ignis” and put some magic behind it. Envision a fireball.

  I sat up, despite my misgivings. “Globus ignis, you say?”

  Smog nodded.

  I held onto one of the spine spikes and held out my hand toward sidewalk. “Globus ignis!” A fireball exploded out of my hand and hit the Dippin Dots Ice Cream kiosk. The entire building burst into flames and Dippin Dots rained over us both. “Oops.”

  Damn, I liked their ice cream, Smog remarked. But look at you! A dragon if I ever saw one. That was awesome.

  “Wow,” I said, wiping the melting dots from my face. “Guess the DPDS owes the Denver Zoo a kiosk and some inventory.”

  Get ready. If your partner is in that bad of shape, we need to take out the sorcerer now. Let’s go. With that, he launched into the sky.

  I hung on for dear life. I felt like my knees were slipping down and I had the sword of Damocles aimed at my private parts. I don’t remember if I screamed, but Smog was kind enough to say it was only for a few seconds, and not the minutes most people scream. I guess that’s something.

  Smog did a circle around the Lycanthrope House and we spied the open-air pit where the werewolves were supposed to frolic and do werewolf-type things. Whatever that was. Maybe I should read up on what the experts say about lycans. Most weres I know like to hang out in bars, drink beer and piña coladas, and ride motorcycles. The lycanthrope pit looked like it had some downed logs and maybe a few gigantic rubber toys that would be for dogs, if they hadn’t been so big. No beer or piña coladas in sight.

  A few weres were out in the yard looking up at us. But a couple were clustered in the back, out of sight from the main viewing. They were standing guard over what had to be the other officer. Most of the werewolves were facing the Plexiglas where some guy in a robe was holding up what looked like a wand facing some huddled people against the building’s wall. The Plexiglas extended around the pit but was open to the sky. I suspected the sorcerer levitated the cop and dropped him in with the weres.

  Without warning, Smog roared and dove right for the sorcerer.

  Chapter Six

  What Smog did was definitely not my fault. He breathed flames right at the sorcerer. The fire smashed into the Plexiglas and melted it to slag. The sorcerer dove away at the last second and caused the hostages to scatter as it bubbled the concrete into a molten mess. People screamed and ran; some being helped out by werewolves to get to safety. All managed to get out of the dragon’s range for his rampage.

  The sorcerer made wild gestures with his fingers—I presume that was his focus for spell casting—and aimed a lightning bolt at us.

  “Ascendit quoque scuta!” I shouted and a shield appeared over me and the dragon. The lightning bolt hit it and the electricity crackled around us like a blue shield.

  I blinked in surprise. My shields were good, but they weren’t that good. “What the…?”

  I augmented your shield. Smog glanced back at me.

  “How?”

  Dragons and wizards have long helped each other. I can provide magic to help you when we fight together.

  “Wow,” I said as we landed in the pit.

  “I am Aleister Crowley!” The sorcerer stood on the rim of the pit and flung fireballs at us. “I will not be ignored!”

  I got a good look at the sorcerer for the first time. He was skinny and looked in his thirties, with wild brown hair that never knew a comb. His hair line had receded a bit. His robe looked like part of a cheap Halloween costume: dark purple, now tattered, with stars and crescent moons sewn onto it.

  His eyes, however, were what got me. They belonged to a crazy man, if ever there was one. Wide eyed with dark pupils, they glowed red as they looked at us. “So, you little creatures dare to challenge the great Aleister Crowley?” He spoke in a voice that wasn’t quite human.

  “Smog, there’s something wrong with him.”

  Yes, he needs a good barbequing. The dragon stared the sorcerer down and slowly approached him, climbing over the melted Plexiglas.

  “No, we need to arrest him. Keep him alive.”

  Smog made a cough as though what I said was inconsequential.

  “I mean it.” I tried to put some magic behind my words.

  “I am the greatest mage of all time!” the sorcerer shouted. He raised his hands and let loose power that hit my shield and shattered it. It slammed into both of us, Smog taking the brunt of the hit, and we flew end over end across the pit.

  Somehow, I landed and skidded onto one of the few patches of grass left in the pit instead of the concrete. I groaned, suspecting I had a hell of a road rash on me. Everything hurt, but surprisingly I didn’t hit my head.

  Or maybe I should have. Many people have told me it will do no damage if I hit it.

  I look up. Smog was coiled up and not moving. His eyes were shut like he was sleeping or knocked unconscious.

  “Smog?”

  Nothing. Not even a mind whisper. I turned around, more pissed off than I ever was. Okay, you can take pot shots at me. You can land me in the hospital. But you sure as shooting better not mess with my dragon.

  “Globus ignus!” I shouted and aimed the fireball at the sorcerer. My rage fueled the spell and fire shot from my hands in what looked like a stream, but it was a barrage of fireballs.

  The sorcerer put up a shield and the fireballs dissipated across it, causing it to flare like lightning and flames that you sometimes see during volcanic eruptions. As I kept hitting his shield, it flashed dangerously, suggesting that I was wearing him down.

  Then, something odd happened. The sorcerer began to morph. His skin peeled back to reddish skin and a creature with tusks and horns snarled at me. “You cannot win, little human,” he said.

  “What in the hell are you?” I was panting as I continued to throw fireballs. His shield evaporated from the pounding, but he apparently didn’t need it.

  “I am Aleister Crowley!” The creature bellowed, grasped me with an invisible claw, and threw me against the wall. I screamed as I felt several ribs crack. I fell and slumped against the wall on my right side.

  The sorcerer approached. He looked like something out of a nightmare: a mixture of human and demon—or something out of one of the other planes of existence. Looking at him, I suspected
he was a chimera. Chimeras in wizard terms were those with magical abilities allowed themselves to be possessed by a powerful entity. The demon—or whatever it was—probably convinced the sorcerer that he was Aleister Crowley. Stupid, stupid sorcerer.

  The chimera stood over me, its breath hot and nasty. “Dude,” I said. “You need a Tic Tac or something.”

  “I will enjoy sucking your brains out of your skull, little policeman. I’ve been looking forward to this.” The chimera’s voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

  “Yes, I'll bet you have,” I said in my best Harrison Ford imitation and double tapped the chimera in the head with my trusty Glock 9mm. “And remember, Han shot first.”

  He spun around, just in time to see the opened jaws of the dragon. And just like that, the chimera/sorcerer was no more.

  Gaah! Monkey meat tastes awful, the dragon said.

  Chapter Seven

  Sometime after seeing Smog devour the chimera I fell unconscious. I woke up in the hospital with bandages across my ribs, an IV, and more flowers than I ever thought possible on the counter. Most of them were from the werewolf community—who knew?—but a few were from humans who had been at the zoo, and a big bouquet was from the zoo, itself.

  The TV was on and turned to the 5:30 news on Channel 9. The anchors, one man and one woman were talking about the Denver Zoo. A splashy banner saying “Terror in the Zoo” streamed across the picture.

  “More tonight about the terror in the Zoo. Sources say that when the Denver Wizard Task Force entered the zoo, they discovered a man allegedly suffering from psychosis somehow released the dragon from its cage. The man has tentatively been identified as rogue magic user 38-year-old Austin Westcliff of Pueblo, Colorado. Westcliff allegedly injured three police officers, two in serious but stable condition and one in critical condition. Names of the officers have not been released…” The news anchor had perfectly coiffed hair and the caption read Harvey Stephenson.

  The anchorwoman looked part Elven with arched eyebrows and slightly pointed ears. Her caption read Tina Connor. “We have some footage taken earlier with one of the DWTF officers…”