Heart of a Dragon (21 page)

"Nice," Donovan said with a chuckle.
 
"You always carry lock picks in your hair?"

"You'd be surprised what can double as a fashion accessory."

She lowered the chain gently to prevent any more unwanted sound, pressed the gate open wide enough to allow them both access, and slipped inside.
 
Donovan followed, and then pulled the gate closed behind them.
 
If they weren't out by daylight, someone was going to see that open lock, and the chain on the ground, but for the moment they were safe enough.
 
He turned and studied the piles of rotting vehicles for a moment, then pulled out the pendulum again.
 
After only a moment it swung at an angle to the left.

"Shall we?" Donovan said.

Amethyst only nodded.
 
Now that they'd entered the junkyard the music was much louder, almost hypnotic.
 
The incense smoke was thick, and it seemed to seep from every crack and pore of the place, as if seeking to escape.

Donovan slipped between a smashed Ford Mustang chassis and the remnant of an ancient Cadillac.
 
Amethyst followed.
 
There was a narrow crack buried in deep shadows, and they followed it inward.
 
Cars were piled so high on either side that the light of the moon would only penetrate when it had finally risen to the center of the sky.
 
Donovan moved with sure-footed grace, stopping every few feet to draw out the pendulum and test their direction. Within moments the gate was lost to site.

They moved very slowly, and very carefully.
 
For one thing, many of the trails through the yard were narrow and lined with jagged bits of metal.
  
In the darkness it was easy to snag clothing, or cut an arm by coming too close to one side or the other.
 
The music was eerie and had grown steadily in volume as they progressed.

"The guitar is getting louder," Amethyst said softly, "but not the flute, or the drums."

"I noticed," Donovan replied.
 
"We must be near one of the musicians.
 
If so, we're in no immediate danger – they aren't violent.
 
We don't want him to see us though, if we can help it.
 
He'd be able to pinpoint our location for Anya's people without even breaking rhythm."

"That shouldn't be a problem.
 
We're still wearing the amulets."

Donovan nodded, but didn't look convinced. He followed the pendulum around the corner of a Jeep so buried under and forgotten that it had begun to compress downward, windshield broken away, tires flattened.
 
The scent of rotting rubber mixed with that of the soil and the rust; entropy was making a meal of the junk, wearing away at it slowly and steadily.

Their way became suddenly easier.
 
The path ahead had been used more recently – there were signs of footprints.
 
There was also another trail winding off directly across from where they entered the wider path.

"We're going to have to be more careful from here," Donovan whispered.
 
"I don't think they will be patrolling this far out, but they've been through here recently.
 
They may just be working on expanding their operations.
 
If they bring
Los Escorpiones
fully on board, and for good, then the gate onto Delaporte will probably not remain closed much longer."

Amethyst nodded.
 
"Which way?"

The pendulum wavered.
 
It began to swing to the right and then faltered.
 
The chain swung that direction, but the crystal dangled at the end, as if something had dampened the energy allowing it to defy the call of gravity.
 
The chain pointed right, but the crystal itself pointed straight down.

They looked at one another.
 
Donovan shrugged.
 
He put the pendulum back in his pocket and slipped around the corner to the right, moving slowly.
 
They made better time, but at the same time, moved with greater care.
 
The music was much louder, and they heard voices raised in loud raucous laughter.
 
The air around them was charged with a strange energy that made it difficult not to get caught up in the rhythm; the syncopated heartbeat of the ritual.

"They're in full swing," Donovan said. "We'd better hurry, or we're going to miss anything important that happens."

They stepped into a cleared space and stopped cold.
 
Seated before them in the driver's seat of a long-abandoned school bus was a young man with very long hair and coal-black eyes.
 
He held a very large-bodied acoustic guitar across his knees. His fingers flew over the strings, and the sound they produced pounded through the night to blend with the other instruments.

Donovan stood very still.
 
Amethyst stepped up beside him.
 
The musician had not acknowledged their presence.
 
Still, they waited.
 
Donovan took a step forward, and then another.
 
A path led between a group of heavy machinery carcasses, and he stepped toward it gingerly.
 
Amethyst mimicked his movements.
 
They slipped wraith-silent through the clearing, and up to the entrance to that new passage, all the while keeping their eyes locked on the guitarist.

Just as they thought they had made it through unseen, the man turned.
 
He winked at them, and there was a very subtle change in the sound from his instrument.
 
It didn't disrupt the rhythm, or the song, but Donovan knew in that instant that some message had been sent.

"He sees us," Amethyst said.
 
She didn't sound frightened, but she did sound confused.

"It's the music," Donovan said.
 
"I don't think he knows who, or even what we are for certain.
 
He's so in tune with the sound, so connected to the notes and the rhythm that he felt us pass. He's informed the others of it, too.
 
Whatever comes next, I think we have to assume that Anya Cabrera is now aware that someone is here."

They ducked onto the path and hurried off toward the center of the yard.
 
They were very close.
 
Donovan spotted an old front loader.
 
It had been parked with its shovel up in the air, high enough that it peeked over the top of most of the stacked vehicles.

"There," he said.
 
"We should be able to see what's going on from there and still remain out of site.
 
She won't be any more able to see us than before.
 
Knowing someone is here and finding them are two different things entirely, and Anya Cabrera has other things on her mind."

They scrambled up the old, yellow hulk and climbed into the deep, rusted shovel.
 
Once inside they peered out over the toothed lip.
 
Smoke billowed and wisped from the central square of the junkyard.
 
They could make out whirling, dancing shapes.
 
They saw Anya Cabrera, wearing nothing but a thin scarf around her neck, sliding sinuously in and out among the other dancers.

"Showtime," Donovan whispered.

Jake and Enrique came down from Santini Park toward the junkyard at a slow trot. They paid no attention to those they passed, and any who happened to be between the two and their goal stepped aside.
 
There was something different about them, something it wasn't easy to put a finger on.
 
They moved quickly and silently.
 
Both men were dressed in jeans, leather jackets, and heavy boots, but it was the jackets that caught at the attention of passersby and stuck with them for years after.

As they had passed, the dragons on the backs of those jackets came clearly into view.
 
The colors were vivid, so bright they gave off an illumination all their own.
 
Even those watching from a distance saw the details clearly.
 
As they left the safe bounds of their own territory and entered the darker parts of the Barrio, they dropped out of sight, shifting into the shadows.
 
The dragons left colored trails that lingered in the dusky air.

Whispered questions followed them. Everyone knew who they were, but none could answer why two of the dragons would enter the territory of their enemies alone. The news of the battle in the park, and Vasquez's fall was fresh, and the junkyard was viewed with a mixture of fear and loathing.
 
Now the jackets started rumors of their own.

On a street corner with a clear view of the entrance to the junkyard, Martinez stood and watched them pass. He saw the dragons on their backs more clearly than any of the others watching.
 
He had examined each at close range.
 
He had mixed the sealant into the paint, a special oil that bound the designs to the leather. His was the charm of binding.
 
He alone knew that there was a great deal more to Jake and Enrique now than there had been.
 
They possessed the potential for greatness – what remained was to see how they fulfilled that potential.

The two slowed as they reached the street that opened onto the junkyard.
 
Martinez watched a moment longer, and then slipped back into the shadows.
 
He had a great deal to accomplish and not all that much time in which to accomplish it.
 
From this point on, the two were on their own

~ * ~

Jake stopped and held out an arm to slow Enrique. The streets were clearing quickly as those still lingering noticed the two intruders.
 
No one wanted to get caught between The Dragons and
Los Escorpiones
.
 
They didn't mind gossiping about it, but they didn't want to be part.
 
Besides, with the lights, the music, and the smoke rising from the junkyard, it was a good night to be somewhere else.

"You see 'em?" Jake asked.
 
He nodded toward the entrance to the junkyard, where two of Anya's guardians stood, glaring at them. The big men were bald, dark, and seriously muscled.
 
Jake had seen them from a distance, but he'd never interacted with them.

"I was kind of hoping for
Escorpiones
," Enrique muttered.
 
"Those guys creep me out."

They continued slowly, walking up the gate as if they'd been invited.
 
Jake kept a big grin on his face and made no sudden moves.
 
He figured that the closer they got before trouble started, the better chance they had of making their crazy-assed plan work.
 
He wasn't big on their chances for survival, but they had a few tricks up their sleeves, and there was more.
 
He felt the dragon through the leather of his jacket.
 
He felt stronger than he'd ever felt in his long, rough life.
 
He thought if he got a good run he could leap right over the two guards, though he knew the thought was crazy.
 
He imagined what the yard would look like from the air.

"You ready?" Enrique asked.

The sound broke Jake's reverie, and he nodded again.
 
"Let's do this."

They stepped up to the gate, brought their hands out of their pockets simultaneously, and tossed handfuls of white powder into the face of the two startled guards.
 
The action caught the big men completely off guard, and the powder struck them full in the face.
 
With twin gurgling cries of pain and dismay they dropped to their knees. Jake didn't hesitate.
 
He stepped forward and planted the steel toe of his boot in the first guard's forehead, driving him back.
 
Enrique grabbed the second by the throat, lifted him like a child and drove him back so his head struck a wooden post on the fence.

"We're in," Jake said.
 
"Move!"

They plunged through the gate and rushed down the path toward the first set of torches.

"I don't see anyone," Enrique said.

"They're here," Jake grated. "Count on it.
 
They aren't leaving just those two on guard."

Almost before the words cleared his lips, a figure slid out of the shadows.
 
This time it was one of
Los Escorpiones
, a thin, dark eyed young man with a chain wrapped around one forearm and a knife in his other hand.
 
Behind him, a second peeled loose from the deeper darkness.
 
This one was big.
 
He had what looked like a snapped off car antenna in his hand, probably improvised from their surroundings.

About ten yards farther in, Jake saw the flicker of lanterns.
 
These two were meant to ambush anyone getting close to that next checkpoint, catching them unaware in the darkness. It should have worked, too, except, the darkness suddenly didn't bother him.
 
He had no idea how, but he saw clearly, even into the deeper shadows, and when the first of their attackers sprang, he dodged the man's blade easily.
 
The boy grunted with exertion and swung the heavy chain in an arc toward Jake's head, but it might as well have been in slow motion.