Bone Dance

By Lee Roland

One by one, the magical inhabitants of Elder Valley are disappearing and it’s up to Maeve, a runaway witch with an erratic nature and dubious powers, to save them. Maeve’s been a vagabond, riding the roads with her trucker friends, but the magic she’s tried to escape for years is forcing her home. Worse, it has given her responsibility for a strange lonely witch, an impertinent little harpy, and a love-struck dragon. With an evil sorcerer’s thugs in furious pursuit, Maeve must keep her charges safe as they race across the country to save her home from death and ruin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: May 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781509214167

Lee Roland

Lee Roland is a writer of urban fantasy and paranormal romance. She lives in Florida with her family.

Book preview

America

What can I say? Witches are devious, secretive, seeking magical power, some at all cost. Even the gentlest, the kindest of witches share those traits to a certain extent. Curious creatures at best and abhorrent in general.

Dragons? They live in the moment, open, honest, and practical. They are the Sky Lords, the ancient and noble keepers of magic. All of that nobility, that insufferable practicality—they’re only better than witches because they spend most of their time in the sky and rarely meddle in magical affairs.

~Letter from the personal writings of the Sorcerer Sorath

Chapter One

There’s a harpy on the hood.

Maeve jerked awake. She rubbed her eyes and stared at her driver. What was her name? Flor? Yeah, that was it.

What? I didn’t…

I said, there’s a harpy on the hood. Flor pointed toward the windshield.

It certainly was a harpy—an agitated harpy. Her wings gyrated and flopped like a broken fan as she hopped up and down. Barely more than a foot high, she could be mistaken for a barn owl—except for her rosy-cheeked, doll-like face.

Harriet? Maeve’s heart jumped, first with joy, then fear. What had brought the little creature so far from home? She heard the engine running, but the SUV sat motionless, bright headlights scanning the red sand road ahead. When did they leave the Utah highway for the desert’s interminable rock and dry earth? She shouldn’t have fallen asleep.

Where are we? she asked.

On the road to my house, Flor said. My aunt wants to meet you. She told me to go to the truck stop and pick up a witch. I searched auras, and you were the only witch at the truck stop, so I’m pretty sure you’re the right one.

Maeve shifted in her seat and stifled a groan at the ache in her back. More trouble. Oh yes, Maeve was a witch. But Flor was a witch, too, and she could see Harriet. Ordinary humans couldn’t do that. As with most magical creatures, ordinary humans would only see or feel a disturbance in the air if they moved close enough.

Yes, witches were technically human, but their power in magic set them apart. She sighed.

I better let her in. She’ll scratch the paint.

Maeve pushed the button and rolled the window down. Harriet flew around and jammed her way through. She tumbled over Maeve’s lap and rolled to the floor. Wings flapping and feathers askew, she clawed her way back up Maeve’s jeans. Harriet screeched, her reedy voice reaching a higher and more furious note with every word. About time…said he would…ungrateful.

One wing slapped Maeve across the face and not so tiny talons poked through her jeans.

Harriet, stop! You’ll hurt yourself. She caught Harriet’s wings and gently folded them against her sides. She pushed the harpy out the window and rolled it up before Harriet could recover. Harriet went back to dancing on the hood. Maeve tapped on the windshield. Calm down, and I’ll let you back in. At least she wouldn’t injure herself outside.

Maeve leaned back and crossed her arms. Sorry, she said to Flor. I owe you a paint job—and for dinner. I’m a pig. You feed me, and I fall asleep.

You were hungry. How long since you’d eaten?

Couple of days. It had been more than two days. In the past few weeks, her days had melded together in a desperate struggle for food and rest. She’d gone from one truck stop to the next, her worldly possessions stuffed in the ragged backpack now lying on the SUV’s backseat. Temptation to use her deeply flawed and disastrous magic had grown strong. She had refused to yield—so far.

Flor had appeared at a fortuitous—and now suspicious—moment. Flor’s skin was the color of honey, and her eyes dark as obsidian. Her midnight hair completed the picture as it fell across her shoulders like a bridal veil. Young and lovely, nothing in her words and actions had projected the slightest threat.

She’d struck up a friendly, innocuous conversation, bought Maeve dinner, and offered her a place to sleep for the night. Maeve, in a most unusual, incautious and impulsive manner, followed her like a lost child. There was a vague offer of a temporary job, too. Hunger and sleepless nights had taken a dangerous toll on the basic survival instincts she’d lived by for years.

Maeve bit her lip and sighed. How long had she been bumming around the country, hitching rides on the big trucks, trying to avoid magic and magical beings? Eight years? No, closer to ten.

Is your hair really that color? Flor asked.

Maeve fingered the strands tickling her ears. The cap she usually wore had slipped off while she slept. Yeah, it’s real. Her vivid strawberry-blonde curls and cinnamon colored eyes would often attract unwanted attention.

Harriet sat quietly now, glaring at them through the glass.

Are you ready to be calm? Maeve asked.

Harriet fluttered to the window again. Her second entry was no more graceful than the first, but Maeve caught and hugged her close. She rubbed her face in the soft feathers on Harriet’s head and neck. The little harpy smelled of a cut-rate truck stop—diesel fuel, motor oil, and dirty laundry. Where in the Mother’s name had she been? She lifted the harpy up. Missed you, little chicken.

Missed you too, Harriet chirped. But—

Maeve laid a finger across her mouth. Harriet shouldn’t talk in front of a stranger. It was bad enough she was there. Later. Okay? She lifted the finger.

’Kay. Don’t let him eat me.

Don’t let who eat you? Maeve held her closer.

Him. Harriet turned her small face toward the windshield where headlights showed only empty desert.

Something’s coming, Flor said in a soft breathy voice. Something big.

Magic knows magic.

Red sand exploded and twisted into whirlwinds as the dragon landed. Thick, solid legs folded to absorb the massive shock, and dense claws punched into the earth. Eighty feet of reptilian splendor touched down with the poise of a champion gymnast coming off a high bar. Headlights flashed across silver scales, and each scale was a polished coin, ready to spend in some enchanted world. A rough, horned head peered at them with kaleidoscope eyes. Flor gripped the steering wheel with pale hands and whispered in a strange, clipped language.

The dragon’s wings swept up into the night and diamond points of light fractured in a million rainbows as they melded into human form. Silver-haired and slender, almost androgynous, it might have been difficult to determine gender—if he hadn’t been naked and obviously male.

Oh my. Flor spoke in a breathless whisper.

Maeve stroked Harriet’s head. Raymond. Has he been mean to you again, sweetheart?

With exquisite grace, the dragon walked to the driver’s side of the vehicle. Flor pushed the button, and the window murmured as it slid down.

Raymond, Maeve said. She didn’t ask what he wanted. Harpies might talk too much, but dragons spoke in their own time.

Opal flecked eyes glimmered in the dash lights as Raymond reached in to grasp a handful of Flor’s midnight hair. The pace of Flor’s breathing increased. She quivered when his long fingered hand caressed her face and throat.

Maeve glanced down at Harriet. I don’t suppose it’ll do any good to tell her not to look in his eyes.

Too late. Harriet sounded smug. Already got her.

Flor smiled at Maeve. Maeve wasn’t sure if the smile said lucky me or go to hell.

Harriet was right. Raymond already had Flor under his spell. It wasn’t unusual for witches to bond with dragons in human form, and the enchantment would eventually ease. How fascinating, though. Maeve had known Raymond all her life, and to the best of her knowledge, he’d never shown that kind of interest in any witch.

Raymond released Flor, opened the back door, and climbed in. Leaning between the bucket seats, he gently grasped her hand, kissed it, and sucked her fingers like a little boy savoring sweet candy.

Eweee-uu, Harriet said. Nasty.

Raymond reached for the harpy. She ducked under Maeve’s arm, scrunching herself against the door.

Stop that. Maeve smacked Raymond’s hand.

Raymond gave a deep, seductive dragon’s laugh, so at odds with his slender body. The sound didn’t affect Maeve, but Flor squirmed in her seat. Maeve wrinkled her nose as the sweet pungent odor of magic and lust pervaded the air.

Flor, could we move along? Maeve flipped her hand to show forward movement. I’ll drive if you want. No telling who or what’ll show up next. The sudden appearance of magic where it shouldn’t be rattled her. Like standing on a railroad track, feeling the sudden vibration of an onrushing train. Harriet and Raymond were a welcome surprise, but there were other creatures she’d prefer not to meet in the wild, empty Utah desert.

Flor sighed and the vehicle rolled forward again. Raymond transferred his affections back to her hair, gently drawing strands over her shoulder and rubbing them across his face.

Maeve decided to get the worst over. So, what are you two doing here?

Tana sent us, Harriet chirped.

Raymond kept his fingers in Flor’s hair as he spoke to Maeve. Tana wants you to come home.

Tana—Aingeal Nyx Pallas, High Witch and Matriarch of the Random Clan—wanted her wayward granddaughter to come home? Not impossible, but highly unlikely given the circumstances of Maeve’s departure years ago.

Why, Raymond? Why should I go home?

He shrugged. Don’t know. Tana and Chaos—

Chaos? Who let him loose? Do you know how much blood I used to bind that demon? Mention of the binding made the scar on her arm ache.

Tana felt sorry for him. Raymond sounded cautious.

Maeve gritted her teeth. That cut deep. She didn’t feel sorry for me. She ran me off like a stray dog and―

No. Raymond’s voice firmed. You left rather than face the consequences of what you did. She wants you to come home anyway. She sent a message.

The world around Maeve faded and disappeared as a powerful mind-spell, an inescapable magical wave, swept over her. In that solitary place, a beautiful, silver haired woman appeared before her.

Greetings, my love. Tana’s sweet voice stirred an ache in Maeve’s heart as she spoke with words only Maeve could hear. I need you, and I beg you to come home. This doesn’t mean I condone your actions, but I’m willing to forgive. Please come.

The image faded, and Maeve once again sat in the SUV.

What’s wrong? She squeezed Harriet so hard the little harpy squawked. Poor Harriet was having a rough night. Maeve released her, and Harriet danced on Maeve’s leg. She fluffed her feathers. Promised we wouldn’t tell. You come home. Now.

Tana had enough power to blast a mountain to beach sand. Why would she need her rebellious granddaughter? The world outside their protected home was a perilous place for magical creatures, though. Only extraordinary circumstances would cause Tana to send Raymond and Harriet into that kind of danger.

Maeve sighed. The years away from home had offered her many excellent days—and many bitter days, many endless nights. Hunger, cold, loneliness, none of it had driven her back. Nothing had tempered her anger at the deeper betrayal of her trust, either.

I don’t need her forgiveness, she said in a husky voice. And I’m not going back.

Where’s your home? Flor asked. She sounded less dazed as Raymond’s initial dragon spell faded. She maneuvered the SUV along the rough desert road and past red and yellow rock formations as if it were a meandering country lane.

Me? Name a truck stop—or a highway. Maeve shrugged. I’ve seen most of them.

You know what I mean.

Maeve hesitated, then decided to go on. After all, Flor certainly had Raymond’s approval. Elder Valley. East Tennessee. In the mountains. All the Iameth live there.

Iameth?

That’s what we call ourselves. Those who live with magic. Madoc’s children. Madoc was…it’s sort of an epic tale. Takes at least three days to tell it all. What about you? I never heard of any witches outside of Elder.

And Elder is the only place magic exists? My story would take two or three days, too. Flor turned the wheel to the right, and the road dipped down across a tiny trickle of water. The vehicle’s engine revved as it climbed the steeper bank on the opposite side. Ahead, a squat brown adobe house captured the headlights. Flor parked near the front door and cut off the engine. We can talk later.

Maeve clamped her teeth together. Not a satisfactory answer, but she couldn’t force the little witch to speak.

Okay. She opened her door. Let’s see if we can find Raymond clothes. No point in flashing Auntie in her own living room.

Raymond objected, but Maeve finally forced him into a pair of sweatpants she had in her backpack.

They stink. He wrinkled his nose. Dragons rarely wore clothing. Dragons almost never left Elder Valley where they did not need them.

Sorry Raymond, best I can do. Her current financial situation made no allowance for laundromats. With the dragon presentable, or at least with the potentially embarrassing parts covered, they followed Flor inside to meet her aunt.

Kerosene lamplight caressed caramel-colored walls, and the scent of piñon pine and sage hung in the air like invisible curtains. A perfect peaceful room—except for the withered body, wrapped in a blanket and sitting on a braided rug in the middle of the floor.

Harriet huddled on Maeve’s shoulder, and she sensed Raymond standing close behind.

Immal, Flor said. I’ve brought her—and her friends.

The body turned its head, and midnight black eyes stared at them. Stark skull bones stood out under transparent skin, dried and shriveled to the texture of tissue paper. Harriet squawked, flapped, and tried to squeeze under Maeve’s arm.

The corpse smiled.

Wild, unfettered magic crashed into the room like a giant wave. An invisible, spectral tornado, it sparkled and whispered indecipherable words while it cut the air in a whirlwind of enchantment. Maeve gasped and fought for control. If she opened herself to power of that magnitude, it would shred her actual being.

Raymond whirled and raced out. He almost escaped.

Magic knows magic.

The sudden surge produced an involuntary change to dragon form. His tail dragged out three feet of wall on both sides of the door as he smashed through. Flor raced after him.

Dust billowed through the room. Maeve closed her eyes and shielded Harriet as best she could. A breeze gently wafted around inside the house and forced the powder outside. The air cleared. The magic faded.

Roadmap cracks appeared on the walls as the building groaned and threatened to collapse around them. Tiny rivers of sand seeped from the cracks, hissing and settling small cones on the floor.

Come, come, Immal gestured to Maeve with a skeletal hand. Sit with me. Welcome, welcome.

Apparently, having the wall of her dwelling blasted out by a dragon was acceptable—or simply accepted because it was inevitable. The first lesson in any young witch’s life? Magic was like the weather. Predictable up to a point, but a tiny variable could create unusual results—or a catastrophe. The unexpected was the norm. Deal with the consequences.

Maeve drew in deep breaths. An energetic and impressive show of magic—but for what purpose? Magic always had to have a focus, a cause and effect. She couldn’t see either here. That didn’t mean they didn’t exist, only that the creator of the enchanted performance hid them. The evening became more interesting—and dangerous.

She crossed her legs and sat down on the floor in front of Immal.

Be welcome in my home, Immal said. Those incredibly dark eyes glittered in the muted light. A young woman’s voice belied the terrifying face and the body’s condition. Does the little one have a front?

Only Harriet’s tail and legs stuck out beneath Maeve’s arm. Yeah. She has a mouth too. I’m Maeve and this— she flipped the harpy around —is Harriet.

Maeve sat Harriet on her knee. Be polite, Harriet.

Harriet ruffed her feathers. Good evening, Ancient Mother.

Ancient Mother? The harpy had used the formal greeting for a High Witch. What did she see in Immal that Maeve couldn’t?

Good evening, Harriet. Immal held out her hand. May I touch your aura?

Harriet studied Immal. Then she hopped down and walked to her. The witch’s bony finger stroked the air around the harpy. Harriet cooed like a pigeon.

You’re beautiful, Harriet, Immal said. I’ve not seen a harpy in many, many years.

Flor’s gentle laughter floated from the darkness outside.

Harriet stirred a little. Eweee-uu. Nasty.

I’m glad you’re here, Immal said. Flor needs to be among her own kind, if not her own people. She’s been alone too long. My gods speak to me at times. I dreamed of you last night, so I sent her to bring you. You don’t mind if she goes with you?

Where did Immal think she was going?

Maeve gave Immal a wry smile. I’m afraid she’ll have to go with Raymond. They kind of…bonded earlier. Unless you want to adopt him. Sorry he broke the door. The magic here overwhelmed him. He couldn’t help himself.

Immal shook her head, and the bones in her neck crackled. I don’t need the door. She gazed at the gaping hole. Flor? Come. Bring your dragon. He doesn’t have to change; his head should fit now.

Flor walked in, followed by a portion of Raymond’s iridescent horned head. It dominated the room, and Maeve prayed he wouldn’t open his mouth. A bit of a stretch, but he moved his nose within reach of Immal’s fingers without taking out more wall.

Immal caressed him as she had Harriet. Magical telepathy—a dragon’s speech in its truest form. What secrets were the two sharing? Maeve tried not to remember the last time she’d touched a dragon in that form and heard his whisper in her mind.

So young. Immal stroked the fine scales on Raymond’s face. No fire yet, but soon. Be kind to my little flower. She will care for you. She turned back to Maeve. My gods speak to me at times. They instruct and never explain. You have a journey to make—a dangerous journey. Men are coming to capture you, or kill you if they can’t take you alive.

Maeve swallowed hard and stared at Immal. Capture? Kill? She’d made a few serious errors in judgment over the last couple of years, but nothing to elicit that kind of response.

The old witch drew her blanket tighter. I wish I could tell you why, but I don’t know. I only know that Flor is given into your care, as are the dragon and the little one. She held out her skin over bone hand. Lead them, guard them, keep them well.

Responsibility for a raucous harpy, an amorous dragon, and a strange witch wasn’t something Maeve wanted or needed. "I’m not going back to Elder. I’ll make sure Raymond and Harriet get there safe—Flor, too, if that’s what she wants. I’ll take them as far as the Troll Bridge, then I’m gone."

Maeve had beaten the pain in her heart down to a slow ache. Harriet and Raymond’s arrival had aroused the anguish, but she loved them enough to cope. She could not, would not, bear a return to Elder.

Immal’s black, glittering eyes studied her. I instruct you as I did Flor. Hold tight to your magic and follow your heart.

Harriet hopped up to Maeve’s shoulder as Raymond backed his head out. Flor remained, but she stayed at a distance, watching.

Maeve sensed the audience was over. Immal? Are you coming? We can’t leave you out here alone.

No. I’ve completed my task here. What remains belongs to Flor. She smiled and the brilliant eyes winked out like a snuffed candle.

Maeve drew a sharp breath as the strange magic that had greeted her when she entered the house flared again. This time, it had a focus—a direct intense focus. Her! It plunged deep and delved into her heart. In an instant, it had twisted through years of memories as if creating a scrapbook of her life. When it departed, it left a desperate longing for home. Longing for Elder, her own people, her own kind, those she loved. Immal had trapped her in a powerful spell. Call it destiny, providence or doom—compulsion would force her along the path to Elder. No escape would be possible. Immal’s relentless enchantment would drive her on.

A soft sigh came from the desiccated body. It crumbled. Her fingers fell off, and her arms dropped into her lap, followed by her shoulders as they collapsed inward. A tiny dust devil formed where her heart would have been. It whispered and danced for a moment before fading to memory. The head went last, slowly sinking, disintegrating, into a mound of toothpick bones and gray powder wrapped in a blanket.

Flor came and knelt beside Maeve. Her face had a look of apprehension, as if she couldn’t believe what had happened. The young witch’s hands clasped tight under her heart.

Immal…she put a spell on you. Without your permission. Why? It’s against the law of our people. That’s the first thing she taught me. My parents taught me. I swear, I didn’t know she was going to do that.

Maeve knew Flor spoke the truth. It seems pretty innocuous as spells go, but damn, it’s powerful.

I’m so sorry. Flor sounded like she would cry at any moment.

Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. I was careless. Should have been more watchful. Having felt the power behind the spell, Maeve knew no amount of caution on her part would have prevented the enchantment. She certainly knew she couldn’t break it herself. She was going to go to Elder.

Maeve nodded at the pile of dust that had been Immal. Have to admit I’ve never seen anything like that before. And I grew up under the iron thumb of an awesome witch, in a valley filled with dragons, demons, ogres and…other creatures.

The condition of Immal’s body made it unlikely that she was Flor’s aunt in a literal sense, but she must have cared for her. I’m sorry for your loss.

Flor rose to her feet. Thank you, but I’ll see her again. We better go now.

In spite of her best efforts, magic had caught up with Maeve. She’d learned to live on her own in a hostile world, but a harpy and a dragon wouldn’t survive. They had made the journey west without mishap, but Maeve shuddered at the thought of Raymond colliding with an airplane or Harriet caught by an eagle. Immal’s claim that men wanted to kill her was a more serious matter. She’d think about that later.

They stood outside the adobe in the rapidly cooling night while Raymond and Maeve argued over his wearing clothes.

Raymond, you know ordinary people can see you when you’re in human form, Maeve threw her hands up in despair. Either change shape to be invisible and fly home, or get dressed. I know they don’t fit, but we’ll stop and get you…ah, did Tana send any money? I’m broke and—

I have money, Flor said. She loaded a backpack, suitcase, and wooden box containing Immal’s powdered remains in the back of the SUV. Maeve knew different cultures had different customs, but seeing Flor on her knees scraping gray residue and small bones into a dustpan had troubled her, though she couldn’t say why.

Flor frowned. I understand Raymond needs clothes when he’s in human shape, but won’t people see how different he is?

Flor was right. Silver hair could be explained. But those opal eyes that reflected a rainbow of colors, didn’t look quite human. They’ll see. We have to keep them from getting too close. We can say it’s a birth defect if we have to. I guess he could fly home. Ordinary humans can’t see dragons when they’re in dragon form. Maeve spoke knowing Raymond was not going to leave them.

Raymond grumbled, as he struggled into a pair of Maeve’s worn stretch pants. It always amazed Maeve that a dragon as large as Raymond could have such a slender human body.

Flor taped black plastic over the taillights. I’m ready, she said.

Maeve shifted a grumbling Harriet to her other shoulder. Uh, why are you…

Covering the lights? So they won’t see the brake lights while we sneak out the back way. There’s only one road.

They?

They. Flor pointed toward the road that had brought them to Immal’s house. Three pairs of headlights moved steadily toward them, followed by the grumble of engines. Raymond growled.

No, Flor told him, opening the driver’s door, you can fight later. She climbed in and started the engine.

Maeve grinned. No doubt who would be dominant in that little witch-dragon relationship.

Chapter Two

Alex Hania kept his hands tight on the steering wheel and concentrated on the desert terrain in front of the Jeep. The Jeep ahead of him swayed and jerked as it cut through the sand. Why couldn’t the man stay on the track? The growl and whine of the engines came through the open window as the other driver fought his vehicle and the terrain. Alex had learned to drive in the desert miles to the south as a teenager, and he knew the danger. One wrong move and the lead driver would hit a soft pocket, bottom out, and block the way. Four-wheel drives had limits.

Four months ago, on his twenty-first birthday, Alex had answered a job ad for private security guards. He knew he’d made a mistake when he climbed on a bus in Knoxville, Tennessee, and headed for a town named Elder. He’d found himself in the company of a bunch of tattooed thugs discussing their time in prison. It felt like being a rabbit in a den of wolves. He should have joined the army or found a more traditional career.

Alex forced himself not to shiver. Careful, he had to be careful. For some inexplicable reason, his emotions often became transparent to the big, powerful man sitting next to him. How did the Commander read him so precisely? Alex wanted to know, but not bad enough to ask.

His age and blond, Nordic looks set him apart from the others. Pretty boy, they called him. He was six-foot-one and a well-muscled one-hundred and eighty pounds, strong from workouts, but apparently, his hair and face defined him. Then two events changed his life.

Three disgruntled ex-cons cornered him outside the barracks one night. Grandpa had been a warrior, and he taught Alex how to hold his own in a fight. Quick and agile, Alex put down two of them. They’d hurt him, though. The third would probably have killed him. Pure luck, Alex knew, but the Commander came along and stopped the fight. Actually, he’d kicked the third ex-con in the head so hard Alex heard the man’s skull crack. Since then, he’d been the Commander’s aide and driver. A decent job, if somewhat terrifying at times, but it set him permanently apart from the others. A casual target for bullies before—a deliberate target now.

The other event? He didn’t want to know what the needle contained. Vaccination they said. His arm had immediately swelled and burned like meat in an oven. It was better in a couple of days, but after that, everything changed. Elder? What kind of a place could it be?

He could see. Impossible creatures raced out of his imagination and into life. He’d seen a unicorn on the edge of the woods. He walked to it and it backed away, but then the delicate winged fairies flitted around him, chattering in tiny voices he couldn’t understand. He stood in a state of wonder, until rough cries from the barracks behind him drove the little darlings away.

Worse, or perhaps better,