Walter draped a jacket over his arm and slid his thumb behind the strap of his backpack. With his free hand gripping a waning Moonpie, he marched down an endless hall while chewing a sticky mouthful, trying to keep up with Ashley. She tilted to one side to compensate for a heavy briefcase, her hair bouncing in sync with her lively pace.
Walter took another bite and spoke through the marshmallow goo. “How was I supposed to know? That old guy seemed nice enough.”
Ashley halted and spun around, her face aflame. “You try to survive five hours of cigar breath while listening to cockamamie theories about the ‘spiritual conduits’ of quantum mechanics.”
“I was in his seat up front,” Walter said, shrugging his shoulders. “You should’ve said something.”
“I was trapped, Walter. You were reading Captain Marvel and eating lunch up in First Class while I was pinned to the window seat in row forty-one!” She pulled an apple out of her jacket pocket and held it in front of Walter’s face. “It’s a good thing I brought this. Dr. Weirdo even ate my lunch!” She bit into the apple like an angry pit bull.
“So why are you mad at me? I didn’t steal your sandwich.”
Ashley swallowed her bite of apple. “Right! You had steak!” She closed one eye and held the apple up again. “Supposedly you came along to protect me. Don’t you know what chivalry means?”
Walter lowered his head. “Sure. I know what it means.” He slowly lifted his eyes and extended his half-eaten Moonpie. “Want a bite of this?”
Ashley let out a growling huff and spun back around. She hiked up her briefcase and stormed down the hallway.
Walter stood and watched her for a moment, shaking his head.
“Brilliant and filled with fire, isn’t she, Walter?”
Walter jerked his head around. The smelly old man from the airplane stood at his side, chewing on an unlit cigar. Walter pulled his backpack higher and let out a nervous laugh. “I guess so. But she has a good heart.”
“Oh, no doubt, no doubt.” The man pulled the cigar from his mouth and spat out a fleck of tobacco. “Just keep in mind what she said about chivalry, son, and you’ll do fine.”
“Uh, okay. . . . I guess.” Walter squinted at the old man’s widely set brown eyes and his two-day white beard. “What did she say about chivalry?”
“That you’re supposed to protect her, son! She’s a strong, young woman, but she’ll never respect you until you prove yourself to be a strong, young man. The key is to be gentle with her and a warrior against anything that might do her harm.”
Walter stood still, blinking at the stranger.
He grabbed Walter’s shoulder, turned him around, and gave him a firm shove. “So get going!”
Walter ran forward to keep from falling. After catching himself, he looked back at the bizarre old man and gave him a quick wave, then stuffed the rest of the Moonpie into his mouth and sprinted down the corridor.
When he reached Ashley’s side, he grabbed her briefcase handle. “I’ll get this,” he said, his mouth still full.
Ashley stopped in her tracks, resisting for a second before letting it go. “Look, Walter, I’m . . . I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time.”
Walter swallowed hard to dispose of his sticky snack. “No problem. I deserved it.” He nodded toward a moving walkway. “Let’s forget about it and go find Prof.” He led the way into the baggage claim area and spotted the professor and his two companions. He angled his head back toward Ashley. “Did you expect Mrs. B and Sir Barlow?”
Ashley narrowed her eyes. “That’s weird. I thought they were in Scotland.”
They picked up their pace, swerving in and out of lines of trench coats and travel bags. When they reached the three adults, Walter set the briefcase down between his feet and extended his hand toward the professor. “What’s wrong, Prof? You look like the queen just died or something.”
“No,” the professor replied, shaking Walter’s hand. “Her Majesty is alive and well—at least I assume so if she hasn’t met a certain van driver from Yeovil.” He bowed toward Ashley, his hand fishing something from his pocket. “Miss Stalworth, your services are needed more than ever.”
Ashley pushed her fingers through her hair. “I’ll do what I can, Professor Hamilton.”
The professor held out his open palm, revealing two microchips. “If you can decipher the encoding, perhaps we will not be fooled in the future.” He closed his fist and set the chips gently back into his pocket. “There is much to explain, but since time is of the essence, I shall tell the story in the car. We must get to Sir Patrick’s house as soon as possible.”
Ashley strode toward the luggage conveyor belt. “Then let’s get going. The microchip equipment is in my checked baggage.”
After a few minutes, a square box fastened by metal buckles and a wide leather strap appeared on the conveyor. Walter dashed to the front and lugged it down to the floor. “I got it,” he grunted. He nodded toward the line of baggage. “Barlow, will you get my duffle? It’s the blue one with the orange trim.”
Barlow grabbed Walter’s bag and helped him carry the equipment case to the airport’s rental car area. Marilyn returned her rental, and the five proceeded to the professor’s car in the main parking lot. Marilyn climbed into the front passenger seat, and Walter, Ashley, and Sir Barlow settled into the back.
Walter looked around at all the somber faces. “Hey, I read a great joke on the plane. There was this fish who loved to play golf, see, and—”
“Hush, Walter,” Ashley said sharply. “No one wants to hear your fish joke. It’s probably not funny anyway.”
“But it is. This fish—”
“Mr. Foley,” the professor interrupted, “please tell us the joke later. I believe my tale is more crucial right now.” After leaving the airport’s access loop, the professor told the whole story, from the time of the dragons’ arrival with Bonnie to their planned entrance into the view window. He explained Sir Patrick’s theory that the New Table would try to persuade Billy to set their own prisoners free. “I believe,” he said, gripping the steering wheel tightly, “that Clefspeare is now being held somewhere within the circles. If the New Table dragon-nappers threaten to kill the dragon, perhaps William will feel duty bound to do as they wish in order to save his father.
“But a song has entered my mind that has opened a new line of thinking. Listen.”
The professor gave a low “ahem” and pursed his lips. He hummed a quiet bar, then started again, adding words to the melody.
A dragon chained in darkest pits
Will not behold pure freedom’s light,
For dragons claim a lofty perch,
Yet cannot reach the highest height.
For even now in pits of gloom
The dragon’s pride will never bow,
Until redemption’s sword sets free
The dragon’s heart to kneel and vow.
The professor paused while negotiating the car through a busy roundabout. “I think,” he said, accelerating onto a major highway, “that William’s mission is supposed to include rescuing Clefspeare from some sort of pit. It is essential, therefore, that I find a way to deliver the message to him. I’m not sure how the details of the song figure in, but if William doesn’t even know to search in a pit, he might miss the assignment altogether and leave his father stranded. I have already tried calling Patrick’s home and cell phone, but there is no answer.” He cocked his head back. “Miss Stalworth, have you made any progress on the chips?”
Ashley looked up with a start. “Oh! Sorry. I was kind of distracted by your song.” She inserted the two microchips into a small, flat grid, fitting each prong into a tiny hole. “Here,” she said, placing the grid in Walter’s hand. “Hold this.” She ran a short cable from the grid’s panel to the computer on her lap. After she tapped a few keys, thousands of numbers flew across the screen. Her eyes followed the river of data, darting left to right and back again dozens of times. “Now this is interesting.” She pulled a headset out of her laptop case and slipped the pads over her ears. “I’m sending the data to my supercomputer.” She then pressed her finger against her jaw. “Karen? You there?”
“Karen?” the professor repeated. “Your sister?”
“Yes.” Ashley clicked the mouse button on her laptop and pulled off her headset. “I’ll send the response through these speakers so everyone can hear.” She touched her jaw again. “Karen, pick up right now! I know you can’t be far. I told you to stay close to Larry.”
“Ah!” the professor exclaimed, raising a finger in the air. “Larry is your supercomputer! But how are you speaking to Karen?”
Walter set the grid in his lap and pulled a foil bag of peanuts from his backpack. “She has some supersonic connection through a transmitter in her tooth.”
“In her tooth?” The professor scratched his head. “Well, that’s a new—”
A loud voice blasted through the computer speakers. “I’m here! What’s all the fuss?”
Ashley slid a dial on her laptop. “I need to talk to Larry. Can you patch me through?”
“Sure. No problem.” Karen’s quieter voice was followed by three muffled clicks. “Okay. You’re on.”
Ashley looked up toward the car ceiling. “Larry, it’s Ashley. I need the latest research in traversing metaphysical dimension portals.”
“Metaphysical? Did you hear that, Karen? Ashley’s going New Age on us.”
“It’s not New Age, Larry. Get a life.”
“No can do, Ashley. I’m just a machine with a vivid imagination. No life for me.”
“Just cut the jokes and send the research to my laptop. I need the photoanalytical data for purported transdimensional windows, anything that would help me understand a possible migration environment. I’m going to set up some equipment that will analyze the various invisible spectrums in an interdimensional portal, and I need to know what to look for.”
“Coming right up.”
Walter popped a peanut into his mouth. “Translated,” he said, grinning, “Ashley wants to know what the light was like in places where people claim to jump from one dimension to another. She’s going to let her machines stare at that weird window Prof talked about to see if there’s a match.”
Ashley glared at him. “Thank you, Walter.”
Larry’s voice returned. “Do you want the results of the microchip analysis you sent?”
“Did you break the code?” Ashley asked.
“Ashley, it’s me. Of course I broke the code.”
“So you’re a cryptological genius. Big deal. You still have a lot to learn about grammar and humility.”
“So sue me. You wrote my grammar engine. As far as humility goes, I’m merely pointing out the obvious.”
“Okay, okay. Just send me the decoded stream.”
“Coming right up again, most excellent martinet.”
Ashley balled her hand into a fist. “Karen, do you know how to check Larry’s vocabulary level? It needs to be turned down a notch.”
“Yep. No problem. I don’t know how to adjust his sarcasm meter, though.”
Chapter 7
Bonnie sat upright in a lush garden paradise. Daylight filtered through a tropical canopy, casting its brightest beam toward a nearby pond. She was alone in the eerie quiet. Not a puff of wind moved the sweet-smelling air, a humid blanket of jungle warmth that coaxed beads of sweat from her forehead and neck. She rose to her feet and mopped her brow with her sleeve.
This sweatshirt has to go!
After unfastening the Velcro closures at the back, she pulled the sweatshirt over her head and tied it around her waist. She then smoothed out the picture of a roaring lion imprinted on the front of her long-sleeved shirt and set her hands on her hips.
Okay, now where am I?
She remembered the ride to Sir Patrick’s castle but nothing after that. Was she in one of the estate’s gardens? Had she fallen asleep on the way, and the others left her here to rest? Maybe if she had a look around she would remember what was going on.
Bonnie walked slowly toward the circular pond, a crystal clear pool no bigger than a Little League baseball diamond. A bushy tree with a broad, twisted trunk grew near the opposite edge, reaching as high as a telephone pole. Wide, velvety leaves covered its branches, almost completely veiling the tree’s woody limbs in greenery. A single fruit dangled near the end of one branch, a red, pear-shaped fruit about the size of a large apple.
When Bonnie reached the water’s edge, she heard voices, more like singing than speaking. The varied pitches blended in sweet harmony, the melody seeming to radiate from the tree branches, as if each leaf had a part in a youthful choir. She walked around the pond on a bed of soft grass and approached the tree. The music sounded oddly familiar, like the haunting chant from a dream that begs to be believed. But this was too real. It couldn’t be a dream.
When she came within ten feet of the trunk, she stopped, and, as if silenced by her hesitation, the song faded away. The leaves rustled from one side of the tree to the other as though a stiff breeze had passed, but she felt no hint of moving air in the steamy glade.
A new sound arose, the pleasant voice of a young male. Although he spoke with the inflections of normal speech, his words seemed to carry the cadence of song. “Bonnie Silver,” he said with a cheery tone.
Bonnie swiveled her head from side to side. “Yes. Who . . . where are you?”
“I’m a friend, and I’m close by. I’m glad you’ve finally arrived.”
Bonnie scanned the scenery, from forest to pond to strange old tree, watching for any movement. “Finally? Have you been expecting me?”
“Oh, yes. For a very long time. Merlin told me of your coming.”
Bonnie tried to peer into the tree without seeming too obvious, but she couldn’t find the speaker. “Merlin told you? How could he know I’d come here?” She glanced around and spread out her hands. “Wherever ‘here’ is.”
The speaker’s voice grew more serious, but still friendly. “Merlin’s prophecies about you are well known. Even back in his day he would sing songs about your coming.”
“In his day?” Bonnie tilted her head, still trying to peek through the leaves. “How old are you?”
“Prepare yourself. I am coming forth.” The tree rustled again. A section of branches parted to reveal the head of a dragon.
Bonnie gasped and stepped backwards.
“Don’t be frightened. As you can see, I am of your kind. I am a dragon, the first dragon, your principal ancestor.” The dragon emerged from the tree and seemed to float to the ground, his huge clawed feet pressing holes in the soft grass. “Most humans flee at the sight of me, but since you’re a dragon, you have no need to fear.”
Bonnie felt plenty of fear. Her legs trembled, and she could hardly breathe, but she knew she had to stand her ground. She tried to keep her voice from shaking. “But . . . but I’m not a dragon . . . not really.”
The dragon seemed to stifle a laugh, and his voice remained friendly. “Not a dragon?” His long neck stretched toward Bonnie’s back. Bonnie followed his head with her gaze but kept her body as stiff as a number three pencil.
The dragon gave a gentle snort, and tiny sparks fell to the grass. “I’ve never seen a human with such beautiful wings before. Are you sure you’re not a dragon?”
Bonnie glanced back at her wings. “I . . . uh . . . I’m sort of a dragon, fully human and fully dragon.”
The dragon nodded. “An anthrozil.”
“You know about that word?”
“Anthrozil? Oh, yes. I am aware of your father’s work and his alliance with that crafty Devin fellow. Anthrozil is a perfectly fine word, but they were mistaken about you. You are much more dragon than you are human. I heard that you wore a backpack to hide your wings, but with all those scales, I’m surprised you ever fooled anyone.”
“Scales? What are you talking about?”
The dragon cocked his head. “Why, your facial scales, of course. We dragons have scales instead of skin. The reddish ones around your eyes are especially lovely. It’s too bad the rest of your body isn’t the same.”
Bonnie threw her hands up to her cheeks. Her skin was tough and slick like a snake’s hide, separated into imperfect squares by a network of fissures. “How did I get scales? This is terrible!”
The dragon’s facial lines turned downward. “Terrible? Why is it terrible? Do you find dragons ugly?”
Bonnie caught her breath. She pulled her hands down and tightened her fists into nervous balls. “No . . . No, not ugly. It’s just . . .”
The dragon nodded sympathetically. “You’re ashamed. You’re accustomed to human skin, and you fear what others will think of your dramatic change.”
Bonnie pulled on her bottom lip with her teeth. She didn’t know how to answer. Maybe she was ashamed. Was it wrong to be embarrassed about having dragon scales? Was it wrong to be concerned about her appearance at all?
The dragon motioned toward the pond with his head. “My pool is not the best of mirrors, but it is adequate. Look for yourself. You are more beautiful than ever.”
With a hand on her cheek, Bonnie took a step toward the pond, but when she caught a glimpse of the surface, she planted her feet.
A mirror. I remember something about a mirror.
As she rubbed her skin again, her ring dipped into a crevice between two scales. She pulled her hand down and glanced at the rubellite, then did a double take and stared at the stone.
It’s pulsing!
The stone changed colors in a rhythmic beat, its hue alternating between two shades of red.
A flood of memories roared into Bonnie’s mind—her mission with Billy, Merlin’s poem, a warning about mirrors. But she couldn’t remember the exact words. Her voice quaked, and she averted her eyes from the pond and from the dragon. “I . . . I don’t want to look.”
“Do you fear what you might see?”
The simple question seemed almost like a playground dare, yet more subtle, more enticing. A new idea crept into Bonnie’s mind. She added up her surroundings—a dragon, a tree, a tropical paradise . . . a tempter. She raised her head and stared defiantly at the dragon. “Who are you, anyway? Why are you trying to get me to look at a mirror?”
The dragon raised his brow and pulled his head back. “I care nothing for my own benefit. I thought you’d want to see how beautiful you’ve become. Look, or don’t look. I care not.”
Bonnie gazed at the twisted old tree. Could it really be that old? How could she find out who this dragon really was without giving away her suspicions? She folded her hands behind her back. “So, Mr. Dragon, if you’re my ancestor, I should call you by your name, don’t you think?”
The dragon held his head high. “Mr. Dragon is quite appropriate, for I am the first dragon, and I will likely be the last. But, if you wish, since I am the first and the last, you may call me either Alpha or Omega.”
Bonnie stifled a gasp. She had heard those Greek letters before. Alpha and Omega were the names of the entrance doors to her father’s cave laboratory. Was it a coincidence? What could it all mean? She tried to dig deeper. “So, uh, Alpha, what’s with that tree? Is it as old as you are?”
“Yes. It has been my home for thousands of years.”
Bonnie eyed the solitary “apple” hanging on the end of a branch. “Does it ever bear much fruit?”
“It does, more than you can ever imagine.”
She lifted her finger toward the tree. “Why is there only one on it now?”
The dragon raised his foreleg and opened its claws. A fruit identical to the one on the tree materialized in his scaly palm. “As soon as one appears, someone plucks it.” The fruit suddenly vanished. “At one time the tree was filled, but only two people ever walked this garden in those days. Now, with billions of people around, the tree is constantly harvested.”
“Billions of people? I don’t see anyone.”
“They are here. They walk in the world of the living. They cannot even see the tree, yet they pluck its fruit just the same.”
Bonnie folded her hands behind her back again. “Why am I able to see it? And why hasn’t anyone taken that one?”
The dragon stepped forward and pressed one of his clawed feet into the soft turf. He then pulled it back, allowing the grass in the imprint to slowly rise, but the blades were unable to regain their former height. The outline of the dragon’s claw remained. “You have stepped out of your realm and into my world. In this place you see things as they really are, exposed, without superficial coverings. The tree is veiled in your world, though people take its fruit readily. They are even at this moment passing all around you, but they cannot pluck this particular piece. It exists only here, in the world of revelation. Only you may take it.”
Bonnie waved her hand at the tree and began to turn away. “Well, I don’t want it.”
“Very well. It will still be here when you do want it.”
She pivoted back again. “But I know what it is. I’ll never want it.”
The dragon winked. “So you say. I’ve heard it all before. Everyone eventually reaps my harvest. I know for a fact that you’ve taken fruit from my tree in the past. It’s just a matter of time until you take it again.”
Bonnie crossed her arms over her chest and squinted at the dragon. “I’ve got you figured out,
Mister Dragon.
You’re no alpha or omega, but I do believe you are the first dragon, the original fallen angel.”
“Dragon? Yes, I am a dragon, as are you. And fallen? Yes, again, as are you.” The dragon moved his head to within inches of Bonnie’s, and his eyes blazed into hers. “As you conform to my image, you will learn that my ways are not what you think. I’m sure you’ve heard people say ‘there are dragons in our midst.’ Well, they think there are dragons living among them—ruthless gangs in urban jungles, crooked politicians in seats of power, child abusers in darkened alleys. The truth is that there is actually a dragon within every human on earth, and you have the unique opportunity to see it unveiled on your very skin.” The dragon pulled his head back and winked again, nodding his head slowly. “You were born taking my fruit, you have taken it every day of your life, and you will take it again today. It’s only a matter of time.”
Hot blood rushed through Bonnie’s face. Tears formed in her eyes. She had to fight this lying beast. He was subtle—vague and pointed at the same time, spinning falsehoods and mixing them with pulpit sermons.
She felt the urge to run to the pond and see the scales, yet she knew doing so would bring the dragon an easy victory. She decided to use her best weapon, and she spoke boldly, with her eyes fully open in defiance. “The Bible says, ‘Resist the devil and he will flee from you.’” She pointed toward the pool. “If you want to see a foul, ugly dragon, go take a look at yourself. Just leave
me
alone.”
“Very good, Bonnie,” the dragon replied, chuckling. “Keep making those hilarious quips, and keep quoting the Bible. You’ll eventually get to the passage that names me as the master of this realm. I am the king of all dragons, and since you’re one of my subjects, you’ll never escape my influence. You’ll keep plucking my fruit for as long as you live, so you might as well admit it. You love the taste, the satisfaction it gives, the autonomy of a mind set free.”
“No!” Bonnie shouted, backing away. “You’re a liar! I don’t want any part of you or anything you say!” She took three full steps back before stopping. For some reason she felt compelled to listen to the dragon’s reply.
“But, Bonnie, dear child, I’m just stating what you must have heard many times before. Haven’t preachers told you that you were born eating my fruit and that you cannot escape it? Ever since Eve listened to my voice in the Garden of Eden, her sons and daughters have heeded my call. Even your own parents have proven their allegiance to me. Your father conspired to murder your mother, and your mother has returned to her dragon state. Can’t you see that your nature was embedded in you before you took your first breath?
“And now you are alone. You are trapped between earth and hell. In this place where all masks erode, your nature seeps through your pores and reveals who you really are. It makes no sense to reject the obvious. If you will just view your true nature and accept it, you can stop your fruitless struggles. The truth will set you free.”
Before Bonnie could answer, the dragon floated back toward the tree. Seconds later, he disappeared into the greenery, and the leaves rustled once again, their song seeming more inviting than ever before. Every note made the fruit appear brighter and more enticing.
Bonnie placed her hands on her cheeks again. The scales were more pronounced than ever. Deep cracks ran in crisscross patterns all over her face. Just thirty feet away a glassy pond would tell her the truth. Its crystal clear surface mirrored the twisted tree as well as a few puffy clouds above, but from her angle, she couldn’t see herself.
A breeze passed by Bonnie’s ear, and a familiar voice rode on its whispering current. Her father spoke in hushed tones, a distant memory echoing from years long past that first came to a little girl sitting cross-legged with two rag dolls on her knee. “Wings?” the masculine voice said. “We can’t have a daughter with wings! We won’t be able to show our faces in public, not with a mutant for a daughter!”