A Dragon's Treasure

23. The Rook Family Curse

Writhing, in his full dragon form, Cassian tried ripping through the chains with his claws and gnawing at the metal to find only resistance. Not even a little crack. The chains just expanding along with his form. He opened his mouth; the fire crackling in his chest, and Cassian roared, sending a tunnel of fire into the nothingness. The fire crashed into a solid barrier that turned his fire bright blue, transforming into ice cold water that splashed across Cassian's hot skin.

Cassian cursed, seething against the sting. It burned the edges of his vision, and he shut his eyes tight, bearing through the pain and the trickle of cold water that threatened him with unconsciousness. He might vomit. He hadn't done that before as a dragon.

"Interesting. A dragon with a curse..." Vincent said, and the darkness dispersed as the dark witch waved his hand as if he was just parting cigarette smoke. Since Cassian fell, Vincent had dawned a chunky cardigan and an ornate teacup. Using his ankle to hook a stool, Vincent pulled it up behind him and took a seat.

There was no surprise in his voice. Vincent held the same dreary, tired expression since Cassian arrived. He leaned over a huge cast iron, ladling out a smoking liquid, and poured it into his tea. "You know, if you need my help, we can't work together if you continue to be dishonest. Honesty is the best policy." He sat back down. "Shall we start over, maybe with a name?"

Steam flowed from Cassian's nostrils as he sighed. The steam turned to tinkling ice crystal when it hit the shield. "Cassian," he admitted. "Lord Cassian Alwyn. Obviously," Cassian huffed and adjusted his position in these chains, and they clanked together, wearing Cassian's patience razor thin. "You have no reason to trust me, and I admit, I began this conversation by lying to you, but I'm sincerely asking for your help..."

Vincent's eyes glanced at the fired keeping the caldron bubbling. No change of color. It was infuriating to be in a room with fire that wasn't on his side. Cassian said, "It isn't easy for a dragon like me to ask for help."

Sitting back, Vincent took another sip of his tea. "We have that in common. Now, I'm intrigued."

"How can I end the Whitlock curse?"

"Oh." Vincent's brows raised, the first twinkle of life in his silver eyes. He sat up a little. "Well, I wasn't expecting that. You said Alwyn. Not Whitlock. A black dragon normally has a horde, a castle, and not a care in the world. Why do you care about the curse of a family that you don't belong to?"

"I fell in love with a Whitlock." Cassian smiled the closest he could in this form. Vincent just sipped on his tea, maybe to hide his face. Cassian went on, "I'm admitting this meaning you no harm, but I know your family was the one that cursed the Whitlocks. I also know you're the only Rook witch with any magic left. I know you stopped talking to your family."

Vincent grimaced. "Our world is full of gossips."

"I'm hoping because of all that, you're the one who will help me."

Taking a breath, Vincent glanced at the caldron. He rolled his wrist and the ladle inside the caldron circled the lips, stirring the tea concoction, sending an aroma of mint and tarragon into the air. From the ether, a different ornate tea pot appeared and slowly filled with more tea. Steam trickled from the spout.

"I know the curse and its origins," Vincent said, watching the teapot fill. "But it'll only disappoint you. It's a long and sort of pointless story to tell."

"I have time. My flight for New Zealand is this evening."

Vincent sighed. "The only way to explain the curse is to know how it started." He waited for Cassian's approval and grabbed the full teapot. When Cassian nodded for him to go on, Vincent sighed again. "It was the turn of the century and my family, the Rook family, was well established in society and came from old money..."