Dragon Country, part 3
Mar. 15th, 2014 10:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pensnestPlease note: this story contains a scene of rape and violence
He was awake long before the alarm clock shrilled on Saturday morning, eager to get back into the hills. The dragon snowglobe, wrapped carefully in a towel, went into the backpack along with water, oat bars and sandwiches, pocket light, emergency flare, emergency blanket in its little pouch, maps, first aid pack and waterproof jacket. Great-grandpa's compass he tucked into one of the side pockets as usual. He'd never actually used it but it seemed right to take it when he went hiking. He caught the early tram to the end of the line and set off at a good pace. The morning sky was pale and cold, not the bright, sun-filled blue that sometimes made autumn glorious, but it didn't matter. He'd warm up as he went. It would probably be best to get beyond the woods, so he strode along merrily and even sang.
He paused for a snack once he was through to the higher ground. He was tingly with nerves and anticipation. Would it even work? Would he be able to do, in practice, what he could theorise? Or would he be left as frustrated as JC by the gap between what he could imagine and what he could achieve?
Well, it was time to try. Lance unwrapped the snowglobe from its protective towel and stared at the little red creature emerging from its egg. He visualised JC's bizarre creations until he felt queasy again and closed his eyes, still firmly thinking of too many right angles and a dragonlet hatching from nowhere, and stepped forward. A lurch in his belly, nausea. Stepped again, and wanted to heave his innards onto the ground. One more struggled step and—suddenly the nausea was gone.
Lance opened his eyes.
He was—he was where he had been, except… it was different. As if the world were painted in different colours, except that things were still green, blue, brown as they had been before, but… the sky was a more intense blue. Was it warmer, brighter, were the greens of grass and leaves richer and more alive than he remembered, or was it just that he'd had his eyes so tightly closed he was seeing the echoes on his eyeballs? He turned slowly. Was the city—
The city wasn't there.
The contours of the world were the same, but the city was not there.
Lance breathed very carefully. He'd done it. It didn't make sense, but somehow he'd done it. This had to be dragon country, in the dimensions that weren't there. He knew an ecstatic moment of joy and terror, and tamped it down. He'd done it. Now he must go and find out if the dragons were still here.
The hills ahead seemed a familiar shape, so he headed onward and upward, and after a while found himself gazing down at the valley where he'd found the claw, except that this time, it was bigger. He had to pick his way carefully down the rough, tussocky slope, and was panting a little by the time he stood on the flat ground at the bottom. And the cave, the cave he'd poked an arm into was now a real cave, more than big enough for him to walk into it—warily—deep under the hill. There was a strange resonance, indefinable, and the walls were worn smooth in places higher than his head, perhaps—he could almost see it—where a dragon's shoulders had smoothed against the rock.
He was walking in a tunnel, Lance realised, a tunnel with a purpose, a tunnel with a floor that was neat and clear of debris. Were dragons tidy creatures? Had there simply been nothing in this tunnel for too many years?
The sunlight behind him wasn't penetrating far enough, and what was ahead was just blackness. Lance groped through his backpack for the pocket light, and could have kicked himself when it offered a dim orange glow which barely illuminated his hand. The batteries were almost spent. All this way, and he'd found what had to be a dragon's cave, and he couldn't explore it. He stood there in the tunnel, poised between the dull good sense of retreat and the enticing, stupid allure of going forward into the darkness, and quite seriously considered bashing his head against the tunnel's oddly smooth wall.
However, that wouldn't help. With immense reluctance he retreated back into the sunlight. He would come back next week, he'd bring a working pocket light, and matches, for backup.
Moving a cautious distance from the cave entrance, Lance found a comfortable spot in the grass and sat down to eat his sandwiches. It seemed so prosaic, but he was hungry, and he must be practical. He hoped time didn't work differently here—his watch was behaving normally, as far as he could tell, but who knew what the physics of different dimensions might be? There was nothing he could do about it, one way or the other, so he decided not to worry.
If he couldn't explore the cave, there was no reason he couldn't explore the valley. There might be other evidence of dragons, another claw maybe, or… something. Putting the sandwich wrappings neatly into his backpack, Lance got to his feet and headed across the bowl-like valley. There was a dip between the hills on the far side, he'd work across and go up there.
The valley floor yielded nothing, not so much as a scorch mark, so he climbed up to that dip in the valley's surrounding bowl, and stood to survey the terrain. The view made him catch his breath. Not unfamiliar, and yet fresh, new, all the colours more saturated than his everyday world. From the little yellow flowers in the grass to the purple of the distant mountains, everything was so vivid. There must be at least one dragon here, surely? Surely there must be a dragon here.
He was looking for a suitable place to sit down when he saw it. A glimpse of gold, a flash in the sky, quite far off. Lance felt for a moment as though his heart had stopped, and he fell to his knees with the shock, but he kept his eyes fixed on that far-off speck of gold and was rewarded, for it flew closer, until it was the size of his hand, still distant but clear enough to see its beautiful, glorious lines and the wide, shining wings like sails as it glided in spirals above the hills. He gazed, rapturous. What was it like to fly over the world like that? Could it possibly be as wonderful as it looked from his earth-bound place? How far could the dragon see, could it see Lance? Would it come closer? He was torn between hope and fear, because if it did, if it noticed him, what would it do? And if it did not notice him, would he ever recover?
It did not come closer. Lance was not tired of watching when the dragon flapped its great wings and flew away. He watched it until it was a tiny speck in front of the mountains, and then it was gone.
Lance lay back in the grass, and felt as though he would burst with joy.
After a while he realised that tears were trickling into his ears, and sat up. It was probably time to go. His watch said he had time to return home before the concert, and he hoped it was telling the truth, because he was going to need a shower. He circled the valley and set off down the hill towards the place where there was a path through the woods in the other version of the world.
Time to get back. He unwound the snowglobe again, hoping he hadn't managed to trap himself here—it didn't feel as though it would be impossible to return, but what did he know of such things? Still reluctant to leave, Lance looked back over his shoulder, and turned, for there on the crest of the hill, silhouetted and black against the light of the low sun, was the dragon, standing with its wings and tail raised almost in salute. A moment later it furled its wings and disappeared down the far side of the slope.
*
"Hi, boss! Are you excited? You look exited." Lisa beamed at him. She was waiting outside the restaurant, but he'd seen her arrive and start peering at the menu in the window as he got off the tram, so he knew she'd not been there long.
"I guess I am," he told her, and did not add, but not for the reason you think. "I'm also starving. Let's get inside."
A very large steak, a bowl of fried potatoes and a generous salad later, he was wondering whether he had room for dessert, and Lisa was getting twitchy.
"We don't want to miss him. It starts in—it starts now!"
"Adam Lambert is never going to be the opening act," Lance assured her. There would be eight different acts on the bill, culminating in a band with a vaguely familiar name. Lance had spoken to one of Cowell's assistants, as an interested party, and was pleased to discover that Adam would not be the only performer he'd sent Cowell's way. But Lisa was anxious, and he wasn't going to be unkind, so he waved for the waitress, and paid. "C'mon, then."
No more than half the seats in the splendid hall had been filled when they got to theirs, and the floor area was mostly empty. Probably the friends and family of the neophyte performers, determined to give a good show of support. Adam Lambert, not at all to Lance's surprise, was to perform sixth. The kid on stage now had a really hard job to do, singing in front of the indifferent incomers, and was doing her best, although Lance was getting waves of nervousness from the stage. He settled into his seat, but couldn't keep his mind on the show. Instead he went into a reverie. A golden dragon!
The second performer had such a powerful glamour that Lance had to go outside. He wound up at the bar with a nice cold vodka tonic rather than a headache, and returned in time for performer number three. Meredith was someone he'd been able to sell to Simon Cowell. She hadn't been received with such instant interest as Adam, but she was doing okay. The hall was mostly full, now, and the atmosphere was improving. Lisa was enjoying herself, standing to dance in the aisle when the music took her that way. Lance kept his shield firmly in place. It gave him a feeling of being outside the crowd rather than a part of it, which was sort of a shame—the Timberlake concert had taught him that it could be fun to give in to the massed emotions and groove along, but he wasn't going to do that tonight.
Acts four and five kept things moving nicely, and although the lead singer of the trio in the fifth spot was definitely using a glamour, she was also a capable singer, so there was only a slight dissonance and Lance could enjoy the harmonies if he closed his eyes and listened. Actually, that alto had the best voice, but the glamour was going to keep the pretty soprano in the spotlight for longer. Ah, well.
And then, Adam Lambert, all in black and glittering with spikes and silver chains, swaggered down an illuminated staircase with all the self-confidence in the world, and suddenly the air was electrified. Such a huge presence that this crowd of people who'd never heard him sing before were riveted. Nobody was sitting down when he sang the loud, uptempo numbers, and when he paused for a lonely, aching ballad the crowd seemed to hold its collective breath. Adam Lambert could do anything with his voice, apparently. Then he revved back up again—Lookin' for adventure, whatever comes my way—and oh, the way he moved his body, Lance had not been expecting that. He strutted, he dominated, and the audience responded—the whole hall was alive with reaction and hot with desire.
I'm going to have sex with that man, Lance thought, and then, No! No, I'm not! Damn it, this wasn't even the audience reaction creeping into his mind. He was not supposed to be thinking about having sex with Adam Lambert. He did not intend any such thing.
But I could, he thought, and oh, dear, it was tempting.
"Do you think we should stay and congratulate him at the stage door?" Lisa said, starry-eyed as they waited for the penultimate performer, who was going to have a hell of a time trying to follow that.
"I… think there'll be a lot of people fighting for his attention," Lance said. "He'll, uh, he'll be in the office Wednesday, you can tell him then."
"He doesn't have an appointment, does he? Oh, wait—he's your lunch?"
Or I might be his lunch, Lance thought, and quelled the notion. "We are having lunch together, yes."
Lisa danced and clapped her hands. "Excellent!"
They enjoyed the rest of the concert, but it did feel like a bit of an anticlimax.
*
Lance wanted so very much to head back to dragon country on Sunday, but he had things to do at home—laundry, for one, and the dogs deserved the long walk he'd denied them yesterday. He didn't take them on his dragon walks—a dog might make a nice little snack for a dragon, and he wasn't going to risk that. He could wait until next weekend.
*
"Hey, Lance! Lisa says you have a few minutes." Britney breezed into his office with a large, flat brown paper package in her arms. "How's it going?"
"Good, thanks." He rose to greet her and invited her to sit. "So, what brings you here today?"
"I won't stay long," she said. "I just wanted to thank you. You did a great job."
He smiled. "You mean Chris? Is that working out?" He could tell from her air of excited happiness that something was definitely going right.
"Chris is great," Britney said. "I never would have thought a guy could be so good with my boys, but he cooks these weird meals that they love, and they even made a list of vegetables that are not evil and they eat them. I guess having someone around who agrees with them about cabbage and stuff means they don't need to fight when he asks them to eat, like, bell peppers."
Lance grinned at the thought of Chris getting right down to the kids' level and being their ally. It might just be the perfect approach. "How about his other duties—is he keeping your life in order?"
"He is!" She looked baffled, but happy. "I'm not sure how, because he seems like an even bigger flake than me, but it works out. And I get plenty of time to paint, because he's never out of ideas for stuff to do with the kids. Oh, Lance, thank you so much for bringing me and JC together. That man is just so inspiring. I mean, I don't understand what he's saying half the time, but when we get together in the studio we can just, we don't even need to say, things just seem to make sense."
"So you're painting again. I'm so pleased," Lance said.
"I am! And JC's doing some wonderful stuff too. He's kinda weird but he's a sweetheart, and he's so talented. I just love being able to bounce things off him, you know? And we can, like, have the same idea and then produce completely different pictures. We actually do that a lot. My agent is getting excited, and it looks like we might maybe do a show together. Not yet, because we have to produce a whole lot more work that's good enough to show, but it's gonna happen. We're getting someone in from Gallery D to take a look at what we have, uh, I think next week."
"That's wonderful news, Britney."
"And, you know, it's all down to you for bringing me JC and Chris," Britney said, beaming at him, "so I brought you a, I brought you something. I'd have come sooner, only it had to, um. Dry." Suddenly shy, she handed over the brown paper parcel, which from the shape of it was—
"Oh, wow! A Britney Spears original? Seriously, wow." He stared at the picture. It was a vibrant swirl of reds and greens, exciting, fun, and—"Oh! It's dragons!" The whirl of colour resolved itself into a ring of dragons. Then he blinked, and they were gone again, back to abstract shapes. "You really have been working with JC," he observed.
"I know you're always looking for dragons, so I thought, maybe you'd like to find some," she said.
"It's wonderful," Lance told her with sincerity. "I'm going to have to get a hook put on the wall somewhere I can look at this every day."
She beamed, and there was a sense of relief and great satisfaction, entirely understandable. Britney leaped to her feet. "I should go. Time to play with my boys." Lance laid the picture carefully on his desk, and went around to usher her out. She gave him an impulsive hug, and kissed his cheek.
"Wow," Lisa said, after Britney's bright presence had left the office. "Did you just graduate from therapist to best friend?"
"Something like that. Come see!"
He put the picture up on the wall opposite his desk. This was turning out to be the best week for dragons.
*
Lance did not want to feel jittery on Wednesday, but he woke up with an odd feeling that seemed to oscillate between anticipation and reluctance and cause his stomach to vibrate. It was just lunch, and okay, Adam Lambert was an attractive man and a disturbing man who was hiding something, but still, it was just lunch.
He wore his favourite shirt. Sage green. It brought out his eyes. Lance told himself that knowing he looked good would give him confidence. Then he told himself not to kid himself, and it became quite the conversation before he managed to get himself to shut up. Just as well he was intending to work on accounts due this morning. He'd have to concentrate.
Adam Lambert arrived promptly at five to one. Muffled conversation told him—as if he needed to know—that Lisa was rhapsodising about Saturday's concert. Lance couldn't hear the words, but the tone was unmistakeable and the mood came right through the door, clear as anything. Lance tidied his desk and went through into the outside office. Adam was in his customary black, today a suit with a purple shirt, and almost glowing in his mystifying aura. Lance looked at him, and he looked at Lance, and a crystal clear thought rang in Lance's head: He's just perfect! Lisa was very definitely a fan. Traitor.
"Lisa told me you like to eat at Fatone's," Adam said as they walked along the street, "so I booked a table there. But if you wanna go somewhere else, that's okay."
"Fatone's is fine," Lance said. Joey would be delighted with the opportunity to assess the hot guy in person.
So it proved. There was a lot of very unsubtle winking and nodding as Joey seated the two of them, so Joey's totally unnecessary approval had obviously been given. Lance was somewhat irritated by this. Joey ought, he felt, to wait for Lance to decide whether Adam was a decent human being before rendering any judgments about his hotness. He was very much amused, therefore, when Joey hovered at the table and, looking somewhat embarrassed, inquired what Adam might like to eat. Adam gazed for a few moments at the blackboard on which the day's specials were chalked and ordered the Filetto Casanova. Lance was very careful to keep a straight face as Joey departed.
"Did he forget to take your order? Let me call him back—"
"No, no, it's fine. Joey knows what I like," Lance said, and stared. "Are you—are you wearing eyeliner?"
"Do you like it? I think it brings out my eyes," Adam said. "You should try it. You have beautiful eyes."
"Ah, uh. Thank you." Lance was stuck for words for a moment. "I enjoyed your performance on Saturday. You have great stage presence."
"I had such a blast! I've never performed to such a big audience before, it was amazing. I've sung in theatres, but you get such a different energy from a concert crowd."
"I expect you'll be doing bigger concerts soon."
"Simon's pleased with how I'm going over," Adam said, and he did have a very appealing grin. "He's putting me with some songwriters to work on my own music. It all seems to be happening really fast. I'm so grateful to you for sending me over to X-Works, I've seen how most people have to jump through all kinds of hoops to get an audition, and you got me straight to Simon with one phone call."
"You were one of the easiest applicants I ever placed," Lance said, lightly. "I'm glad it's working out for you." He wanted to ask about the dragon-hide boots, but could not figure out how to wrench the conversation round. So he inquired instead about the songwriters, and what kind of music Adam planned to create when he was no longer singing covers for the exposure, and when Joey returned to the table with water and salads, they were talking quite easily. Lance was pleased to see Joey's faintly baffled expression when he looked at Adam. No, Joey didn't like it either.
Now that Adam had taken off his jacket, Lance noticed something inside his shirt that gleamed like black abalone, and asked about it.
"The pendant? Yes, it's a piece of shell. It's so pretty, I couldn't resist. I love jewellery."
"I could tell, at the concert."
"Well, you have to go a bit over the top for concerts, right? Though I guess I wear quite a lot anyway. But, you know, all those chains and bracelets wouldn't go with the suit, so I was very restrained and just wore the shell. Speaking of shell, how are you getting on with the snowglobe? I hope it's not giving you headaches."
"No, no headaches. I think I understand where it's coming from," Lance said.
"I'm pleased to hear it," said Adam. "It's nice to meet someone who's interested in dragons."
"Speaking of dragons, you were going to tell me why your boots aren't something I should disapprove of."
"I was, wasn't I." There was a mischievous glint in Adam Lambert's eyes. "Well, did you know dragons shed their skins?"
"They shed…? Huh." They must be related to lizards, Lance thought. "I didn't know that. I guess it makes sense."
"Yeah. Well, I took a whole skin to a fancy leather dealer, and part of the sale was that I got a pair of boots made. Bought my motorcycle with the proceeds." Their entrées arrived at that point—Lance was given garlicky prawns with a kick of chilli—and there was a pause while they tasted. "Oh, this is good! Do you eat here a lot?"
"Their food is amazing."
"Here, taste this." Adam cut a piece from his beef and corralled peppercorn sauce onto it. "Isn't that good? Oh, sure, if you don't mind," and he accepted a prawn in exchange. "Oh, mmm, I will eat here again!"
Joey had arrived just in time to hear this, and was gratified. He refreshed the water jug and left them in peace.
"So where did you find a dragon skin?" Lance asked.
"Oh, you have to know where to look," said Adam. "And they are pretty rare, because adult dragons only peel once a decade, when they reach full size. More often when they're growing, obviously."
"You seem to know a lot about dragons," Lance said.
"Mmm." Adam reapplied himself to his food.
He hesitated, hoping Adam would be a bit more forthcoming. "So, how did you come to find out so much about dragons?"
Adam chewed, quite slowly, Lance thought. "Well, I've always been interested." He paused. "My parents taught me quite a lot." He shifted in his seat, and Lance would very much have liked to be able to confirm from Adam's thoughts that Adam was being evasive on purpose, but of course, he couldn't.
"You must have spent a long time in dragon country," Lance said.
"Yeah," Adam said, and his smile reminded Lance why he'd agreed to have lunch in the first place. "It's—it's beautiful there."
Lance had to agree. He was getting the picture clearly enough, even without Adam's thoughts. Adam Lambert was a dragon hunter, like himself, except he was in it for profit rather than the love of dragons. In fairness, it looked as though he got his profit without doing any actual harm, and Lance couldn't exactly blame him for being cagey about what he knew and how he'd found it out. Lance hadn't told anyone what he knew, either. "And you found an egg, too, or at least a part of one. That must have been quite profitable."
"Not as good as the skin, because most people don't know what it is. It just looks like some kind of exotic oyster shell, or whatever. I mean, it's pretty, but there isn't really a market because it never gets to market, you know?"
Lance tried very hard not to be envious. All he'd found was a claw. But it did sound as though Adam had been looking for dragons for a lot longer than Lance had.
"Well, then, I'm very flattered you gave some to me."
"I thought you'd appreciate it," said Adam, and grinned at him. "After all, you have your own… relic," he added, and Lance stared. How could he know that? How could he possibly know that? "Anyway, now you know no dragons were harmed in the production of my favourite boots, are we okay?"
"I—I—" Lance was still suspicious, but he couldn't very well admit that not being able to identify any of Adam's thoughts or feelings was the real cause. "I guess we are," he said. "I'm sorry I was kinda rude about it. I didn't know about the skin shedding."
"Peeling, we call it," Adam said, absently. "It's fine. I mean, it's good, I wouldn't want to be around someone who killed dragons to make clothes, either."
*
"Did you have a good lunch?" Lisa asked the instant Lance opened the office door.
"Yes, thank you, very good. Sorry if my breath smells of garlic."
She gave him an exasperated look. "And? Are you seeing him again?"
He looked at her for a moment, and then grinned. "Yeah." Lisa squealed. "Lunch on Sunday."
She looked disappointed. "I thought you'd have progressed to dinner. You do like him, don't you? Surely you like him?"
"I'm very picky," Lance said. "Also, he's busy. The variety concert went so well, they're repeating it at Simivale Arena tomorrow and the Verentain Concert Hall Friday. The venue they had a hold on for Saturday got booked for something else, but I'm busy Saturday," he added, before she could ask. He didn't need anything at the end of the day to curtail his time in dragon country. Not now he knew how to get there. He had a cave to explore.
*
Lance spent a lot of time thinking about Adam Lambert. Who was charming, and sweet, and apparently sincere, and certainly talented. And really hot. Everything Lance would have asked for. Was he wrong to be put off by that mental shield? It might not be covering a deliberate deception at all, it might just be a natural defence that most people never noticed was there. Was it so terrible not to be able to tell what Adam was thinking? But… how could Lance know?
Joey was no help. "Who's to say having a strong shield isn't just what comes natural to him? It doesn't mean he's a liar, or that he has anything more to hide than anyone else. You like having it easy. You always get to be the one in charge, because you know how they're feeling without them even having to tell you." Joey sounded quite put out. Lance reckoned not being able to bring Adam's meal without being asked had hurt his professional pride. "And you should tell him you're an empath."
"I should not! People who have a gift recognise it, and people who don't have one don't want to know." And Lance was not going to tell Joey, or anyone else, that he got more than feelings from most people. Ordinary empaths were okay and even acknowledged for their skills in certain professions, and people with highly specialised gifts, like the Fatones, generally didn't get recognised for it anyway, but a receiver? A guy who could hear actual thoughts? Not going to be popular. Lance had known that pretty much forever.
"Well, maybe. Okay. But you should give the guy a chance. He's just your type, and he's interested. Don't need to be an empath to see that. It'll be good for you to have to work it out like us normal guys."
He did have a point. Lance had always been safe, in his relationships. He'd always known what was going on in the other guy's head. He'd always been the one to break it off if things were getting too serious, or not serious enough, or just not… perfect. If he hadn't known Jesse was having doubts, was looking at other guys, Lance would never have broken it off with him, and maybe they could have worked it out. He had wondered, sometimes. Maybe he would have tried a bit harder…. He wouldn't be able to do that with Adam Lambert. He'd have to be honest, they would have to talk to each other. It sounded scary.
It sounded like Joey was right.
He was awake long before the alarm clock shrilled on Saturday morning, eager to get back into the hills. The dragon snowglobe, wrapped carefully in a towel, went into the backpack along with water, oat bars and sandwiches, pocket light, emergency flare, emergency blanket in its little pouch, maps, first aid pack and waterproof jacket. Great-grandpa's compass he tucked into one of the side pockets as usual. He'd never actually used it but it seemed right to take it when he went hiking. He caught the early tram to the end of the line and set off at a good pace. The morning sky was pale and cold, not the bright, sun-filled blue that sometimes made autumn glorious, but it didn't matter. He'd warm up as he went. It would probably be best to get beyond the woods, so he strode along merrily and even sang.
He paused for a snack once he was through to the higher ground. He was tingly with nerves and anticipation. Would it even work? Would he be able to do, in practice, what he could theorise? Or would he be left as frustrated as JC by the gap between what he could imagine and what he could achieve?
Well, it was time to try. Lance unwrapped the snowglobe from its protective towel and stared at the little red creature emerging from its egg. He visualised JC's bizarre creations until he felt queasy again and closed his eyes, still firmly thinking of too many right angles and a dragonlet hatching from nowhere, and stepped forward. A lurch in his belly, nausea. Stepped again, and wanted to heave his innards onto the ground. One more struggled step and—suddenly the nausea was gone.
Lance opened his eyes.
He was—he was where he had been, except… it was different. As if the world were painted in different colours, except that things were still green, blue, brown as they had been before, but… the sky was a more intense blue. Was it warmer, brighter, were the greens of grass and leaves richer and more alive than he remembered, or was it just that he'd had his eyes so tightly closed he was seeing the echoes on his eyeballs? He turned slowly. Was the city—
The city wasn't there.
The contours of the world were the same, but the city was not there.
Lance breathed very carefully. He'd done it. It didn't make sense, but somehow he'd done it. This had to be dragon country, in the dimensions that weren't there. He knew an ecstatic moment of joy and terror, and tamped it down. He'd done it. Now he must go and find out if the dragons were still here.
The hills ahead seemed a familiar shape, so he headed onward and upward, and after a while found himself gazing down at the valley where he'd found the claw, except that this time, it was bigger. He had to pick his way carefully down the rough, tussocky slope, and was panting a little by the time he stood on the flat ground at the bottom. And the cave, the cave he'd poked an arm into was now a real cave, more than big enough for him to walk into it—warily—deep under the hill. There was a strange resonance, indefinable, and the walls were worn smooth in places higher than his head, perhaps—he could almost see it—where a dragon's shoulders had smoothed against the rock.
He was walking in a tunnel, Lance realised, a tunnel with a purpose, a tunnel with a floor that was neat and clear of debris. Were dragons tidy creatures? Had there simply been nothing in this tunnel for too many years?
The sunlight behind him wasn't penetrating far enough, and what was ahead was just blackness. Lance groped through his backpack for the pocket light, and could have kicked himself when it offered a dim orange glow which barely illuminated his hand. The batteries were almost spent. All this way, and he'd found what had to be a dragon's cave, and he couldn't explore it. He stood there in the tunnel, poised between the dull good sense of retreat and the enticing, stupid allure of going forward into the darkness, and quite seriously considered bashing his head against the tunnel's oddly smooth wall.
However, that wouldn't help. With immense reluctance he retreated back into the sunlight. He would come back next week, he'd bring a working pocket light, and matches, for backup.
Moving a cautious distance from the cave entrance, Lance found a comfortable spot in the grass and sat down to eat his sandwiches. It seemed so prosaic, but he was hungry, and he must be practical. He hoped time didn't work differently here—his watch was behaving normally, as far as he could tell, but who knew what the physics of different dimensions might be? There was nothing he could do about it, one way or the other, so he decided not to worry.
If he couldn't explore the cave, there was no reason he couldn't explore the valley. There might be other evidence of dragons, another claw maybe, or… something. Putting the sandwich wrappings neatly into his backpack, Lance got to his feet and headed across the bowl-like valley. There was a dip between the hills on the far side, he'd work across and go up there.
The valley floor yielded nothing, not so much as a scorch mark, so he climbed up to that dip in the valley's surrounding bowl, and stood to survey the terrain. The view made him catch his breath. Not unfamiliar, and yet fresh, new, all the colours more saturated than his everyday world. From the little yellow flowers in the grass to the purple of the distant mountains, everything was so vivid. There must be at least one dragon here, surely? Surely there must be a dragon here.
He was looking for a suitable place to sit down when he saw it. A glimpse of gold, a flash in the sky, quite far off. Lance felt for a moment as though his heart had stopped, and he fell to his knees with the shock, but he kept his eyes fixed on that far-off speck of gold and was rewarded, for it flew closer, until it was the size of his hand, still distant but clear enough to see its beautiful, glorious lines and the wide, shining wings like sails as it glided in spirals above the hills. He gazed, rapturous. What was it like to fly over the world like that? Could it possibly be as wonderful as it looked from his earth-bound place? How far could the dragon see, could it see Lance? Would it come closer? He was torn between hope and fear, because if it did, if it noticed him, what would it do? And if it did not notice him, would he ever recover?
It did not come closer. Lance was not tired of watching when the dragon flapped its great wings and flew away. He watched it until it was a tiny speck in front of the mountains, and then it was gone.
Lance lay back in the grass, and felt as though he would burst with joy.
After a while he realised that tears were trickling into his ears, and sat up. It was probably time to go. His watch said he had time to return home before the concert, and he hoped it was telling the truth, because he was going to need a shower. He circled the valley and set off down the hill towards the place where there was a path through the woods in the other version of the world.
Time to get back. He unwound the snowglobe again, hoping he hadn't managed to trap himself here—it didn't feel as though it would be impossible to return, but what did he know of such things? Still reluctant to leave, Lance looked back over his shoulder, and turned, for there on the crest of the hill, silhouetted and black against the light of the low sun, was the dragon, standing with its wings and tail raised almost in salute. A moment later it furled its wings and disappeared down the far side of the slope.
*
"Hi, boss! Are you excited? You look exited." Lisa beamed at him. She was waiting outside the restaurant, but he'd seen her arrive and start peering at the menu in the window as he got off the tram, so he knew she'd not been there long.
"I guess I am," he told her, and did not add, but not for the reason you think. "I'm also starving. Let's get inside."
A very large steak, a bowl of fried potatoes and a generous salad later, he was wondering whether he had room for dessert, and Lisa was getting twitchy.
"We don't want to miss him. It starts in—it starts now!"
"Adam Lambert is never going to be the opening act," Lance assured her. There would be eight different acts on the bill, culminating in a band with a vaguely familiar name. Lance had spoken to one of Cowell's assistants, as an interested party, and was pleased to discover that Adam would not be the only performer he'd sent Cowell's way. But Lisa was anxious, and he wasn't going to be unkind, so he waved for the waitress, and paid. "C'mon, then."
No more than half the seats in the splendid hall had been filled when they got to theirs, and the floor area was mostly empty. Probably the friends and family of the neophyte performers, determined to give a good show of support. Adam Lambert, not at all to Lance's surprise, was to perform sixth. The kid on stage now had a really hard job to do, singing in front of the indifferent incomers, and was doing her best, although Lance was getting waves of nervousness from the stage. He settled into his seat, but couldn't keep his mind on the show. Instead he went into a reverie. A golden dragon!
The second performer had such a powerful glamour that Lance had to go outside. He wound up at the bar with a nice cold vodka tonic rather than a headache, and returned in time for performer number three. Meredith was someone he'd been able to sell to Simon Cowell. She hadn't been received with such instant interest as Adam, but she was doing okay. The hall was mostly full, now, and the atmosphere was improving. Lisa was enjoying herself, standing to dance in the aisle when the music took her that way. Lance kept his shield firmly in place. It gave him a feeling of being outside the crowd rather than a part of it, which was sort of a shame—the Timberlake concert had taught him that it could be fun to give in to the massed emotions and groove along, but he wasn't going to do that tonight.
Acts four and five kept things moving nicely, and although the lead singer of the trio in the fifth spot was definitely using a glamour, she was also a capable singer, so there was only a slight dissonance and Lance could enjoy the harmonies if he closed his eyes and listened. Actually, that alto had the best voice, but the glamour was going to keep the pretty soprano in the spotlight for longer. Ah, well.
And then, Adam Lambert, all in black and glittering with spikes and silver chains, swaggered down an illuminated staircase with all the self-confidence in the world, and suddenly the air was electrified. Such a huge presence that this crowd of people who'd never heard him sing before were riveted. Nobody was sitting down when he sang the loud, uptempo numbers, and when he paused for a lonely, aching ballad the crowd seemed to hold its collective breath. Adam Lambert could do anything with his voice, apparently. Then he revved back up again—Lookin' for adventure, whatever comes my way—and oh, the way he moved his body, Lance had not been expecting that. He strutted, he dominated, and the audience responded—the whole hall was alive with reaction and hot with desire.
I'm going to have sex with that man, Lance thought, and then, No! No, I'm not! Damn it, this wasn't even the audience reaction creeping into his mind. He was not supposed to be thinking about having sex with Adam Lambert. He did not intend any such thing.
But I could, he thought, and oh, dear, it was tempting.
"Do you think we should stay and congratulate him at the stage door?" Lisa said, starry-eyed as they waited for the penultimate performer, who was going to have a hell of a time trying to follow that.
"I… think there'll be a lot of people fighting for his attention," Lance said. "He'll, uh, he'll be in the office Wednesday, you can tell him then."
"He doesn't have an appointment, does he? Oh, wait—he's your lunch?"
Or I might be his lunch, Lance thought, and quelled the notion. "We are having lunch together, yes."
Lisa danced and clapped her hands. "Excellent!"
They enjoyed the rest of the concert, but it did feel like a bit of an anticlimax.
*
Lance wanted so very much to head back to dragon country on Sunday, but he had things to do at home—laundry, for one, and the dogs deserved the long walk he'd denied them yesterday. He didn't take them on his dragon walks—a dog might make a nice little snack for a dragon, and he wasn't going to risk that. He could wait until next weekend.
*
"Hey, Lance! Lisa says you have a few minutes." Britney breezed into his office with a large, flat brown paper package in her arms. "How's it going?"
"Good, thanks." He rose to greet her and invited her to sit. "So, what brings you here today?"
"I won't stay long," she said. "I just wanted to thank you. You did a great job."
He smiled. "You mean Chris? Is that working out?" He could tell from her air of excited happiness that something was definitely going right.
"Chris is great," Britney said. "I never would have thought a guy could be so good with my boys, but he cooks these weird meals that they love, and they even made a list of vegetables that are not evil and they eat them. I guess having someone around who agrees with them about cabbage and stuff means they don't need to fight when he asks them to eat, like, bell peppers."
Lance grinned at the thought of Chris getting right down to the kids' level and being their ally. It might just be the perfect approach. "How about his other duties—is he keeping your life in order?"
"He is!" She looked baffled, but happy. "I'm not sure how, because he seems like an even bigger flake than me, but it works out. And I get plenty of time to paint, because he's never out of ideas for stuff to do with the kids. Oh, Lance, thank you so much for bringing me and JC together. That man is just so inspiring. I mean, I don't understand what he's saying half the time, but when we get together in the studio we can just, we don't even need to say, things just seem to make sense."
"So you're painting again. I'm so pleased," Lance said.
"I am! And JC's doing some wonderful stuff too. He's kinda weird but he's a sweetheart, and he's so talented. I just love being able to bounce things off him, you know? And we can, like, have the same idea and then produce completely different pictures. We actually do that a lot. My agent is getting excited, and it looks like we might maybe do a show together. Not yet, because we have to produce a whole lot more work that's good enough to show, but it's gonna happen. We're getting someone in from Gallery D to take a look at what we have, uh, I think next week."
"That's wonderful news, Britney."
"And, you know, it's all down to you for bringing me JC and Chris," Britney said, beaming at him, "so I brought you a, I brought you something. I'd have come sooner, only it had to, um. Dry." Suddenly shy, she handed over the brown paper parcel, which from the shape of it was—
"Oh, wow! A Britney Spears original? Seriously, wow." He stared at the picture. It was a vibrant swirl of reds and greens, exciting, fun, and—"Oh! It's dragons!" The whirl of colour resolved itself into a ring of dragons. Then he blinked, and they were gone again, back to abstract shapes. "You really have been working with JC," he observed.
"I know you're always looking for dragons, so I thought, maybe you'd like to find some," she said.
"It's wonderful," Lance told her with sincerity. "I'm going to have to get a hook put on the wall somewhere I can look at this every day."
She beamed, and there was a sense of relief and great satisfaction, entirely understandable. Britney leaped to her feet. "I should go. Time to play with my boys." Lance laid the picture carefully on his desk, and went around to usher her out. She gave him an impulsive hug, and kissed his cheek.
"Wow," Lisa said, after Britney's bright presence had left the office. "Did you just graduate from therapist to best friend?"
"Something like that. Come see!"
He put the picture up on the wall opposite his desk. This was turning out to be the best week for dragons.
*
Lance did not want to feel jittery on Wednesday, but he woke up with an odd feeling that seemed to oscillate between anticipation and reluctance and cause his stomach to vibrate. It was just lunch, and okay, Adam Lambert was an attractive man and a disturbing man who was hiding something, but still, it was just lunch.
He wore his favourite shirt. Sage green. It brought out his eyes. Lance told himself that knowing he looked good would give him confidence. Then he told himself not to kid himself, and it became quite the conversation before he managed to get himself to shut up. Just as well he was intending to work on accounts due this morning. He'd have to concentrate.
Adam Lambert arrived promptly at five to one. Muffled conversation told him—as if he needed to know—that Lisa was rhapsodising about Saturday's concert. Lance couldn't hear the words, but the tone was unmistakeable and the mood came right through the door, clear as anything. Lance tidied his desk and went through into the outside office. Adam was in his customary black, today a suit with a purple shirt, and almost glowing in his mystifying aura. Lance looked at him, and he looked at Lance, and a crystal clear thought rang in Lance's head: He's just perfect! Lisa was very definitely a fan. Traitor.
"Lisa told me you like to eat at Fatone's," Adam said as they walked along the street, "so I booked a table there. But if you wanna go somewhere else, that's okay."
"Fatone's is fine," Lance said. Joey would be delighted with the opportunity to assess the hot guy in person.
So it proved. There was a lot of very unsubtle winking and nodding as Joey seated the two of them, so Joey's totally unnecessary approval had obviously been given. Lance was somewhat irritated by this. Joey ought, he felt, to wait for Lance to decide whether Adam was a decent human being before rendering any judgments about his hotness. He was very much amused, therefore, when Joey hovered at the table and, looking somewhat embarrassed, inquired what Adam might like to eat. Adam gazed for a few moments at the blackboard on which the day's specials were chalked and ordered the Filetto Casanova. Lance was very careful to keep a straight face as Joey departed.
"Did he forget to take your order? Let me call him back—"
"No, no, it's fine. Joey knows what I like," Lance said, and stared. "Are you—are you wearing eyeliner?"
"Do you like it? I think it brings out my eyes," Adam said. "You should try it. You have beautiful eyes."
"Ah, uh. Thank you." Lance was stuck for words for a moment. "I enjoyed your performance on Saturday. You have great stage presence."
"I had such a blast! I've never performed to such a big audience before, it was amazing. I've sung in theatres, but you get such a different energy from a concert crowd."
"I expect you'll be doing bigger concerts soon."
"Simon's pleased with how I'm going over," Adam said, and he did have a very appealing grin. "He's putting me with some songwriters to work on my own music. It all seems to be happening really fast. I'm so grateful to you for sending me over to X-Works, I've seen how most people have to jump through all kinds of hoops to get an audition, and you got me straight to Simon with one phone call."
"You were one of the easiest applicants I ever placed," Lance said, lightly. "I'm glad it's working out for you." He wanted to ask about the dragon-hide boots, but could not figure out how to wrench the conversation round. So he inquired instead about the songwriters, and what kind of music Adam planned to create when he was no longer singing covers for the exposure, and when Joey returned to the table with water and salads, they were talking quite easily. Lance was pleased to see Joey's faintly baffled expression when he looked at Adam. No, Joey didn't like it either.
Now that Adam had taken off his jacket, Lance noticed something inside his shirt that gleamed like black abalone, and asked about it.
"The pendant? Yes, it's a piece of shell. It's so pretty, I couldn't resist. I love jewellery."
"I could tell, at the concert."
"Well, you have to go a bit over the top for concerts, right? Though I guess I wear quite a lot anyway. But, you know, all those chains and bracelets wouldn't go with the suit, so I was very restrained and just wore the shell. Speaking of shell, how are you getting on with the snowglobe? I hope it's not giving you headaches."
"No, no headaches. I think I understand where it's coming from," Lance said.
"I'm pleased to hear it," said Adam. "It's nice to meet someone who's interested in dragons."
"Speaking of dragons, you were going to tell me why your boots aren't something I should disapprove of."
"I was, wasn't I." There was a mischievous glint in Adam Lambert's eyes. "Well, did you know dragons shed their skins?"
"They shed…? Huh." They must be related to lizards, Lance thought. "I didn't know that. I guess it makes sense."
"Yeah. Well, I took a whole skin to a fancy leather dealer, and part of the sale was that I got a pair of boots made. Bought my motorcycle with the proceeds." Their entrées arrived at that point—Lance was given garlicky prawns with a kick of chilli—and there was a pause while they tasted. "Oh, this is good! Do you eat here a lot?"
"Their food is amazing."
"Here, taste this." Adam cut a piece from his beef and corralled peppercorn sauce onto it. "Isn't that good? Oh, sure, if you don't mind," and he accepted a prawn in exchange. "Oh, mmm, I will eat here again!"
Joey had arrived just in time to hear this, and was gratified. He refreshed the water jug and left them in peace.
"So where did you find a dragon skin?" Lance asked.
"Oh, you have to know where to look," said Adam. "And they are pretty rare, because adult dragons only peel once a decade, when they reach full size. More often when they're growing, obviously."
"You seem to know a lot about dragons," Lance said.
"Mmm." Adam reapplied himself to his food.
He hesitated, hoping Adam would be a bit more forthcoming. "So, how did you come to find out so much about dragons?"
Adam chewed, quite slowly, Lance thought. "Well, I've always been interested." He paused. "My parents taught me quite a lot." He shifted in his seat, and Lance would very much have liked to be able to confirm from Adam's thoughts that Adam was being evasive on purpose, but of course, he couldn't.
"You must have spent a long time in dragon country," Lance said.
"Yeah," Adam said, and his smile reminded Lance why he'd agreed to have lunch in the first place. "It's—it's beautiful there."
Lance had to agree. He was getting the picture clearly enough, even without Adam's thoughts. Adam Lambert was a dragon hunter, like himself, except he was in it for profit rather than the love of dragons. In fairness, it looked as though he got his profit without doing any actual harm, and Lance couldn't exactly blame him for being cagey about what he knew and how he'd found it out. Lance hadn't told anyone what he knew, either. "And you found an egg, too, or at least a part of one. That must have been quite profitable."
"Not as good as the skin, because most people don't know what it is. It just looks like some kind of exotic oyster shell, or whatever. I mean, it's pretty, but there isn't really a market because it never gets to market, you know?"
Lance tried very hard not to be envious. All he'd found was a claw. But it did sound as though Adam had been looking for dragons for a lot longer than Lance had.
"Well, then, I'm very flattered you gave some to me."
"I thought you'd appreciate it," said Adam, and grinned at him. "After all, you have your own… relic," he added, and Lance stared. How could he know that? How could he possibly know that? "Anyway, now you know no dragons were harmed in the production of my favourite boots, are we okay?"
"I—I—" Lance was still suspicious, but he couldn't very well admit that not being able to identify any of Adam's thoughts or feelings was the real cause. "I guess we are," he said. "I'm sorry I was kinda rude about it. I didn't know about the skin shedding."
"Peeling, we call it," Adam said, absently. "It's fine. I mean, it's good, I wouldn't want to be around someone who killed dragons to make clothes, either."
*
"Did you have a good lunch?" Lisa asked the instant Lance opened the office door.
"Yes, thank you, very good. Sorry if my breath smells of garlic."
She gave him an exasperated look. "And? Are you seeing him again?"
He looked at her for a moment, and then grinned. "Yeah." Lisa squealed. "Lunch on Sunday."
She looked disappointed. "I thought you'd have progressed to dinner. You do like him, don't you? Surely you like him?"
"I'm very picky," Lance said. "Also, he's busy. The variety concert went so well, they're repeating it at Simivale Arena tomorrow and the Verentain Concert Hall Friday. The venue they had a hold on for Saturday got booked for something else, but I'm busy Saturday," he added, before she could ask. He didn't need anything at the end of the day to curtail his time in dragon country. Not now he knew how to get there. He had a cave to explore.
*
Lance spent a lot of time thinking about Adam Lambert. Who was charming, and sweet, and apparently sincere, and certainly talented. And really hot. Everything Lance would have asked for. Was he wrong to be put off by that mental shield? It might not be covering a deliberate deception at all, it might just be a natural defence that most people never noticed was there. Was it so terrible not to be able to tell what Adam was thinking? But… how could Lance know?
Joey was no help. "Who's to say having a strong shield isn't just what comes natural to him? It doesn't mean he's a liar, or that he has anything more to hide than anyone else. You like having it easy. You always get to be the one in charge, because you know how they're feeling without them even having to tell you." Joey sounded quite put out. Lance reckoned not being able to bring Adam's meal without being asked had hurt his professional pride. "And you should tell him you're an empath."
"I should not! People who have a gift recognise it, and people who don't have one don't want to know." And Lance was not going to tell Joey, or anyone else, that he got more than feelings from most people. Ordinary empaths were okay and even acknowledged for their skills in certain professions, and people with highly specialised gifts, like the Fatones, generally didn't get recognised for it anyway, but a receiver? A guy who could hear actual thoughts? Not going to be popular. Lance had known that pretty much forever.
"Well, maybe. Okay. But you should give the guy a chance. He's just your type, and he's interested. Don't need to be an empath to see that. It'll be good for you to have to work it out like us normal guys."
He did have a point. Lance had always been safe, in his relationships. He'd always known what was going on in the other guy's head. He'd always been the one to break it off if things were getting too serious, or not serious enough, or just not… perfect. If he hadn't known Jesse was having doubts, was looking at other guys, Lance would never have broken it off with him, and maybe they could have worked it out. He had wondered, sometimes. Maybe he would have tried a bit harder…. He wouldn't be able to do that with Adam Lambert. He'd have to be honest, they would have to talk to each other. It sounded scary.
It sounded like Joey was right.