Tears of a Dragon by Bryan Davis Read Free Book Online

gently gliding under wings of gold, his chiseled bronze face smiling under flowing blond hair, was more than a dream come true. He was heaven on earth.
    “Fear not,” the angel whispered in her ear. “We will now descend quickly.”
    Shelly suddenly felt weightless, the ground rushing up toward her as though a movie camera were zooming in on a grassy field below. Excitement shook her body and snatched her breath away. Then, the soles of her shoes pressed against soft earth, saturated grass and mud with puddles all around. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to settle her feet, but, still feeling the effects of the weightless plunge, she wobbled until the angel caught her and set her upright. The gentle touch of the radiant man sent new chills of delight racing across her skin. She rubbed away the goose bumps and sighed. A real angel had flown her to a secret hideaway! What would be next?
    The angel led her into a thick forest, his soft, deep voice rumbling. “Take heed, fair maiden. The trail is dark, and the mud is slick.”
    The two sloshed through the dim woods, the angel keeping one hand on her shoulder. His grip was soft, caressing, like a kindly grandfather’s guiding hand. They rounded a large boulder and approached a sturdy looking cabin with stacked, hewn logs and draped windows. The scent of burning wood mixed with the musty smell of damp earth, and clouds of bluish gray puffed from a brick chimney atop the sloped, cedar roof. As they drew close, an ebony door opened by itself, its hinges silent in the drum of vertical sheets of rain. The angel motioned for her to enter.
    Shelly stepped up to the threshold, noting an odd design burned into the lintel. No larger than an old silver dollar, it looked like a compass with a circle at the end of each directional point. Inside, the smell of wood grew stronger, pungent, a sickeningly sweet incense injected into the smoke. The malodorous vapor hung from the low, plastered ceiling like a translucent theatre curtain that had just been raised for a performance. A steady drip from a crack in the gray plaster disclosed a leaking roof, each dime-sized drop adding to a growing puddle on the polished wood floor.
    The fireplace, its flames greenish-orange, infused the cabin with stifling heat. In front of the hearth sat a low, stone table, perhaps a pedestal for the flaming crystal ball that perched on its marble top. A woman sat on a swivel chair, her hands hovering over the blazing crystal as if warming her bony fingers in the ball’s rippled aura. Shelly could only see the side of the woman’s wrinkled face, deeply creased and cracking, yet somehow still beautiful, like an antique sculpture that needed buffing.
    A huge, multicolored dog lay curled at the woman’s feet, its triangular ears perking and its black eyes shining. Shelly tiptoed closer. A strange light emanated from the dog’s coat, waves of color washing through a yellowish glow. A low growl rumbled from its throat.
    Shelly halted and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. The air in the cabin was too stifling, the situation too strange, even scary. While the angel helped her slip off her sweatshirt, the dog let out another growl. Its bared teeth didn’t impress her as a smile of greeting.
    The woman turned her chair and tapped the dog on its head. “Quiet, Iridian!” Shelly jumped back a step. The woman’s sharp voice sounded like a firecracker, belying her apparent age. Dry, wrinkled skin hung over her skull like a rotting mask, a deep scar blistering one cheek, but her eyes blazed red, alive with vibrant energy and ancient wisdom. Shelly trembled.
    The angel whispered, “Drop to one knee when I address her.” He stepped in front of the woman and bowed his head, speaking in a deep, echoing voice. “I have found her, Morgan. Your hostiam has come.”
    Shelly lowered her body and planted one knee on the wood floor, her jeans slipping an inch on its wet surface. She noticed that the angel didn’t