Chapter Six #3
That was my cue, but I really didn’t want to step up to the big scary dark thing. I reminded myself that there was nothing it could do to me (other than possibly scaring me to death) and, steeling my shattered nerves, slowly made my way to the entrance where the Hashmallim lurked.
“I am Becket, the dragon ambassador to the L’au-dela. I wish to see Yrian Shadowsworn, a dragon you have in your custody,” I told it.
Little bits of its gauze robe drifted, reaching out as if to touch me. I stepped back and, channeling my mother at her most arrogant, lifted my chin and tried hard to send a scathing look down the length of my nose.
“You are no dragon,” came a voice from the blackness inside the cowl. It sounded like rocks grating on other rocks, making me want to rub my arms against the goose bumps that blossomed in response.
“I don’t have to be,” I said, repeating the excuse that had been discussed on the flight to France. “I am recognized by the weyr as being their representative, and as such, I have the right to ascertain the welfare of Yrian Shadowsworn. You will take me to him immediately.”
The Hashmallim said nothing for a minute, but its form moved in a way that had me thinking it was considering the dragons, all of whom had formed a semicircle behind me.
“Wait,” was all it said before it drifted to the doors, disappearing inside with an almost silent whoosh.
I slumped, clutching a bit of wall, feeling like I’d just run a marathon. “I feel like I’m made of pasta. Soggy pasta,” I said, turning back to the others.
“Don’t blame you. The Hashies are masters of intimidation. But if you sing ‘My Humps’ to them for thirty-six hours straight, they’ll cave. Well, most of them. There’s a couple that I don’t think can be broken,” Jim said.
“Do you want to put Jim’s glamour on now?” Aisling asked, casting a nervous glance at the door. “Maybe we should go to the other side of the car, so anyone who’s looking out won’t see.”
“I’m thinking not,” I said slowly, following her when she moved around the car and, with a few words, and a ward drawn on my hand, gave me temporary powers over her demon.
“No talking unless it helps Becket,” Aisling told the demon, giving it a swift pat. “Be as helpful as you can, and yes, that’s an order.”
Jim rolled its eyes, but said nothing.
“I guess we’ll give this a go,” I said, squaring my shoulders.
“One minute,” Baltic said, tucking away his phone.
Beyond him, light seemed to gather like a mass of tiny fireflies, forming itself into the shape of a man who stepped forward with a frown directed at me. “You are correct.”
“OK,” I said, more than a little startled by the First Dragon’s statement. “Er ... about what, exactly?”
“You will need this.” He brushed his thumb across a spot on my forehead, then disappeared in another sparkle of fireflies.
“Holy merde,” Aisling said, her eyes huge as she stared at me. “That’s the First Dragon’s ... what, personal blessing?”
“I guess so.” I rubbed at the spot on my forehead. It felt a little hot, but didn’t hurt. In fact, the warmth from it seemed to be seeping downward through me, filling me with a sense of confidence.
“He did the same thing to me a few years ago, when Baltic and I found each other again,” Ysolde said. “It’s definitely his blessing.”
“That’s good, because I’m going to need the oomph.” I shot a quick glance toward the entrance, and made a sudden decision. “Since a Hashmallim has already seen Jim, we’ll try this with it in its natural form.”
The dragons didn’t like that much, but when the Hashmallim reappeared, they said nothing.
Big Scary was accompanied by a blond woman in an impossibly crisp white doctor’s coat.
The Hashmallim moved off the way it had come, disappearing around the side of the building as the woman approached me, a tablet in her hand.
“I am Dr. Debruin. I understand you wish to see one of our patients?” she asked, tapping on the tablet as she spoke. “You are the dragon representative?”
“I am,” I said, gesturing toward the others. “Newly appointed, but as you can see, I am here with the full authority of the weyr. Please take me to Yrian Shadowsworn so that I may verify he is receiving proper treatment.”
Her lips thinned. “Now is not convenient. The patient is scheduled to be removed in”—she consulted her watch—“approximately forty minutes. You should apply to the Court of Divine Blood for permission to visit him once he has been placed into their custody.”
“That is not acceptable,” I said, and, without looking at either the dragons or their demon, gave a toss of my head and strolled through the doorway. “I do not have time to waste waiting for others. Jim, heel.”
“I’m afraid—” the woman started to say, but by then Jim and I were inside, and she had little choice but to follow us in.
The entrance was a narrow hallway that opened up into what must have been the original chateau’s reception room, with a gray marble floor, paneled walls bearing somewhat tatty-looking tapestries, and a split staircase that curved upward to the landing above.
A heavy table sat to the right of the room, occupied by a young man who typed industriously on a laptop.
“Madame!” the blonde doctor protested as I stopped at the foot of the staircase. “It really is not an opportune moment, as I have just told you. The patient will be moved shortly—”
“That leaves ample time for me to check on him,” I interrupted with a ruthlessness that had me mentally squirming with discomfort. “I assume his room is upstairs?”
Dr. Debruin evidently had enough of me, because she thinned her lips, crossed her arms, and said, “Yes, but I’m not going to tell you which room.”
“That’s OK,” I said with a little smile, and started up the stairs, with Jim on my heels. “I have Jim. Can you find the room containing Yrian?”
“Sure, unless this place is loaded with dragons,” it answered, and hurried up the stairs, its tail waving happily as I raced after it.
We both ignored the protestations of Dr. Debruin, although I did whisper to Jim, “We’d better be quick.
I have a feeling she’s going to call in those Hashmallim dudes to give us the boot. ”
“It’s OK—he’s down here,” Jim answered, galloping down a long carpeted hall. One side of it was a bank of windows that looked out onto the valley below, while the other was lined with doors bearing discreet signs with names.
Jim stopped before a door that was so heavily scribed with wards and other protections, I was astounded it could be opened.
“Mierda,” I swore, wondering if I could put on a fast will glamour that would make the angry doctor open the door.
“Dude,” Jim said in a near drawl, tipping its head as it looked at me.
“What?” I asked, looking from it to the door.
It said nothing, and I had a faint memory of the laws concerning demons. “Demon Jim, I command you to answer my questions.”
It heaved a dramatic sigh, and I swear I heard it mutter something about Aisling not being the only clueless person around. “Take a closer look at those wards.”
Another profanity was on the tip of my tongue, but I bit it back. “Look, we don’t have time for this—”
“They keep the person in the room from leaving ... not anyone from getting in,” it pointed out with a cocked eyebrow.
I looked back at the door. Dammit, the demon was right. It wasn’t even locked, since obviously the people in charge at the Asile relied upon magic to keep their occupants contained. “Stupid, stupid people,” I murmured as I opened the door and looked inside.
I don’t know what I expected to see, perhaps a drooping man with the long hair and beard of someone who’d been deemed crazy and locked away, but the man who was in the act of striding across the room, his hands busy as he sketched spells in the air, fire trailing behind him, was not that. Not at all.
He spun around, his eyes glowing golden just as the First Dragon’s had earlier.
He also had a stripe of white in his dark hair, but rather than his hair being a tangled mess, it was cut short in a style that I connected to the 1930s, the front part of it swooping back in a slight wave that made something in my stomach tighten.
“Who are you?” he asked, spinning around to face me, his dark brown brows pulled together in a truly magnificent scowl. His eyes narrowed on me. “You are no dragon, yet you bear the mark of the First Dragon.”
I shot a fast glance down the long hallway. Noises could be heard coming up from the stairs.
“No, I’m not, but they sent me to get you out, and we have to be really quick because that sounds like one of those terrifying Hashmallim on its way. Stand still so I can apply this glamour on you.”
He shook his head as I gathered up the glamour I’d made for him, holding it for a moment and imbuing into it the warmth of the dragon blessing before tossing it on him.
Or rather, I tried. The glamour didn’t leave my hand.
“You better hurry up. That’s not just one Hashie—it’s a whole herd of them,” Jim warned, backing up until I was between it and the landing.
I examined the glamour, but nothing seemed amiss with it, so I tried again to fling it on Yrian.
It refused to be applied.
“Shit,” I said, looking to the left when a wave of terror rolled down the hallway. Dark shapes appeared and started oozing toward us.
“You can’t apply glamours here,” Yrian said, his eyes still narrowed, glittering like gold in the noonday sun. His lips twisted as he gestured toward the wall. “They’ve made sure of that.”
“Come on, then,” I said, holding out one hand while my other started drawing a will glamour that I hoped would allow us past the Hashmallim.
“I can’t. I’ve tried. They’ve warded the space,” he said on a near snarl, the fire that had been following him now a pool at his feet.