Page 1 of Dragon in Denial
Chapter 1
Ten years ago, Ketu Ormarr left New Orleans and swore he’d never return. And yet here he was, back for the second time in three months.
It was better to spend January in the temperate, southern climate than in bitterly cold Detroit, right?
Yeah, he wasn’t very good at convincing himself this was a positive thing. He could use a coat to protect against the chill, but what the hell did he use to tamp down his emotions when all the reminders of why he left were pelting him in the face like driving rain?
Rolling his shoulders in an attempt to brush off the frustration mixed with a heavy dose of melancholy, he twisted the knob and stepped through the back door to Dragon Antiques, the shop Gabriel Wilde’s mother owned. She was half witch, half dragon, and until last October, she had lorded over the highly lucrative dragon’s blood drug trade that existed in this town.
Lucrative—and deadly, as Ketu knew firsthand.
Steel shelving units were overturned and empty boxes lay on their sides, packing material strewn across the plywood floor like chunks of multicolored vomit. A card table was flattened in the middle of the room, the legs sticking out at odd angles, as if someone had sat on it and broken it—or maybe was thrown against it and it collapsed under their weight.
“She cleaned it all out and disappeared.” The deep, heavily accented voice preceded the gargoyle who stepped soundlessly out of the shadows near the entrance to the front of the shop. Even in human form, Argyle was massive, his facial features, his muscles still looking as though they were carved from stone under his smooth, dark skin. Truthfully, Ketu wasn’t much smaller than the gargoyle, but he still wouldn’t relish hand-to-hand combat with the guy.
“Annoying,” Ketu murmured, “but not surprising.” He strode up to Argyle, stopping when they were practically nose to nose. Gargoyles didn’t shake hands. Ketu had learned as much from his last trip to New Orleans, this past fall.
They stared at each other until Argyle broke eye contact a few seconds later and nodded. Had the other man felt any sort of threat, this greeting could have escalated into a dragon and gargoyle, battling it out among the ruins of a once bustling drug trade disguised as an antiques shop.
Glad Gabe’s trust of the gargoyle appeared to be legitimate.
“More difficult to find and stop her,” Argyle agreed. “With the curse on her mother broken, the gargoyles are no longer beholden to her. I have already checked with my brethren, and none have heard from nor seen her since October.”
That was when she kidnapped Petra Sharmell and Noah Ladon’s baby and led them all to an abandoned sugar mill in southern Louisiana where she’d been keeping her own mother prisoner, tied to the place by a curse Petra had ultimately broken. That action also broke the gargoyles’ protection pact.
“Four months is plenty enough time for Delilah to set up shop somewhere else and get the word out to her dealers,” Ketu said.
“As an expression of appreciation for freeing us from our servitude to Delilah, I told your reeve I would help in any way possible; however, I do not know what I can offer. Gargoyles do not normally associate with dragons, so I would not know where to begin the search.”
“Understood.” Ketu grimaced. If he were not indebted to the previous reeve of the colony in Detroit, he would have demanded Gabe send someone else on this mission to find Delilah and destroy her drug business. But the former reeve had adopted him into his colony at a point in Ketu’s life when he had been so low, he hadn’t been sure he even wanted to go on living, much less be around other dragons.
“Should you need me, I have returned to my home, watching over the City of the Dead on Basin Street. My perch is near the resting place of Marie Laveau.” The gargoyle nodded once and strode from the building, leaving Ketu alone with his thoughts.
His memories.
His dread.
***
He stood on the sidewalk and observed the brick ranch home with the attached carport. The front of the house was lined with holly bushes. A giant magnolia tree shaded nearly the entire front yard. The shutters around the windows were brown, some of the paint peeling, adding to the guilt he carried like a heavy cloak.
I shouldn’t have left.
But I couldn’t stay.
Clenching his jaw and shoving his hands into his jean pockets, he strode up the path leading to the front door, hesitated, and then turned and walked around to the carport. He looked through the window in the kitchen door at a room that hadn’t changed much since he’d left. Sure, the appliances looked like they had been upgraded, and that kitchen table was new, but those curtains were the same…and so was that urn perched on the windowsill. It was pale blue, with darker blue flowers painted in a circle around the base. Eulalie’s favorite color.
They still haven’t buried her ashes.
Sucking in a deep breath, he stepped across the threshold, the way he had every day of his life until ten years ago.
“Mamá.”
He winced as the plate smashed against the tile floor, shards of white ceramic flying every which way. The woman who had been holding it turned around to face him, leaning her ample bottom against the sink, her fist over her heart, the fingers of the other hand pressed to her lips while she rapidly blinked against the tears filling her eyes.
“Mijo,” she said, her voice a cracked whisper. “Come here,” she said, spreading her arms. “I’m afraid to walk to you right now. I don’t think my legs can hold me up without the help of this counter behind me.”
A relieved smile tugged at his lips as Ketu obligingly stepped closer to his mother. As soon as her fingers brushed his shirt-sleeve, she grabbed him and pulled him to her, squeezing him until he could scarcely breathe. He didn’t try to extract himself from her hold, though, because her face was buried in his chest and her shoulders were shaking. His mother hated to cry, so he waited it out, letting the cotton of his shirt soak up her tears while he patted her back. He had no idea if these tears were for him or her.
