Free The Dragon King by Nils Johnson-Shelton Page A

you”—she shifted her eyes to Artie—“weren’t supposed to be here. How you were not even human, which was clearly ridiculous.”
    Pammy paused. The kids were silent, riveted.
    “I tried to calm her down, but nothing worked. That is, until I mentioned you, Kay, and how it wouldn’t be fair to you for her to leave.”
    “You can say that again,” Kay said weakly.
    “Kay . . . before she left, your mom gave me something. She said, ‘Keep this. When the time is right, give it to my daughter. You’ll know when the time is right.’”
    Kay’s eyes widened. “That time is now, isn’t it?”
    Pammy let go of her daughter’s hand and stood. “Yes. Yes it is.”

WIZARDLY INTERLUDE NUMBER ONE (OR, WHAT MERLIN IS UP TO . . .)
    Merlin stood in front of a trio of full-length mirrors, wearing a simple loincloth and inspecting every inch of his body. He was searching for another spot on which to apply a drop of sangrealite. He’d liquefied as much as he’d ever need since returning to his cave in western Wales, and so long as he could continue to administer the stuff, he would be the most powerful wizard who had ever lived.
    But there simply was nowhere else to put it. His body was completely covered in the inky sangrealitic tattoos. His ears, his eyelids, his lips, the spaces between his fingers and toes—every inch of his skin was now a dark blue color like that of a moonless night sky.
    He raised his chin and stared at his reflection. His eyes were very red. Not as bright as a fire engine or a maraschino cherry, but definitely approaching apple territory.
    He blew into his hands as goose bumps prickled over his dark skin, then he held up his arms and, magically, a cloak fell from above and draped over his body.
    He left the mirrors and walked through a rocky hall cut from the earth, passing several cavelike recesses. He passed one room that was closed with a large glass-and-metal door. Beyond it, computer mainframes, constellated with blinking lights, hummed for as far as the eye could see. Merlin paused to observe the data center, a sinister smile on his lips. Beyond that door, numbers were being crunched and processed. The computers were all hacked into the game servers that hosted Otherworld the video game. The same game he’d developed in his cave under Cincinnati and then sold at auction to a major distributor. The same game he’d seeded with actual magic. The same game that had helped to draw the hapless Artie Kingfisher to the Invisible Tower. And the same game that would soon help him defeat this upstart king.
    He rubbed his teeth with a blue finger. Beyond that door,he thought, my army is being prepared. Soon I will inject the circuitry with the power of sangrealite, and the switch will be thrown. . . .
    The ghost in the machine would awaken.
    Merlin resumed walking. The sounds of the sea could be heard in the distance. He turned a corner and entered a huge room with a large cage at the far end. It looked empty, but it most definitely was not.
    Something was in there—a hybrid animal like the one he had sent to the house in Shadyside, but bigger and stranger. A thing that, when he was done with it, would be better than any dragon.
    He walked to an oaken counter. He stopped in front of a finely crafted bowl made of polished bone and wrapped his fingers around it. The dark liquid inside was neither cold nor hot. He raised the bowl to his nose. There was no odor. He put the bowl back down and dipped a finger into it.
    The liquid sangrealite inside—about eight fluid ounces—did not adhere to his skin in any way. When he withdrew his finger the sangrealite fell from it like water droplets shedding from a duck’s plumage.
    Merlin brooded for a long time. The tide from the sea outside his subterranean complex was rising, and the cave whooshed and moaned as water poured into the lower sections, forcing air through them like they were tubes of a pipe organ. The smell of the ocean filled his nostrils. Every