Broken Souls (Broken Realms, #2)

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 27Ping slowly lowered himself into the armchair next to the fireplace in the Lanterns’ living room, looking as if every joint in his body ached. He had carried Abby up the stairs to Mara’s bedroom and returned to his car to haul Vanderburg out of the back seat and into the living room, where he now lay on the floor in front of the hearth. Closing his eyes, Ping exhaled steadily, trying to slow his heart and let the tension drain from muscles.

“Thanks for helping me with Vanderberg, Sam,” Ping said as the boy bounded into the room and sat next to his mother on the couch.

“No problem,” Sam said, then turned to his mother. “Mom, Mara tried to feed me to the dragon.”

Diana swept a lock of red hair off her son’s forehead with a finger and, with an expression of mock concern, said, “She did? That’s terrible. Mara, don’t feed your brother to the dragon. Do you understand?”

“I’m serious,” Sam protested. “She practically put me in its mouth.”

“Okay, sweetie. I’ll have a talk with her later when we don’t have company,” Diana said.

From the armchair on the opposite side of the fireplace, Mara rolled her eyes. “Mom, I don’t get the impression that you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation here.” She waved a hand at the charred torso laid out on the floor between them. “This is not company. This man did not stop by for a visit and a cookie. Abby isn’t upstairs having a sleepover. She’s probably having a nervous breakdown.”

“Do you think it would help if the rest of us had a nervous breakdown too?” Diana asked.

“No.”

“Then why don’t you calmly explain to me what happened and why this man is not in a hospital emergency room.”

Vanderberg released a dry, raspy breath sending the smell of singed hair throughout the room.

Mara glared over at Ping and waved an upturned hand toward her mother.

Ping slowly straightened in his chair, but, before he could say anything, Sam piped in enthusiastically. “This man’s partner tried to shoot Ping, and Ping turned into the dragon and ate him. Then he spit fire all over this guy and smacked him with his tail, sent him sliding all the way across the warehouse.”

Diana looked questioningly at Ping.

Ping shrugged and said, “I guess you could call that the unabridged version of what happened.”

“How do you know these men?” Diana asked.

Again Sam interjected, “They were partners with Ping—not this Ping, the one who came from this realm. They smuggled drugs and stolen stuff through the warehouse.”

“And Mr. Ping ate one of them?”

“Whole. In one bite,” Sam said, jerking his head back as if slinging something into his own gullet.

“Technically it was the dragon, not Ping,” Mara added.

“I was under the impression that this creature was under control, Mr. Ping,” Diana said. Sam started to say something, and his mother raised her hand. “Let Mr. Ping speak.”

“Generally I believe he is. It appears he sometimes becomes restive, and I can sense him, and, of course, as we now know, he seems willing to emerge and protect himself if he feels threatened,” Ping said.

“That’s disconcerting,” Diana said. “I wasn’t aware there was such potential danger involved here.”

“Mom—” Mara said, stopped by another raised hand.

“Look, you guys. I’m about as open-minded of a mother as you are going to find in this particular corner of creation, but it’s completely unreasonable to allow you to be exposed to risks like this.” She pointed to the burned man on the floor.

“Sheesh, Mom. Ping would never hurt us,” Sam said.

“Perhaps your mother is right,” Ping said. “It is unreasonable to expose you two to this danger.”

Mara stood up. “No. That is not acceptable, Mom. I need Ping. You said yourself that he was a great mentor for me. I can’t do this without him, and I think that Sam and I proved tonight that we can take care of ourselves.”

Diana had that resolved look that Mara knew all too well. “This situation cannot continue like this. If Mr. Ping cannot assure me that he has the creature under control, I’m going to have to ask him to keep his distance.”

“You were the one who said I would have to face up to who I am, to accept my metaphysical role. Those were your exact words. Well, Ping is a part of that, dragons and all.”

Her mother’s face softened slightly as she turned to Ping. “I expect you to do whatever is necessary to make sure my children are not hurt.”

Ping nodded and said, “You have my word.”

Turning to Mara, she said, “This conversation is not over, but now’s not the time for a debate.” Looking down to the floor, she asked, “What are we going to do about this man? He needs medical attention.”

There was a knock at the door.

“That would be Denton and Melanie Proctor. I called them on the way down from Portland,” Ping said.

Sam got up, ran to the door and opened it.

Melanie Proctor held out her hand. “Hello, young man. I’m Melanie, and this is my husband, Denton. Is Mr. Ping here?” When she took Sam’s hand in hers, he saw a spark of light form in the back his eyes, a sort of afterimage that he quickly blinked away. Shaking his head, he caught the woman looking intently at him. “We should sit down and talk sometime soon,” she said to him.

“Come on in. Everyone’s over here,” Ping said, waving them into the living room.

As Denton and Melanie walked around the end of the couch, they could see Vanderberg’s body spread out on the round throw rug in front of the fireplace.

“Oh, my goodness.” Melanie held her hand to her mouth.

Ping stood up, offered her his chair and looked to her husband. “Do you think you can help this man? As you can see, he has suffered some burns and probably a few other injuries.”

“What happened to this poor man?” Melanie said as she sat.

Denton stepped past Ping and crouched next to Vanderberg. “We can get to that later, sweetheart. Let’s see what we can do here.”

He placed the palms of his hands on each of Vanderberg’s shoulders, almost appearing to use them for support as his head lolled forward, hanging loosely above. Mara stared intently at Vanderberg’s left arm which lay splayed across the floor about a yard from her feet. Blackened blisters wavered, burbling and then slowly receding into swollen red welts. After a few more minutes, the welts faded into puckered pink scabs that quickly whitened into new pale skin. Vanderberg’s dry rasps turned to regular deep breaths. One of his legs twitched, and he slowly raised his arm, to scratch away some soot from his eye.

A moment later his entire body constricted, every muscle tightened, as his fingers clawed at the throw rug, pulling his torso from the ground, nearly head-butting Denton Proctor in the chest.

The healer yanked back but held out his hands before him. “Whoa, there. Calm down. You’re going to be all right. Sit there for a minute.”

Bug-eyed and trembling, Vanderberg looked beseechingly at Denton. “It, it was a monster. It had red, red eyes and spit fire. A giant monster with wings.”

Denton patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. There are no monsters here. You are safe and should be feeling better in a few minutes.” Deciding to give Vanderberg some breathing room, Denton stood and stepped over to the side of the chair where his wife sat, giving his patient his first clear view of the room and the people in it.

Vanderberg turned his head in a series of jerks, locking on Mara, then Diana, then Sam without a glint of recognition coming to his eye. His head twitched one more time, his gaze settling on Ping, who had moved to sit on the couch next to Sam.

Vanderberg’s eyes widened and rolled up into his head as he howled and crawled backward in a clumsy inverted crab-walk, trying to put distance between himself and Ping. He pushed himself backward until he smashed his head into the stone hearth, crumpling and dazed to the floor. Rolling back and forth, holding out his arms, Vanderberg moaned, “No, no, no. Make it go away!”

Concerned, Ping stood up. Mara also stood, hopped over the writhing form in the middle of the room and took Ping’s arm, pulling him toward the kitchen. “Come on. You’re this guy’s boogeyman. We need to get you out of here.”

As soon as Ping and Mara left the room, Vanderberg pulled himself up in front of the fireplace, did a wild-eyed turn and bolted for the front door, striking his hip on the arm of the couch on the way. Once he got to the door, he yanked on the doorknob and stumbled backward when it did not open. Whining and gibbering, he flung himself at the door again, punching at the door frame with one hand while trying to turn the dead bolt with the other. After a lucky flip of the wrist and a turn of the knob, the door flew open, and Vanderberg escaped into the night.

Diana was the first to reach the open door, but she made no move to chase after the man. She stood looking out for a minute, then slowly closed the door and turned back to the living room.

“Aren’t we going after him?” Sam said.

“What do you think we are going to do with him if we catch him? We can’t make him stay here against his will, can we?”

“Well, I could,” Sam said.

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to have a talk with you about that.”

“What? What did I do?”

“Later,” Diana said, turning to the Proctors. “Why don’t we retire to the kitchen and get a nice warm cup of green tea?”