Dragons Wild

Nothing.

The smile slowly slid from his face. He turned the key again, absolutely nothing. Not even the engine trying to turn over. Like the starter was broken, disconnected, or cut. Griffen took the key out, made sure it was the right one, slipped it in again. For a third time there was no result.

With a grimace he slammed his hand into the dash. Not hard enough to damage his beloved car, but he was just so frustrated. Now instead of a night out, he would have to call a mechanic. He sighed and leaned his head back on the seat. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, as if that could really ease the tension. As he pulled his hand away, though, his eyes caught on something

There was a small white triangle sticking out of his visor. He hadn’t noticed it. In fact, he doubted it had shown before. It was more like his strike on the dashboard had shaken it just enough to emerge. He reached up, pulled it, and found himself holding the corner of a Knight of Swords tarot card.

Griffen’s mind flashed in an instant, even as his hand reached for the door handle. This didn’t make sense. What skill was involved in this? Cutting an ignition when he was nowhere near the car? Or was there something worse in store? A bomb perhaps, that would have detonated if the turn of a key had worked? And a card he wouldn’t have seen without the impact of his hand…

The door was open just a crack when the crash slammed it shut again.

A beer truck, easily four times the size of the Goblin. It had been parked half a space back, Griffen had noticed it only in passing. Plenty of clearance to back up.

That clearance was closed in half a second, with the roar of the larger engine. It crunched into the back of the Goblin and threw Griffen forward against the dash. Only his awkward position of trying to open the door saved his head from cracking against the steering wheel.

The second crash came a few moments later. The truck backed up enough for another rush. Griffen clung desperately to the steering wheel of his car, not trying to escape, just enduring. If he allowed it, the whiplash from the impacts could have snapped his spine.

Metal screamed and buckled. The strongest part of the Sunbeam Tiger was its massive engine. Compared to the truck behind, the back of the car was as sturdy as tissue paper. Griffen felt the seat smash into his back as the car folded. He was pinned, trapped. He cursed himself for not being faster. One more blow and…

Another blow never came.

Griffen saw the truck drive away, but blurrily. He couldn’t focus on the license, or the details, and realized he had blood in one eye. A scalp wound, he didn’t know when or how it had split. Nothing is perfect it seemed, not even dragon skin.

The visor hung crookedly. The blow of the truck would have dumped the card. Nice to see the George planned things out. Griffen forced the door open, metal shrieking again. It took all his strength to pry himself free from the car.

People gathered, a hand landed on his shoulder. He almost struck out, but realized at the last moment it was a police officer. He couldn’t quite make out the cops questions, his eyes were all for the Goblin. A crumpled, broken mess of metal in black and racing green.

Griffen knew he should be afraid. But looking at his prized possession shattered and bent, his car, his friend, he trembled. Not with fear. With fury.

Forty-one

Griffen soared.

Everyone had dreams of flying, or of falling. Of hurtling through the air, currents buffeting over skin. How much control one had often depended on the type of person.

This wasn’t like that. Griffen wasn’t at the mercy of the winds, wasn’t free flowing through the air. He could feel the power of muscles straining with each powerful beat of his wings. Muscles that he knew, on some level, he didn’t have in the waking world, but here they felt right. He didn’t question them, just exulted in the pounding of his blood through them, the effortless strength that kept him aloft.

He cut through the currents of the air as a shark did through water. Utterly confident, fulfilled, free. He was as much a part of the world as the clouds that passed under him. Sunshine beat down, and felt odd against his skin. As if it weren’t skin at all, but something rougher that soaked in the light and sent small waves of pleasure through his body.

He twisted in the air, tucking arms and legs beneath him, folding wings around him, unquestioning suddenly being a six-limbed being. Dreams have logic of their own. He dived under the clouds, saw a city before him. Lines of energy coursed, etching their own pattern above the web-work of streets and buildings. The city called to him, pulled at him. He gave into the pull and sank lower in the air.