Chapter 11 Jackson
JACKSON
Isat on my bed the next morning, staring off into space.
I was neither refreshed nor energized. After hours of tossing and turning, I’d finally slipped into a fitful sleep filled with sporadic and terrifying dreams of loss, death, and despair.
In fact, upon waking up, I’d had to lay motionless for a few seconds to ensure none of those awful things my subconscious had conjured were real.
I took a breath. There was nothing to be gained from slipping into despondency. I knew what I had to do now, and that was all I could focus on. Getting the car finished and handing it over to Joseph. Then? Well, then I’d figure out how to do what was next.
A small niggling fear in the back of my mind told me that I’d become Sisyphus, and Joseph was forcing me to perpetually roll a boulder up a mountain over and over, for eternity.
The mental image drew a snarling growl from my dragon, and I snatched up my phone from beside the bed and called Christian.
“I swear to God, you better not ask me to deliver pizza or something today,” he said.
“No food this time,” I muttered.
He must have heard something in my voice, because his usual jovial and sarcastic tone vanished.
“What’s wrong?’
I told him. Christian was, if anything, possibly more angry than I’d been, and muttered a string of curses.
“That ass-sucking, shit-fucking, bastard-ass motherfucker! I can’t believe this shit.”
“I know,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “I needed you to know. I…” I paused, unsure what to say next, then went on, “I don’t want you to get any more involved than you are, but if I need help, will you—”
“Bro, I’m with you. No need to ask. You go to war? I go to war. It’s that simple. You call me whenever the prick tells you what you have to do next, and I’ll be there if you need me.”
I nearly sobbed in relief, but kept my composure. Christian could be a goofball, but there wasn’t a more loyal friend in the world.
“Thank you. I’ll let you know. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it won’t be as dangerous as the first one. Speaking of, I need to head out. Shyanne should have the car finished today, and I want to be there when she does.”
“Sounds good, man. You call me if you need me. You understand?”
“I understand.”
After hanging up, I sent a text to Tiana.
She’d gone to Mexico two days ago. It was most likely a pointless endeavor, but we had to chase every lead we could.
An old rumor had swirled around for some time about a possible ancient breed of fungus that had been known to cure some of the worst diseases known to man.
Some records showed it was the foundation for the old fountain of youth myths.
I thought they were truly nothing but that—myths.
Though when Tiana had read about a village near where the fungus grew in an old book in our library, she’d decided to go check on things.
Jackson: Any luck so far?
Tiana: It’s a bust. If those mushrooms ever DID grow here, they’re long extinct. You were right.
Sighing, I wondered how to make her feel better about such a wild goose chase.
Jackson: You did all you could. I’m proud of you for trying.
Tiana: Thanks. I appreciate that. I’m going to fly back this morning. I miss my girls.
After telling her to be careful, I slipped the phone into my pocket and stood.
With everything happening, I wasn’t sure how I was going to stay sane.
I was proud of my pack for putting in the work to try and help, but each time a door closed, there was an impending sense that we’d never succeed.
At this point, we were basically chasing shadows while hoping and praying.
With a dejected snarl, I grabbed my boots.
I snuck up to the roof because I wasn’t in the mood to see anyone.
I couldn’t comfort or console myself, much less my mother.
It made me feel like a coward, but when I jumped into the air and shifted, I was positive I’d made the right decision.
I needed some silence. Quiet, open sky, and wind was what a dragon needed to clear their head, and it worked.
By the time I arrived at Shyanne’s shop, I’d put the stress of the night before behind me, compartmentalizing it so that I could focus on the task at hand. I found a deserted spot to land and shift, then made my way to her garage.
The entire crew was already at work.
Brent glanced up as I entered and shoved a blond shock of hair from his face, accidentally smearing a streak of grease through it.
“Boss lady’s in the back with the Lambo,” he said with a grin and went back to work.
I found Shyanne in the paint room, standing to the side as Reggie went over the car with a small airbrush paint gun.
She was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that showed off the muscles of her arms, and a pair of overalls.
Even dressed so casually, she still looked amazing enough to make me salivate, and I had to tear my eyes away when she turned to me.
“Morning.” Her dazzling white smile nearly making my knees unhinge.
“Good morning.” I nodded to Reggie. “What’s up?”
Shyanne sighed. “The only way to get this car ready in time was the way I told you last night. Fast-drying paint and heat lamps. Otherwise, it would have taken two days at minimum. The problem with a quick job like that, is there can be inconsistencies. The paint dries too fast, it might shrink and tear. Cosmetic issues. Reggie’s using the small air gun to go over them.
I’m decent at it, but nowhere near as precise as Reggie is. ”
“That’s right, girl,” Reggie said, keeping his eye on the task at hand. “Don’t you forget it. I got you, though. No worries.”
“Once he’s done, we’ll buff and polish,” she said.
I glanced down at her tool belt and frowned. A wrench was stuck through one of the loops, but it didn’t look like a working wrench. I’d seen it the day before, but I hadn’t had the chance to ask her about it.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing at the wrench.
Shyanne glanced down and laughed as she pulled it free.
“This was my gift when I took over the shop. Dad gave it to me as sort of a baton. Passing the torch? You know?”
“Ah,” I said, nodding. “Symbolic rather than functional.”
“Oh no,” she said with a smile, and then flipped the wrench in the air.
It pinwheeled once before the handle slapped into her hand again.
“She’s functional, all right. The real deal, but I don’t use it.
I like to keep her shiny. I’ve got a hundred other tools that can do the job.
But symbolic? Yeah, I suppose so. Way more than you could imagine.
It’s custom-made. Actually, Dad spent way too much on it. ”
“Uh…it’s just a wrench,” I said with a grin. “How much could it cost?”
Shyanne looked down at the tool with a distant and sad look in her eyes.
“Dad was born in Mexico before he immigrated here with his family. When he had this made, he took a trip there and brought home a big piece of volcanic obsidian glass from near a volcano that sat outside the town he was born in. He had that ground into powder and mixed in with the metal during the forging process,” she explained, her face growing even more somber.
“He also took one of my mom’s earrings and had that melted into it too.
It’s got a little piece of him and a piece of her inside it.
” She chuckled slightly. “He assumed it would have a place of honor on the wall of my office, but that’s dumb.
A tool should be out in the shop. I don’t use it for work, though, I just kinda like having it on my belt.
Makes me feel like they’re both with me even when they aren’t. ”
“I kinda like that. It’s fitting,” I said. I knew about loss too, so her story struck me deep.
“Thanks,” she said, giving me an awkward grin before tucking the wrench back into her belt.
For the next couple hours, Reggie went over the car, spraying paint in spots that hadn’t cured properly, then spraying the clear coat onto the entire car.
By the time he was done, it was lunchtime.
Taking Christian’s words to heart from that morning, I ordered pizza, but had it delivered rather than rousing him out again.
“Bro, Rich Car Guy needs to come hang out every day,” Brent said through a mouthful of pepperoni pizza. “This is way better than the PB&J I usually pack for lunch.”
Shyanne slid a few slices on a paper plate, then nodded toward her office. “Jackson, do you have a minute?”
“Sure,” I said, and followed her with my own food.
Taking my seat across from hers, she closed the door and sat down. It felt a little like I’d been called into the principal’s office.
Setting her pizza down, she looked at me, a direct pointed stare. “I have questions.”
I paused, pizza halfway to my mouth. “Uh, yes? What are they?”
“Questions about shifters. Dragons and stuff,” she said.
“I’ll do my best. Hit me with what you’ve got.”
“How do you…do it?” she said, and then waved her hands at me as if casting a spell. “Like…change. Is it easy? Hard? Painful?”
I chuckled. “Not painful. It kinda feels like when your arm falls asleep. You know when the sensation is just coming back, and your arm is tingling and feels funny, almost like it tickles, but in a weird way?”
“Yeah,” she said, keeping her eyes glued on me as she took a bite.
“It’s not a physical thing either,” I said. “It’s more like a…” I tried to think of the best way to describe it. It was second nature to me and hard to explain. It was like trying to tell someone how the act of breathing worked. “Uh, like a handshake, I guess.”
“A handshake? What are you talking about?” She frowned at me.
I tapped the side of my head. “I’m not alone. I never am. My inner dragon is deep in my mind, entwined with my soul. A whole and complete other entity.”
Her eyes widened in shock, but she said nothing.