Stealing the Dragon

Chapter Thirty-five

Hong Kong, 10 years ago

Sally and Xan leapt into hell together.

By the time they cleared the steps, flames were erupting out of the second floor windows of the guesthouse, and the great room on the first floor was already filled with smoke. The room consisted of hardwood floors wrapped around a large, open brazier-glowing hot coals providing heat for the house in a style reflecting the anachronistic architecture of the school. Above the brazier was a square hole cut in the ceiling, revealing a similar room on the second floor, designed to sit at the center of the guest rooms. Normally large tapestries hung on the walls of the first floor, elaborate embroidery depicting famous battles. But tonight the walls were alive, flames licking the exposed beams and wrapping around the open ceiling to devour the second floor.

But Sally saw none of that, because her eyes were focused straight ahead. The smoke was so thick she could only see in patches, brief glimpses of floor or flames only a few feet away, the open staircase to her right. She saw Xan dart up the stairs, but she could no longer hear him over the roar of the flames.

Yet even with all the confusion, the scene in front of her was all too clear.

Facedown in front of the brazier was the headless corpse of a man, his arms outstretched and twisted-as if he had tried to catch himself, but realized too late he couldn’t see the floor because he was already dead. Squinting through the smoke, Sally saw an egg-shaped ball sitting in the hot coals, its surface bubbling in the heat, the egg collapsing inward as she watched. Coals knocked free of the brazier had burned little craters in the floor, sending sparks and flames to dance on chairs, climb up the sides of tapestries, and fill the house with death.

Sally’s eyes took all this in without emotion, her mind telling her the obvious, that the man had been decapitated as he lunged, his head sailing backward as he fell forward. But her heart ignored the scene entirely, telling her to keep looking. To find the source of the scream that had brought her running.

She almost tripped, the swirling smoke making it easier to see a few feet away than directly in front of her. As her foot brushed something, she crouched down, extending her hands. What she felt was terribly, horribly familiar.

Jun was kneeling as if in prayer, her body curled in on itself, her head bowed. Next to her was a katana, a Japanese-style long sword, its curved blade bright with blood. As Sally’s hand touched her back, Jun collapsed sideways, a small groan escaping her lips. Sally’s hand came away sticky, but she didn’t pause to look; she already knew what color it would be.

By the time Sally knelt, Jun had rolled onto her back. Twin rivulets of blood ran from either side of her mouth and down her cheeks, and her eyes stared up at the ceiling. Her chest didn’t move. Sally saw that Jun’s shirt was soaked through and realized the wound on her back had started in her chest. Looking back toward the headless corpse, she saw a gun a few feet away, a small caliber semi-automatic that could easily be concealed under a man’s suit jacket.

He had fired as she swept the katana across her body toward his neck, and her momentum carried her forward to finish the strike. He was dead but she got hit anyway. If he had used a sword, she wouldn’t even be scratched.

Guns were the only weapon not used at the school, considered the tool of cowards, not warriors. But guns could kill just as quickly as a sword, and it took no great skill to pull a trigger. The reality of the situation hit Sally like a sledgehammer, and she felt her own breath leave her body, the flames above her roaring in anger as they tried to suck the oxygen from the room and the life from her lungs.

She collapsed next to Jun, their faces touching. Gasping, Sally grabbed Jun’s face in her hands and turned her head so she could look into her eyes.

Jun blinked.

Sally propped herself up, cradling Jun’s head in her lap. Jun’s eyes lurched drunkenly in their sockets before focusing again on Sally.

“What happened?” Sally asked, her voice hoarse from the smoke, barely audible above the flames.

Tears sprang from Jun’s eyes and ran down her cheeks. Sally’s vision blurred and she blinked furiously, not wanting to miss an instant of what Jun was saying. As she watched, Jun’s lips moved, but Sally couldn’t hear a single word.

“What happened?” she repeated, desperate, her mouth pressed to Jun’s ear. “What can you tell me?”

Jun’s eyes rolled upward and closed.

Sally stopped breathing. She shook Jun and pressed her face against her cheek, tasting the salt of blood and tears. After a long, endless second, Sally felt fresh tears running down her cheek and pulled back to see Jun looking right at her. With a surging panic, Sally put her ear to Jun’s lips.

Every word was seconds long, a helpless agony of anticipation and dread.

“I,” she started, then stopped again. “…love you.” Her mouth formed the words again in slow motion, as if she were carving each syllable into eternity.

Jun’s voice was barely a rustle of fabric, with no breath to carry the words. Years later, Sally would sometimes wonder if she’d heard them at all, or if Jun’s last gift had been her final thoughts, sent to Sally in a dream.

As Sally lifted her head to answer she saw Jun start to smile just as the life drained out of her eyes. Sally’s mouth was open but there was nothing left to say. She closed her eyes and held Jun, feeling the heat devour her as the entire house started crying out in rage.

A massive hand grabbed Sally by the collar, yanking her upward. She heard Xan shouting her name, but her arms were still wrapped around Jun and she locked them, unwilling to let go. She felt Xan release her and watched as he bent down and grabbed Jun’s sword.

With one fluid motion, Xan tossed the katana into the brazier, the blood sluicing across the blade and hissing as it hit the coals. And despite her shock and despair, Sally realized Xan was covering his tracks, removing any sign that the sword belonged to Jun. Erasing any connection back to him.

Sally managed to stand, Jun’s head lolling backward, her eyes dull, the fleeting smile lost somewhere in the smoke and ashes. Xan stepped behind Sally and picked them both up, staggering through the wreckage of the house.

The night air hit Sally like a wave as Xan laid her down in the open courtyard, the sky bright with flame and stars. A sudden roar as beams gave way and the second floor collapsed. Sally rolled onto her back, her hand still holding Jun’s, and started shaking uncontrollably. She was colder than she’d ever been, even in winter, and she knew she would never stop shivering.

Sally lay on the ground and felt the cold night air course down her throat, fill her lungs, and squeeze her heart. Clutching Jun’s hand tightly in hers, she closed her eyes and smiled, thinking that she must be dying.

Her old friend Death was coming, and this time, at long last, he was coming for her.