Light Dragons 01 - Love in the Time of Dragons

didn’t ask,” he pointed out, and with that, I could not dispute.
    “We’ll talk about it when I get back. I suppose I should talk to Gareth,” I said, not wanting to do any such thing.
    “Can’t. He’s in Barcelona.”
    “Oh. Is Ruth there?”
    “No, she went with him.”
    Panic gripped me. “You’re not alone, are you?”
    “Sullivan, I’m not a child,” he answered, sounding indignant that I would question the wisdom gained during his lifetime, all nine years of it. “I can stay by myself.”
    “Not for five weeks you can’t—”
    “It’s OK. When Ruth and Gareth left, and you didn’t come back, Penny said I could stay with her until you came home.”
    I sagged against the bed, unmindful of the two women watching me so closely. “Thank the stars for Penny. I’ll be home just as soon as I can get on a plane. Do you have a pen?”
    “Sec.”
    I covered the phone and looked at the woman named May. “Is there a phone number I can give my son in case of an emergency?”
    “Your son?” she asked, her eyes widening. “Yes. Here.”
    I took the card she pulled from her pocket, reading the number off it to Brom. “You stay with Penny until I can get you, all right?”
    “Geez, Sullivan, I’m not a ’tard.”
    “A what?” I asked.
    “A ’tard. You know, a retard.”
    “I’ve asked you not to use those sorts of . . . oh, never mind. We’ll discuss words that are hurtful and should not be used another time. Just stay with Penny, and if you need me, call me at the number I gave you. Oh, and Brom?”
    “What?” he asked in that put-upon voice that nine-year-old boys the world over can assume with such ease.
    I turned my back on the two women. “I love you bunches. You remember that, OK?”
    “ ’K.” I could almost hear his eyes rolling. “Hey, Sullivan, how come you had your thing now? I thought it wasn’t supposed to happen until around Halloween.”
    “It isn’t, and I don’t know why it happened now.”
    “Gareth’s going to be pissed he missed it. Did you . . . you know . . . manifest the good stuff?”
    My gaze moved slowly around the room. It seemed like a pretty normal bedroom, containing a large bureau, a bed, a couple of chairs and a small table with a ruffly cloth on it, and a white stone fireplace. “I don’t know. I’ll call you later when I have some information about when I’ll be landing in Madrid, all right?”
    “Later, French mustachioed waiter,” he said, using his favorite childhood rhyme.
    I smiled at the sound of it, missing him, wishing there was a way to magically transport myself to the small, overcrowded, noisy apartment where we lived so I could hug him and ruffle his hair, and marvel yet again that such an intelligent, wonderful child was mine.
    “Thank you,” I said, handing the cell phone back to May. “My son is only nine. I knew he would be worried about what happened to me.”
    “Nine.” May and Kaawa exchanged another glance. “Nine . . . years?”
    “Yes, of course.” I sidled away, just in case one or both of the women turned out to be crazy after all. “This is very awkward, but I’m afraid I have no memory of either of you. Have we met?”
    “Yes,” Kaawa said. She wore a pair of loose- fitting black palazzo pants and a beautiful black top embroidered in silver with all sorts of Aboriginal animal designs. Her hair was twisted into several braids, pulled back into a short ponytail. “I met you once before, in Cairo.”
    “Cairo?” I prodded the solid black mass that was my memory. Nothing moved. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been in Cairo. I live in Spain, not Egypt.”
    “This was some time ago,” the woman said carefully.
    Perhaps she was someone I had met while travelling with Dr. Kostich. “Oh? How long ago?”
    She looked at me silently for a moment, then said, “About three hundred years.”

Chapter Two
    “Y solde is awake again,” May said as the door to the study was opened.
    I looked up from where I had been staring down into the cup of coffee cradled in my hands. Two men entered the room, both tall and well- built, and curiously enough, both with grey eyes. The first one who entered paused at May’s chair, his hand smoothing over her short hair as he looked me over. I returned the look, noting skin the color of milky coffee, a close-cut goatee, and shoulder-length dreadlocks.
    “Again?” the man asked.
    “She fainted after she woke up the first time.”
    I eyed him. After the last hour, I’d