Free Heart of a Dragon by David Niall Wilson Page B

the Barrio.   I will introduce you to Louis…and we will share another drink."
    "I will look forward to it," Donovan said.
    They both emptied their glasses, and Martinez turned toward the door.
    "I haven't much time," he said.
    Donovan nodded and stepped past him, opening the door.
    "Be safe," he said.
    Martinez turned, and one last time, he smiled.
    "And you, my friend.   And you…go with all the Gods at your back."
    Martinez disappeared into the hall, and Donovan closed the door.   He turned to his desk with the parchment still unopened in his hand.   He knew there was a chance that when he opened it, there would be nothing there – or that whatever was written on it would be a fabrication.   He didn't believe it.   What he believed was that a burned bridge had been brought back from the ashes.   He placed the folded paper on his desk.   He wasn't quite ready to test his intuition, and he had a lot of work to do.
    As if understanding, Cleo walked over and plopped down on top of the parchment, pinning it to the desk.   She began washing her paw again, and Donovan laughed.   He poured bourbon and scratched Cleo's ears.   He raised his drink in a silent toast to Martinez, and to Louis.   It was shaping up to be an interesting night.

Chapter Eight

    After Martinez was gone, Donovan reached for the phone.   Even though he now had a somewhat safer time ahead of him in regard to the Barrio, he thought it might be best to bring in an ally.   Martinez had seemed sincere, and if it proved genuine, the gift he'd brought would do a great deal of good, but Donovan wasn't quite ready to invest his complete confidence.   The old man had his own agenda, now and always, and it was best not to assume that it ran parallel to his own.
    On the second ring a bright, cheerful voice answered.
    "Hello?"
    "Amethyst?" he asked.
    "Who else would I be, love?" was the quick reply.   "You did dial my number."
    Donovan chuckled.   "Some things have come up – some rather odd things.   I was wondering if you might be free for dinner?   While we eat, we could talk…"
    "It sounds wonderful," she said, "but you come here.   I've been out twice this week, and from the tone of your voice you aren't coming over to talk about old times or plan that vacation you keep promising me."
    "You're going to cook, or should I bring something?"
    "I'll cook.   I'll surprise you."
    "You never fail to do that," he said.   "I'll be over about eight, then.   I've had an interesting visitor, someone you know.   There's trouble brewing in the Barrio.   Coil came to me yesterday with reports."
    "Anya Cabrera?" she asked.
    "You've heard then?"
    "I   heard some disturbing things, but none that I've been able to cobble together into anything coherent."
    "We'll compare notes then, and put together a battle plan."
    "You expect a battle, do you?" she asked
    Donovan smiled.   He could almost see her impish grin as her words shifted up in tone.
    "I do.   It is best to always expect a battle.   That way, when you find peace, you enjoy it all the more.   I'll see you this evening."
    "Bring wine."
    The phone went dead and Donovan hung his up more slowly, staring at it and shaking his head.   He turned and stroked Cleo, who rubbed eagerly up into his hand.
    "More and more interesting," he said.   "What do you think, Cleo?   Is that paper what he says it is?"
    The cat actually seemed to think about it before turning, folding in half, and washing her back foot.   Donovan picked up the folded parchment, fingered it gently, and then carried it to his shelves.   He tucked it carefully into the front cover of a large leather volume on the end of the shelf.
    "There will be time enough to test it later," he said.
    Cleo paid no attention to him at all.   Donovan strode to the door, opened it and stepped into the hallway beyond.   A moment later, he was gone.
    ~ * ~
    When