Free Plight of the Dragon by Debra Kristi Page A

told you to stay away from the dragon girl. Why,” Mortifier’s hand clenched into a fist, and he shook it at his temple, “do you refuse to listen? Look at you. You have her dragon curled up inside you, squeezed in around your heart.” He talked with sharp, decisive moves, slicing and beating the air with his hand.  
    Sebastian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, searching for the calm Kyra had helped him find when the dragon first emerged from inside him. “Haven’t you ever felt for anyone besides yourself?” he asked. “Felt so strongly for someone that they became entrenched in your core being? In your soul? Became a part of who and what you are? Or have you always been this soulless creature?” With all the theatrics of a carnie, Sebastian gestured to his father.  
    The elegant and superior Grim Reaper stood in silence for a breath, his dark eyes revealing nothing, but Sebastian thought he detected something in the movement of a brow, the bat of a lash. “You may love her, I’ll give you that, but such love will be the end of you.” Mortifier moved ahead of Sebastian, forcing him to a stop, and seized both of his shoulders firmly in his grasp. “You must snuff that dragon out before it destroys you, burning you from the inside out.”
    “I’m not going to do that.” Sebastian locked stares with his father. “If that’s the only reason you’re here, you may go now. Your message has been delivered and rejected.”
    Mortifier released Sebastian, let his arms drop at his side, and began to laugh. “You are a stubborn one. I have to admit, I’m rather proud.” The laughing stopped, and his face fell deadly serious. “But the dragon does have to go.”
    “I said no !” Sebastian’s response ran long like the tail of a circus tent flag, his gaze locked on someone else in the crowd. “What is he doing here?” Sebastian asked, pointing at Mr. Johnson.  
    “That’s a pretty interesting story, actually.” Mortifier placed a hand in his pants pocket and cocked his head to the side.  
    Sebastian stared at the Reaper with the ridiculous Mr. Johnson name tag. He imagined walking up to the man and punching him in the face. He had left Sebastian in that alley to be beaten by behemoths, and nothing good had come from that situation. Everything that followed ran through his mind in fast forward. Alice’s death, Alice being the sister of Sophie, the girl he’d reaped only days earlier. Both girls being daughters of some big military leader named Davies who didn’t like him much. Sebastian’s hand slipped into his pocket and found Alice’s pendant still there. What did that mean? Why was he holding on to the jewelry?
    The exuberant mass around them began to somber. Sebastian glanced between his father and Mr. Johnson, wondering if what he was seeing was a physiological reaction to multiple Reapers being in one place. He never noticed it around himself, but now there were three—no, wait. His gaze was pulled a few feet to the left and right of Mr. Johnson. Five Reapers. A glance wasn’t enough, Sebastian was suddenly turning in a circle to check the entire scene. To the left of Mr. Johnson stood Mr. Brown, then Mr. Elder, and Mr. Cane. On the right, Mr. Lee and Mr. Vargas. That made eight Reapers, if he counted himself, and he had to count himself. He was a Reaper by nature. He had no idea if he was putting out vibes the Mystic’s party was picking up subconsciously.  
    Sebastian’s insides churned, acid and dragon tail. His fingers dug into the back of his neck and pulled at his hair. “Why so many Reapers, Mortifier? What’s going on?” His eyes widened, and he pinned his father with his stare.  
    “Told you it was an interesting story,” Mortifier said, a lazy and untrustworthy smile widening across his chieftain face. The six Reapers standing in a circle around them took a step forward.  
    Flashes reminiscent of mini firecrackers burst to life, the air within the circle and beyond