Hellbender - Dana Cameron Page 0,45

understanding us both.”

Distraction? I felt my temper flare. “Speaking of distraction, my friend back there is dying—”

He totally ignored my concern. “We don’t have much time; this connection is weakening. What do you want to know?”

The enormity of that question left me at a loss. I went with the first thing that came to mind, as he said time was short. “The dragons said you thought we, the Fangborn, were broken?”

“That is a harsh word, but . . .” He trailed off. “We were . . . um, taken aback, is the closest way I have of expressing it, to find not only were you in hiding from the other creatures around you, but also that you imagined you were somehow in their service.”

“He also mentioned the word ‘subjugation.’ So we were meant to be, what? A spearhead? An advance army? You’re going to swoop in and take control? Of who?”

“Oh, no,” the Administrator said hastily. “No, the word we use is not unlike your ‘ambassador.’ And not take control, only . . . well, organize and keep in reserve. If there were resources or technology that developed since we scattered your—” Here the Administrator said a word I could not understand. “We would take them into account and catalog them against our future need.

“Your genetic material is human. We changed some of that, to accommodate the ability we find useful. For some reason, it did not grow as it ordinarily would, and rather than being dedicated to our purposes—”

I nodded. “The Fangborn thought we were dedicated to protecting humans.”

“Yes, exactly!” The Administrator leaned back.

“Wait—what about the dragons? Aren’t they more . . . advanced than I am? Why am I suddenly the center of all this attention?”

“The dragons are too old, too distant from their humanity. You’re the closest to our ideal, within our perception, and your power makes you available to us.” He actually began to tidy files. “We must decide how to proceed. And do not worry. We can give you some assistance with your people. We don’t want to cause any trouble, either of precedence or misunderstanding. We will sort it all out. Thank you, Miss Miller. That will be all for now.”

“Wait! No! My friend—”

But I found myself dismissed and was slammed back into the here and now. Which was not a particularly good place to be. While I’d had my attention drawn away by the Administrator, for even just a fraction of a second here, I found myself in my skinself, confused. I sat down, naked, on the hard ground, my backpack still on my back, the bullets still flying. A fine mist was descending over the area, and it seemed to be coming down from the remaining helicopter.

I didn’t smell hellebore, one of the few things harmful to the Fangborn. I could only assume it was my journey back from wherever I’d “met” the Administrator that made me so powerless.

The big bird landed, and a statuesque blonde right out of a recruitment ad for Valkyries hopped out. She held a rifle on me, approaching cautiously.

“Stay down, bitch.” As she got closer, I heard her laugh. She raised her goggles and relaxed slightly. “I’ve never seen the like. Running around, naked as a jaybird with a pack—and a sword? You really are some kind of freak, aren’t you?”

I gazed up blearily to see the rifle barrel as it met with my forehead.

I woke up later, feeling seven kinds of hung over. I was wearing what looked like medical scrubs and dumped in a chair. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. There you go, sweetheart. I got you some water. Sit up easy now . . .”

I’d barely made sense of the words when an ice-cold blast hit me in the head. I screamed with the pain and surprise, sputtering and choking with the water up my nose.

A barking laugh was my only response. Taking a big, gasping breath, I managed to wipe my face on the coarse fabric of my shoulder. My hands were cuffed in front of me. I still had no ability to focus—tried to summon the Change and couldn’t.

“Time for a little trip, kiddo.” It was the Valkyrie who’d smashed my head in.

“Fatima?” My question came out as a croak.

“That mangy old thing? Dead. We burned the body, too. Right there on the ground.” The woman—I could see a name badge that said “P. Halle” on her uniform—shook her head with mock sadness. “I love a flame thrower. You know, it’s possible