David Wilson - Heart of a Dragon

"I'm expected," he said.

She watched him, unimpressed. She shook her head and the silver caskets jingled. At the sound one of the sets of beaded curtains parted and two men stepped through. They were nearly identical, black as if they'd been carved from twin logs of ebony, bald, with eyes that glinted like chips of obsidian. They wore armbands of gold in the shape of entwined serpents, and large gold pendants on chains dangled from their necks. They didn't speak. One stepped through and off to one side, the other held the curtain open with a massive arm.

Hector turned back to the girl behind the counter. He knew her, or, he knew of her. She was one of several apprentices to Anya Cabrera. Her name was Kim, and she'd been working in the shop since she'd been a very young girl. No one ever saw her on the streets, except running errands in the market. No one knew where she'd come from, who her parents were, or how she'd ended up in Anya's care. The one thing Hector knew for certain — and he knew this because, on a previous visit, he'd passed the girl's rooms and seen it with his own eyes — she slept in a coffin. Her furniture was made of piled grave markers and wooden caskets of every shape and size, molded and re-designed into shelves and cabinets. Hector had caught only a short glimpse through dark curtains, but in that moment he'd seen the girl rise from her…bed. The image had burned itself into his memory, and now, trying to meet her stare — the stare of a mere girl — his blood slowed and expanded like ice in his veins.

She held his gaze a moment longer, and then nodded toward the two men, and the passage beyond.

"Raoul and Stephen will escort you," she said.

Her voice barely rose above a whisper, but it carried. He turned toward the passageway, squared his shoulders, and brushed past the two men. He wanted very much to look back and see if she was watching him, but he controlled the urge. He was afraid that if he turned back, she would not be there, disappearing as quickly as she'd appeared. Hector's face was flushed, and the blood pounded through his veins. He did not like being toyed with. He was the President of Los Escorpiones — a powerful man in the Barrio. The old woman was powerful as well, and she had proven an important ally, but he could not show weakness. He'd come alone, but there were others watching. They filled the streets beyond the shop, waiting for a sign, or for his call. They would descend like an avenging army at the first sign of trouble, but despite this knowledge, Hector prayed it would not be necessary.

He wasn't worried about Raoul or Stephen. Hector always packed heat, and he was no slouch in a fight. It was this place, this dark, rat-hole with all its odd turns and shadowed rooms. There was no way to know, once you'd taken the first half dozen corners, which direction you were heading. There were other ways out — he knew this because he'd been escorted out by at least two of them over the years, but he was certain if he had to find any of them on his own, he'd be lost for days. Maybe forever. Things in Anya Cabrera's den were not as they seemed, and he suspected, though it made no sense, that they were not always the same, either. Not in the way the streets of the Barrio were always the same, or the lines on his hand.

Raoul led the way down a long, narrow passage. They turned left twice and right at least once. Ahead Hector saw a light. They headed straight for it, and moments later stepped into a large room with rounded edges. The walls were covered in tapestries, and the floor was carpeted in some sort of lush, green shag that resembled grass too long denied the intimacy of a mower. The air was heavy with the scent of Sandalwood, though the smoke was mixed with other more subtle aromas and too thick to be enjoyable. On the far side of the room, seated in a large, ornate chair decorated with red satin and gold gilt, Hector saw Anya Cabrera. From where he stood it was hard to make out details, but despite this her eyes glittered as she watched him. Nothing else in the room would focus, but he saw those eyes clearly.

Hector crossed the room. His feet felt heavy, and his legs were sluggish, but he forced them into motion. He knew it was a test. Everything with Anya Cabrera was a test. He had no intention of failing it. He told himself, as he had on so many other occasions, that she was only a woman. His mind flitted briefly back to Santini Park, and the storm. He saw dark figures moving with incredible speed. He heard the screams and the cries — not those of a normal battle at all, but of something darker.

"You are punctual," Anya said, breaking the silence. "It is a good trait in a young man, and so rare."

"I do not like to waste time," Hector said. He managed to keep his voice steady. "I have the report you requested on our — encounter — with the Dragons." He fell silent for a moment, but when she didn't answer, he continued. "I also have concerns."

Anya arched one eyebrow. She smiled, but there was no warmth or humor in the expression.

"Tell me," she said. "Then we will talk."

Hector did. He told her how the Dragons had arrived in a roar of chrome and throbbing engines. He told her that Snake had been present, and about Vasquez, the fallen giant. He also told her about his own men, moving like the shadows of bolts of lightning; rising when they should have been dead, fighting on against overwhelming odds like demons and swarming like hordes of vermin. As hard as he tried to prevent it, his voice shook when he told of the storm breaking, and their retreat. He'd gathered his men together, moving like wraiths into the alleys and darkened streets. The Dragons had left their dead and fled. Los Escorpiones had lost no one. Not a single casualty.

"This is a problem?" Anya asked softly.

"There are no dead," Hector replied, "but neither do they all live. Two of my men, Paulo and Bernini, have not spoken since the battle. They sit, and they stare, and they do not move. They are like empty shells. Several others stare into shadows with wild eyes, as if they sense things just out of sight, but can never quite find them. I left no men behind, but at least five of those who follow me are as good as dead — possibly worse."

"They will return," Anya said. "You will bring them to me, and leave them. When the time comes — when you need them to fight — they will be by your side. It is a promise."

Hector had a lot more on his mind. He wasn't thinking so much about the next time he needed the men to fight. Paulo was his cousin. Paulo's wife and children were sitting at home with a father who would not talk to them and could not see. Bernini was Hector's second in command. It was difficult enough to maintain control over the volatile ranks of Los Escorpiones without having to lose his right hand man. He said none of this because he was certain she already knew it, and because to do so would be to hand her knowledge she could use against him.

"The Barrio will be yours soon," Anya said. "Our people will overrun all opposition; none will walk the streets without our permission. Victory, in a war like this, never comes without cost. Are you unhappy with the services I have provided?"

"You know that I am not," Hector said. "I only question the use of my men as something…less. I have stood with them, shoulder to shoulder. I have shared their pain and broken bread with their families. They follow me because they trust me to lead them well. They will not trust me if I turn them into…"

"Yes?" Anya said, her voice almost a purr. "Turn them into what?"

"Diablos." Hector spat. "When I fought last night, it was not men at my side. No one moves that fast. No one walks away from a knife in the gut as if it never happened. I do not know what you did to them, but I know that it was wrong."

Anya Cabrera unwound herself from her seat like a snake, her movements dark and sinuous. Her hair was long and streaked with gray. She wore a silk gown that draped to the floor, sliding over her hips and cut very low at the neckline, where a beaded necklace dangled an obsidian figurine between pale breasts. Her eyes were such a dark green they appeared black in the shadows, and her smile — if it was a smile at all — was thin and absolutely unreadable.