Draconic Amnesty

Chapter 12 - Risk

“Keep it safe.” Elias stepped outside, closed the front door, and leaned back against it. His right hand gripped the doorknob like a stress ball; his skull pressed against smooth steel.

He could say no more. Wren had taken possession of the bear and, in a single day, had restored it to a state of perfection. In the entire time he’d cared for it, he’d never once considered repairing it. Then again, if he’d been a more dependable brother, the bear’s original owner wouldn’t have died in the first place.

He walked down the stone path toward the large, circular driveway. Vehicles, presumably those that wouldn’t fit in the mansion’s three-car garage, lined the outer edge of the large circle. Barring the driveway’s entrance, an iron gate was shut. Trimmed hedges and immaculate gardening completed the scene, one that resembled a television show featuring rich celebrity lifestyles.

Filling his lungs with the crisp morning air, he picked up familiar scents: oak, pine needles, and roses. Lots of roses, far more than the splash of white and red bushes decorating Yuki’s lawn. He was in Washington Park, probably Arlington Heights, the unmistakable Rose Test Garden within range of his senses. A bus stop wouldn’t be far —

“Elias!” Yuki’s voice called from behind. Bustling footsteps signaled her approach, and a hand on his shoulder marked her arrival. “What did you say to her? I never seen her so happy.”

“Nothing.” He didn’t stop walking. It was only ten o’clock, plenty of time to take care of a few things before tonight.

“Why you leave so soon?” She tugged at his shoulder trying, unsuccessfully, to slow him.

A security guard ran up from the front gate and halted Elias with a palm to the chest. The man wore sunglasses, a single earpiece, and a white dress shirt. The shirt strained around thick arms and an even thicker neck, a neck with two carotid arteries, arteries within striking distance — arteries which, with appropriate force, would collapse.

“It’s ok, Lee,” she said. “He’s a friend. Please return to your station.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The sweaty hand withdrew and the hulking mass of testosterone trudged back to his position at the gate.

“Sorry. I just hire him yesterday. He’s very enthusiastic.”

“Bye.” Elias pushed through hedges, taking a direct path through the center of the circle’s grassy interior.

“Wait.” Wearing a black business dress and high heels, she didn’t follow. “Please borrow a car. Pick any one you want.”

He reversed direction and stopped at the hedge. “You can’t buy me. Howitzer doesn’t own me. And you’ll never own me, not like you own Wren.”

She frowned. “I don’t own her.”

Then, she smiled and waved her arm like a hostess on a game show. “Any car you want, except the Honda. That one belongs to Wren.” The brown Honda Civic stuck out like rock amongst diamonds. “She wreck two BMW. So we switch her to more cost effective model.”

She shouldn’t be driving at all.

“I think you like the Audi or the Jag.” She indicated the cyan Audi A6 and the olive Jaguar XF, both brand new, both likely worth more than what he’d make in two years. Neither interested him.

“The bike?” He charged through the shrubs, branches clinging and breaking like withered fingers.

She followed, heels tapping a staccato rhythm on the pavement. “Ducati Monster, one hundred forty-five horsepower.”

He ran his hand across the sleek gas tank. The red metallic paint screamed performance, a promise supported by the engine, a Testastretta L-Twin with 1200cc displacement. Already in the ignition, the key reflected the sunlight as if winking and whispering: “You know you want to.”