The Dragon's Child

By Janeen Webb

Meet the shapeshifting dragons of Hong Kong. Adept at passing for human, they are the kind of dragons you'd find at a Gatsby party—charming, sophisticated, glamorous, outrageously wealthy—and utterly ruthless.
Nothing, it seems, can challenge their privileged lives—until Lady Feng leaves one of her eggs to be raised by human foster parents in a remote mountain village.
The dragon child hatches. Born with dragon power, raised with human emotion, this child is trouble. And his powers are growing . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: PS Publishing
• Release date: Aug 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781786362360

Book preview

I

On the first day of the Chinese New Year, the Year of the Dragon, Lady Feng made a mistake.

A cool, sophisticated Hong Kong businesswoman, Lady Feng had just concluded her habitual retreat. As she emerged from hibernation she risked assuming her true form—the form of a Chrysanthemum Dragon. She took the chance. She needed to stretch her claws. The rush of air against her golden scales felt wonderful after those long weeks cooped up in her cave, weeks spent gestating and laying her eggs, watching over them as she checked and re-checked the treasures of her rich hoard to stave off the boredom that threatened to engulf her. Today, she was free.

Below her, the humans who lived in the remote village near her mountain lair were celebrating the turn of the year. Lady Feng dipped and soared, caught up in the moment, appearing, to the people in the procession below, as just one more pretty paper shape among the high-flying red and gold kites with their trailing streamers. She flew lower, and the people were overjoyed to see her: a real dragon had come to bless them. They drummed harder, danced faster.

Lady Feng flew even lower. In dragon form, she was thinking like a dragon. Just for an instant, her instincts took over: her control slipped. Intoxicated by the heady fog of incense, exhilarated by the drums and cymbals and firecrackers, the beautiful golden dragon permitted herself a small snack: a tender morsel, no more than a tiny mouthful. She knew she shouldn’t, but the snack was simply there to be had, resting in its wrappings like an offering on the steps before the Moon Gate, looking so silky soft, smelling so milky sweet. Before she knew it, she had dived: her jaws had snapped shut, and warm blood was filling her mouth. It felt good, so very good, as the juicy meat slipped down her cave-dry throat.

But then the screaming started. Humans, she remembered too late, were unaccountably attached to their offspring. There were curses and shouts, and someone actually started shooting at her.

‘Avert!’ She raised her right claw, and hastily invoked a spell of warding.

The shot went wide, but it clipped a hind claw. Lady Feng barely escaped with her fine gossamer wings intact. She dropped from the sky to land behind the nearest building, where she changed back into her cramped human form to blend in with the frightened crowd. There was blood on her pale face and on her fine gold-patterned silk blouse, but she radiated calming thoughts, turning aside the minds of the people around her. A lot of villagers had been injured in their panic to escape the terrible dragon that had so suddenly, so inexplicably swooped upon them from the heavens, and with Lady Feng’s protective glamour fogging their minds, the tell-tale blood spatters passed unremarked.

Later she tried to make amends. Really she did. She limped back to her lair. At nightfall, when the sobbing young parents had subsided into sleep, she returned to the Moon Gate of the little temple with one of her own offspring, the smallest of her four precious eggs, its golden crackle-glazed shell glowing in the lantern light. The abandoned baby sling was still there. Lady Feng tucked her egg into it, swaddling it in the cotton padding to keep it warm. A child for a child: it seemed only fair.

II

When darkness became absolute, Lady Feng took her true form once again and flew back to civilization, to Hong Kong, back to the modern base of her immense fortune. There had been something primal, something satisfying about laying her eggs in a nest of glittering gold and gemstones, the tangible treasures she had amassed over the long ages of her lifetime. But the wealth of her traditional hoard was nothing compared with the money she now raked in from her business enterprises. Lady Feng particularly enjoyed her banks and casinos—every day, the humans gave her more and more money, and every day they paid substantial fees to do it. It was a truly wonderful, ever-expanding wealth-creation structure. It was a dragon’s dream.

Lady Feng took the rest of her eggs to Hong Kong with her. She stayed high up this time, flying by starlight, arriving just in time to host her usual New Year’s banquet. She deposited the remaining clutch of eggs in her stylish office: tomorrow, they would be delivered to the remote mountain crèche at the Imperial Dragon School where the hatchlings—those that were viable—would be taken care of until they were of age. Tonight, the Chrysanthemum Dragon had more important business to attend to.

She had taken a private suite at the very top of the famous Marco Polo hotel, and it was decked out for tonight’s celebrations in red and gold. The wide plate-glass windows would afford the privileged, invited revellers an unsurpassed view of the Victoria Harbour light show, and later, of the spectacular fireworks display. Lady Feng’s business empire was extensive, and her twelve-course banquets were the stuff of legend among Hong Kong’s cognoscenti. These revels promised to be exceptional: her personal emblem was a golden dragon, and her entertainments were rumoured to be extraordinarily lavish when the lucky dragon ruled the year.

Lady Feng arrived early to check that the hotel staff had followed her instructions. She looked about, reassuring herself that tonight’s arrangements would not disappoint. In the centre of the room stood an ice sculpture of a gilded dragon, rampant, rising from a wreath of flame in the shape of rare red and gold orchids. Jasmine-scented red candles already burned brightly in their gilded candelabra on the long tables, and each diner’s place had been set with gold-rimmed porcelain dishes and ivory chopsticks tipped with golden dragons. Ornate gilded vases filled with golden chrysanthemums completed the picture. The room was, she noted with satisfaction, truly magnificent.

The hour chimed, and liveried hotel staff opened the carved rosewood doors to the suite. Ever the gracious hostess, Lady Feng, resplendent in human form, now stood ready to receive her guests. She was as stately as an empress: tall, elegant, and sinuously graceful in her gold-on-gold chrysanthemum-patterned cheongsam and her high-heeled golden sandals. Tonight, she wore her dark hair upswept over her high mandarin collar, coiled into an intricate knot and adorned with a winged golden comb; the design repeated in her gold-set diamond earrings. Heavy, diamond-encrusted rings adorned her long bony fingers, and her strong sharp nails were painted with sparkling gold polish that disguised the barely-sheathed claws retracted beneath. It was easy, this passing for human, when one’s ancestral hoard was so well stocked with gold and jewels and treasures amassed over the ages. Privately, she delighted in displaying her undisputed wealth as she performed the ritual bows to greet her guests, offering smiles and lavish red-and-gold ang pow packets that contained genuine antique coins from her mountain lair.

‘Ah,